The world's most successful studio executive, Scot Squeegee, drove his new stretch Rolls Royce from his 60-room mansion in Bel Air to Streak Studios to view the rushes of: The Scot Squeegee Saga. 

According to reports in Daily Variety, The Scot Squeegee Saga was expected to play to sold-out crowds in theaters around the world. 

The Scot Squeegee Saga had everything from stunning women to power. Well, actually it only had two things: stunning women and power—with those two things you could get everything else you needed in Southern California. 

Actually, to be truly accurate, women did not need to be that stunning, so long as they had enormous mammary glands, which could be purchased from almost any competent plastic surgeon on any corner in Beverly Hills. (Usually mammary glands were sold in sets, although some starlets bought an extra for a spare.)

After a power breakfast prepared by Martha Stewart, Scot Squeegee went to his inner, inner executive office (the one with 11 private bathrooms, a Krispy Kreme donut concession and series of small ICBMs used to annihilate tiny countries that did not endorse American screening policies). 

Mr. Squeegee was smoking his second three-foot Havanan of the day.

He was inhaling the Havanan. The Havanan was a small actor from Havana; lately, studio executives had taken to midget smoking

It was a pastime that Arnold Schwarzenegger had introduced in Predator VII, a lovely piece of cinema in which he single-handedly invaded Cuba using all of the guns in the United States of America.

After Arnold ran out of bullets, he began smoking the rebellious natives of Cuba. It was a movie thing that appealed to the film executives.

Another case of life imitating art.

It was said that even the President of the United States smoked Havanans. He also did other things with small Havanan women because he liked to play with fire. But that is another story for another time. 

A group of students, all of whom were attending film school so they could become world-famous directors, was waiting to interview Mr. Squeegee. 

At the time of this article there were over 687,000 students taking Very, Very Advanced Directing Courses in universities and institutes around the world.

This was a good thing, since executives never knew when one of the six or seven (bankable) Hollywood film directors might die, requiring Hollywood to find a newcomer to fill his or her boots.

Mr. Squeegee's six secretaries were standing by this desk when he arrived. The desk was not particularly large by Hollywood standards, being smaller than a regulation basketball court, but Mr. Squeegee had a saying. What he liked to say was, "The size of man's desk does not count as much as the size of his winkie."

And then he would smoke another Havanan and stare at the person he was talking to and demand, "Do you know what I am saying?" 

If the person worked for Mr. Squeegee and nodded his head, then Mr. Squeegee would let the person keep his job. When Mr. Squeegee ran out of Havanans, he would often light an employee on fire and smoke him. 

Mr. Squeegee looked into the upturned faces of the young directors, many of whom had been going to school for two decades so they could learn what an f-stop was.