If I was a billionaire, I’d produce an action movie starring me. Bad guys would be after me, but with wits and wiles, I’d stay one step ahead of them. Occasionally I’d let a couple or ten thugs catch up with me, and then I’d kick their asses. I’d dodge bullets, I’d leap away from explosions, I’d drive a car through a building, I’d snap off cool one-liners.
I’d hire a bunch of Hollywood action stars to play cameos just to state how badass I am.
Bruce Willis would say, “That, fellas, is Bullgrit. You guys might want to let him go.”
Jason Statham would say, “I’ll hold your coat, Mr. Grit, so you don’t get their blood on it.”
Daniel Craig would say, “His name is Grit. Bull Grit.”
Keanu Reeves would say, “Whoa.”
Lucy Liu would say, “Mmmm.”
Samuel L. Jackson would say . . . something I shouldn’t put in this family friendly web site. The movie would have to be rated NC-17.
I’d get a personal trainer to get me in shape for the gratuitous shirtless scene. I’d burn through more ammunition than Delta Force does in a month of training. I’d wreck 13 cars. I’d buy a building just to blow it up.
I’d start teaser trailers a year before the movie is to be released. I’d pay critics to just keep their damn mouths shut.
Released at the same time as the movie would be an “unofficial” biography of me that supports everything shown in the movie as being fact. (The beginning of the movie would state, “Based on true events.”) I’d hire a cosmetic surgeon to add a couple of knife and bullet scars to my body. A bullet scar on the shoulder, small blade scar at the eyebrow — just enough to give me “character” and show how tough I am (and support the “truth” of the movie and book).