It may sound like a joke, maybe a lie, but I swear it’s true and all the funnier for it. And please if I ever should do something this retarded, please punch me.

We (and by “we” I mean myself, Francis George, Francis Baytan, the account executives for both the agency and Bellagio) were scouting for a photoshoot at Bellagio’s pool. We were done with the scout and heading back to the hotel when I turn around and see Francis G talking to… Mel Gibson. Yes. Really.

My first thought was “Wow, Francis is so cool, he knows Mel Gibson!” I can’t hear what they’re saying, but Mel (I can call him Mel after this) has his hand on Francis’ shoulder. Then suddenly, he storms off past us, and my smile of “WOW” turned to a half-smile of “huh?!”

Okay, so Francis doesn’t know Mel, but what happened actually makes him cooler than if he did.

This is what happened. Mel came up to Francis, who’d been scouting the pool area, taking shots for reference to decide where we were going to shoot. Mel asks (and you have to know Francis is French and has a very dry sense of humor, so the whole time he has this sort of bemused smile on his face)… Mel says, “Aren’t you going to take my picture?”

Okay, first of all, paparazzi don’t usually travel with an entourage (there were about five of us there with Francis). Second of all, don’t celebrities want to be left alone? Oh, wait, no, they don’t. If they aren’t being photographed, then they don’t exist. Yes? That’s just sad. And there was some schlumpy dude with Mel that looked like he was playing assistant as part of a paroll agreement. Not happy. Now, all that’s going through my head is “Wow, he’s short. Seriously. Short. And he’s got some seriously retarded red trunks that, outside of the ’80s are also too short.” And the other thought that was thankfully kept in my head, because god knows what would have happened if the filter hadn’t been working, was that I wanted to tell him I hated the Jews, too, just to see his reaction.

Okay, so celebrity is all up the supposed paparazzi’s Kool-Aid and asks if he’s going to take his picture. And Francis – god love him – says, “Do you want me to?” If I didn’t already worship Francis, I do now.

Mel gets his little self in a huff and says, “Nevermind! I’m going to my fucking room!” And storms off in his tiny trunks, his suicidal assistant tagging behind. I can’t actually say for sure that he said “fucking” room since I was still in the WTF mode, but I think he did, and it would have totally fit.

I’ve never been one who appreciates the crap celebrities pull, from the non-tipping to the “don’t you know who I am?” crap they pull. This was my premiere first-hand experience of just how douchebaggy celebrities can actually be. And let me tell you, I don’t give a fuck who you are, if you act like a spoiled brat, you are a spoiled brat. And no amount of “celebrity” is gonna change that. All the more reason I should never become famous and come face-to-face with someone who pulls that shit. Kathy Griffin would have nothing on me.