Jack Nicholson

The squeal of tires on pavement was followed by the crunch of folding metal as I plowed into the ass end of the car in front of me. Peering out through the film of drive-thru coffee that now covered my windshield, I cursed under my breath as the driver's door of the other car swung open. Heaving a heavy sigh, I climbed reluctantly out of my own car to inspect the damage.

The car I'd hit was a midnight blue luxury sedan. A very expensive-looking luxury sedan, I noted, as my eyes scanned over the twisted, dangling bumper and scarred paint of the rear quarter-panel. My fourteen-year old rust bucket, meanwhile, showed not even the slightest sign of damage at all.

"I am SO sorry," I implored, attempting to wedge the fallen bumper back into place. "I tried to stop, but—"

My efforts with the bumper must have somehow triggered the trunk mechanism, because the lid suddenly popped open. I gasped at the sight inside and my eyes flew open wide as I jumped back a step. When I finally turned my gaze to the other driver, my mouth fell open as well.

"Jack Nicholson?" I asked, incredulous.

"Heeeeere's Johnny!" he crowed with a maniacal grin, evoking the infamous line of the sadistic character he'd played in the movie The Shining.

"You're...you're Jack Nicholson," I stammered, beginning to wonder if he knew that. "And...and you have a dead body in your trunk!"

"Define 'dead'," Jack said in his trademark raspy timbre. "We live, we die, and the wheels on the bus go round and round."

"Jack? That was your character's line in The Bucket List," I reminded him. "Not your best work, by the way."

He simply shrugged, conceding the point.

I stared back at him, waiting for some sort of explanation as to why he was driving around LA in broad daylight with a corpse in the trunk of his car, but none was forthcoming. He just stood there, blinking back at me as if he were waiting for me to speak.

"Okaaaay," I finally gave in. "May I ask WHY you have a dead body in your trunk?"

Jack Nicholson took a deep breath. "Well, it's like this," he explained. "I don't want to be a product of my environment. I want my environment—"

"—to be a product of me," I cut in, my patience wearing thin. "That's Frank Costello, Jack, from The Departed. I've seen all your movies at least twice."

"Geez, Louise," he muttered. "Cut a guy a break, would'ya?"

"A break?" I echoed. "A break? Jack, it's a dead body—you can't lie your way out of that!"

"I have never lied to you," he said earnestly. "I've always told you some version of the truth."

Oh, for God's sake! I thought, rolling my eyes.

"Something's Gotta Give, opposite Diane Keaton," I drawled, inspecting my nails to convey my boredom with this crazy little game. "Enough already, Jack. Just tell me the truth."

"YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!" he bellowed, his breath hot on my face as tiny droplets of spittle sprayed from his lips.

I sighed, unaffected. "A Few Good Men," I said wearily.

Jack Nicholson twisted his lips into that famous smirk of his and took a step back, shaking his head. After a quick glance at the corpse in his trunk, he leaned his hip against the side of the car and folded his arms over the firm bulge of his midsection.

"Fine," he gave in. "See, it's like this—there are two kinds of angry people..."

I bit my tongue and listened with false intensity as Jack Nicholson recited his character's line from Anger Management. Perhaps I would never know what had happened to the dead man, or how his corpse had wound up in the trunk of a famous movie star's midnight blue sedan. What I did know was that we were attracting attention from other drivers, that one of them was bound to call the police and report the accident at some point, and that I definitely didn't want to be there when the boys in blue showed up!

As Jack's monologue drew to an end, I dug a bungee cord out of my car and fastened his trunk lid closed to conceal the body within. I smiled as I shook his hand and wished him well with...whatever it was he was up to.

Jack Nicholson smiled back as he peeled himself away from the car. He reached out and gently swept the hair back from my face, then leaned in and gave me a soft, lingering kiss on the lips. Pulling back, he gazed into my eyes with such genuine ardency and affection that I forgot all about the corpse and nearly fell in love with him right then and there.

"You make me want to be a better man," he said huskily, borrowing yet another line from a character he'd portrayed in a movie, and it was in that moment that I realized Jack Nicholson is...

Completely. Insane.