Jamie is my partner. More than that, he's my friend. In an industry filled with backstabbers and talentless hacks, I'm lucky to have someone whose loyalty and talent are unquestionable.
And sometimes I hate him.
Because, you see, I NEED him.
In a perfect world, a Prince of Egypt would carry my ideas down from Mount Sinai engraved in stone tablets three feet high. Their arrival would be celebrated with awestruck tears of joy and, for generations yet to come, invoked in reverential whispers, shouted from pulpits and abused by politicians seeking to ride a wave of borrowed ecstatic zealotry into office.
Also, Aishwarya Rai would be my personal masseuse.
Sadly (and this will come as no surprise to those who follow the successful career of Carrottop), we do not live in a perfect world.
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