Shock, disbelief, hysteria, peturpitudenousness – these are just some of the words that describe my reaction to today’s news that Hollywood may use the words "based on a true story" loosely. A new report implies movies may bend the truth, "glamorizing" or "romanticizing" events that were in reality far less cinematic.

Specifically at issue is Ridley Scott’s American Gangster, which purports to tell the true story of Harlem druglord Frank Lucas.  On Wednesday, several DEA agents who investigated the Lucas case sued NBC Universal for defamation.  (Also at issue is whether Lucas ever smuggled heroin in caskets, though I hardly see why that matters) 

Lucas is shown to turn informant, specifically against corrupt police officers. A legend at the end of the movie claims three-fourths of New York’s Drug Enforcement Agency were convicted thanks to Lucas’ cooperation.
"(Lucas) was my informant for years," [former DEA Agent Jack] Toal says. "He never mentioned any crooked DEA agent or cop."
A DEA spokesman in Washington, Garrison Courtney, confirmed that no agents were ever charged with wrongdoing in the case.  

Three-fourths, none – hey, tomato tomahto.  I’ll tell you this though, the DEA is guilty of totally harshing my mellow on numerous occasions.  And Denzell of giving me a bad case of jungle fever. Wait, is that racist? Whatever, it sounds better than Finding An African-American Man Attractivitis. 

One of the movies I’m most excited for is American Gangster, directed by Ridley Scott starring Russell Crowe and Denzell Washington, coming out next month. RoS recently dug up an old interview (read it here) with Frank Lucas, the dude on whom Denzell’s character is based, who at one point was making a million dollars a day selling heroin smuggled back from Vietnam in the coffins of dead soldiers. 

At five pages, it’s pretty long, but then, so are the dumps you take at work. Here’s one gem:

"He started cursing, saying he was going to make me his bitch and he’d do the same to my mama too. Well, as of now, he’s dead. No question, a dead man. But I let him talk. A dead man got a right to say what he wants. Now the whole block is there, to see if I’m going to p_ssy out. He was still yelling. So I said to him, ‘When you get through, let me know.’ " "Then the motherf_cker broke for me. But he was too late. I shot him. Four times, right through here: bam, bam, bam, bam…" 

In related news, I called my grandma a bitch for eating all my Bugle snacks. That’ll teach her to use Alzheimer’s as an excuse.