There was once a young man trying to make ends meet. He worked as a butcher. As a doorman. He loved to act and write but nobody would hire him. He did some boxing, worked out religiously, and once, when he couldn’t make rent, he had to star in a porn movie. He lived alone in a small apartment, with a huge dog who was his best and only friend.
Eventually things became quite dire for the young man. Unable to feed himself and his dog both, he had to sell his buddy. Desperate to buy back his friend, he went to work, feverishly slaving away at a script. He sold the script, it was “Rocky”, about a boxer — the man was a boxer, too. The studio liked it so much they wanted to make it into the movie, and our young hero suggested they hire him. If they didn’t, he’d take the script elsewhere. A star was born.
His name was Sylvester Stallone. He got the part. Immediately brought back the dog. The dog was named Butkus. He got to star in the film, as himself — Rocky has a dog, too. He’s even in the end credits. Stallone is my favorite Hollywood legend.