Sunday, May 28, 2017
Producer Afire
-No more this or that number of episodes by contract. Churn ‘em out! You churn, I pay! Simple!
-I’ll run outa people. And plots.
-What plots? Protagonist loses ALL THE TIME!
-Writers want him rarely win.
-Never! Didn’t Lucy always pull the football away so CHARLIE BROWN KICKS AT NADA AND GOES ON HIS ASS?
-Always. But...you can exhaust your actors too!
-Plug in lookalikes!
-Even for our anti-hero?
-Costume the new dude! FRENCH REVOLUTION, ROLLER DERBY!
-I get the gist. All the gists. Great wealth and artistic suicide!
-KEEP FUCKIN SPENDING! Better than sex.
Labels: anti-hero, artistic standards, Charlie Brown, loser, Lucy, Peanuts, series, taste, television, TV Series
Monday, March 20, 2017
Example of a Man Who Didn’t Pay Off
or Amber Ways of Grim
When Clint’s retraining as a
Gelsurd Technician was finished,
he was immediately hired
by a firm refurbishing trashed
units to ship to Latvia.
That country being the only
place the game still being played.
Then, they gave up too.
Clint on Unemployment again.
The One-and-Out Plan insured
he could never again be retrained
for anything.
So he became a PU, Permanently
Unemployable, and relied on
coupons shipped from Washington.
The first two were for a store in
Frenchtown.
There he exchanged both for
a long baguette and a hunk
of pale cheese.
Unfortunately the cheese made
popping sounds on the Charity
Bus, and he was ordered to dismount.
When he removed the waxy
wrapping, he discovered
quarter size blue splotches.
So did the rats who devoured
both cheese and bread.
Marking up Clint in the process.
But not the worst day of his life,
since the gatekeeper of his
apartment block let him in
free when he saw his clawed
and bitten state.
Waiving the daily entrance cost.
Labels: Charity, loser, rats, retraining, technologically unemployed, technology, unemployment, unlucky
Sunday, September 27, 2015
The Candidate
“Beginning of Loser Stink!”--he thought he heard, passing
Happy’s office.
A political assistant, Morsel, had got him a rental cabin
for now.
The Fire Chief wouldn’t let him back in the house,
though the snaps from his departmental phone
demonstrated very little damage compared to the
rest of the foothills town.
He drove to the shore confident that the campaign
was taking the weekend off. He’d leave the cell on,
but no action expected.
His opponent would seize the media with his reactions
to the fire. Why not? He held the office.
Stopped at a 7-11 for a few groceries and a six pack.
So, weekend rustication. Gloria, arriving in Paris with a trio of
girlfriends, didn’t have to know for now. Let them enjoy
themselves.
The cabin was a block from the beach. And what he expected.
Atlanta Falcons banners everywhere. And a closet full of clothes
left by previous renters.
He made himself a sandwich and munched Fritos. Finished with
canned pineapple.
The ancient TV had some cable music channels, so he settled
on Classical, Beethoven’s smashing Fifth leading off.
Finished a couple of Bud Lights listening.
It grew chilly and he didn’t trust the battered electric heaters,
so he fetched sweatpants and a sweatshirt from the closet.
Swam in them. A hunt for scissors. In the cramped kitchen, a pair,
in a block holding knives.
At the formica table, cut the legs and arms to fit. Great!
Mustn’t LOOK like a loser!
Labels: election, fire, foothills, loser, losing candidate, political campaign, shore
Saturday, May 17, 2014
The Win
Chupsy never said anything clever. And coming close to 40.
One night when the whole gang assed around, all looked to
him for some mystical reason, and he...emitted a something
to make everyone cringe.
The whole group turned its back as if praying for the shame
to vanish.
And then it happened. A new remark, somewhat esoteric, and yet
fitting the topic on more than one point.
A beat or two, and then the spontaneous roar of laughter.
He was much congratulated, but people often avoided him after.
Expecting that laser wit to cut them mid mot.
Needn't have bothered. One-shot wonder.
Labels: friendship, loser, table wit, wit
