It’s Come to This

We’ve all been there.

You drive 90 minutes out of town for a single interview.  The PR douche is 27 minutes late, and when he does grace you with his oily presence, the first words out of his nicotine-stained lips are, “We can’t let you in to shoot anything.”

That’s never a problem for the pretty half of the team.  All he/she needs is enough information to fill 45 seconds in some houseboy’s rundown, but what about the smelly dude toting RadioShack® on his shoulder?

It’s his job to give the peeps back at home eyecandy while Malibu Ken spews a little knowledge.

Oh, sure, you’ve covered this story 703 times since last week, and those two shots of the big pile of dirt in the open field are riveting and everything, but don’t you think the viewers would like to see something new?

The script is a simple one.  It calls for four seconds of dirt and 41 seconds of, Albert Einstein on a unicycle, four cows dressed as Vegas showgirls, an electric blender, and the black-and-white security camera video of the last Jesus-Allah-Ganesh poker game inside Nicholas Cage’s closet of Elvis costumes.

That’s when it hit me.  If they want me to shit video for this story, why not crap directly onto the timeline.  It couldn’t be any worse.


About Rick

Writer, photographer, thinker of deep thought . . . too bad I only write about shallow ones.
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