apocalypsos | Another boring night on the job

Just so you get some idea of just how lazy I can be, I printed out one of my unfinished scripts last night so that I could add to it while I was at work and I didn't get a damn thing done. (Amazingly enough, getting tapped on the shoulder every five seconds to make sure I was still breathing didn't help with that problem at all.)

It's a shame, too, because I've got serious happy-love for this script. It's probably one of the weirder things I've written, especially my favorite little side plot thingy, which involves a bunch of dead famous writers playing poker together. I'm having all sorts of goofy meta fun just imagining a roomful of English lit celebrities from centuries past arguing in total modern-day non sequiters over beers and cards. See, you get really silly like me, and you too will write conversations like this --

HERMAN MELVILLE: Jesus, Jane, I've told you a million times I am not gay!
JANE AUSTEN: Herm, you named your novel "Moby Dick." I rest my case.
HM: That has nothing to do with being gay!
JA: It has nothing to do with whales, either.

I so have to finish this script. The psycho monkey muses demand it, damn it!

I also had the opportunity during our 4:30 a.m. cigarette break to speak to a local news reporter outside our building about my opinions on the war. I didn't, but I think that's because my death wish does not extend to public floggings, being stoned to death, or decapitation in the nearest Olympic soccer stadium. And trust me, if I had gone outside, gotten the reporter's attention, and said, "I have less faith and respect in a president who lies to send men and women off to die than I do in one who lied to cover up getting a blow job," my bloated, coal-stuffed body would be found at the bottom of the Susquehanna River by next Tuesday.

And did anyone else see what the Missouri couple who won the Powerball said they were going to buy first? A new refridgerator, and a tractor with working brakes. Okay, that's it. This is the Fairness Police. Due to the stupidity of giving an answer like that at a press conference, your entire jackpot winnings are to be handed over and divvied up amongst people who *really* need it -- LJ users! (And somebody who was willingly driving a tractor with no freaking brakes before he won should have been barred fron playing in the first place.)

No. No, no, no. NO. Not if you were John Connor and I was Kate Brewster and we had to get together to lead and save the human race. Not if I had a choice between you and Orlando's rotting, festering corpse. Not if the entire world was going to drown in a shower of eels with runny noses and diarrhea unless we hooked up. Not if you had James Marsters' weapon of mass destruction in your pants. NO.

Oh, and another weird conversation from work.

[While discussing whether or not we'd have to go to work if Scranton got nuked.]

digitalodyssey: Yes, but then we'd be dead.

trollprincess: Hey, you'd be dead. I live outside of the blast radius. I'd just get radiation poisoning.

digitalodyssey: Then you'd grow extra arms.

trollprincess: Well, not me, but my kids would. And what's so bad about that? That's not necessarily a bad thing. Think about how easy it would be to juggle.
[long pause as I nod solemnly]

digitalodyssey: Oddly enough, you have a point.