(Several
WRITERS gather in the backroom of Panera Bread. One stands and
addresses the others.)
MOCHA TCHOKHA ROSE
All right; which one of you nincompoops wrote Episode 32?
(WRITERS
1 and 3 move their chairs away from WRITER 2. MOCHA
TCHOKHA ROSE slams a baguette down in front of the
unfortunate woman.)
MOCHA TCHOKHA ROSE (Continued)
Do you call that writing? I’ve seen tortoises mate with better writing than that.
(WRITER
2 squirms.)
MOCHA TCHOKHA ROSE (Continued)
Reader’s
Digests? really?
WRITER 2
Well, Georgette is an old woman---
MOCHA TCHOKHA ROSE
Don’t---!
WRITER 2
And we had established them. And you know what Chekhov said: if you put a gun on stage, somebody’d
better---
MOCHA TCHOKHA ROSE
If I had a gun . . .
(The
other WRITERS snicker.)
MOCHA TCHOKHA ROSE (Continued)
Don’t laugh, you worthless garbage!
WRITER 1
Mocha, do you think, maybe . . . ?
MOCHA TCHOKHA ROSE
Maybe what?
WRITER 1
Maybe you’re letting this head writer thing go---
MOCHA TCHOKHA ROSE
I will not have my name attached to crap! Do you understand me?
WRITER 1
Yes, Mocha.
MOCHA TCHOKHA ROSE
What was that?
WRITER 1
Yes, Mocha.
MOCHA TCHOKHA ROSE
And I don’t want any more dissent or you’re through. Understand?
WRITERS
Yes, Mocha.
WRITER 2
But I can still write for the blog, can’t I?
MOCHA TCHOKHA ROSE
Let me see.
You’re a bad writer. Your writing sucks. So, no. No, you
can’t.
(MOCHA
TCHOKHA ROSE presses a button.
WRITER 2 is devoured by
aphids.
The others gulp in horror.)
MOCHA TCHOKHA ROSE (Continued)
Well, I guess she had to . . . eh, funny witticism, eaten by aphids.
(The
WRITERS gulp anew. The NEXT WRITER
2, eager but foolish, bounds
in with a cup of hot coffee.)
NEXT WRITER 2
I want to make great art!
(The
others cower and cluck.)
