And the Hits Just Keep On Coming!

After about 2 hours of fussing I managed to figure out how to put a hit counter on my web to keep track of the staggering number of people who descend on my site like starved dingos on a fresh wallaby carcus.  Somebody asked me what I write.  Well, I'm not proud of it but most recently I wrote for the worst show in the history of television.  I wrote for the Olsen Twins show for Disney ironically titled "So Little Time..."  How long did my chica partner and I try and squeeze blood from that stone?  3 Weeks.  You see the chronologically challenged, cocaine-addled former Laverne and Shirley writer who was the show runner (exec producer) of the show hired us so we'd bring some youth to the show.  We wrote 1 script and then he fired all of the staff writers.  Perhaps we tried too hard to change the hack jokes they wrote for the girls that had Al Gore as the punchline.  The Twins were fifteen years-old at the time so I stupidly suggested changing the Al Gore reference to something more teenagerish, like Justin Timberlake or Ashton Kutcher.  The crotchety old-timers just stared at me as if I'd spoken alien jibberish.  Perhaps they wanted the girls to make reference to somebody more cutting edge, like Henry Kissinger, or Alexander Hamilton?  All I can tell you is that it was a horrible experience that snuffed out my passion to work in sitcoms.  Oh, also, Ashley was prettier because Mary-Kate has a huge head.  I wish the girls well in their battle against cocaine and heroin oops... I meant anorexia.  People magazine is never wrong.  The only silver lining to that dark cloud is that I still get paid residuals from all the dozens of times they've re-run the show.  I think the last check had dwindled down to $45 and 66 cents.  Penny and I had a lovely dinner.  Thanks girls!  Before that I was credited with some "Jesse" episodes.  Remember that was the show on after "Friends" that had Christina Applegate (who is genuinely a fucking cool person).  And it had that Latin love interest guy that sounded like an exaggerated Ricky Ricardo.  "Jesse, ju got some 'splaining to do!"  Before that I was just the guy who typed all scripts while 9 bitter, crappy writers (and five good ones) complained about their lives and wrote episodes in between.  So those are my credits.  I'm so proud.  Veronica's Closet, Men Behaving Badly (the un-funny season) that pilot that never aired with what's-his-face.  As a spunky college grad I was so excited to jump in and write for my six-hour-a-day baby-sitter, television.  I think I'd rather go back to the ground floor of the college dorm where we wrote and performed sketch comedy.  Ahh, the Beige Room.  It had a very snappy name.  So, what do you do when the Entertainment industry has driven you and your lovely wife to a state of utter delusionment.  Naturally you move to Amsterdam for five months to relax and "get your head straight."  And make sure to do a little traveling so when the Twin Towers are decimated you are sitting on a topless beach with your girlfriend on the coast of Spain.  That's where I first discovered the sedating powers of the kava-kava root.  "New York has just blow up! Thousands of people have been killed and we're stranded on another continent where nobody cares or speaks English!"  "That's okay, baby, lets chew some more kava-kava root and build a really bitchin' sand castle."  I swear I would give the 4ft 5inch little Spanish woman who sold us the kava root a big wet kiss on her 104 year-old lips.
 
So according to the handbook the next thing I was supposed to do after going back and getting "distracted" in Amsterdam.  "Look, honey, the ducks, I want to go and swim with the ducks.  I love ducks.  Can we get a duck?"  The next step is to move back to your old apartment that you sublet to some 22 year-old Butt-head clone from Texas who thinks he's going to be a successful actor but only succeeds in doing extra work 2 days a week, whose mom paid us more than our monthly rent with six months in advance.  You kick his cro-mag ass out, have a near nervous breakdown, panic about  what you'll do with you life and go back to grad school so you can earn a masters degree to teach 2nd graders.
 
Originally, all I wanted to say in this blog was "Look, everybody, I have a hit counter on the bottom of my blog now."  But somewhere I got side tracked and elaborated.  I guess I'll spell check it, walk the dogs and pass out next to my brilliant, beautiful and unconscious wife. 
        
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