It has been a long winter, in more ways than one. For me, Morris Crimpanfortis V, my long winter started in the heaving vortex of terror that was the Burbank studio where my ill-timed infomercial misfired. You know . . . the one where contestants came clean with their brutal organic cleanse. On-camera of course. Don’t remind me, I should have cleared the product with the FDA first. Come to think of it, that should have included the EPA. So I spent the last 12-plus months in this woebegone specter of a once-thriving bastion of industry – until now. As I shovel my hundredth load of flakes this hour, I suddenly stop, pause . . . and realize that a whole new day is dawning.

A Snowy – Yet Earthshaking – Day in Coal Country

What Should I Do: Shovel Snow or Pitch Shows?

A day of celebration begins. Or should I say a whole new lifetime of celebrating?

I’m back! I’ve come roaring back and I’m untamable! Unstoppable! The pitch juices are flowing once again. Like hot saliva through a tiger’s fangs, I’m ready to jump back into the fray and not stop pitching until I have an entire network’s worth of shows.

The floodgates are wide open, and all the pent-up emotion and frustration building over the last year is suddenly released. I haven’t felt this way since strolling through the boiler room at the Burbank studios. All the shame I felt over the debacle of my last production suddenly vanishes. That’s all in the past, totally forgotten. The creative juices roar through me again. I am put on earth to create TV shows. And there’s no time like the present to jump back in the ballgame.

The light, airy snow flutters all around me. I joyfully shovel the powder into piles. I pretend that I’m shoveling “shows” not snow. I have so many shows to pitch I barely know where to start! Weird how the words “show” and “snow” are so similar, separated only by the letters “h” and “n.” Remove the “s” at the front of them and the words spell “how” and “now,” as in…”how now brown cow…”

Wow! Sometimes I impress even myself!

Beaver Knows Best

Instead of a cow, I’m staring at a gigantic beaver in the middle of town square. I see in its two prominent front teeth reflections of the pivotal letters being scrutinized: “h” and “n.” How are these letters tied together in words other than “snow” and “show?” “Shone” and “honey” are two that come to mind. Maybe the next show I pitch should contain elements of etymology and sentence structure. My host will be a prominent grammar coach, or an English prof, and contestants will go on word safaris to the bowels of literary hell. Prizes will be awarded to the most proficient and domineering etymological sleuth.

Show proposals spiral through my mind like dazzling snowflakes. Everything is swirling around so fast, I feel weak on my feet, I feel dizzy, like I’m going to pass out and make a clumsy snow angel right in the middle of town square. I dance with my snow shovel, waltzing through the springtime blizzard. I catch snowflakes on my tongue, reveling in my newfound optimism, my hope that springs eternally. I think of the talk show I want to produce, a, late-night entry that really explores the issues, a show that is as hard-hitting as it is provocative but most of all entertaining.

Are These People Jealous Enough to Kill Me?

I stop dancing and stare at the beaver. I brush snow off its bronzed back. I don’t know it at the time, but I have quite an audience. People watch curiously from the shops and storefronts lining the quaint town square. As well they should. This is a great day of awakening, and I won’t stop until Daddy’s network is filled with my shows, shows of every nature and description including sitcoms, primetime dramas, game shows, outdoors shows and children’s shows–and of course my talk show.

The Apparition of Verona Kendermants

Turning from the beaver to continue my celebration, I am suddenly distracted. Verona Kendermants appears at the front door in antiquated goggles, a worn rubber apron, thick latex gloves up to her elbows and a grateful smile. “Mr. Crimpanfortis,” she declares, “I think I’ve finally arrived at a hand soap that will take the market by storm: patchouli oil and garlic. You really need to try this.” She holds up a little rectangular block in a brown wrapper, tied off with a pretty green ribbon and a matching bow.