It’s no secret, everyone tries to hone in on the action when there’s the faintest whiff of stardom or instant wealth on the horizon. Jonas Cider, bless his antagonistic, ingratiating soul, is no different. Ever since Morris Crimpanfortis arrived in this squalid, two-bit former coalmining bastion, people have been trying to hop aboard the gravy train for a nonstop journey to perpetual fun in the sun. Jonas Cider contends that he not only wants to be, but has the right to be, Morris’ sidekick for the new talk show: Anthracite Tonite! Jonas’ claim to fame is that he’s the lone surviving descendant of Clement Cider, who discovered the coal that would fuel the Pre Sunspot Era (PSE) nearly four centuries ago. In an impromptu meeting at the Five-Points Highway Diner, Morris gets down to brass tacks about just what the cohost job entails:  Jonas admits he can’t impersonate Elvis, but he is “pretty good” at handling poisonous snakes.. . .

Jonas Cider: Waiting Centuries for a Co-host Gig

Open Auditions for Co-host

Ah, the pleasure of being a show host and running your own TV production company. People at booths and tables greet me and nod as I triumphantly stride down the center aisle of the Five-Points Highway Diner.

Deluded that I’m still living in Burbank, I am not wearing an overcoat, Shivering uncontrollably, I head to the rear of the diner where the “Boca Grande Room” is located. Snow falls from my shoulders, cascading in slushy clumps on the worn carpet. I suffer the indignity of being told not to melt so close to peoples’ food. I expertly sluice winter mucus with the back of an ungloved hand, and am warned not to do that so close to diners either.

These sad sacks may not know me as a household name yet, but they surely must sense something big in the works. Maybe it’s my air of confidence, indicating I’m on the brink of something important – something groundbreaking. I can only imagine what it will be like when I start appearing live and direct across the U.S. on a nightly basis.

Tripping on Delusions of Grandeur

As I round the corner, I fully expect to be hailed by a teeming complement of bookers, writers, segment producers, brand and editorial managers, social media execs, sales and marketing guys, digital asset managers and associate producers eagerly assembled to discuss topics and offer suggestions for the design and overall feel for the show. Instead, the only person in attendance is the bane of my existence: Jonas Cider.

I try not to leer at Jonas as Tony, my regular waiter, places a water with two squeezes of lime on the soggy coaster in front of me. “Thank you Tony,” I say. The glass is a little smudged, not entirely clean, but I grin and bear it. “I hope you can make the meeting later on.”

“I get off in another hour,” Tony says.

“That’s fine,” I say. Tony is my Director of Catering and Craft Services. I don’t know if he’s any good, but he seems eager enough. Apparently he’s a quick study; at least that’s what his shift supervisor tells me. I just wish they’d spruce up the aprons around this place.

An Offer Genuinely Worth Refusing

“Have you thought any more about my offer to be co-host?” Jonas asks.

Juice flies as I pulverize the lime wedges and douse them with my chilled fingertips in the overflowing mouth of the milky glass. “No,” I tell him.

Jonas Cider claims to be the long-lost descendant of Clement Cider, the man credited with discovering coal in the region nearly four centuries ago that fueled the Pre-Sunspot Era. Actually, a beaver discovered the vein but why muddle history with facts?

An angular man in his thirties with long, scraggily brown hair, Jonas struggles with entitlement issues. Everyone wants to be a co-host, and I have grown to resent Jonas’ arrogance. I know it’s wrong of me, he’s only trying to get ahead; I just don’t like how he’s going about it.

Jonas also fashions himself a Renaissance man: he’s a finish carpenter, plays the Dobro, and designs women’s sportswear.

But can he sing like Elvis?

And, more to the point: can he handle himself around poisonous snakes?

The violent snowball fight continues to rage around Morris. He doesn’t know if he’s going to live long enough to make another pitch to his sister Noreen in the Windy City. He yearns to flood the market with new product and knows that he is a veritable fire hose of creativity – if only he gets the proper reception for his pitches. As snowballs whiz perilously close to Morris at death-defying speeds, he has a revelation: could the throwers be using bionic arms? This technology was finally and forcibly outlawed (we thought) after the Second Great Sunspot Dilemma, but caches are rumored to have been found in out-of-the-way places throughout the U.S. Morris breaks into a cold sweat considering the implications of bionic body parts making a resurgence. And it’s no secret who is at the bottom of repurposing this lethal technology . . .

The Resale Value of Intergalactic Body Parts

The Vortex of a Brutal, Frozen Vacuum

Whap! Another ballistic snowball whooshes past.

I stop shoveling and wonder if I should take cover. The snowballs are pounding the late afternoon air, missing me by only a few scorching inches. Still, something tells me they are not being aimed directly at me. It seems that the stalwart men and women of the Downtown Contingent could hit me squarely between the eyes at 300 paces if they so desired.

BLAMO! That does it! One of the knuckleheads hits the beaver dead-on and nearly knocks the brass statue off its mooring.

They’re whizzing faster now, more furious, the frozen projectiles are hurtling past, burning my cheeks, leaving me reeling in the smoking, frostbitten aftermath. Is this a spontaneous outbreak of fun and frivolity on the part of the Downtown Contingent, or are its surreptitious members embarked on a quest that is far more nefarious?

Right now, I’m opting for the latter. I’m not sure any member of the Downtown Contingent knows how to have fun.

Bionic Arms – Say It ain’t so!

Whap! Another snowball screams past my ear and splatters against the granite façade of the opera house. What’s going on here? I suddenly freeze up, wondering if I’m dealing with some misguided – and deadly – technology from the deep, dark and distant past. And by that I mean bionic body parts.

I might be a little bit slow at times, but I wasn’t born yesterday. It’s no secret the Kalabrashions want to get their grimy human hands on every last bionic body part that is yet hidden across this great and fruited plain. The depths of evil to which they’re capable of sinking knows no bounds. Their little illicit chicanery will net them enormous proceeds on the black market, while bringing the threat of great horror back upon an unwitting society.

The Goosches Do It in Real Time

Or, you could be above board like the Goosche brothers, who make you work for your money, but in the long run it’s worth it. The two of them used to pitch in the big leagues. Their arms are not bionic: they just throw hard. Really hard. You don’t want to get in the way of anything that the Goosche brothers throw, not the least of which is a baseball.

The same goes for their Mama. That would be Mama Goosche.

Welcome Ad Fans . . . to the Annual Upfronts

The Goosches control advertising in the Silt Ridge market. They determine who is allowed to advertise and what their allotted budget will be. They control the category of your business and regulate the platforms that your company is allowed to utilize.

That especially applies to the upfronts. The Goosches try to make the annual Silt Ridge upfronts unique and fun, a weeklong event in spring that the whole town can come out and enjoy. They always manage to present more engaging showcases of local media year-over-year. It’s all a great deal of fun – unless of course, you’re a local advertiser who has to step into the batter’s box and endure one screaming two-seam slider after another in order to negotiate a favorable ad buy.

To my understanding, the Goosches are not participating in the snowball throwing extravaganza that’s going on in Town Square at this precise moment.

Thank goodness.

A Glaring Need for First-run Product

As another snowball flares past, I figure enough of this frivolity. Time is wasting and I have another show proposal for Noreen. I crawl to safety along the curvature of the sweeping marble staircase.

I am sopping wet by the time I stumble inside the warm, cheery office. Verona looks up from her manual typewriter as she prepares the station log for this evening’s midnight news report. She congratulates me for not getting killed.

I don’t even pause to take a whiff of Verona’s exotic soap, that’s how determined I am to pitch a new show to Noreen.

I hope the satellites haven’t conked out for the day.

Morris Crimpanfotis V is getting all worked up about the first pitch he’s going to make in over a year. He figures it’s just like riding a bicycle. Once you get the hang of it, you never forget. But if his pitches were anything like riding a bicycle, he’d be pretty much scraped and bloodied and the bicycle would have bent tire rims from him falling over so much. His sister Noreen is the gatekeeper for all the pitches, and she rules with an iron fist. Morris will not be denied, though. His secret weapon is the bar of soap his assistant, Verona Kendermants, just handed him. It is scented with garlic, peanut butter and, of course, patchouli oil. Taking a deep whiff transports Morris to another world, and his sister suddenly seems a lot less threatening.

Revving Up the Ol’ Pitch Engine

Nothing Like Patchouli Oil to Fire up the Creative Juices

A full moon radiates through the turgid, swirling veil of snow. It is late winter and spring is right around the corner, but you’d never guess it. I try to envision Burbank right now. It’s probably in the eighties and everyone is busy getting ready for one production or another. And did I mention it’s three hours earlier there? Three hours can really make a difference when you’re producing world-class content.

Visions of Burbank and bustling sets draw into focus my overriding purpose in life: to create television programming. This is my raison d’etre, and in order to make up for lost time I must pitch like a maniac. It’s the least I can do; it’s what is expected of me.

Like Smelling Salts for My Creative Juices

I hustle inside, dusting off snowflakes. I can’t get enough of this garlic-scented hand soap that Verona Kendermants just pulled from the commercial kitchen of the opera house. I jam the odoriferous package under my nose and take a deep whiff. This is like smelling salts for my creative juices. I can’t believe the euphoria that bursts upon me. It has been over a year since I made my last pitch to Noreen. I don’t even remember what it was; all that is about it change. Once again, it’s open season for pitches.

I drop the block of soap atop my cluttered desk and wrestle from my top coat. It’s been so long now; I try to remember how to pitch Noreen. She is the gatekeeper, the one I have to go through to get my pitches listened to and ultimately produced as viable TV shows. Straightening my tie, I formulate a game plan, strategizing the best way to pitch Noreen. As always, I have to make her feel as though she’s in the driver’s seat.

TV Concept Comes like a Bolt out of the Blue

The process goes like this: I come up with the concept for a TV show or movie. A lot of times it just hits me like a bolt out of the blue. I immediately pick up the phone and pitch Noreen. Ideally, I would take my time massaging all the nuances and ramifications of birthing a show, starting with a couple sentences on paper then expanding it to a one-sheet followed by a three-page treatment. But that’s a perfect world scenario, and we all know, we’re not living in a perfect world. So like I say, most of the time I get impatient and just pick up the phone.

I rely on spontaneity in my pitches which for me can be a real liability because people tell me I’m not all that swift on my feet. One big thing when pitching Princess No (and everyone needs to be mindful of this when pitching her): you always need to factor in the one-hour time difference–Central vs. East Coast–so you’re not bugging her during lunch. Sometimes I get her when she’s having her nails done.  No sweat, if it’s anything like the past, she’ll shoot me down no matter what the venue. It’s always the same old same old: nothing I pitch is ever good enough.

Still, it’s better than being on the West Coast, when you have the two-hour time difference that goes the other way.

Greenlighting It Because She Can

Of course, Noreen has already green-lighted one of her own shows: a group of convenience store clerks from the San Fernando Valley sit around commenting on celebrities who visited their establishments during the previous week.

There was a question about reenacting the interludes with celebrity stunt doubles and lookalikes. Then the decision was made to actually have the celebrities themselves reenact the interlude.

So far, in requests made to agents, PR firms and management companies, there have been no takers.

Go figure.

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.

Dirkie Tirk, President and CEO of Hose Powder, Inc., is an old friend of the Crimpanfortis family, having partnered with Aurora Crimpanfortis in her early barnstorming days. Dirkie provides the match that ignites the fuse that brings the spectacular Crimpanfortis “Live-Action Billboards” to life. As exclusive supplier of wingsuits, rapid-deploy parachutes, bungee cords, body harnesses, cranes, jerk lifts, fall decelerators, jetpacks, rocket belts, suspension systems and high-speed winches, he has done it all and seen it all. And he will be the first to tell you that this stunt work is not for everyone.

Meet Dirkie Tirk – Daredevil Extraordinaire

An Old Family Friend

Dirkie Tirk, whose relations with the Crimpanfortis family dynasty began when Mama sought his advice and vast product knowledge on a dangerous aerial stunt she was proposing in the vicinity of Sun Valley, Idaho, has been the sole provider of rigging paraphernalia, as well as supplying a thriving legion of impeccably trained men and women stunt professionals, since Hyper-Citation first started doing “Live-Action Billboards” way back when.

Hyper-Citation Partners with Stunt Supplier Hose Powder, Inc.

As President and CEO of Hose Powder, Mr. Tirk claims that this is somewhat of a departure from his normal line of work. “Yeah, this is a little bit of a head-scratcher if I do say so myself,” the veteran master of stunts confided. “See, we’re used to doing movies and TV, stuff like that. When Hyper-Citation started with their boffo billboards, we had to take a giant step back and assess where they were coming from. I mean really: billboards? Who woulda thunk it,” Mr. Tirk quips. “Seriously, if you know anything about our company, Hose Powder Inc., you know how careful we choose our projects and staging our routines. But once we commit, we’re all in. We’re a go.”

In its exclusive partnership with Hyper-Citation, Hose Powder supplies all the apparatus to execute stunts safely, efficiently and breathtakingly including wingsuits, rapid-deploy parachutes, bungee cords, body harnesses, cranes, jerk lifts, fall decelerators, suspension systems and high-speed winches. There are even plans in the works to deliver modified jetpacks and rocket belts–whose stunning advancement and development have seen major improvements over the decades.

All the “Spontaneous Aerodynamic Activity” You’ll ever Need

Anyone familiar with “Live-Action Billboards” knows there’s a lot of “Spontaneous Aerodynamic Activity” or “SAA” and there are plenty of stunt pilots to answer that aspect. Drones play an increasingly important part in delivering immediate impact, and a lot of the devices are used at night to bathe the various displays in high-profile light.

“OK, we’ve got all this stuff, all these toys,” Dirkie Tirk points out, “but that’s just hardware until you find the professionals to deploy it.” Dirkie Tirk has a military background that led him into stunts. He demands from his legion of men and women stunt people the highest commitment to safety, integrity and loyalty.

Defying the Common Order of Physics

“Partnering with Hyper-Citation is like a nonstop rollercoaster ride,” Mr. Tirk declares. “You never know what’s over the next rise until the vomit spews. Okay, I guess I didn’t have to say it like but you know what I’m driving at. I swear, some of the ideas those people come up with are both gut-wrenching and absolute screwball. We talk it over and give them the thumbs-up or thumbs-down. They know how much it hurts us to nix a project, but sometimes we have no choice. Most of the proposals we turn down simply defy the common order of physics.”

“Live-Action Billboards” are here to Stay

Expect to see more and more daring displays on the Interstates and freeways across America. “Live Action Billboards” are here to stay, and Hyper-Citation endeavors to make the discipline bigger and better than ever.

“Our ultimate goal is hundreds if not thousands of these displays from coast-to-coast,” Noreen Crimpanfortis, Vice President of Business Development for Hyper-Citation states.

Of course, let us not forget, the entire purpose of these gargantuan, magnificently orchestrated outdoor displays is attracting international sales. That is the goal with makes paying such a premium for these billboards cost-effective.

So the next time you look up in the sky and see a team of costumed people cavorting about and leaping from a billboard, just remember that you’re witnessing the very best that Hyper-Citation and Hose Powder have to offer.

Time has forgotten the importance that Silt Ridge played in the nation’s rich industrial heritage. As a major coal supplier, the region fueled many a factory and facilitated countless American Dreams. Like other Rust-Belt casualties, the town has fallen on some tough economic times. But don’t tell that to the people: Hadley Codfaldt, for instance, has a radio talk show that reaches roughly half a billion listeners around the world (when, of course, the satellites are working). Then there’s Twilz Glimsby, “Chief Gossip Strategist,” who works the drive-thru at the Coal Miners Burger Bazaar. Will the newest Silt Ridge resident, Morris Crimpanfortis V, fit in with his new surroundings?

Rust Belt Ruckus at the Mineshaft Burger Bazaar

Rust Belt Realities

Greetings from Silt Ridge, Pennsylvania, temporary hideaway for the blowtorched ego of Morris Crimpanfortis V, and the place where the Second Great Sunspot Dilemma was first seen hurtling toward earth. Bruce Shellerdahl’s famous peach pie is being leisurely consumed by twenty or thirty patrons sipping sweet tea and relaxing at tables on the veranda of the Five-Points Highway Diner. Morris “Morey” Crimpanfortis, says to never pass up a piece of Bruce’s succulent peach pie, no matter what.

A Flaming Split-Fingered Fastball from Hell

It was lunchtime at this very location ten years ago when Vick Banzler, one of Silt Ridge’s stalwart city councilpersons, squinted into the parched August sky and witnessed a solar event that could only be described as a “Flaming Split-finger Fastball from Hell.” Bad as it was, it was nothing compared to the First Great Sunspot Dilemma that happened a few decades earlier

Vick, accompanied by one of his omnipresent venomous snakes, bent and swayed in his expensive tailored black suit and cowboy hat, pointing up at the searing, steel-blue vault with the hissing head of the writhing viper, telling the whole world the sky was about to cave in–for the second time in less than a half century!

Fortunately the follow-up installment of the ghastly magnetic storm caused only minimal damage, a relatively “minor inconvenience” compared to the first episode. Though we lost our foothold in artificial intelligence, nanotechnology and hydrogel architecture, was that such a bad thing? In the process, we reprogrammed our color TVs and fax machines to bring them back up to speed–just so we kept our priorities straight.

Meet Me at the Coal Miners Burger Bazaar

You’ll meet a lot more of the locals who make Silt Ridge what it is today: Hadley Codfaldt, a radio talk show host extraordinaire and top social commentator for events that impact the world; then there’s Twilz Glimsby, “Chief Gossip Strategist,” who works the drive-thru at the Coal Miners Burger Bazaar; Dirkie Tirk, a stellar stunt coordinator and prodigious suck-up artist  Of course, the Mayor is always doing stuff on the sly, and  there’s our own “Sustainability Sweetheart,” Verona Kendermants, who makes soaps, candles, deodorants and undergarments out of fruits, vegetables, berries and nuts.

Morris takes his room and board from Francesca LoZelle, the legendary shirt heiress, who owns a mansion in the swank “old-money” part of Silt Ridge. Morris and Francesca spend hours in their matching striped silk pajamas watching public service announcements via satellite television in his garden apartment on the fourth floor of the heiress’ stately stone palace.

Morris sleeps with Francesca’s adorable dog, Buttons. Buttons is a charming mixture of Pekinese and Poodle, a “Peek-a-Pood.” Morris is just glad it isn’t a chimera or robot (AI had not yet bounced back to recapture the domestic pet department). But that was just fine with Morris, who always figured that there’s something refreshing about a real-life, honest-to-goodness pet dog that actually breathes, slobbers and pants–that doesn’t need batteries and won’t start barking in French.

Hold the Manicure!

Of course, Silt Ridge is only half the story. Maybe it’s only a fraction of the story. Back in the Chicago Loop a thousand miles away, you have some real grinding going on–some real gun-slinging, some real horse-trading. That’s where Morris’ sister Noreen runs Daddy’s multimedia empire. Noreen is the gatekeeper, the one Morris must go through to get his programing proposals approved. Queen Noreen, the “Pampered One,” has her manicured fingers on the pulse of a whole slew of media ventures, like exotic outdoor advertising displays coast-to-coast and a burgeoning network of TV stations. But don’t get the notion that Noreen is in any way competent. Just because you’re manicured doesn’t mean you’re competent.

And don’t forget about Morris’ altimeter. That plays a major part in some of the dramatic billboard displays that his sister always threatens to banish him to if one of his TV show proposals doesn’t resonate with her–or if she pretends not to like it and then tries to steal it. Like Morris always says, if the outdoor doesn’t get him, the upfronts will, where he engages in harrowing baseball games in order to determine ad rates for the upcoming TV season.

All Kinds of Nasty Going On

If Morris doesn’t have his hands full with death-defying billboard stunts and dangerous sporting events, there’s always Paymor Kalabrashion. The Kalabrashion family has been the nemesis of the Crimpanfortis Empire for over a century. The Kalabrashions have always been a detriment to the purity and wholesomeness of the Hyper-Citation brand. Not everyone is able to pull off the successful scope of advertising that the esteemed Crimpanfortis family has provided generation after generation. It’s what we have come to revere as the “Crimpanfortis Touch.” Surely, the Kalabrashion crowd is oozing jealousy, vowing to stop at nothing to impose their seamy will on the unsuspecting public.

In addition to the imminent threat posed by the Kalabrashions, there’s enough hostility from other dimensions embedded in the galaxies to provide a spaceship full of fears and trepidation (we’re talking UFOs, if you haven’t made the connection yet).

Is that a Wrap?

Yes, that should just about do it–for the time being, anyway. So sit back or lean forward–whatever suits your fancy–and stay tuned for all the off-net hijinks, as a ramshackle coal mining town is transformed right before your eyes into a spectacular collection of world-class spas regarded as the number-one global destination for explosive herbal cleanses.