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Friday September 12, 10:30 p.m.
At the offices of the world’s biggest Hollywood entertainment news show in L.A., the haggard faces around the table said it all. This Hollywood Tonight production meeting had gone on for hours, and no one had had any good ideas. Producer Lou Roth looked like he was about to eat one of his assistants’ livers with a nice Chianti.
“ ... I fuckin’ pay you assholes to come up with some goddamned decent story ideas! I swear I’m gonna fire the whole fucking lot of you if you don’t come up with a story in the next three minutes!”
From the far end of the table came a meek Cindy-Lou Who voice. The newest assistant producer, one of a long and rapidly changing series of employees, was grabbing the bull by the horns. She cleared her throat nervously.
“Excuse me, sir, but my roommate from Canada has been talking non-stop about this mysterious, handsome hero dude from Hamilton, Ontario. They’re saying that he befriended Osama Bin Laden and even stopped a terrorist attack on the Golden Gate Bridge.”
“What the fuck kind of shit is this? Who the hell watches an entertainment show for political shit like that?” Lou Roth’s recently inserted hair plugs were increasingly obvious as his face grew redder with annoyance. “And who the hell cares about any goddam Canadians? Fuckin’ socialists!”
“Also, apparently he rescued Pam Anderson’s dogs from a wildfire,” she added hopefully.
Roth’s bushy eyebrows practically went up onto his big bald head.
“Why the fuck didn’t you say so? Pam Anderson is hot these days. Let’s go with this, people. I want to see the romance angle—Pammy’s mysterious new boyfriend. And, let’s get some photos. But if he’s an ugly bastard, I want Editing to do a major Photoshop on this fucker. And let’s minimize the Canadian thing, right? Let them think he’s American, just fuzz over it.”
There was a gentle sigh of relief from the beleaguered assistants around the table.
Their asses were safe for another day.
