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Friday, November 23, 2007

Damn That Stephen King

And so the world could now see that there is a standard somewhere on the outer reaches of human grasp, beyond perfection and even the realm of the gods, where I, the Fisherking, could be counted as the lone denizen. And from this metaphorical mountaintop I would peer down across the vast landscape of the kingdom that I now ruled, and cast my judgement upon my inferior subjects in the form of the artistic renderings that had now attained the highest level of acclaim and critical platitudes that accompanied my entry into Oprah's Book Club. It was party time.

"Ooh, K-Ro," I said, "Call Vince Vaughn and see if he'll come to the party!"

"Vince Vaughn is dead, sir," K-Ro said, "He was killed in the explosion at the Vick mansion."

"What about Jeremy Piven?"


"Jodie Foster?"


"Tobey Maguire?"


"Adrian Grenier?"


"Dammit, K-Ro!" I snapped, "What the hell am I paying you for? Adrian Grenier? You know, the kid from those Mac commercials?"

"Oh right," K-Ro said, "I believe he's going to Stephen King's party." Damn that Stephen King. Furious, I hurled my laptop across the room toward K-Ro, but he, being a former ballet dancer, lithely dodged the impending threat and it shattered against the wall.

"Sir!" K-Ro screamed, "That laptop held all your notes for the Vick story!"

"Damn the Vick story!" I yelled, picking up the broken laptop and flinging it once again at K-Ro only to watch as he pirouetted to safety.

"Damn Stephen King, damn Adrian Grenier, and damn you, K-Ro!" K-Ro held a perfect cinquieme as his face melted in pained sorrow.

"Please don't say that, sir," he pleaded, "Have you forgotten the Vick story? It was to be the greatest story ever written."

"Don't you understand, K-Ro? I've been selected into the Oprah Book Club! Oprah! Apparently, the greatest story ever written has already been written, and I wrote it!"

"Yeah, you or Stephen King," was his tart response.

"Ouch, bro," I said. But the damage was done. In all my life I have never suffered an attack so vicious, and I wasn't about to start. If K-Ro couldn't recognize the importance of such an honor bestowed as inshrinement in the Oprah Winfrey Book Club, then our relationship could carry forth no longer.

"You're fired, my once-faithful friend," I whispered, my back turned to the traitor.

"It's been an honor, sir," K-Ro said before gathering the broken laptop and exiting the room, leaving behind only a trail of tears. I stood for a moment gathering my thoughts, and my attention turned once again to the night's impending celebration.

"Danica!" I yelled. A moment later my driver appeared.

"Yes, sir?"

"Call Ryan Seacrest."

"He's dead."

"Tommy Lee?"



"I think we can get him."

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