Part I

Some other fare got to the cab before I could react. Shit. I am going to be late again. Walter is going to have an aneurysm. You know, when you tell people that you're an actor, I'm sure that this isn't what they picture. Cut to me screaming at yuppie ass-tasters who think that they need a cab more than me. I arrive on set at 10:30--thirty minutes late. Walter is nowhere to be found. Finally! Some luck! This will give me time to get into wardrobe and makeup before he can ream me. I make a mad dash toward the trailer, only to find Walter on the other side of the door.

"Where the fuck have you been, Elias? It's fucking 10:30!" Walter screamed from behind his pseudo-trendy-neo-hipster moustache.

"I had trouble catching a cab, sorry Walt." I replied.

"Leave earlier, and for God's sake, don't call me Walt, I'm a grown fucking man!"

"I'm sorry sir, It wont happen again."

Walt interrupted,

"Sally! Get him dressed and ready, pronto!" He slammed the door.

"Yessir...." Sally trailed off.

"Pronto!? Who the fuck says that?" I inquired, truly curious.

Sally rolled out the cart of my outfit(s).

"You make it worse, you know," she said, "You could be here on time if you wanted--and calling him Walt? Blatant disrespect. You're lucky that he needs you, or you'd have been gone after Season Two like Punxsutawney Phil."

Punxsutawney Phil, who was lovingly named so because of his fat face and frumpy body shape that made him look like the annual weather-forecasting rodent. It also didn't hurt that his name was Phil, off and on the set.

Punxsutawney Phil had a problem with the wardrobes from the moment that he started on the show, and made it his life's work to convince Walter to do something about them. This ultimately led to his demise. Season Two, Episode Twelve--aptly titled, "Phil Gets Constricted," it was a joint effort. The writers needed a good cliffhanger for the Season Two finale, Walted needed a way to off Phil, and the good folks at the Everglades National Park in Florida needed to raise awareness about the dangers of the Burmese Python thriving as an invader species in their natural habitat. Since it's introduction to the Everglades, the Burmese Python had found it an ideal habitat and increased exponentially in number spreading throughout all of the park, killing off the park's native wildlife.

Enter, Phil. Upon a visit to the park with his family, Phil disappeared. Where foul play was originally suspected, my character's almost abnormally powerful detection skills found that Phil, had in fact, been constricted and swallowed whole by an eighteen-foot-long Burmese Python along with the outfit that he wore on each and every one of the 25 episodes of SQUEAK.

That's correct, the show is called SQUEAK, in ALL CAPS, which is ironic, considering how it is the stories of a muscularly-challenged detective with a keen sense of smell. I think that they should've gone with 'squeak' written in a child-like lowercase scrawl, like the 'Andy' font on MS Word. But then again, I also think that the characters should have original names, not just the same first-fucking-names as the actors that play them. And also, that we shouldn't have to wear the same goddamn outfits on every episode. Is this a fucking cartoon?! But our infinitely clever writing staff seems to think otherwise, so I deal.

"All done." Sally said, stepping aside so that I could get a look at myself in the mirror. I gave a nod of approval.

"Great work, Sal, you are incredible--how much would it cost me to hire you for my own personal use?" I asked.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Nothing..no, I meant..Just forget it, thanks again, Sal." I said, quickly making my way out of the trailer.

On set, everyone seems to have been waiting for me. We're working on Season Four, Episode Three right now, it's a real stinker. I've found that everything between the premieres and finales is just sub-par community-playhouse grade filler. We get started and it all just sounds like bullshit rehashed from previous seasons. Same structure, same outfits, same people, same outfits, same names, same outfits, it all just blends in my mind. A kaleidoscope image of the plaid from Jamie's shirt and the khaki from Geena's blouse. The colors twist into a vomit colored stain, it pulsates. It turns red and orange, blue and green, then purple, then grey, and then black--that's when I black out.