Whatever Happened to the Brick Man Part 5: He lived like a bird and then he died, just like blog entry #100. Wait. That doesn't rhyme.

                                                                                                I.

It all began very simply, as all tragic tales do. It began with a simple act of sabotage that escalated into a larger than life fiasco. But first, the story thus far. Cue "Carry on Wayward Son". Hmmm? That's not our song? Oh, okay.

Brick was never a happy man, a popular man or a successful man. Hell, his name was Brickman (or Brick Mann). Can't get far in life with a name that's thick as...well, a brick.

After a failed attempt to become a musician, Brick settled for becoming a lowly maker of promos for a television station he hadn't heard of before he started working there. There he met a beautiful young producer name Amethyst. Her gorgeous violet eyes, infectious smile and killer figure were just the superficial charms this lady had to offer. She was also highly intelligent, sensual and a very competent producer (regardless of what her employer thought). Brick had obviously become enamored with Amethyst, I mean, you'd have to have a heart of stone not to. Ha. Brick, stone. Ha. Unfortunately, men like Brick don't get the love that they believe that they deserve. But more on that in a moment.

In addition to the amazing Amethyst, there was also the boss man, a philosophical giant who tried to help Brick feel at home. Let's not forget Eugene Pterodactyl, who was voted television's most two-faced and psychopathic host of 2010, 2011 and 2012. He's Amethyst's boss and he once warned Brick not to get too close to Amy, for reasons we shall see soon.

Of course we can't forget to mention the Masters of Ephemera: Señor Tigre, the friendly audio expert who is reminiscent of a bass player we once knew; the enigmatic Jacques Ombre, the group's moral compass that strikes a human facsimile of a long lost drummer; and then there's John D. Slate, the egoistic lead editor who risks comparisons with a certain fallen vocalist. Slate, it turns out, managed to sweep up Amethyst's emotions into an ecstatic climax of satisfaction. He recently humiliated Brick by kissing his beloved producer right in front of him. That callous jerk!

We'd be remiss to forget to mention G Mod, the bane of Brick's existence in whatever reality that Brick happened to inhabit (whether it was the carefree rock star-wannabe era or the depressed promo maker era). And, last, but not least, there was the creepy ex-employee who was the catalyst of Brick's tragedy. It all began very simply, as all tragic tales do.

                                                                                                II.

When Brick left his apartment that August morning, he felt a shudder of dark, cold energy that he had never been burdened by. He could feel his heart beat like a flickering candle, but proceeded towards the office anyway.

At his computer sat that creepy former promo maker who was now working as an assistant to the main IT guy at the company. You know, computers and stuff. (Editor's Note: We apologize for the serious lack of knowledge. Our bad. Who says "our bad anymore?") He was busy installing all manner of updates and other technical stuff. (What? Just keep reading!) 

"What are you doing?" Brick asked, annoyed.

"Hello..." replied the creep. "Just synching all the computers to the stone tower's network."

"How long is it going to take?"

"Oh, 4-5 hours."

"Okay... What?"

"Yup."

"But I have to do that promo for Pterodactyl's anniversary special...otherwise no one will watch."

"Once this process begins, it cannot be stopped.

"That sounds ominous."

"Mmmm-hmmm..."

Brick reluctantly sat down on the nearby seat and stared at the update progress screen until he nodded off into a poorly timed nap.

A nap that would prove to be most costly...

                                                                                                III.

"What the **** are you doing?!"

Brick awoke with a jolt. He had no time to wipe the dried drool from his face because John Slate was upon 

him like the plague.

"Huh?"

"Do you know what you've done?" asked the irate supervisor.

"What?"

"That promo for Pterodactyl's anniversary show was due an hour ago. Do you know what that means?"

"I can kiss my X-Mas bonus goodbye?"

Slate grabbed the confused editor by the collar and smacked his ruddy cheek raw.

"Do you realize that Pterodactyl's anniversary special has the most valued advertising slot available on our network? 95% of our revenue comes from that half-hour of television. Everything else we do is just filler compared to those thirty minutes that come only once a year...."

"That doesn't really sound like a sound business model, Slate..."

"It wasn't my call, you idiot."

Slate threw Brick down into his swivel chair, causing the plastic to creak from the impact. Amethyst held back her man Slate, preventing another soul-shattering smack to the head of our already beleaguered protagonist.

"Brick," she said with despair, "our division has already been under heavy scrutiny by the owner of the station, G Mod."

"G Mod... is the owner?"

"Where have you been, Brick?" Señor Tigre inquired.

"G Mod owns all of our futures," lamented Jacques Ombre, fulfilling his obligation to appear in a blog entry along with Señor Tigre. And with that, the two of them left for their 14th smoke break (that hour).

"We can still make the promo, " Brick insisted, "there's still time!"

"You idiot," Slate growled. "Our audience decides what they want to watch way in advance. They go with whatever promo catches their attention. Usually our promos are the best among our direct competitors. That is, we win when we actually have a promo to compete with theirs. BUT WE DON'T NOW, DO WE?"

"But loyal fans will know to watch..."

"The people are sheep! They're easily confused and led astray."

"That's a serious indictment of the television viewing public."

"The television public is a serious indictment of the television public!"

"How could you do this?" Amethyst asked.

"What, Amy?"

"How could you throw away our futures like this? We were so close from getting out of debt... Brick?"

 "It wasn't my fault. That creepy IT guy was here this morning and he disabled my computer for a few hours... Amy. Amy?"

Amethyst was seized with terror. Standing in the door way to the "Other Side" was Pterodactyl, enraged.

                                                                                                IV.

The enraged, deranged host named after the flying dinosaur swooped in with a frightful speed and threw Brick against the stone wall, causing a bruised rib among other humiliating injuries. There was no compassion or mercy. There was only the brutality of an inevitable retaliation.

"You miserable excuse for a whore's son!" exclaimed Pterodactyl as Brick wiped the blood from his brow.

"Eugene, I didn't...."

"I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT!"

Amethyst, finally able to speak in the face of this red haired menace that TV guide once called the Randall Flagg of talk show hosts, pleaded with her boss for mercy.

"Please, Eugene, it wasn't his fault. He didn't realize..."

"Enough from you!" Pterodactyl screamed, his voice pushing Amethyst to the floor with its sheer power.

Brick managed to stand up but he felt a powerful hand upon his shoulder keeping him back. It was the boss man.

"Things have progressed in an undesirable direction, my young friend."

"It wasn't my... that creep...did an update...the stone tower network... I couldn't get any work done."

Pterodactyl was insatiable. "You ruined my career...YOU MOTHERF***ING INGRATE!"

He struck at Brick with his potato-ey fist, bruising the cheek below Brick's left eye. The boss man twisted Pterodactyl's arm and tossed him aside.

"That's enough of the histrionics, Eugene."

The emasculated host looked at Amethyst with malevolence. "You can forget about me getting your debt cleared. I hope you enjoy the world beyond the protection beneath my wing."

No one laughed at that. That's how grave the mood was.

The crime of not airing a promo during the most crucial timeslot of the air was nigh unforgiveable. Costing a television company precious ad revenue was the equivalent of blasphemy, treason and infidelity wrapped up together in a trifecta of betrayal. And when that television station depended on that precious  timeslot for the majority of their annual budget, that made Brick public enemy numero uno.

                                                                                                V.

The walk to the station owner's office was fraught with tension and indigestion. Adding insult to injury was Brick's upset stomach. It churned and turned with prophetic intensity. All of Brick's negligence had finally come back to haunt him, including his poorly cooked breakfast.

The door opened and Pterodactyl shoved the unfortunate video editor into the room to face the music. ha...sorry. Amethyst and Slate entered just before the door slammed shut behind them.

"Sir," began the perturbed Petrodactyl, "here is the punk responsible for the missing promo."

The swivel chair behind the ultra retro mahogany desk at the other end of the room turned around, and it was G Mod sitting there. He was wearing his trademark golden shirt, beige slacks and his sunglasses du jour. 

Hey, if this is going to be the season/series finale, we might as well bring things full circle.

"Brick, Brick, Brick. How do we keep getting caught up in such schemes?" asked the sleazy man.

"Sir, I take full responsibility for my actions. Even if that creep from the IT department prevented me from completing my task on time, going unconscious was my fault. I admit my mistake."

The owner was impressed. "That's very refreshing, Brick. Taking responsibility for your own failures instead of hiding behind others. It's almost as if you finally became an adult. Oh, what a long road it has been."

The disturbed host named Pterodactyl interjected: "Sir, this exchange of pleasantries is not addressing the issue. My career is ruined. No one is going to watch my anniversary special now. The promo never aired and now the sheep who watch this network have been seduced by other shows on competing stations. I demand vengeance on this simple-minded simpleton."

The ever pleased-with-himself G Mod smirked. "What say you, Brick? Do you deserve the full penalty of our wrath?"

In a surprising act of selflessness, Amethyst pleaded on Brick's behalf.

"G Mod, please. I implore you. Show mercy...."

"Yeah, yeah. To err is human, to forgive divine. I did not expect this from you, Amethyst. Self-centeredness is the number one characteristic listed on your dossier. Now you're begging on Brick's behalf even though your own job is at risk? What do you think about that, Slate?"

The blonde ponytail man responded: "Let the fool burn for what he's done. Amethyst, how could you? Let's go and leave the jerk to his fate."

Slate tugged at her arm, but she refused him.

"No, I can't."

"You are my woman, so you'll do as I say."

Amethyst kicked Slate in the groin.

"No, I am my own person and I will say what I came here to say."

"This is getting exciting," said the amused G Mod. "We never had this much drama when it was just a rock band... since there were never any groupies or girlfriends. Female characters are the tops. We should've had more. So, Amethyst, why would you defend Brick?"

"He is not a bad person."

Pterodactyl boiled from within. "Don't you dare defy me, Amethyst. This won't end well for you!"

"Easy, Eugene," said G Mod before turning to Brick. "Hey, it looks like the last woman who broke your heart ended up being the only one to try to save your neck. That must be worth something, huh?"

Brick remained silent, looking at Amethyst with quiet acquiescence, the love long since dissolved into despair. She could not stand the look in his eyes.

"Please, G Mod. Don't take this out on Brick. He's been through a lot. Especially all of the mind games I've subjected him to. I broke his heart."

"Well, it's nice to see that your self-esteem is through the roof, Amethyst. Dating a hot-headed idiot while rejecting a sensitive, caring soul that would have done anything to make you happy... Yes, the world is a fair and just place."

"I'm not an idiot," mumbled the hunched over Slate. Amethyst kept on ignoring him. 

The Bossman broke his silence. "Brick is a talented young man with a troubled spirit. I was hoping to have the chance to help him turn things around. It seems that I have missed my chance."

G Mod reflected on the words of the wise giant and raised his hand, indicating that no more outbursts would be tolerated.

Slate tried to say something, but G Mod managed to spring from his seat and grabbed hold of the cranky supervising editor's throat.

"You never do learn, do you Slate? No matter how many incarnations I give you, it'll never be good enough, will it?"

He squeezed Slate's throat tighter.

"How much can I give you? Isn't it enough that I gave you Amethyst and she was attracted to you and not to Brick, at the cost of her sanity? Hmmm?"

Slate writhed. "G Mod...."

Slate started flashing in and out, alternating between his douche bag, blonde professional look and the heavily tattooed, spiky haired poseur at his core.

"I'm so tired of putting up with your insubordination. This isn't your story. It's always been mine. I just made you up to hurt myself."

With horror in his eyes, Slate evaporated until all that was left was a glass replica of himself.

"There is no you, there is only me..."

Amethyst didn't shed a tear. In the instant before G Mod descended upon her and the others, with her final breath she uttered, "I love you too, Brick." The final syllable uttered just before her lungs crystallized and her redemptive glance of hope was captured forever in glass. Next went Pterodactyl and finally the noble giant was converted into glass as well.

Only Brick and G Mod remained intact. Outside the window, the stone tower glowed against a desolate dark sky.

                                                                                                VI.

"It didn't have to be this way. This is all your fault. You had one simple task, Brick."

"And what was that?"

"Play. Your. Part."

"What?"

"I made you a guitarist, but you stopped playing music. I made you a video editor, but you refused to make promos. Why do you keep doubting me?"

"I... can't trust you... I remember... the light... it's fading...fast."

G Mod grabbed brick as he was falling. He supported his head and looked into his diminishing eyes.

"What's wrong, Brick?"

"I... can't go on like this. You've ruined my life."

"What are you saying?  I've done everything I could to keep you going. Every time you are about to destroy yourself, I bring you back to life. I try to change your surroundings...but your darkness keeps following you. I can't always keep up with it."

"What are you talking about.... You're evil."

"I'm afraid that, in your paranoia, you've chosen to think of me as your biggest enemy. That couldn't be further from the truth. You don't see things clearly. It's all tainted by your dark thoughts."

"Who the hell are you?"

G Mod removed his sunglasses.

"My name isn't G Mod. That was just a ruse so you wouldn't be suspicious. Little good that did. My name is Mike, and I'm a writer."

"A writer? What the...?"

"You are one of my characters. Everything you see is from my imagination. I've been trying to help you, but my actions have gotten distorted by your faulty perception."

"No, this can' be.... So Amethyst, Slate..."

"All from my imagination."

"So I'm..."

"A part of me. A part of me that's struggling and on the verge of disaster."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"A part of you always knew that there was something wrong with me. You pushed me away, cast me as a villain."

"So if this is all fake, what's that tower?"

"It's reality."

With a quiet look of resignation that had long become his natural countenance, Brick declared, "I quit," before plunging out of the window and began floating towards the tower. He didn't know what lay beyond the tower's mysterious and malevolent glow, but he no longer cared. He was free from the lies that he had been crushed by for too long.  

  

    

Tales of Amethyst Part 3: "Brick, if you need to curse my name, curse me good!"

A lot had happened with everyone's favorite female protagonist on this here blog. Sure, she's the only female protagonist we've had on this here blog...but at least we're trying, right? Ha ha...uh.

In addition to landing several high profile interview subjects for her insatiable boss, the incredibly self-involved Eugene Pterodactyl, one could say that this past summer had been the summer of love for the purple loving producer.  A certain someone had young Amy smitten and craving the end of the work day like a dog craved a steak. Was that an insensitive comparison? Lo siento.

Yes, Amethyst had spent the last few months in a state of tantric ecstasy, pulsing with joy as she floated through her most productive few months at the TV station yet. Lonely shut-ins had gathered 'round the old boobtube in force to watch the non-stop layouts and poorly downloaded second-hand material, which Eugene Pterodactyl's documentary series specialized in, as they never had before.

Amethyst's star had never risen higher. She had even begrudgingly earned the respect of her hard-to-please employer, the aforementioned Pterodactyl. Pterodactyl had a poor reputation when it came to his producers. He went through them like a pack of Kleenex on a sneezy day.

Understandably, in this perpetually orgasmic mood, Amethyst was sitting on top of the world when Brick stumbled into work. In a moment of uncommon charity, Amy actually wished Brick a good morning with a hint of sincerity she hadn't used with him since the beginning of her torrid affair with her as of yet unnamed BF.   

The color had long since drained from Brick's skin. He was like a healthy looking zombie minus the brain diet. The lowly video editor had his hair cut short and his prickly stubble shaved to try to regain some self-respect. No luck.

Brick sat down and stared at the blank timeline on his desktop screen. That's all his life had become. An empty timeline that refused to stop.

John Slate, Brick's immediate supervisor burst into the common office area with a swagger previously unheard of. He marched over to Brick's desk and slammed his fist down.

"Where the hell have you been?" demanded the impatient editor.

"I was..."

"I don't care where you were, you get to work on those goddamn promos right now. The biggest episode of Pterodactyl's show is coming up and if the promos aren't ready, no one will know what to watch."

"Take it easy on him, John," said the surprisingly compassionate Amethyst.

Slate walked up to her, grabbed her by the waist and pressed her up against his body in a passionate kiss right in front of Brick's eyes. Devastation could not begin to describe the suffering Brick's tattered psyche endured in that moment. Amethyst glanced over at him, pity in her eyes. The first domino had fallen. The rest were soon to follow.

  

Mortality and the common Brick or what not to think about on one's birthday... "Someone take these dreams away, That point me to another day, A duel of personalities, That stretch all true realities."

And so on a random summer's day, Brick reported sick from work and stayed home. Home was what he called a claustrophobic crawlspace that is disdainfully referred to as a 'Studio Apartment'. A lonely crimson guitar hung above the broken futon that Brick used to slip into temporary oblivion between dusk and dawn.

He hadn't slept that night. The air was oppressive with its mixture of humidity, heat and haughty disregard for one's ability to breathe. Stripped down to just a sweat-drenched pair of slacks, Brick stared at the bare wall across from his hopeless body. Exposed red bricks stretching from floor to ceiling played tricks on the vulnerable Brick's mind.

Beside him sat the omnipresent specter of G Mod. Brick no longer remembered who he was or what he had done to him in his former life as the troubled leader of the world's worst band, MFUJ. G Mod was just the darkest shade in a room desperate for illumination.

"What is a man?" asked the incorporeal one.

"I don't know anymore," relied the recumbent Brick.

"A man is a vessel for change. He is a sentient being capable of making decisions that affect not only himself but the lives of those around him."

"..."

"What is a brick?"

"Useless..."

"It is a tool used by men to build something. Or it can be a weapon. It all depends on the man's intentions."

"Huh..."

"What is mortality?"

"Mortality?"

"Did I stutter?"

"No..."

"Mortality is the measure of a man's limits. Health, endurance, luck... A man's time comes when he has depleted these three."

On the walls appeared the faint outlines of MFUJ band members Shadow, Tigerman and Slate.

"I know these faces.. from somewhere."

"I'm sure you do. The question I have to ask you, Brick: how long is the life-cycle of a brick under duress?"

"I don't know..."

"Okay, fair enough," declared the ego-stroking G Mod,"What is depression?"

"It is drowning without the water...without the hope of coming back for oxygen. It is the constant feeling that one's life is devoid of purpose or fulfillment. It is cancer of the soul, hell on earth."

"So what's holding you to this world Brick? What is preventing you from finding peace?"

"These dreams filled with the dead souls from my past and present. My spirit swerves out of their way, but  they prove overwhelming. They make me crave my own demise, a demise I will never achieve on my own..."

Whatever Happened to the Brick Man Part 4: A Farewell to Guitars or Dr. Strange Brick or How He Learned to stop worrying and embrace the boring dialogue and depressing ending... Wow. Referencing Hemingway and Kubrick...and Deschanel? I guess someone could have been Brick's girl.

As you remember (or don't, hehe), Brick's recollections of his past dealings with G Mod had been wiped completely clean  somehow. We're not sure exactly how. Some said that Brick finally managed to repress the negative memories from his past (those seem to pile up quickly, don't they?). Others said that the massive soul destroying tower had begun to melt his mind. And still some others claimed that his high dairy intake had finally come back to haunt him. Regardless, we felt that it was time to relate to a lost tale about Brick before he gets dragged down by the storm like an Orwellian dog in a Roger Waters-penned song. We better hurry since no David Gilmour guitar solos could possibly save a charade like Brick, ha ha.

It was back in the summer of '10. Brick was a young guitarist. Not a good guitarist. A guitarist nonetheless. He was down on his luck but the sun still shone in the sky every day. It still did in those days.

One day his friend Tigerman brought him along to help impress a woman he liked. It was at an audition for a play. the building was nothing special. No need for lengthy exposition. We'll let Brick tell the story, starting from the former MFUJSF HQ. How he remembers, we can't tell you (Plot hole!)

"You will help me with the lady, won't you, Brick?"

"All right. Let me clean up first."

"Yes, you should wash away that fake stubble of yours."

"All right!"

I washed my face and combed my hair.

"Ready?"

We left the HQ and headed for the audition. We went to the nearby town and the sun was hanging high and it was nice. The theater house was a villa built before the grunge era. Miss Ruby was in the Garden. Another actress was with her. We saw their tank-tops through the trees and walked towards them. Tigerman saluted them. I just stood there and acted confused.

"Hey there," Miss Ruby said. "You're not an actor, are you?"

 "Oh no. I'm in a band."

Tigerman was flirting with the other actress. She was laughing at him.

"What an odd thing― to be in a band."

"Well, it's not all I do. I wrote a book."

"It's very odd though. Why be in a band? They don't make money at all."

"I don't know," I said. "There isn't an easy answer for everything."

"Oh isn't there? I was always instructed to think that it was 'my way or the highway.'"

"That's disturbing."

"Do we have to go on and talk like this?"

"No," I said.    

"That's a relief, isn't it?"

She was beautiful. Her light-brown hair glistened in the midday sun. Her slender frame felt good pressed next to mine, the softness of her bosom brushed up against my shoulder by a happy accident.

"Miss Ruby..." I began to say as I held her hand in mine.

"Yes, Brick?"

"I love you."

She smiled.

"You're a nice boy, but don't play this awful game with me."

"What game?"

"Don't be lame."

"I'm not, on purpose."

Tigerman was making some weird hand gestures at the other actress. She couldn't understand him.  

Miss Ruby was perfection personified. She sat in my lap, her legs crossed. Her arm was cradling my shoulder.

"I don't know, Brick. I've always been afraid of stone towers."

"Well, I don't see any near here. So I think you'll be fine."

"I guess."

"I love you."

"I wish you didn't have to return to your band."

"My record producer will kill me if I stay out too long."

"I didn't get the part anyway. I want to be with you."

"I'll love you no matter what, Miss Ruby."

"I like it."

"Are you really afraid of stone towers?"

"Not when I'm with you."

"Why are you afraid of them?"

"I don't know."

"Tell me."

"Don't make me."

"Please?"

"Alright. I'm afraid of stone towers because I see you dying because of one."

"Oh."

"But I'm an actress and crazy, so it's all nonsense."

"You're not crazy."

"You're right, I'm not...  I guess that's kind of foreboding."

Tigerman was ultimately rejected by his potential first ex-wife. Miss Ruby kissed me with all the passion and desperation of a star-crossed lover.

I didn't want to leave her but Tigerman reminded me of the wrath that G Mod might inflict if we missed the recording session.

"Oh Brick?" asked Tigerman as we headed back to MFUJSF HQ.

"Yeah, Tigerman?"

"You do know that Miss Ruby has a boyfriend, right?"

Lately, Brick appears missing. It seems like Amethyst has him falling off of cliffs. When reached for comment, all he could mutter was "Shock me awake, tear me apart..." I guess it's only falling in love because he hit the ground.

...And so time passed and minutes begat hours, hours begat days, days begat weeks. Time flowed seamlessly into a crimson spiral emptying down the drain of existence...

...And the award for most unnecessarily morbid opening sentence goes to...

...as Brick's world became more and more sullied by the complexities of the reality collapsing around him. 

To say that his life became complicated by the presence of Amethyst would be an understatement of Gulliverian proportions...

Are you sure you're using that adjective correctly? I thought Gulliver was the guy who smashed watermelons...

That's Gallagher.

The guy who plays Piper Perabo's boss on Covert Affairs?

No, that's Peter Gallagher.

You mean the lead guitarist of Oasis?

Ugh... that's Noel Gallagher.

Oh, the author of London Calling!

No, that's Noël Coward... or the Clash (minus the !)

Huh...

As we were saying, Brick's world was totally thrown out of orbit by the enigmatic Amethyst. Her entrancing glances at him in the hallway were as brief as the flap of a hummingbird's wing but they devastated him like a supernova. It was inexplicable. She was but one of several attractive women working at the office. She was just one woman amidst millions of women that he' see within the city limits. Just one woman amongst 3-4 billion on Earth.

And yet she dominated his limited attention span. There had been others of course. A singer songwriter, an actress and a humanitarian among them. But here was this producer who had flat out ejected him and yet there still seemed to be a bond, as malleable as a cloud, as stable as chaos itself. It was disarming, this influence Amethyst had on our unlucky protagonist. Despite his insistence on renouncing her, Brick was unable to rid her from his mind. I mean, how could you remove a thought once it has taken root in one's mind, huh, Christopher Nolan? hmmm?

There was no resentment for this one sided love affair either. The mere sight of her lifted his spirits into the magenta tinted sky only to drop him to earth like a human meteorite. She was the Louise de La Vallière to his Vicomte de Bragelonne, the key to his destruction disguised in a humbly beautiful vessel.

There was a caveat, an exception, a dread that lurked beneath the surface. Pterodactyl had warned Brick about Amethyst and that warning proved to be coming true. Much like the aforementioned Vallière, Amethyst's attention was dominated by another man's love.

What has become of this once mighty blog? We're talking about love instead of a faux rock band... the horror, the horror.

And it was this cold hard fact that disintegrated Brick's very being, leaving a hollow cavity in Brick's chest.

You mean like that Green Day video?

Except there was no stray heart here. Brick began to fade in and out between the world of Amethyst's misleading charms and a deeper, darker world that was familiar and estranged simultaneously. Although on the outside Brick seemed his usual goofy self, if one were to take a closer look, he appeared missing.

That moment you run into the person responsible for hiring you and you don't recognize them. Them: "The coldest blood runs through my veins... You know my name!"

As Brick raised his drool-covered face from the soft memory foam mouse pad on his work desk, he realized it was morning already. Hours had gone by since his humiliating encounter with Amethyst and his subsequent... oh guitar picks! Brick couldn't seem to remember what happened after that. As a matter of fact, neither can we. Huh?

Seriously though...it feels like a major character, an antagonist that has bothered Brick for years, has suddenly been stripped from our memories. Yes, we are totally freaking out over this total mind****.  Back to the story. Brick, having completely lost 13 hours of his life with no recollection why, did what anyone normal clueless video editor would do... he went to the restroom.

Now as fascinating as a trip to the water closet can be, this little episode is all about what happened after Brick exited the can. Down the hall, around the corner of the block of cubicles occupied by one of the non-video-editing  departments, Brick saw his boss talking to a familiar looking businessman. As he got closer, the sunglass aficionado with the slicked hairdo became clearer. Brick politely greeted his boss, hoping to not attract attention to his wrinkled clothing. The boss man immediately surrendered attention to the mysterious figure who was now approaching our protagonist.

"Remember me?" asked the man with the crooked Cheshire cat grin.

"Um," said Brick, suddenly reduced to the vulnerable state of childhood, "I don't remember your name but your face is very familiar to me.

Brick's boss chuckled as the young video editor made a total fool of himself. The smiling man simply replied:

"My name is G Mod And I'm the one who got you this job in the first place."

"Yes," Brick said, his face mortified beyond believability, "G Mod. That is a very familiar name... I apologize. I'm very grateful for this opportunity..."

"I'm sure you are. Run along now, Brick."

The humiliated former leader of the band MFUJ walked into the next room while the bigwigs talked.

"He seems to not remember you, G Mod," said the giant boss man.

"Hmmm... it seems like everything is as it should be."

Unaware of the sinister conversation going on the other side, Brick returned to his desk to find an irate Eugene Pterodactyl standing there, fuming like a mofo.

"Where have you been?"

"Mr. Pterodactyl? I...uh..."

"Uh is not an answer."

"I was in the restroom."

"I see," said the flaming red haired host who was once voted most despicable host of the year by every 

publication known to man, "So you were in the restroom for the last 72 hours?"

"Well, no, that would be insane."

"Oh, so then you just purposefully didn't make the precious promo for my show?"

"Well, I was working..."

"What the hell do they pay you for, you insignificant insect's dropping?" asked the irate host in a baritone squeal.

"My great taste in music?"

"You ridiculous waste of air. If it weren't for the fact that no one wants to work in the promo department besides you and your loser ilk, I'd smash your skull against the pavement, you stone ugly bastard!"

"Sir, I'm not sure..."

"Yes, exactly. You're not sure of anything. What the hell kind of life are you leading? Are you just drifting by, a barnacle attached to me?"

Brick, already tired of this conversation, mumbles, "I don't know, you tell me."

"Of all the insolent... you maggot!"

Pterodactyl grasped Brick with his meaty hooks and slammed him against the wall.

"Get your act together or you'll be nothing but a stain on my fist."

"Yes, sir."

Pterodactyl, not satisfied, leans in with a snarl, "And stay away from Amethyst, you junkless amateur. She's MINE!"

"Amethyst?" brick asked with naive ignorance.

"Yes, you moron," continued the mad TV personality, "When will you realize how little value you have in this world. Do you think you even matter? Don't confuse my speaking with you right now to my acknowledgement of you meaning anything to me or this station. You are the most useless piece of garbage I've ever laid eyes on. Do you think Amethyst likes you? She's nice to everyone in that coquettish way of hers. You don't know anything about where she comes from or who she really is. She wouldn't care about you even if you paid her a million dollars to. Stop wasting your time thinking about her."

Pterodactyl released Brick and stormed off, as characters tend to do when they're done for the day.

Brick, stunned from the day's events, wondered how he could ever get any work done.

Brick: "If you try the best you can, if you try the best you can...Dinosaurs roaming the Earth." How is that for optimism? Or is that Jurassic Park IV? I'm confused.

"Brick?" Amethyst asked with the faintest tone of concern imaginable.

"Hmm..." mumbled the clearly overwhelmed video editor.

"Are you ok?"

"Uh, sure, everything with me is... normal."

"Normal, huh?" she asked with her lips freshly adorned with light red lipstick, her eyes shadowy with 

mascara. "Added drool to our definition of normal, have we? Nice..."

Brick, to his perpetual humiliation, discovered the dry streak of saliva originating from the side of his chapped lips.

"Huh..." he refocuses his attention on Amethyst who achieved of new attractiveness by adding a little bit of make-up...

Editors Note: We'd like to assure our female readers, if there are any, that you are beautiful just as you are and don't have to purchase expensive and environmentally unfriendly cosmetics to try to attract attention....And there goes our chance of getting a sponsor...

"Where are you going, all gussied up and whatnot."

"To a bar for a little get-together..." she replied, her mind obviously already there.

"Right..." Brick replied, his heart sinking a bit further into the abyss.

Amethyst exited with a standard "Have a good weekend" as Brick tried to piece together how things went so wrong for him.

Outside the tower shined brightly as souls circled around it like hazy fireflies in the summer sky. Brick began feeling blinded from within, a searing, savage pain that pulsed and ended as quickly as it began.

"Mind troubles?" asked the vile G mod as he spun around in a swivel chair across from Brick's desk.

"I don't have time for you..." Brick began saying as he attempted to rise out of his chair, before stumbling back into his chair.

"Awww...what's the matter, Brick? Health got you down? Or is it the latest in your series of women who don't give a damn if you live or die? What happened to not caring? To your Private hell?"  

Gripping his head, "I don't know, G mod. I guess I just care too damn much to let go completely, huh?"

"You're headed for a fall, my friend, " said the devil to the Brick. "Your eyes are distracted by a pretty gem and you don't even see that the floor is falling out from beneath  you."

"You're a....you're a..."

"C'mon, Brick. Use your words. You wrote a whole book, after all. By the way, when are you planning on publishing it? I'm sure the world is dying to read your insights on Vampire Werewolves from Mars."

"Ugh..." Brick exclaimed as he clutched his head for dear life.

"How does it feel to work so hard to achieve so little? Like that song you tried recording recently. Take Me Alive, was it?"

"Provocative title," G Mod continued, "too bad it's a mess. Got anything to say for yourself?"

"If you try the best you can... if you try the best you can.... The best you can is good enough."

"Yeah, and dinosaurs are roaming the Earth."

With that, Brick's head slowly lowered to his desk and he slipped away from consciousness.

"You're never going to get promoted if you sleep on the job. You know the big fish eat the little ones... oh well, I'll go get a burger or something. I'm out of here."

C'mon, baby. Don't Fear the G Mod. All our time is done, here but now it's gone...

It was a late night at the office, which, at the promo department where Brick worked, meant 6:30. Yes, it was one of those all-nighters that we all hear about, but pray that we never have to experience firsthand. The industrial strength fluorescent lights burned brightly above Brick's screen-exhausted eyes. How many times can you render a 45 second promo? If the editing software keeps freezing,  then we'll have to say a bunch.

Now it goes without saying that a long day of editing takes its toll on the mind of a man. When you live 45 seconds at a time, you tend you lose a grasp on the big picture. Especially if you're trapped in a private hell of you own creation like resident complainer, Brick. Last time we saw our disgraced guitarist, he was speaking to G Mod in Alice in Chains lyrics. Now, well, at least he was getting some work done. (Yes, it is exactly this in depth detail that has made this workplace plotline so popular, we think).

"****! I got the wrong text graphic..." Brick slurred after hours perfecting the perfect promo (the holy grail for Masters of Ephemera). "All that work for nothing." In this the distance he heard the faint sound of a hotel bell followed by a sneeze that rumbled like so much uncaged thunder. Although he felt the uncouth stare of the wily G mod upon him, he could tell that he was not to be found.

The emotionally drained promo maestro leaned back in his chair and out of the corner of his eye spotted the lovely jewel of an assistant producer, Amethyst, sitting at an empty cubicle, earbuds in her ears, an expression o her face that came close to the appearance of a woman pleasuring herself to maximum levels of ecstasy. Brick surely thought that he might be hallucinating after ten hours of editing a promo about  the history of intercourse movie that was premiering the following weekend. Why they would broadcast such an unapologetically explicit feature during the Saturday morning cartoon timeslot was a mystery best left unsolved.

Brick removed the ragged foam headphones from his neck and walked up to the clearly satisfied and independent Amethyst. Just as he reached the cubicle where she was sitting, he saw her body spasm slightly before releasing back to her normal state. She opened her eyes with a grin of sly bliss. Her eyes shined brightly before fading to normal.

"You okay, Amy?" Brick asked in a half perturbed monotone.

"Brick, you're still here..." she droned on distractedly, "huh."

"You seem, content."      

 "Yeah..." she said, quietly yearning for the release offered by a timely cigarette. "I just listened to my favorite
song. I must have listened to it two hundred times this week... but it gets me off everytime. is that weird?"

"No..." Brick said as he glanced at Amethyst's mp3 player, only to see it set to infinite repeat on ELO's Mr. Blue Sky, "...or maybe.... Seriously? ELO?"

"It's the bass line... It makes me... shiver."

"Okay..."

"What are you still doing here?" She asked now that she completely un-aroused.

"Editing the sexy promo."

"Ah... the Saturday morning special."

"Yeah... What were they thinking?"

"I think it was a scheduling mishap."

"Well, I sure as hell am not going to re-do the promo now. It'll go on the air, errors and all."

"That's wreckless."

"Don't you mean reckless?"

"Yeah, women love having their spelling corrected by ugly dudes."

"Hmmm..."Brick mumbled, stifling back the self-loathing that swelled inside him.

There was a moment of awkward silence that was interrupted by Amethyst's next train of thought.

"Everyone else left already."

"Yeah. So is there any reason you decided to stay so late, other than listening to ELO?"

"Well, " she started, her brow beginning to wrinkle with worry,"I was worried about running into Eugene."

"The Pterodactyl swooping in for the kill?"

"Sort of. I've never seen him as angry as he has been lately. The completion of that new broadcasting tower has him on edge."

"That big tower of stone reaching high into the sky is a broadcasting tower?"

"That's what I've heard."

"Who builds communications equipment out of stone?"

"I don't know. I heard something abut it coming from an old Mayan or Babylonian design."

"Oh yeah, the masters of modern communications equipment," Brick remarked with painfully obvious.

As is usually the case when two characters are alone in a building afterhours, the lights began to flicker in an unsettling way. Hey, can't mess with a classic. Am I right? M'i'right?

"Aw jeez..." mumbled Brick, "What fresh hell is this?"

"Huh," Amethyst commented. "It reminds me of a rave i went to a few years ago."

"Wow, I really don't know anything about you."

"Nope, you really don't, do ya?" She said as she got up to investigate the cause of the weirdness.

Brick, his interest in Amethyst shaken by his complete ignorance of her back-story. Wait do we even know her full back-story? Aw, never mind. Almost as soon as the flickering began, it had already subsided. Yeah, you know where this is going.

'What's going on?" Brick asked as he approached the door leading to "the other side".

He turned to look, but Amethyst as gone. All that was left was the door with bright light pouring in underneath. Without a moment's hesitating he turned the doorknob and the light consumed him. When his iris' adjusted to the sudden influx of illumination.

The "other side", as it was always referred to, was nothing more than a storage room. Within the large storage containers were pieces from his past his ld bandana, his first guitar, the Tigerman costume, and the camera equipment that filmed the material for the promos he became so adequate at making over the last few months.

As confusion drained his face of that ridiculous pink color, Brick heard a scream. It came from the next room. He dashed round the corner only to find himself surrounded by glass replicas of the entire company.

"What the ****?" he pondered as he examined the lifelike replica of John Slate. The facsimile was so precise, it was hard to tell that it was a fake. "No way..."

The glass Slate's vacant stare turned into a sharp glare as his translucent hand grasped Brick around the throat.

"Traitor!"

"Ugh..." Brick struggled.

"It's all your fault. Everyone is gone...because of you!"

"I... ugh..."

"It was supposed to be ME! I was the favorite! Fortune was supposed to favor me!"

"Slate..is that... you?"

"Hello, brother," said the sculpture, it's glass arms burning with dragon tattoos from the late MFUJ vocalist's memory.

Brick's struggle to get free finally succeeded. he grabbed a nearby wrench and shattered he sentient glass being. All of the other figures shattered from the impact until brick was alone standing over the shattered features.

"How could you do this? "Amethyst murmured as she approached Brick from behind. "We were so close... Brick?"

The walls of reality began to collapse and where once there was the claustrophobic glass fragment event, there was the familiar confines of the cubicle where promos were made daily. Amethyst was standing over Brick with a great deal of concern. Despite the earlier presumption that G Mod had disappeared, Brick felt his icy claws scratch his back.

"I offer you a taste of things to come," whispered the malevolent G Mod, sending a cold numbness down Brick's spine. "Fear me!"

Two years of making this blog? Wow. Let's see if things have picked up for our main protagonist, Brick... What's the song for this entry? Private hell? Oh, well, it sounds like something you can really dance to.

If you've paid attention even remotely to the strange tales contained within the hallowed ephemeral walls of this ol' blog.... Why a blog has walls that defy the laws of the physical universe, we will never know.... then you already know that Brick is not one for the happy emotions. He is what one might call a total buzzkill, a friendless loser stuck in a downward spiral of increasingly mundane things to whine about. Well, If you think this is true, then, well, I can't really argue with you since that's a fair assessment. What can I say, Brick is as thick as a brick.

Nice Jethro Tull allusion.  

We would be remiss if were to tell you that things were going to get better now for the sake of being arbitrary. There are no happy endings here. And there might not be any more Happy Endings on ABC soon either.

Focus.

Haunted by the disillusionment that his friend, frenemy and rival (Tigerman, Shadow and Slate, respectively) were merely extensions of his own mind and not, in fact, the members of his long suffering rock band, Mike's F'd Up Journey. And by long suffering, we are implying that anyone who has listened to their music has suffered terrible side effects for long periods of time afterwards.

At this very moment, Brick was assembling yet another pointless promo while the rest of his department is filling their lungs with mists of carcinogens on the sidewalk below. If loneliness was his modus operandi, self-loathing was his fuel (not sure that makes a lot of sense, bro). No one has gotten as far in life by despising themselves as much since Turk Nobaic, the famous janitor who swept a million floors while shouting how much he hated himself and all that he had failed at.

The Boss was at a weekly meeting for him and all the other people who actually mattered.  Pterodactyl was trolling for wenches or whatever it was that got the jerk off.

Really classy.

And of course Amethyst was out filming a segment for a new show. She was not the first woman brick had cared for and been rejected by. Nor was she he one that he had cared the most for, but the pain was still real. That whiny, self-pitying kind of pain that was both universal and lame.  

His brow was covered in beads of saline weakness, undeserved sweat for the type of task he was accomplishing.

Right beside him, as usual, was the specter of G Mod, the ne time manager of MFUJ, and now Brick's Dostoevskian devil. he was smirking a crimson half-moon.

"All alone again, eh, Brick?"

"Lately I'm beside myself / pretending, unconcerned..."

"Oh, you're no fun. What happened to that gem girl. What's-her-face? Amethyst? And what happened to that other woman you were in love with? The one who made the cold shoulder seem dignified..."

"Give away a love / and then remove another too / painted words adorn the walls / echoing untrue / I feel cold..."

"You feel cold? I feel absolutely bored talking to you when you're like this. What happened to that fiery temper that I liked to crush into a powder? Promise me you'll put up a fight next time."

"Promises abound / You'll rarely find it to begin..."

"Ah, get a hold yourself... It ain't that bad! What am I saying?"

Brick finally stood up and faced G Mod.

"I excuse myself / I'm used to my little cell..."

"No! Don't you dare.."

"I amuse myself in my very own private hell!"

"...dare."

And so the next hour passed in silence, G Mod retreated in defeat. He couldn't fight someone who was already down. he'd have to build him back up first. 

The less we love a woman, the more interested she will be in us. That woman's gonna break your heart.

As part of a cruel contractual obligation, Amethyst, everyone's favorite female producer... hmmm? Why did we point out her gender when we wouldn't have done that when talking about a male producer? Damn being politically correct is hard. Where were we? Oh yeah. Amethyst's contract required her to do ridiculous survey shows once in a while to fill the chasms that tended to form between programs and commercials, the real bread and butter of the network. The following are excerpts from a recent survey of the male employees.

Amethyst: A famous poet said once that the less we love a woman, the more interested she is in us. Is that true?

Jacques Ombre: Yes. Hmmm? You want more? Ok. Yes, it's true. Happy?

Slate: *****es be crazy.

Señor Tigre: I, for one, fall in love very easily, but the ladies, ahhh, they don't love me at all. But I still have the sexiest voice among extended cable voice over actors. So there. Call me?

Boss: The love you take is equal to the love you make.

Eugene Pterodactyl: Love? Who the **** cares about that pansy*** bull****? Where's my coffee, Amethyst?

Company Lawyer: The more you love a woman, the faster she gets a restraining order against you. Or so I've been told.

Company Janitor: Who can resist a man in a one piece jumpsuit? *starts crying* Everyone! I'm soooo alooone!

Random Businessman: Am I on the wrong floor? I came to speak with HR.

Social Media Guru: The more you love a woman , the more she will like your satus updates. That's what mother always said.

Brick: I don't know, Amethyst. That all depends.

Amethyst: On what?

Brick: Do you like me?

Amethyst refused to answer but her cold indifference spoke volumes.

Brick: Well, I guess we can say that the opposite is definitely true. Can I go now?

Amethyst turned off the camera and Brick went back to join his fellow Masters of Ephemera. If there's one thing that is always certain at a television station, it's that there are always more ****ing promos to be made. Everything else, including joy, is nothing more than an obstacle in the way.

The day you get any recognition for a promo well done is the day that never comes. Them's the breaks, kid. Really? We're saying "them's the breaks" now? Why do we even bother anymore?

And so hours were spent crafting the perfect promo. It had everything. Severely outdated graphics, poorly synchronized midi music in the background, nonsensical transitions from one topic to the next...and Gary Busey. He only appeared in individual frames in between clips as some sort of subliminal nightmare of Buddy Holly story past.

Brick finished his final edit (after dozens of critiques by the far less talented but much more opinionated and pony-tailed, John Slate) and exported the media.

The rest of the crew had long gone for their hourly pilgrimage to the sidewalk in front of the building in order to fill their systems full of nicotine. As it was processing, Brick saw Amethyst walk slowly towards his desk, lost in thought.

"Hey..." she said in an unusual monotone, trying to suppress her inner turmoil.

"Yo. I'm pretty much done with the promo... I'll send it to ingest as soon as..."

"Yeah... it's only going to air once, I don't see the point."

"That' what I was saying, but Slate was making a big deal about us grabbing as many viewers as possible, at all times."

"That guy is crazy," Amethyst stated bluntly, leaning against the table, staring at the swirling chaos of the floor tiles beneath her feet.

"I knew it! I thought I was the only one. That ignoramus acts as if he's the second coming of... of... I don't know any famous people who made commercials. I'm sorry, I just don't. That information is not in my repertoire."

Amethyst ignored his stupidity. An email was sent to Brick almost immediately after he delivered the promo via FTP.

"Promo has been received and put on the air? What? I didn't even have a chance to turn the TV on... there goes the last few hours of my life."

'Do you ever feel like this isn't even real?" Amethyst asked, struggling not to relive her earlier ordeal.

Brick, still reeling from his visions of G Mod, who was haunting him like a sunglass adorned devil, concealed his true feelings behind a façade of simpleminded naiveté, "you know, it's hard to say."  

"Thanks for the chat, " Amethyst sneered in disappointment, "no wonder you're called Brick. It's like talking to a wall. you can be so dense..."

"I'm sorry... yeah, sometimes it does feel a bit unreal."

Amethyst looked at him for a moment. Her eyes were dulled and lacked their usual spark of life. She searched his expression for a bit before disappearing into her office again, just as the trio of misfits returned from their umpteenth smoking break. In the moments that followed the stink of tobacco in the room, Brick wondered about Amethyst and about the delicate illusion of reality that kept everything around him from imploding.

 

Tales of Amethyst Part 2: I wait for you here, like a stone. Kind of a dour title, right? It's not even that serous a plotline, it's just a song reference... Or is it? Ugh, let's just go with it.

As the promo department scrambled desperately to make an almost entirely unnecessary promo, Amethyst had just returned from lunch to find her tyrannical boss angrily tapping his finger on her desk. Yes, we throw out the word tyrannical pretty liberally, don't we?

Her boss, the great and powerful Eugene Pterodactyl, was a middle-aged disgraced-actor-turned-talk-show-host. A fiery puff of red hair stood on top of his freckled brow. His frame, which was once athletic, was more couch potato these days, heavy on the potato. Of course, it wouldn't be Eugene Pterodactyl without one of his trademark ascots that were woven from the hair of his fallen enemies. Yes, he took his competitive nature as an actor very seriously back in the day. Hell, even his talk show regularly blew the minds of his rivals on other networks. That might explain there was a quick turnover rate of hosts on other networks while his reign was supreme.

 "Eugene? Hey, I didn't know you were going to be here today."

"Yes, that's why you took a two-hour lunch break at 10 AM."

"I'm sorry, it's just that..."

"You have no discipline," Pterodactyl growled with his signature baritone. "My last second-in-command moved heaven and earth to spare me the trouble of doing the everyday minutiae of a ****ing peasant. It seems you'd have me do everything myself while you fritter away your time...my time, by having lunch with your girlfriends. Instead of making sure that the show was running on schedule, you're out there gossiping over a salad and a latte..."

 "Hey, that's a sexist stereotype. I was eating chow mein..."

The vein in his forehead, that rivaled the Nile in its breadth, throbbed like a flooding river. That's a messy metaphor, isn't it? Oh well, never mind.

"I hired you to be my assistant producer, but all you seem to do is make me do everything myself, you sorry excuse for a human being."

"Hey! I resent that! I'm a person and I deserve respect."

Pterodactyl towered over the petite Amethyst as he continued the humiliation. "Respect is not mandatory. You do your damn job and, maybe, someday, I'll think about it. Until then, just remember what a worthless piece of garbage you were when you begged me for a job. Remember that the next time you decide to leave me waiting for you here, like a stone. Do you understand, you miserable wretch?"

"I, uh..."

"Well?!"

With a disgraced bow, Amethyst replied, "Yes."

"Good! Don't make me have to give this speech again. I don't want sully myself by speaking with underlings."

With that final venomous burst, Eugene left Amethyst's office. Amethyst, crestfallen, melted into her seat and stared blankly at her computer screen, eyes glazed with silent horror.

Brick, completely unaware of what had transpired, entered the office unannounced.

"Hey, Amethyst? We're struggling with that promo. Could you send us a copy of the script?"

"..."

"Amy?"

"Hmmm?" she asked, half-aware of what was going on, her stare still fixed at her depressed reflection in the 

computer.

 "The script? For the promo?"

"Oh. I'm sorry...was I supposed to send it? I forgot... I'm such a mess."

 "What are you talking about?"

"It's nothing," she said, holding back the flood of self-loathing that begged for release.

"Okay, " Brick reluctantly remarked, wanting to know what the hell was going on. He left the office disappointed.

 Amethyst reached into her desk drawer and examined her unbreakable contract, signed in her own blood on the day she started working at the company.

"Someday..." she murmured as saline drops streaked the immutable document that stood in the way of her freedom.

Masters of Ephemera Part 1: It's alright ma, I'm only doing promos.

As we rejoin Brick at his place of work, we find him emotionally and mentally exhausted after being forced to relive the collected works of Fyodor Dostoyevsky. A searing white light flashed between Brick's eyes every time his thoughts drifted to his time before joining the workforce. He slowly but surely clicked and drags the video files onto the timeline and began editing.

The boss man, tall as a sequoia (well, maybe not that tall), marched into the video editors' room with urgency in his booming voice.

"We've got a show going on the air tomorrow and we've got no promos for it! you guys need to make one A.S.A.P. or our ****ing viewers won't know what the hell to glue their eyeballs to for that particular half hour."

"What the ****, boss?" asked the pony tail aficionado, John Slate, the head of the promo department.

"I have no idea, but some heads are going to roll. I give you my word about that."

The boss returned back to his chambers and Slate began his rallying cry.

"Men! We have been given a task of great importance. We have an hour to create something that will air once and probably only once. If we fail, the nation's grandmas won't know what the latest gore-filled videogame or ear-drum crushing metal videos are! Can you live with yourself knowing that?"

"No way!" shouted the editors in unison.

"Then I challenge you to get this promo done on time. Even if only one person sees it, that's one more potential viewer that we need."

"Si, " said Señor Tigre, "Even one viewer is worth putting ourselves through hell to make a promo that will only be shown once. I shall write a magnanimous script and record a stupefying voice over for the promo."

"I'm not sure he's using those words correctly," mumbled Jacques Ombre. "I'll get to work on the graphics and text."

"And Brick shall download the footage and edit the video," declared Slate. "Brick?"

"What?" asked the spiritually drained young man.

"Start getting the footage for the promo."

"Ah, what's the use, Slate? It's too little and too late."

"Now what the **** kind of attitude is that?" asked the self-righteous promo maker named John Slate.

"What's the point of doing something so labor intensive that will only be viewed once. What kind of crap is that?"

Slate got down from his soapbox and stood over Brick, who was still seated and moping because we just don't know what else to do with his character.

"Now listen, and listen well, since I don't reckon I wanna repeat myself..."

Jacques Ombre wept over the abuse being inflicted upon the English language.

"... We are the only thing that separate the masses from their own depressing lives. We make the best damn promos we can so that those lost, lonely souls that watch TV will have something to look forward to. We work so that they'll have something to fill the void that their lost youth and non-existent social lives have created within them. Can you put a price tag on a rainbow? Can you hug a bubble? The world we live in is fleeting. So what if our ads are short-lived and quite possibly made in vain? That is our lot in life."

Brick's attention was not lost on this speech.

Señor Tigre chimed in: "We are the Masters of Ephemera. We are not the immovable mountains but rather the constantly flowing river that empties out into the vast ocean of the collective subconscious. Something may be brief and temporary, but that does not mean it is any less significant or meaningful. We are constantly changing and therefore cannot linger."

Jacques wanted to contribute to the conversation but decided to focus his attention on perfecting the font on the newly designed text graphics for the channel's promos.

"Ok," Brick decided. "I'll get to work now." He dragged the video files onto the timeline but the screen turned white and froze.

"Damn. Premiere froze, yet again. "