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.