ETA: Two New Photos Added

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Dave fiddles with his suit jacket, pacing back and forth, “Please welcome a man with zero books under contract, zero books published and zero best sellers. That’s five times as many from his last visit… Brian_Ohio!”

                 The audience sits in stunned silence as Brian strolls on stage in his jeans and Adam Ant t-shirt. Two folks sitting up front are snoring… one of them is Brian’s mom.

                 “Hi, Dave. Thanks for that optimistic introduction.” Brian goes to shake Dave’s hand and Dave does one of those phantom swipes and Brian’s left holding nothing but air. Brian and Dave sit.

                 “I see your mother is thrilled about your appearance.” Dave taps a pencil on his desk. “Hee!”

                 Brian stares, depressed, at his sleeping mother. “She suffers from narcolepsy… the sleeping disease.”

                 “When did that start?” Dave asks, “Thirty seconds ago? Hee! Hee!” Dave tosses the pencil over his shoulder. Glass shatters.

 Brian already regrets coming back on the show.

“So,” Dave leans way back, “You just attended the Romantic Times Convention. Live Journal’s already over-saturated with posts about it… you sure you want to continue with this fodder?”

“Well… I wouldn’t call it fodder. We were all so excited about it and…”

“You’ve got pictures of your favorite authors signing your books.” Dave delicately sips from a mug that Brian can clearly see is empty. The bastard fakes it.

“Yeah, Dave. I was star-struck. I babbled quite a bit.” Brian wishes his mother would wake up, she’s whistling through her nose now.

“You? Babble?” Dave rolls his eyes. “Let’s have a look at your photos.” Dave grabs some blue index cards and taps them on the desk to even them out, then puts them back down.

Paul Shaffer speaks up, “What about the signatures, Dave?” His bald head shines like a super nova exploding within a black hole.

“Hee, hee,” Dave sips air again, “We have blown up copies of the actual signatures here, Paul.” Dave tilts up a stack of large foam boards on the corner of his desk.

“Great.” Brian falls back in his seat. This is going to blow chunks.

Dave says, “So you met New York Times bestselling author, Jeaniene Frost.”

“Yeah. She was very nice. And I don’t mind bragging, but we share…”

“She nearly called security. Right?” Dave interrupts.

“Well… she didn’t know it was me at first. I hadn’t meant to take that karate stance…”

“Here’s what she wrote.” Dave directs his attention from the audience to the foam boards, “Are we getting a shot of this?”

‘Brian, you make Shrek, let alone ‘Bones’, look like a sculpted Greek Adonis. Jeaniene Frost’

“Hee, hee.”

“I really think she was being sarcastic, Dave.” Brian wonders what would happen if he punched Dave in the face. Just once. Might fix that miserable gap in his teeth.

“You keep tellin’ yourself that.” Dave takes the board and tosses it, Frisbee-like, toward the backdrop behind him. Glass shatters. “Next you met Caitlin Kittredge.”

                “That’s right. I loved her book, Night Life. I’m going to post a review soon.”

“She did call security.”

“Well… in my defense, Dave, I tripped over my daughter’s foot and knocked all of her stuff to the floor. I tried to pick it up, the table tipped, her chair fell back, three people tumbled on top. Yeah… she has a few bruises… but now she resembles her idol. I kinda did her a favor. And honestly, it was an accident.”

“Let’s see how she signed your book.”

‘Brian, Ditto what Jeaniene wrote. Caitlin Kittredge.’

“Hee, hee.” Dave tosses the board with more shattering glass. “Funny how they think alike.”

“Yeah. A laugh riot.” Brian’s legs bebop up and down, “They have this RV-telepathy thing going, I think.”

Paul plays a little tropical music, “It’s a Bermuda Twist, baby!”

Brian furrows his eyebrows at Dave. “What’s he mean?”

Dave ignores Paul and Brian. “Next you met Richelle Mead.”

                “Yep. She was very cool. She signed Frostbite for my daughters.” Brian begins to feel calm again.

“Let’s have a look at her signature.”

‘Girls, your father has been really great…’

“See, Dave. She likes me.” Brian beams.

Dave flips the board over, “There’s more.”

‘… at scaring the Hell out of me. When you’re old enough… run!’

Dave looks at Brian, “More sarcasm?”

Brian shrugs and falls back in his seat. His mother is drooling now. “I suppose.”

“Ah!” Dave says, “Mark Henry. Finally… a male author. I’m sure Mark gave you a book and pen.”

                “Uh… No. He said he didn’t have any.”

“Really? I was told he had boxes underneath his table… he hid them when you came by.”

“Well… at least he signed a napkin for me.” Brian defends himself poorly.

Dave props up the next board featuring Mark’s signature.

‘Help me… I’m drowning in estrogen.’ A spoiled piece of pasta is also adhered to the napkin.

Dave twists his lips about. “At least he didn’t insult you. What are those red stains?”

“Pasta sauce, I think.” Brian gulps and squirms in his chair. “I hope.”

Dave glares at Brian, “Mark’s barking up the wrong tree, though, isn’t he. I hear there’s so much estrogen in your house, Brian, that you’ve acclimated to the environment. Word on the street is the toilet seat always stays down now. Always.”

“What!” Brian lurches forward, “That’s not true!” Brian glances at the audience for someone to back him up. But his words don’t come out with the verve he had intended. Misery fully embraces him.

Dave tosses the board and, yeah, glass shatters. “Last… you met Rachel Vincent.”

                Brian clears his throat and croaks out, “Yeah. But she didn’t sign my book. I swear. She was so busy that…”

“Hee, hee! I believe she did sign it, Brian.” Dave tilts up the last board.

‘Brian… maybe you ought to try a mop on your head… certainly couldn’t hurt, Rachel Vincent.’

Dave slings the board away with a crash. “What’s she mean ‘try a mop on your head’?”

“Beats me,” Brian lies as a vision of the male cover model known as ‘Mop-head’ drizzles behind his eyes. When he glances at his mother, she’s awake, but sobbing pitifully.

Dave sips from his mug. “Well… thanks for stopping by again, Brian_Ohio.”

“Sure, Dave. It’s been a real stinkin’ treat. As always.” Brian slouches in his chair.

“Come back once you’ve published something. If I’m still on TV. Or alive. Hee!”After standing, Dave addresses the audience, “Stay tuned… we’ve got Lyle Lovett coming up next.”

“Ugh!” Brian slips from his chair to the floor. “Not Lyle Lovett again.” Brian begins to weep. He vows to never come back on this show. At least until they ask.

 

 

The above is totally farcical. The signatures I obtained were all very nice. I was merely making light, that’s all. The story is for entertainment purposes only. Any reproduction of this is encouraged… in particular, to editors with Cupid in the Realm of Purpose on their desk.