Rainwater drips from the bumper of a very rusty ancient pickup truck
with a flat tire. A badly chipped and misshapen axe blade is attached
to a broken handle, protruding from a knotty piece of old growth cedar
next to an empty 12 pack of Schaefer beer cans and a few hand split
shingles. A rat scurries by and hides in the woodpile outside a two
storey wooden shack in a clearing in the woods. The wall is half
shingled. A sodden piece of rain-soaked particle board from the
unprotected portion of the wall peels away and falls with a thud. The
rat emits a startled squeak and leaps through a broken window pane
beyond which movement can be seen.

Through the broken pane voices can be heard. A low light illuminates a
small table with a laptop computer. A man hunches over it. He is bare
to the waist and sweaty, his face hidden in shadow behind twisted
shanks of dark stringy hair. He looks very tired, but not yet utterly
defeated. A tall, well groomed man stands beside him holding a
clipboard. "I've got good news and bad news, chief. Which do you want
first?"

"Give me the bad news."

"Ratings are at an all time low. The board of directors called your
rosy profit projections an insult to their intelligence and is
demanding an immediate new business plan that generates real traffic
and real ratings. I think the Man's exact words were, "You tell that
rodent we want REAL results REAL FAST or his ass is in the STREET!"
Your last check to the power company bounced. The only reason the
lights are still on up here is that I poured some REAL sugar in the
utility guy's truck while he was stopped at the market in town. He was
on his way up here to turn you off. I just saw your girlfriend driving
the other way in a shiny new pickup truck, sitting very close to a
much younger man. You really need a shower and a shave. And your
daughter has become a sponger."

The hairy man looks up from his laptop as the news soaks in. "Man! It
doesn't rain but it pours, eh Sully? OK, what's the good news?"

"The Starbucks beans are still holding out, and likewise your
homegrown sustenance. I degunked your coffee bong with the last of the
Drano and loaded you up a fresh blast. Salud!"

The hairy man takes a long, grateful drink and sets an arcane
contraption of glass tubes and bowls, smoking, on the table. He wipes
his mouth on a greasy rag. "All right, it's time to pull a rabbit out
of the hat and save our bacon. I used to be full of good ideas. What
are our assets?"

The tall man shakes his head sadly. "Well, you have pretty much burned
through all your political capital. All the savvy players have been
burned too many times to step up for you now. Thurston is not due to
pass this way again until next winter. Your various creditors are
about to have your ass hauled into court. You could eat crow and throw
yourself on the mercy of your AS colleagues to..."

"NEVER!!!  What the fugg do you take me for, Sully? Some kind of
sensitive, quiche-eating new age man? I should shoot you where you
stand!"

The tall man finds himself staring down the business end of a tiny 22
caliber handgun. Trembling slightly, he continues. Sweat beads on his
forehead. "Be cool, Lem! Hear me out! You can't keep writing WHO CARES
and ignoring the problems any longer! We've GOT to get some content
flowing on AS or we'll lose everything. A proposal to turn AS into a
website for a new Orange County surf lifestyle marketing firm failed
to pass by ONE VOTE yesterday."

The hairy man's crazy eyes soften behind his shaggy bangs. For a
moment he looks thoughtful. "So it's come to that at last, has it?" he
sighed ruefully, holstering the petite weapon. There is a Hello Kitty
sticker on the handle. "Well, we've still got 36 hours until the end.
Maybe something juicy will just fall from the sky. It was about his
time last year that No9 came out of nowhere with his shot in the dark,
right?"

"We can always hope. But the night is still young, chief. Maybe we can
brainstorm up a winning plot line before morning." The hairy man
stretched and moved to the stove to reload the coffee bong. The tall
man turned to a blank page on his clipboard. Another piece of
composition board peels off the wall and falls outside with a wet
thud. Rain begins to patter on the plywood floor in a far corner of
the room. The rat scurries into a dark corner.

Surfer Bob