No, YOU’RE Fucked Up!

“Liquor for Dummies: A Guide for the Bootlegger on a Budget”

by Blaine Ely

It just made sense. My cousin, Jerry, was two semesters away from a degree in engineering and I, at 19 years old, was willing to take part in anything. I don’t exactly recall how the notion came about but to wager a guess for the sake of guessing, I’d say there was a fair amount of drinking involved. Whatever the cause, the wheels began turning that fall in Oklahoma and I officially began my chemistry career.

Distilling good, old-fashioned liquor is much harder than it sounds. The bootlegging connoisseur must possess a certain prowess—an inherent ability to avoid the rational. The blue-collar chemist must be savvy, working through problems with an expert approach and minimal resources, knowing these felonious actions may put him in harm’s way, and remembering his hard work isn’t done in vain, but instead, for the sake of science. Once a potential candidate understands the risk, he must understand the dedication. Remember, a nice, throat-burning recipe takes weeks of homework, days of planning, hours of head-banging mathematical calculations and of course, a relative who lives on a farm ten miles from campus.

Jerry’s house was perfect. His conveniently located barn created an optimum location for a still–far enough from the road and other houses so no one would complain about the smell and far enough from his house so his permanent quarters might not burn to the ground in the likely case of a minor scientific error. The barn luxuriously sported a concrete floor and came complete with random sets of furniture. This, of course, reminded us that we were perhaps a fancier breed of moonshiners, pampered with exquisite taste in barn décor. The notion was motivating and we worked tirelessly to clean the back of the barn to make room for a Grade-A operation. Once our homework had been done and the plans were in place, we were ready to head into town for supplies.

We were extremely careful about our purchases and made sure to operate while still blending in. Our first Tractor Supply trip was a complete success. The copper line, JB Weld, mason jars and corn meal looked completely innocent when combined with dog food and we were fairly certain that despite the odd look given to us by the cashier, no one suspected a thing.

We then began construction on our still. At this point, a vast amount of internet research and talking with a few less-than-reputable relatives had been done, giving us a certain sense of entitlement. Due to our vast amount of research and assumed experience, which shouldn’t be expected of the layman, we were able to go about the procedure in a quick and efficient manner, cutting corners when needed.

Bending the copper line, which is designed to carry the vapor into ice-water, condensing the gas into a liquid, was decided on as our first task. Although bending mere copper line may sound like a minor task, don’t be fooled. The thin, bronze-colored pipe bears characteristics similar to that of the devil. After a few well-thought-out methods of bending the pipe, involving fence posts, sand, pipe wrenches, hammers, chains, winches, trucks, and fire, the molding was completed. The goal was a uniform coil, approximately two feet around and three high, but we made do with what resembled an undergrad avant-garde piece that had been dragged down the interstate a few hundred miles or so. Popcorn Sutton would have been proud.

Once the line was complete, we opened our industrial, half-priced, Wal-Mart pressure cooker from the box and articulately destroyed the top, trying to attach our line. The glass top made for an interesting venture, but after a few packs of JB Weld and some Gorilla Glue, our line was secured without even the slightest evidence that the top was shattered in the first place. The connection was as solid as our hands were stuck together.

We were immensely proud of our stove (the backbone of our still), which was just shy of a museum-worthy antique. A fire hazard? Maybe. But classy and operational nonetheless. Once the battle ended with the wasps and the possibly-rabid raccoon, which had apparently made its home in the oven, we were in business. Our next issue was a power source.

Now, just to be clear, this wasn’t some backwoods-shanty-radiator still that you may find owned by a pair of inexperienced hicks. No, sir. We were building an advanced operation, one that would utilize a certain amount of progressive technology, also known as electricity. I normally wouldn’t brag about the array of talents and skills I may or may not possess, but to say I wasn’t experienced in the art of electrical engineering, especially after that day, would be a lie. We gathered every extension cord we could find. Black, orange, yellow, broken, mangled, it didn’t matter. We may have even cut a few from vacuums and toasters—I don’t quite remember. It didn’t take much more than a few dozen rolls of electrical tape and some determination to successfully connect 600 foot worth to the still.

Meanwhile, in Jerry’s living room, was approximately 50 gallons of sour mash fermenting in a large container. This, quite possibly, was one of the more noticeable mistakes we made. The sugared cornmeal concoction, with a smell that could singe your nose-hairs, needed to ferment for a week or so, and what better place than the living room? (Remember the previous reference to dedication.)

Once the mash reached a potency that prompted an immediately evacuation of the living room, it was ready to be cooked. We loaded up the trusty pressure cooker, which had recently been equipped with a thermometer, thanks to more JB Weld, and began heating to the magic 173.1 degrees (the boiling point of ethanol). After a few hours of banging pipes and kicking our machine in disgust, we heard the first drip into the jar. The alcohol, which traveled as a gas through the copper line, sloped beautifully into our hard-earned spiral which was submerged in ice water, turning the gas into a liquid, and exited at the spout. The dripping’s melodic sound confirmed our success and we immediately commenced to hugging as we fought back the tears.

Our venture had been one of immense success and would lead to long nights of drinking the most God-awful, liver-destroying gasoline known to man. It would also lead to my official retirement in the bootlegging business (which was due to my courteous decision to not corner the market and keep the delicious recipe in the family for future generations). And to all the future bootleggers who made it through this highly informative and effectively written guide, there’s no need to thank me. Knowing I’ve so largely impacted the future of the illegal distillation industry is more than enough for this humble writer. I would love to bless your futures in the industry but unfortunately must urge you (as instructed by the appropriate officials) to not try this at home. Keep in mind, we were professionals.

“Where Monsters Go”

By Alexander James Watt

The street shook violently.  The bustling pedestrians fell to the ground.  Frightened murmurs spread quickly.  A second, larger quake brought the bumper to bumper city traffic to a halt as drivers hastily exited their cars to flee.  Screams echoed off the towering skyscrapers.  Concrete and steel rained down on the panicked crowd but they continued to look up in horror, eyes wide with disbelief.  The giant green lizard emerged from behind the demolished building and let out a high-pitched screech.

More cries of agony and terror emanated from the mass of people, trampling one another in a desperate attempt to put as much distance between themselves and the beast.  Godzilla whipped his tail, sending the top of another building crashing to the crowded street below.

A camera attached to a crane zoomed quickly toward the street while the monster’s screech blended into the scream of Marlon Wayans.  The camera struck Marlon in the face and knocking him off his feet.  He quickly hopped back up and shook himself off.  Looking directly into the camera he screamed, “Oh my God! It’s Godzilla!”  His mouth continued to move in an absurd imitation of the terrible dubbing of the old Japanese monster movies.

“CUT!” the director shouted.  “That was great everyone, that’s a wrap.”

Marlon walked from the green screen over to the adjacent shoulder height replica city where the crew was sweeping up the mess from the shoot.  “Uh, Mr. Godzilla?”

The seven foot tall lizard turned to face him, “Yes, Marlon?” he said in his deep raspy voice.

“I just have to tell you how much of an honor it has been to work with you and how happy I am that you agreed to be in the new Scary Movie.  I’ve been a huge fan of yours ever since I was a little kid.”

“Thank you and, hey, the pleasure is all mine,” Godzilla smiled.

The site of the monster’s dagger like teeth caused Marlon to flinch.  Godzilla rolled his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Marlon apologized.  “It’s just you can look so terrifying sometimes.”

“It’s alright, I get that a lot,” the lizard sighed. “Now if you excuse me I have to ask the director a quick question.  I’ll see you at the premier, Marlon.”

Godzilla made his way through the crowd of extras as they gawked at him and congratulated him on the great scene.  The director looked over the script with one of his assistants for the next day of filming.  As Godzilla’s looming shadow cast over him, the director looked up with a gasp, “Oh hi, Godzilla.  Great work today, thanks again for doing the guest spot.  This scene is really going to make Scary Movie 22 the funniest of the series yet.  Yep, that one’s probably going into the trailer.”

Godzilla laughed and waved a dismissive hand, “It wasn’t a problem.  I had the opening, so I figured I’d take the gig.”

“Well, is there anything you need?”

“No, not really… it’s just, I was wondering when I’m getting paid,” Godzilla asked shyly.

The director looked at his assistant, “When does payroll go out?”

The assistant checked her clipboard, flipping through a couple of pages, “Um, at the end of the month.”

“There you go, the end of the month,” the director said smiling.  “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, that’s it,” Godzilla said with a sigh and halfhearted smile.

“Okay, see you at the premier.”  The director and his assistant went back to reviewing the script.

Godzilla returned to his dressing room and changed into his pleated khakis and blue sweater-vest.  Out in the parking lot he struggled to fit his tail into the passenger seat of his blue- grey Prius and ducked in his head.  He awkwardly pushed his elbow between the seats to shift the car into reverse.  A light rain speckled the windshield as he drove home.

He pulled into the driveway of his midsized suburban home and struggled again to get out of the car.  After opening an umbrella, he quickly realized didn’t quite cover the full width of his shoulders to protect him from the drizzle as his the raindrops dripped onto his green, scaly arms.

Godzilla walked into his kitchen with its beige cabinets, beige counter tops, table with beige tablecloth and beige refrigerator.  At the far end of the table, Godzilla’s wife Katrina shakily attempted to pour herself another glass of wine.  Her jet black hair was dry and damaged; one of the straps from her red evening dress had slumped down her pale shoulder.  Godzilla reflected on how much his wife’s looks had faded from her days as an international supermodel.  Some of the dark red wine spilled onto the beige tablecloth.

“I see you’ve been hard at work on that bottle today, Katrina,” Godzilla stabbed at his wife.

“I see you’ve been haaardly working lately, Zil-laaa,” she slurred back at him.

Godzilla pursed his scaly lips, “Seriously, how many bottles does that make today?”

“Including this one?” she asked.  There was a long pause while Godzilla waited for her to add up the amount of alcohol she had consumed so far that day.

“You can’t even remember can you?”

“Well if you’re so interested why don’t you just go check the recycling bin?  Oh and how was your day making, what was it… stupid movie fifty million or something?”

“It was Scary Movie 22,” Godzilla responded with a sigh “and it went very well.”

“Like it matters, it’s probably going straight to DVD anyway. When are you going to get a REAL part instead of some stupid cameo in a crappy comedy? It’s because nobody wants to see your bad acting anymore.”

“You know what my agent, Glen said, ‘Nobody wants to go see giant monster movies anymore.’”

“Well it’s probably because I could play those parts,” Katrina mocked.  “I mean seriously. ‘Rawr, rawr! I’m a giant lizard. I’m scaary.’”

Godzilla crossed the room and reached into a cabinet to grab a glass.  Without turning her head to look at him Katrina said “Use the plastic.  I’m tired of you breaking the crystal.”

Godzilla sighed and removed one of the plastic children’s cups.  He poured himself a glass of wine as well.

“Did you at least get paid?” she inquired.

Godzilla took a long sip before responding, “They said I’ll be getting my check at the end of the month.”

“Well it better come soon! And you better get some good paying jobs soon too. We might not be able to make our mortgage payment on time, and you know we missed our last two and we were late on the three before that. The bank won’t be forgiving forever.” Katrina rose to her feet and poked a forceful finger into Godzilla’s massive chest, “And I settled for moving out of the Hills but if you think I’m going to move to the Valley, I might just have half a mind to take Brianna, leave you, and take you for all you’re worth…  Not that it’s that much anyway.”

“I don’t see you trying to get any work.” Godzilla turned and began walking out of the kitchen and over his shoulder said, “But that’s probably because there aren’t any modeling jobs for a shriveled up old hag.”

Katrina’s wine glass shattered against the top of the doorway narrowly missing Godzilla’s head.  Godzilla didn’t look back and made his way for his den.

Godzilla entered the small room and sank into his favorite pea green recliner which matched the rug.  The walls were covered in his old movie posters and pictures of him with other celebrities.  He turned on the small T.V. in the corner of the room and continued to sip his wine from the plastic cup.

“Hey Daddy?” Godzilla’s daughter Brianna had stepped into the doorway of the den, her eyes fixated on the cellphone clutched in her claws.  Brianna, like her father, was a giant lizard, but with her mother’s jet black hair which she kept in pigtails.  Her pink Hollister hoodie, ripped jeans, and giant Ugg boots were all custom-made to fit over her large reptilian frame.

“Yes Brianna?”

“Can you drive me to school tomorrow?”

“No.”

Brianna finally looked up from her phone and whined, “But why Daddy?”

“Because there is a perfectly good bus that will take you there, which your mother and I pay for.”

“But only the losers take the bus to school!”

“Well if the ‘cool kids’ are so concerned with modes of transportation, I’m not so sure how cool I would consider them.”

Brianna stomped her massive foot, which shook the pictures on the wall. “Ugh! Shut up, you’re not funny!”

“And besides if they don’t like you because of something like that then you really shouldn’t be hanging out with them anyway.  They should like you for who you are.”

“Yeah, a giant, ugly lizard-girl!”  Brianna’s voice began to get higher in pitch.

“No sweet heart, a very beautiful lizard-girl,” Godzilla said with a chuckle.

“It’s hard enough for me to fit in at school as it is, Daddy.  I just want to get them to like me so that I can feel at least a little bit normal!”

Godzilla crossed his arms and looked into his daughter’s pleading blue eyes and smiled, “Okay, fine.  If it means that much to you, then I will drive you to school tomorrow morning. But you’ll probably have to take the bus home because I’ll be busy and your mother… probably won’t be able to pick you up either.”

“Fine. Thank you,” she said, calming herself down.  She returned to texting, the phone completely enveloped in her scaly hands, and walked away.

The next morning Godzilla entered the kitchen wearing another pair of khakis and a purple sweater vest.  Katrina sat in the same chair she was in the previous evening, now in a light purple bathrobe.  She held her head in one hand with her elbow resting on the table and a coffee mug in the other.

“Good morning,” Godzilla said, but Katrina did not acknowledge her husband.  He began preparing himself a bowl of cereal, “I’m going to meet with Glen this afternoon.  He’ll probably have a new job for me.”  Katrina took a sip of her coffee.  “I’m sorry about what I said last night.  If you’d like, maybe we can meet for dinner tonight-”

“Angelini Osteria. Eight o’clock,” Katrina finally responded without looking at him.

“Okay,” Godzilla said and took his bowl and left the room.

#

Godzilla sat at a table outside a coffee shop in downtown Los Angeles, sipping slowly at a latte while he waited for his agent, Glen, who was late again.  At the tables surrounding him sat a dozen aspiring screenwriters, all feverishly typing away on their laptops, trying to write the next big blockbuster.  The side walk bustled with people, which Godzilla thought looked so much like the crowd of extras from yesterday.  Then from the crowd emerged a short, fat man in a small brown suit.  A thick layer of stubble covered his jawline.

“Zillaaaa. Baby!  How ya doing?  How was the filming yesterday?” Glen said, grabbing Godzilla’s free hand and giving it a good shake.

Godzilla looked at his drink and said, “Well…”

Glen sat down quickly in the chair next to Godzilla with a serious face, “What was wrong? Did they not give you everything we asked for in your dressing room? Couldn’t get along with the other actors?”

“No, it’s not that.  I guess it went as well as I could have hoped.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Godzilla looked up at Glen, “It’s… it’s just that, it’s another stupid cameo in another crappy parody movie.  I need some bigger roles. Something that pays more. Katrina says if I don’t then we won’t be able to make our next mortgage payment and we can lose the house. And if that happens she’s going to leave me and take Brianna.”

“I’d love to get you a bigger part, buddy, but the thing is that there ain’t much work for an actor like you out there. Nobody wants to go see giant monster movies anymore.”

“I know, I know, you’ve told me that before.  But is there anything else I can do? Television, plays, commercials?  At this point I’m willing to try just about anything.”

“Well, there is one gig that I did find. It’s a steady spot for you as a spokesperson for a new ad campaign on T.V. that you’d be perfect for. One second-” Glen took out his wallet and searched through the mass of old receipts and scrap paper. He took a closer look at a couple of them before tossing them over his shoulder. He finally found the one he was searching for and handed Godzilla a crumpled piece of paper.  “Here you go.  That’s the address of the studio they’re gonna be filming at.  They want to get this started as soon as possible too, so I’ll let them know you’ll be there tomorrow morning at nine.  That okay?”

“That’s perfect, Glen.  Ah, thank you so much.”

“Hey, don’t mention it buddy,” Glen said standing up.  “But, I’m sorry; I gotta go meet another client right now.  I’ll call you tomorrow night to see how it went. See ya big guy.”  And the stout little man left just as quickly as he had arrived.

#

Later that night, Godzilla parked his car down the street from the renowned Italian restaurant where he was about to meet his wife.  Car headlights flashed across him as they rolled past; a couple laughed nearby as they strolled down the sidewalk, enjoying the warm summer night.  At the corner, a group of homeless men had gathered underneath a streetlight. Godzilla cursed as he bumped his head exiting the compact car.  He fumbled with several small coins in his large fingers as he attempted to stick them in the parking meter.  He looked down the street and grimaced, noticing that one of the homeless men gathered under the streetlight was a six foot, red, pterodactyl-like creature.  As Godzilla walked past the group of men, he covered his face by scratching at it and attempted to hide behind the couple who were walking in front of him.

“Godzilla? That is you, you dirty lizard!” the pterodactyl yelled.  He stepped through the group and walked next to Godzilla, who quickened his pace.

Godzilla pretended to have just noticed him, “Oh, um, hi Rodan.”

“How are you doing? I haven’t seen you since, since-”

“Since the 2000 Oscars’,” Godzilla responded through gritted teeth that he disguised as a smile.   Godzilla had intentionally lost touch with his old co-star, after Rodan’s drug problems had prevented them from finishing the new Godzilla movie series after the first one.

“Yeah! Yeah! Oh man, that was a fun night.  So are you still acting?”

“Uh, yeah I am.”

“Oh cool, yeah I’ve been trying to too, but it’s really hard for people like us to get work, you know?  Well, I’m sure you don’t.  I mean you are like, THE Godzilla.”

Godzilla gave another awkward smile and stopped walking, “I’m sorry I can’t really talk right now, Rodan.  I’m in a hurry to get to an important meeting with this producer I’m working with.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry. I understand,” Rodan said with a laugh.

Godzilla then abruptly continued to walk towards the restaurant.

“I’ll give you a call sometime so that we can catch up,” Rodan called after him. “Okay?”  Rodan frowned and hung his head as he turned to rejoin the group under the streetlight when Godzilla had not responded.

Inside, a waiter showed Godzilla to the table where Katrina sat, waiting twirling an empty martini glass in her hand.  “Here you are Mr. Mechagodzilla.”

With a cringe Godzilla said, “It’s just Godzilla.  Mechagodzilla is another actor.”

“Oh no! My apologies sir, I’m so embarrassed,” the waiter blushed.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.  It happens more often than you would think,” Godzilla thanked the waiter, who apologized again and had to step over Godzilla’s tail to get around him. Godzilla sat in the seat opposite Katrina. She scowled at her glass, not yet acknowledging him.

“Sorry I’m late. Some bum wouldn’t leave me alone until I gave him money as I was walking here.”  He paused, “Listen, I’m sorry about what I said last night. It was completely out of line.”  She still didn’t look at him.  “I have good news…”  Katrina finally met his gaze.  “Glen found me a job.”

“What is it?” she asked, holding back a smile.

“He said that I’m going to finally be getting some steady work on T.V.”

“Oh…in what?”

“It’s a new ad campaign.”

The smile disappeared from her face and her tone turned stern, “For what.”

“Well, he didn’t exactly say-”

“Oh, great! You didn’t even ask! You are such an idiot, do you know that? How can you be so stupid that you accept a job and not even ask any of the details? What if it’s for some used car dealership or a medication for erectile dysfunction or something! Or worse, for one of those ‘Get your money now’ ads! I don’t want our friends thinking that we’re headed for the poor house!”

“Honey-” Godzilla pleaded.

“No, I’m not done yet.  I mean, I know there isn’t that much work out there, but do you really have to act that desperate?” She suddenly lowered her voice and leaned forward, “I mean don’t get me wrong, I’m really happy that you were able to get this job, but honestly what do you think all the other casting directors are going to think now?  That Godzilla is some washed up actor, who’ll demean himself in any way they can think of, for a buck?”  She sat back upright and straightened the skirt of her dress underneath the table.  “Come on Godzilla. Have a little self-respect.”  She looked around. “Where’s that waiter? I need another drink.”

Godzilla shook his head at her while she attempted to flag down the waiter with her napkin, “So did Brianna make it home okay on the bus after school?”

“I don’t know, I guess. Why?” Katrina shrugged.

“Well, did you see her get home or not?”

“No, I was at the spa.”

“The spa!” Godzilla’s eyes widened.  “We can barely afford to keep our house and you’re going to the spa! What are you thinking?”

“Zilla, honey,” Katrina laughed awkwardly as she put on a smile for the audience she perceived the restaurant was giving them. “Let’s keep our voices down. Someone we know might be here.”

“I need a drink,” Godzilla said with a sneer and turned his head around to look for the waiter.  He took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down and got to his feet. “If you care to know how your daughter is, I’m going to go outside and call her to see if she got home okay.”

As he turned to exit, his tail knocked over a chair at the next table.  Godzilla apologized to the diners and looked back to see Katrina covering her face, ashamed.  After all these years we’ve been together, he thought, and she still thinks I did that on purpose.

#

The next morning, Godzilla arrived at the television studio wearing his yellow sweater vest and another pair of khakis. The set was frantic as the crew bustled to and fro in preparation for the day’s shoot.

A very thin assistant in a pink button down shirt approached Godzilla, “Hello, Mr. Godzilla?”

“Yes, Hi.”

“Here, I’ll show you to wardrobe and make-up. We have to hurry, the director wants to be in and out of here quickly today,” the man said and immediately headed for the dressing rooms.

“Not a problem,” Godzilla said as he ran to follow after him.  “So, what exactly am I doing?”

“You are going to be the spokesperson for a new ad campaign.”

“For what?”

The assistant sighed and said, “I don’t know, I’m just here to show you around and get coffee and crap.”

Once in the dressing room the assistant hurried off to attend to another item on his long list of tasks for the morning.  Godzilla stood next to the clothing rack and watched on as a young wardrobe director flipped through the hangers trying to find him the perfect outfit.

“No,” she said tossing a shirt on the floor. “No.  No no no no.  That won’t work. No.

“Can’t I just wear what I have on?” Godzilla asked.  “I mean, sweater vests are basically the only thing that I can fit in to anyway.”

The woman stopped and gave him a disapproving look then rolled her eyes, “Fine whatever.”

The assistant brought Godzilla to his mark in front of a green screen.  Two bright lights shone in his face masking the director and the rest of the film crew in shadow.

“What is this? This is not anything like what I told wardrobe to get,” the director protested.

“Yeah, none of that fit me so…” responded Godzilla.

“Whatever, let’s get this done quick.  Alright, Godzilla just read what is written on the teleprompter and hopefully we can get about four or five of these done before lunch. Okay, quiet on set! Whenever you’re ready…”

Godzilla cleared his throat and stared into the camera, “Hello, I’m movie actor Godzilla and I want to talk to you today about psoriasis… wait-”

“CUT!” the director shouted, “What? What is it Godzilla?”

“I wasn’t told this was for some disease…”

“It’s for a medication.”

“Well, I want to know what this psoriasis thing is.”

“Ugh, does it matter? You’re getting paid good money to do this.”

He snarled for a second and said, “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

“Then let’s do this. Pick up from where you left off and… Action.”

He shook his head as he looked down at the floor, “Fine,” he cleared his throat again, “thousands of Americans suffer with psoriasis every day. Their scaly skin… wait…WHAT!”

“What is it now?”

“Scaly skin? No, this is crossing the line! This is beyond insulting!  I might be a lizard but I do not have a disease.  God! I can’t believe Glen would think I was perfect for this job! AH! He’s such an asshole!”

“Really don’t do this,” the director said.  “Don’t be such a drama-queen.”

“No! Screw you! I…I… err-” Godzilla let out one of his signature ear splitting, high pitched roars and charged towards the director.  The seven foot tall lizard picked up the director’s chair and threw it across the room knocking over a pair of lights. “There is no respect for monster actors in the industry anymore.”

Arms crossed, the director stared at Godzilla as he flipped over the snack table.  The cameras following him as Godzilla continued to demolish the set in fit of rage.  Godzilla inhaled deeply, the large, silver spikes along his back glowing a pale blue as he prepared to breathe fire on the green screen.

Smoke billowed from his nostrils and Godzilla doubled over in a coughing fit.  Each cough producing diminishingly smaller puffs of smoke.

Godzilla stomped towards the exit shaking the building with each footfall.  Before leaving he turned and shouted at the crew “Are you all happy now? Godzilla’s going on a rampage! Run for the hills!”

#

Katrina sat at the kitchen table in her purple robe; several empty bottles of wine littered the table in front of her when Godzilla entered.  Brianna stood next to her with her hands on her hips and the snarl she got from her father on her face.

“And what do you have to say for yourself? You good for nothing dinosaur…” Katrina said stumbling to her feet.  “You stupid son of a…”

“What are talking about?”

“I saw your little temper tantrum. And so did the entire freaking world. Do you know why?  Because it was on Access Hollywood, TMZ, and it’s all over the internet.  Everywhere! I told you! I told you, you were stupid for not asking about that job before hand and now look! Now we’re the new social outcasts! This is great! And now we won’t be able to go anywhere without being mobbed by paparazzi. Godzilla what were you thinking! Huh?”

“How could you do this to me, Daddy?” Brianna squealed, “I’m going to be the laughing stock at school now. I’m going to be the girl whose dad went psycho!”

“You are both so shallow, I can hardly believe it.  Did either of you think about how I was feeling when it all happened.”

Suddenly the Blue Oyster Cult song Godzilla began playing and Godzilla reached into his pocket to retrieve his cellphone, it was his agent.  As Godzilla left to answer the call Katrina shouted after him, “Don’t you walk away from me! I swear if you don’t get another job by the end of this week, I’m going to kick you out, change the locks and file for divorce! I mean it!”

“I’m just answering my phone!” Godzilla screamed back from the hallway.  He bared his teeth, “Glen, I do not have the words to describe how angry I am after what you did to me today?

“Thanking you… THANKING YOU?!  What, for ruining my life?

“What, they want to do a reality show?”

Katrina and Brianna came in upon overhearing the last part of the conversation.  Godzilla put the phone on speaker. “Glen, what’s this mean for us?” he asked.

“You guys are going to be big. HUGE!  Godzilla-sized even!  You’ll be reality stars even bigger than the Kardashians.”

Katrina and Brianna looked up at Godzilla excitedly and they all cheered and laughed as they realized they were going to be rich and famous again.

# # #