Meanwhile, here is an section I wrote that was inspired by looking at about 2 hours of McDonald's chroma key footage of an international version of Ronald McDonald popping out of a blue screen offering fries to no one.
It was a day just like any other day. Only something was different. Something funny. Funny I thought, but I didn't laugh. The sky was blue. Real blue, if you know what I mean. There was something strange about this blue. Something funny. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. It was there all right. I just had to know where to look. "Look here," I said. To no one in particular. Right about then, some clown walked by making little swooping gestures with his fingers.
I went back to the studio. I had to think. The phone rang. It was the dame downstairs. She was calling to complain about the toilet overflowing. What am I, a plumber? Funny, I thought, sometimes I am. But I didn't want to go there now. Sure enough, water was running all over the floor. I couldn't think in these conditions. I made a half-ass attempt to mop it up. I couldn't get that clown outta my head. I had seen him somewhere before.
I decide to pour myself a drink. I needed a strong cup of joe, hovering around 185 degrees Fahrenheit. Something that would produce 3rd degree burns within two to seven minutes of hitting my skin.
A hit of java was just what the doctor ordered. Not really. Nor did he order all these french fries. But I was onto something now. I was obsessed with finding the perfect fry. According to the rules, all French fries should be perfect. Upright, bright, cheap and free of mold. Yeah, upright and cheap. Fries like that are a dime a dozen.
To be continued...
Of course, it was never continued and it's rife with typos and such, but my hard-boiled dada story made me laugh today.
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