Daria! (Part 1 of ???)
So one day, there's this open casting call at a talent agency in Hollywood.
It's not going so well-- a bunch of mothers dosed on prozac pushing sexed up toddlers running on pixie stix followed by strung-out, washed up youth who came to Hollywood to make it big after finding middling acclaim on the stages of their middle American high schools now only making it big on street corners and the blossoming world of internet pornography, fat guys spilling out of their stained jeans and so intoxicated on sitcom realities that they think they have the body and magnetism to be the next Brad Pitt because--hey, it worked for Brad Pitt, didn't it?--And that's not even mentioning the professional Stalin impersonator he signed that morning.
Despairing the death of theatre, his hand lingers on the drawer in his desk holding his father's service revolver and with it, six sweet chambers holding the release of death.
He is interrupted by the buzz over the PA system of his secretary. It is a noise as grating these days as her voice which rattles in his emptying head, settling down as nothing but rage.
"Mr. Morris," She drones. "We have one more act to review." How he hates her. "A sweet little family act."
He swallows down the bile that is near choking him, her words like a thick syrup--oversweet and nostalgic. "Send them in Karen."