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AcmeShorts

Will Disney looked at the authors' left hand menu and did a double take at the puny integer next to "pending shorts". After the countless hours he'd spent implementing new features & migrating Acme to the ultra-robust MySql server not one author could be bothered to phone in a 2-line shitter, even? At this rate acme'd never turn into the cash cow he'd dreamt of. All it's turned into so far, reflected Disney bitterly, is a cock cow.

Heartbroken, the one-time Rational Software "whiz kid" sobbed for several minutes. At last, fearful of letting dismay overwhelm him, he sought to ease his mind with positive thoughts. With a heroic effort he summoned up a celestial triptych of cherished memories: eating cucumber and butter sandwiches with his Uncle Shelby; reading "Encyclopedia Brown Saves the Day" for the first time; and exchanging bi-curious confessions with Sterling Beldner, his RA, at Swarthmore College in 1990.

It was no use, though. Unwelcome, pending queue-related apprehensions continued to assail Disney!

Is the short famine simply collective writers' block? (thought Disney)... Or have the abrasive, territorial authors created such a toxic atmosphere with their snobbery, elitism and bad vibes they themselves can't maintain the very standards of excellence they purportedly uphold? He adjusted his neckerchief. Or maybe everyone's just too busy this week...? He stroked his chin implant distractedly. What if it's the voting system? Maybe we need more objective standards so people don't feel ripped off & become discouraged... He ate a bit of cheese. Or are the bitter, misanthropic naysayers--led by Mr. Pony--right about the genre itself being dead? He absently ran his fingers through his ponytail. He didn't dare articulate to himself the most dreadful thought of all, however--that the authors finally were getting wise about pouring so much effort into such an utterly futile and stupid fucking endeavor.

"Hmmm," said Disney, "Mmmmm." He dashed beads of perspiration from his brow and tugged on the groin of his unitard, which was chafing his in-between area. Disney realized he was thirsty and took a mega-gulp from his juice pouch. The fruity elixir shot through the straw and cascaded down his gullet, tickling his pre-cancerous esophageal nodules and filling him with hope. Come to think of it things could be a lot bleaker, he thought--or should I say BLEECKER...seeing's how I used to live in New York!

Disney chuckled aloud at his quip, and a terrifically self-satisfied smirk stole over his features. He felt ready to tackle whatever new challenges fate might unfurl across his path...and his newfound confidence made his enormous chest and quadracep muscles quiver in the soft, supple moonlight.

Date Written: November 29, 2004
Author: Jon Matza
Average Vote: 4.7