Picture by Claude Covo-Farchi
Hi everybody, this is Second Junior Deputy Assistant Walter “Malty” Merrickson from Unforeseen Blog Aftermath Operations at bryanhilson.com. The memo I’ve been authorized to paraphrase states that Bryan was “over-served” recently at his pharmacy and has been quarantined inside a silo to cycle through the remaining side effects, which include lycanthropy and neo-conservatism. As a result, responsibility for this month’s post has “somehow” slipped through the bureaucratic cracks and landed on my desk.
Yeah. “Somehow.”
Really convincing, Foreseen Blog Aftermath Operations, I’m sure this has nothing to do with me winning the How Many Jelly Beans In The Mule contest. Thanks a lot, jerks!
Anyway, since I’m quitting immediately after this and escaping to Bolivia to sell oil fires, I thought why not just expose the inner workings at bryanhilson.com? You want to know, don’t you? How does Bryan, exactly, manage to write 500-800 words a month? Read on to see how the sausage is made.
AN IDEA IS BORN
It all starts with sausage. Ha-ha. No, Bryan is more of a morning ham person. Actually, he’s mostly a morning lamb roasted on a spit person, and sometimes I get to turn it if I’ve done a good job hosing down the intern barn. Anyway, really, it all starts with calisthenics. Performed by random tourists hoodwinked into straining themselves on the back lawn while Bryan bathes in 75-degree fruit punch. Very inspiring!
But, also, sometimes, not so much.
Plan B involves regressing Bryan to five-years-old and then losing him inside the replica shopping mall located in the northwest zone of the estate, where people wear masks with the facial features removed and speak in squealing gibberish. Nothing like reliving his childhood to get those creative juices flowing!
Plan C is a post doesn’t get written and our bubble-wrap privileges are revoked the rest of the month. Nobody likes Plan C.
FROM CONCEPT TO EXECUTION
It’s one thing for an idea to bloom, it’s another to snip off its head and press it into a book for generations to enjoy. But if I had a nickel for every snipped-off head without a home here at blog headquarters, I could afford to remove the Ghoulish Metaphor requirement from my UBAO contract. Yes, that’s right, everyone, the head thing was just a metaphor. :O
Ahem, once the idea’s been finalized it needs to be expanded to proper blog-length, and thank goodness we finally were able to remove the raccoon carcass from the Expanding Machine. Bryan was starting to enjoy putting his ideas on the rack a little too much.
FINAL PHASE
Our penultimate steps include allowing a reanimated team of Gold Rush miners to examine and polish every word, our fugitive android in residence to deal with the formatting, and then finally, after the legality of the post’s photo is ignored and the ransom for our field photographer forgotten, all employees, even those from Cannon Fodder, are invited into the cafeteria to watch the live-stream of Bryan pushing the PUBLISH button.
Of course, this time around it’s good old “Malty” who gets to slice off his fingerprints and wear the company flesh gloves.
Oh, who am I kidding? This post won’t even make it past the receptionist in General Indifference. I’ll be dragged off the plane before it sniffs Bolivia and all my “Oil Fires And Your 401K” brochures will be blown across the tarmac. My god, I’ll be sealed inside my own silo. I’ll never turn another lamb on a spit.
Well, at least somebody else will have to deal with the intern barn. Bunch of savages, you have no idea.
