Hello. Pitka here ("Ninja" to my friends). I'd like to thank you all for inviting me today. You really got a tip-top ship you're running here. Not so much as a crack in the sum o' bitch. Little dead though. Who fucking fired the guy who holds audience cue cards?
LAUGHTER.
Thanks, Frank. Now grab a bagel and mind your own business until Mr. Pitka makes another funny. Shouldn't be long, I've had the pleasure of reading that guy's stories and they're really fucking funny despite the mis-use of commas. Half the time he can't tell a joke from run-on sentence and just keeps on typing words without any cause for stopping or actually listening to the metaphorical or figurative or some other literary device name that's a damn crosswalk light clearing stating STOP along with a giant red hand that puts a kid caught with--you know what-- in the cookie jar to shame but the words just keep appearing and appearing and...
HAHAHAHA
God damn it, Frank. That wasn't a joke.
Sorry.
It's ok. Grab another bagel, will ya?
Sure thing, boss.
[The camera man points.] And we're live!
Please, please. Take a seat. Today we've got something special for you, folks. A one-on-one interview with Mr. Pitka (Please call me Ninja. We're friends, aren't we?). You may know him from one of his storygames. I myself enjoyed reading oh--what's the name--the one with the guy, and the other guy, who rescue the thing...and there's a book I think, romance, intrigue. It's got it all. The whole ten yards, and no need to bring out the chains.
Blackbirds?
Umm...yes! Blackbirds, such a nice little game.
Little is putting it softly. Don't piss in a bottle and call it Gatorade. And I think you're thinking of Devil's Altar.
Old news, old news Mr. ninjapitka. Tell me, where does the inspiration come from? Clearly from the amount of storygames you publish something is wrong with you. Quiet down in the back. Tell me, Dr. Pitka, PhD of Lovemaking, where does the inspiration come from.
IT IS AT THIS MOMENT THAT MR. nINJAPITKA, WHO IS IN FACT NOT A DOCTOR, LIGHTS A CIGARETTE. LET THE RECORD SHOW THAT IT IS A MARLBORO, RED.
You know, I take inspiration from your show.
Really?
No.
AUDIENCE GASP
The stories start out like small seeds, the potential of tremendous growth with enough water and sunlight and healthy dose of shit fertilizer thrown on top. As they grow, the image of the entire bloom takes shape, yet it remains undiscovered without enough nurturing to actually arrive there. Without constant attention, it'll wither and die a title-less attempt at life, just another story thrown in the wastebasket overflowing with unfinished ideas, drafts, and neglected outlines.
So, real talk Mr. Ninja.
Please. Call me Pitka.
Ok. Mr. Pitka. Why you.
Why me what?
Why are you the one publishing so many stories?
Well...
IT IS AT THIS MOMENT MR. nINJAPITKA LIGHTS UP A SECOND MARLBORO.
...because publishing is free and I'm personally a fan of self-abuse. Cutting's for losers, goth-wannabes who listen to MCR and think they're edgy. There's no abuse quite like the blank white screen, a constant blinking of the cursor to rape your mind into inaction, a fight, flight, or flee experience where FREEZE takes over rather than fucking type.
That's a little dark, don't you think?
(Puff.) The world's dark, and we all live in it.
Somewhere in the audience, a teenager girl with heavy black eyeliner and a BLACK VEIL BRIDES t-shirt nods her approval, all memory of the previous dig absent from her adolescent mind.
There you have it, folks! It's been a real pleasure having you on the show Mr. Pitka. By the way, I hope you know you can't use language like that on national television. You'll see our fine in the mail.
Lick my balls.
There you have it, folks!
