I don't think I'm gonna like having this Trip Snyder guy around...
04/05/15 10:51
So, do you know WHY we call it "Monday"? Neither do I, but it's still the best day of the week . . . and here it is again!
I'll bet that just about everybody thought that Bert, our resident iBee, would have been super-happy with the first "Dear Georgie" column of the new Warm Season, right? I mean, his name was mentioned, his picture was there - who could ask for more? It appears that Bert could ask for more.
Geeeeeze.
After the paper came out last Friday, Bert came storming into the room, clutching a copy in a very un-gentle way, and said, "This."
"Yes?" I said. "Looks good, doesn't it?"
"This," he repeated, "simply will not do."
"You didn't like my advice? You thought I should have told them to go ahead and pick the flowers?"
"No. THIS...this...this INSULT to ME."
Once again, I just hafta say that I'm still confused about why Bert even has feelings. He's a robot. They're not supposed to have opinions. (I think I need to visit with my Illegitimate Nephew, Kevin, about adjusting his programming.)
Anyway. Bert stood there and kept yelling in that tinny voice of his about how his picture wasn't big enough, that we didn't use his REAL name (Canfield) and how he demanded more credit for his contributions to the column.
"Toward that end," he finally told me, "I have hired a Publicist."
"A Publicist?" I asked. "You mean, one of those guys who makes a living out of making somebody look better than they are?"
"We can do without your snide remarks," Bert said. "I have hired one of the best Publicists in the buzziness. He will bee arriving shortly, so I suggest you seriously start thinking about beeing more cooperative and respectful. It is Friday, May 1st, 2015. The local time is precisely 11:30 a.m. The current outdoor temperature is a balmy 295.0389 degrees Kelvin," then he walked away.
It wasn't long beefore I heard a knock on our boot box door and, just as Bert had predicted, there stood his Publicist. He reached out and grabbed by wing, squeezed it super-hard and started shaking it and shaking it and shaking it, really hard and really fast. That hurt. A lot.
"Allow me to introduce myself," he said. "I am the World Famous Trip Snyder, Publicist Extraordinaire, and I am here at the beequest of one of the most demographically appealing robots whom it will bee my pleasure and honour to represent in the days, weeks, months and years to come. Are you he?"
"No, I said. "I'm Georgie. You're looking for Bert."
Trip opened up a small portfolio thingy he was carrying with the free wing he wasn't using to keep shaking my wing, and flipped through some pages.
Then he said, "No. My client's name is Canfield. My deepest apologies, I must bee in the wrong place."
"No, you've come to the right place," I heard Bert's increasingly irritating empty-can-sounding voice say. "I am Canfield. Thank you for coming and please do come in. It is Friday, May 1st, 2015. The local time is precisely 11:45 a.m. The current outdoor temperature is a balmy 295.4833 degrees Kelvin."
"I can see that I've come to the right place. It's an honour to meet you, Canfield."
(Trip finally let go of my wing, but I swear it's STILL vibrating after all that wing-shaking that went on there.)
Quite frankly, I really didn't want to have anything to do with this whole thing, so I excused myself and said, "I'm sure you two have a lot to talk about, so I'll just leave you to it. Nice to meet you, Trip. Probably."
"Likewise," he said.
Then I just started walking away.
But get this: I SWEAR that Trip fellow stuck out his foot and tried to trip me as I was walking away. Geeeeeeeze. How rude is that?
I always try to think the best of others, but I'm not really sure if this Trip Snyder guy and I are gonna get along very well. He seems like a real jerk.
Anyway. For the rest of the weekend and up to this very minute, Bert and Trip have been inseparable. I don't know what they've been talking about, but I keep hearing my name mentioned - not in a nice way, either. I don't know what that's all about, but I guess we'll find out soon enough.
Well, it's another almost-Warmish-but-chilly-grey-might-rain-or-not kind of day, so I think I'm gonna go check the mail and see if any more royalty payments have come in. (I hope so. Beesides beeing a jerk, that Trip guy has almost eaten all of my honey. When I mentioned it to Bert, he said, "Correct. That is part of the contract.") Whatever.
I hope everybody has a marvellously enlightening day! I'll see ya' later!
I'll bet that just about everybody thought that Bert, our resident iBee, would have been super-happy with the first "Dear Georgie" column of the new Warm Season, right? I mean, his name was mentioned, his picture was there - who could ask for more? It appears that Bert could ask for more.
Geeeeeze.
After the paper came out last Friday, Bert came storming into the room, clutching a copy in a very un-gentle way, and said, "This."
"Yes?" I said. "Looks good, doesn't it?"
"This," he repeated, "simply will not do."
"You didn't like my advice? You thought I should have told them to go ahead and pick the flowers?"
"No. THIS...this...this INSULT to ME."
Once again, I just hafta say that I'm still confused about why Bert even has feelings. He's a robot. They're not supposed to have opinions. (I think I need to visit with my Illegitimate Nephew, Kevin, about adjusting his programming.)
Anyway. Bert stood there and kept yelling in that tinny voice of his about how his picture wasn't big enough, that we didn't use his REAL name (Canfield) and how he demanded more credit for his contributions to the column.
"Toward that end," he finally told me, "I have hired a Publicist."
"A Publicist?" I asked. "You mean, one of those guys who makes a living out of making somebody look better than they are?"
"We can do without your snide remarks," Bert said. "I have hired one of the best Publicists in the buzziness. He will bee arriving shortly, so I suggest you seriously start thinking about beeing more cooperative and respectful. It is Friday, May 1st, 2015. The local time is precisely 11:30 a.m. The current outdoor temperature is a balmy 295.0389 degrees Kelvin," then he walked away.
It wasn't long beefore I heard a knock on our boot box door and, just as Bert had predicted, there stood his Publicist. He reached out and grabbed by wing, squeezed it super-hard and started shaking it and shaking it and shaking it, really hard and really fast. That hurt. A lot.
"Allow me to introduce myself," he said. "I am the World Famous Trip Snyder, Publicist Extraordinaire, and I am here at the beequest of one of the most demographically appealing robots whom it will bee my pleasure and honour to represent in the days, weeks, months and years to come. Are you he?"
"No, I said. "I'm Georgie. You're looking for Bert."
Trip opened up a small portfolio thingy he was carrying with the free wing he wasn't using to keep shaking my wing, and flipped through some pages.
Then he said, "No. My client's name is Canfield. My deepest apologies, I must bee in the wrong place."
"No, you've come to the right place," I heard Bert's increasingly irritating empty-can-sounding voice say. "I am Canfield. Thank you for coming and please do come in. It is Friday, May 1st, 2015. The local time is precisely 11:45 a.m. The current outdoor temperature is a balmy 295.4833 degrees Kelvin."
"I can see that I've come to the right place. It's an honour to meet you, Canfield."
(Trip finally let go of my wing, but I swear it's STILL vibrating after all that wing-shaking that went on there.)
Quite frankly, I really didn't want to have anything to do with this whole thing, so I excused myself and said, "I'm sure you two have a lot to talk about, so I'll just leave you to it. Nice to meet you, Trip. Probably."
"Likewise," he said.
Then I just started walking away.
But get this: I SWEAR that Trip fellow stuck out his foot and tried to trip me as I was walking away. Geeeeeeeze. How rude is that?
I always try to think the best of others, but I'm not really sure if this Trip Snyder guy and I are gonna get along very well. He seems like a real jerk.
Anyway. For the rest of the weekend and up to this very minute, Bert and Trip have been inseparable. I don't know what they've been talking about, but I keep hearing my name mentioned - not in a nice way, either. I don't know what that's all about, but I guess we'll find out soon enough.
Well, it's another almost-Warmish-but-chilly-grey-might-rain-or-not kind of day, so I think I'm gonna go check the mail and see if any more royalty payments have come in. (I hope so. Beesides beeing a jerk, that Trip guy has almost eaten all of my honey. When I mentioned it to Bert, he said, "Correct. That is part of the contract.") Whatever.
I hope everybody has a marvellously enlightening day! I'll see ya' later!