toasted!zine – episode 8
"journalistic un-'tegrity at it's finest"

in the world of comics...

In "I Didn't See That In The Movie Theatre News"...

A six-year old girl won a 12-inch plush Hulk figure manufactured for Spanish toy company Play by Play by knocking down cans with bean bags at Brighton Pier in south England (south sah-eeee-duh!). When deprived of his purple pants, the Hulk figure revealed a... well, (naughty bit).. The Hulk doll's label indicated that it was a licensed product associated with Universal's Hulk film.

And people say Hollywood is running out of ideas on how to put "xes" in film...

In related news...
Take a good look at the Spider-Man toys on the shelf nowadays. One of them depicts Spider-Man on a wall, which has a Daily Bugle advertisement upon it.

The catch phrase ran with the Bugle ad: "Grab Your Bugles!"

And no. I'm not kidding. There's one of these action figures at my *other* place of employment.I would show it to you, but then I 'd have to pay for it... and then scan it and... well, that's just too much effort.

What a dedicated columnist I be.

meanwhile, in reality

[Author's note: The following is a fictional depiction of fictional events. None of the things featured here, never happened, and as far as I can know, Andrea Speed's voice is probably more feminine than depicted. Thank you.]

easier without secrets.
by brandon schatz

there she is again
standing just off next to me
i'm thinking i should be with her
but my mind just won't let me be...

she looks my way
'most everyday
and the world i know
just seems to glow
and it seems to say
you must seize the day

and everything just seems...
easier without secrets.

my mind wouldn't be racing
wondering about that smile
my head wouldn't be spinning
thinking 'bout you all the while

and...

when she looks my way
i wish that she would stay
but i always know
that she'll always go
courage i've not found
i can not stand my ground

and everything would just be so...
easier without secrets.

every single day
i wish that i could talk to you
in every little way
i wish that i could be with you

but i seem to know
that you'll always go
and even if i say
"i hope that you'll stay"
everything will change
and things will all be strange

and i just wish i could...
live without secrets




"So... what do you think?" Brandon Schatz asked as Scott Williams looked over his poem.

"It's good," Scott muttered somewhat absently, "Not too gushy, yet still sentimental enough to hook her. You did some good work, Brando."

"Thanks."

"Say... I'll tell you what. How about I get this puppy all nice and laminated sos that it looks all nice and official," Scott said.

"Yeah. Go ahead... there's still some time left before comiXtreme Idol, "And I have some things to do before it does start. Like waking up Darren from the nap he's been kind enough to take in the middle of my office."

"He still hasn't found a place of his own yet?"

"No," Brandon muttered darkly, "I don't think he's even trying to. The poor guy is going to be homeless after I fired for not having enough views for my column."

"Well, I suppose that's his problem then, isn' it?" Scott asked rhetorically, "Anyway... off to the laminating machine. Tell Darren I send him my love when he wakes up."

"I'm sure he'll just love hearing that," Brandon laughed as Scott quickly strode out the door.

"I'm sure I don't," Darren grumbled, unmoving from his face down position on the mattress in the middle of Brandon's office.

"How long have you been awake for?"

"Ever since you gave that skeevy boy your mushy-crap poem," Darren explained, "You know, you really shouldn't trust him as much as you do. That guy's up to something, you mark my words."

"You know, I really don't understand why you hate Scott so much," Brandon muttered, "Unless it's like that thing my mom always told me: you tease him because you like him."

"Or, it could be like that thing my mom always told me," Darren muttered, "Shut the hell up and get me a beer, you useless money vacuum."

"What does that have to do with you hating Scott?"

"Absolutely nothing," he said, "I just want you to grab me a beer so that I can get up."

"I'm not going to the hole you put under the water cooler to get you a beer," Brandon told him, "If you want to drink on the job, go raid your beer stash yourself. I'm having no part in it."

"The beer's not in the hole anymore," Darren explained, "Andrea Speed... the review editor... she's been hanging around the water cooler way too much lately so I gave up on hiding the beer there. I swear, she must've saw me grab a brew on the day I moved into your office."

"So... where do you keep your beer now?"

"Check the bottom drawer of your desk."

"There's beer in my desk!?!?" Brandon yelled, "Darren... I could get fired for having beer in my desk!"

"Hey, relax, man," Darren smiled, pushing himself up slowly, "I have beer stashed everywhere in this place. Hell, I think Blake Petit found the beer I stashed in his room, because one day... he came stumbling out of his office, yelling something about how the beer fairy had paid him a visit."

"Well, that's just peachy," Brandon muttered, "This place is crazy enough without you getting everyone drunk! I mean... need I remind you of the fact that I could get fired next week for not getting enough views? Or that when that happens, you'll be homeless and we'll both be jobless? Or the fact that the artist of the web comic we were supposed to have been running, has been kidnapped! Or how about the whole thing about me trying to tell Meagan how much I like her?

"Imagine how worse that would all be if we were all tanked!"

"Dude. You seriously have your priorities messed right the hell up," Darren grinned, "I mean... you can NOT possibly be able to actually deal with all of that stuff you listed there without going absolutely nuts. Not without some kind of magic solution to make things all better..."

"Darren, if this 'magic solution' involves me playing 'Ankles' with you again..."

"No, no, no..." Darren muttered, "That's not the solution."

"Well then... what do you have in mind?"

some time later...

"Hey Brandon," Meagan Clakre said, running into the toasted!zine office, "I have everyone lined up and ready to go for comiXtreme Idol. Are you coming out to explain the rules to everyone or what?"

Brandon grinned like an idiot from his seat in his desk. He leaned forward, slowly blinked his right eye, and pointed at Meagan, "Yoooouuuuuu betcha', beautiful."

Meagan's face became washed over with concern, "Are you all right?"

Brandon giggled, "I'm fine, Meagan. I've better felt never."

"You mean 'never felt better', right?"

"Dammit, woman, you heard what the man said," Darren yelled from his position on his mattress.

"Ugh! Darren, you are such an @$$," Meagan told him before quickly exiting.

"You are an @$$, Darren," Brandon giggled, "But dammit... I love you."

"Jeeze, Brandon. You're completely tanked!" Darren told him, "How many beers did you drink?"

"I think maybe... a half of one," Brandon grinned.

Darren shook his head, "Lightweight."

"Hey, you cheese eating french monkey," Brandon grumbled, swaying in backwards in his chair, "I weigh one fundred and hifty pounds."

Darren shook his head again, "Crap. I know that I can pass for sober when I'm drunk, but you... you're supposed to be running a talent show! I mean... can you even walk?"

"I dunno! Lemme check!" Brandon looked down at his legs and tapped them, "Hey you two. You think you could walk fer me?"

"Brandon, they can't actually hear you. They're legs."

"Maybe you can't hear you because you're legs!" Brandon roared angrily.

"Oh boy... what have I done..."

comiXtreme Idol

"Meagan, we're all tired of waiting for Brandon to come out of his office to explain the rules," Andrea Speed growled, "Can you just explain the rules so we can get this over with?"

Meagan sighed and gave a quick look over to the door of toasted!zine, which didn't move, "Well... I guess so."

"GREAT!" Doug yelled, "BECAUSE I HAVE A LOT OF EDITOR-AND-CHEIFY THINGS TO DO! AND I'M SURE CRAIG READE HAS SOME COMIC BOOK NEWS TO TROLL FOR! ISN'T THAT RIGHT, CRAIG?"

"Yes," Craig answered simply.

"All right," Meagan said, "Well... I guess it's pretty simple. All you have to do is display your talent and... well, I guess, respect the others when they're performing, I guess. And uh... the winner, I guess, is the person who receives the most votes from the readers of the column.

"Everybody got that?"

The people in front of her nodded. Craig Reade yelled out another "yes", as if it were the only thing he was humanly capable of saying.

"Great," Meagan smiled, "So... who wants to go first?"

The room was silent.

"Anyone?"

"I guess I will," Blake Petit volunteered, stepping forward. He was wearing a green leotard and a tiny boom box.

"Um... great... Blake... what will you be... showcasing?" Meagan asked, looking slightly uncomfortable seeing the man in a one-piece spandex suit.

"I will be performing a jazz dance rendition of the play Hamlet in 90 seconds," he informed.

The people behind him could hardly contain their laughter.

"Oh, just because you aren't a dancing god like I am, doesn't mean you can mock me," Blake uttered, "Now. If you'll all kindly simmer yourselves down, I have a performance to do.

"Aaaaaaaaaannnnddd POSE!" he yelled, instantly kneeling to the ground while simultaneously extending his right arm into the air.

Meagan buried her head in her hands and muttered, "Brandon, where the hell are you..."

mr. pimpin' joe

"You know what Darren?" Brandon asked, as he tried to push himself up from his chair before stumbling back into his seat, "I really gotta' thank you for giving me the alcohol. And the beers. And the al-co-beers. Ha! Al-co-beers! I made a new word!"

"You sure did, Brandon," Darren muttered absently, "Dammit, why didn't I think to have a coffee maker in here..."

"Hee... al-co-beers. Anyway... like I was sailing, Darren. I wanna' thank you for the beers. They're making me see all of these problems in an en-tirely new light! I mean... they all seem so stupid now. So, so stupid and meaningful.

"You mean meaningless, right?"

"Are you arguing with me again?" Brandon yelled, spinning in his chair, "Because I don' need that kinda' sass coming from you, sister. Sistah! SisTAH! You go girl!"

The door to the office opened to show Meagan once again.

"Brandon, what is taking you so long?" she hissed.

Behind her, Blake was doing a one man kick line while giving the audience an eyeful of jazz hands, yelling "Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him Horatio!" to the beat of a funky sounding techno music song.

"Heeeeeeeeyyyyy, Meagan!" Brandon yelled, trying to push himself up again (before faaling back down again), "Did you know that Darren is a sistah?"

Meagan quickly twisted her head towards Darren.

"What did you do to him?" she yelled.

"Nothing!" Darren told her, "He was like this when I found him."

"Darren fed me a half a beer!" Brandon laughed. An instant later, his eyes went wide and said, "That must mean I have another two halves to drink! Hey Darren! Where's the other two halves of da' beerzes?"

"You got him drunk at work?" Meagan yelled.

"Maybe," Darren muttered, "I thought if he had a beer, he'd see things more clearly. How was I supposed to know he'd get drunk after a half."

"Well he can't go out there like this," Meagan muttered woefully, looking back at Blake, who was know attempting a one handed cartwheel.

"Yes, right," Darren agreed, "So you're going to go out there, and do Brandon's job for him, while I try to figure out how to get him sober before anyone notices he's gone off the wagon."

"Wait... what about Stooge Boy?" Meagan asked, "I thought the whole point of this stupid... comiXtreme Idol was to find the artist for our web comic while everyone was distracted!"

Darren slapped his forhead, "Oh, crap. Oh. Okay, new plan. You keep them distracted, I'll look for Stooge Boy, and... uh... I guess we'll have to keep an eye on the door, to make sure that Brandon doesn't get out while we're doing our thing. Sound okay."

"I guess it's the best we can do," Meagan said.

"Hey you two," Brandon yelled, "What're you talkin' about? I betta' you're talkin' about doin' it, aren't you? Darren's always doin' that, aren't you Darren?"

"Not this time buddy," he said, "Say... Brandon?"

"Yezzzir?"

"Would you mind staying in here for a bit and looking for my cat?" Darren asked, "His name is Mr. uh... Mr.... Pimpin' Joe. Yeah, Mr. Pimpin' Joe."

"Mr. Pimpin' Joe?" Meagan whispered.

"It's the best I could do," Darren whispered back, before telling Brandon, "He's an invisible cat, so he'll be hard to find, but I'm sure you can do it. Will you?"

"Anythin' fer you buddy buds."

"Alright then. We'll see you in a bit Brandon."

how you doin'.

"Alright, Blake, that was... inspired," Meagan muttered quickly, "Would anyone else like to go right now?"

"I WOULD!" Doug yelled.

"Great Doug, the floor is yours," Meagan smiled, "And what is your talent?"

"I AM THE WORLD'S GREATEST CASANOVA!" Doug informed, "I CAN PICK UP ANY GIRL I WANT WITH MY INSPIRED PICK UP LINES!"

Meagan shuddered, "Well then... let's uh... let's hear them Doug."

Doug sauntered up to Meagan, "HEY BEAUTIFUL! DID YOU CLEAN YOUR PANTS WITH WINDEX?"

"Uh... no. Why?"

"BECAUSE I CAN PRACTICALLY SEE MYSELF IN THEM."

"Hey!" Darren yelled as he walked by the group, "That's my line!"

Doug turned a shade of red, "OH, WELL... YEAH. I GUESS, I DID GET THAT ONE FROM YOU. HOW ABOUT THIS ONE THOUGH?

Doug looked back at Meagan, "SAY, GIRL. ARE YOU A PARKING TICKET? BECAUSE YOU HAVE FINE WRITTEN ALL OVER YOU."

"That's... that's great Doug," Meagan muttered uncomfortably, "I think you're times up now. Next?"

two and two make twenty two

"Now... if I were a raging psychopath with an urge to hide a kitten eating, cartoon drawing cellar dweller... where would I hide him?" Darren asked himself as he paced in front of the water cooler, "Well, the first question to ask is... where is there a place in this entire office... that I haven't snooped around in?

"I've been through Doug's office... Andrea's office... Jason's... Blake's... Scott's... and the closet where we hide all of the newbie staff members..." he muttered, "Where haven't I been in the last few weeks?"

Darren fell quiet as he continued to pace. As he did so, he could swear that he could hear his beer hole calling him.

"Darren... me's calling you!"

"Ho-lee sweet mother of twisted Christmas!" Darren yelled a little louder than he should have, "Blake was right! There is a beer fairy!"

"Darren... open the hole!" the voice told him.

"Who am I to disappoint The Beer Fairy?" Darren said gleefully, opening up the hole, "Oh. It's only Stooge Boy.

And then, somewhere in Darren's head, a timer went off with a small "ding!".

"Wait a sec... Stooge Boy! I found you!" Darren yelled gleefully, "Oh, wait until Brandon sobers up and sees this!"

Stooge Boy's eyes grew wide with shock.

"Oh, don't worry little guy. I won't hurt you or anything," Darren told the creature who was cowering in the tiny cage.

"Stooge Boy says look behind you."

"Look behind me? Why would I want to—uh oh..."

poetry in motion

"Scott," Meagan muttered, "I'm almost afraid to ask, but... what do you have prepared?"

Scott stepped forward with a malicious grin.

"I am going to read a poem that I wrote for a... well, a special girl. You probably know who you are...

"The poem is called... easier without secrets."

and finally

Jason Sorrenti, the columns editor had had enough of comiXtreme Idol. He was bored and in need of something remotely interesting to do while he awaited his turn at the plate.

"I wonder why Brandon hasn't come out of the office to judge like he told everyone he was going to do," Jason wondered to himself, "I hope it's something I can fire his 'occasionally post a column' @$$ over..."

Quickly, he walked over to the door of the toasted!zine office (while Meagan was quite distracted with the poem) and opened it.

"No, Jason!" Brandon yelled, crawling on his hands and knees, "Close the door! You'll let Mr. Pimpin' Joe out!!!"

"Mr... what?"

"Mr. Pimpin' Joe," Brandon said, "Darren's invisible... waaaaaiiitt a second... there is no such thing as an invisdible cat! Darren almost got me with that one.

"Say, there Jas. Would you likes a beer? Theeeeeeeey'rrrrrrrrreeeee grrrrrrrrrrrrrreat!" Brandon yelled like Tony the Tiger, before giggling like a little girl.

Jason just smiled to himself and muttered, "Pack your things, Brandon. Consider yourself fired."

To be concluded...


[Final Note: The staff at toasted!zine do not condone, nor tolerate drinking at the work place. Just so you know.]