Bumped Again!

I had planned on letting you all know how my screenplay efforts are going, but I've decided to put that aside, because something is really chapping my ass lately.

Okay, real quick—the screenplay is going fabs. The class with Nancy Melville is going fantastic and I'm practically done. My people are even in talks with Conan O'Brien to star as the Sheriff, even though his people aren't talking back. Anyway, I've got bigger deals this week.

For the very last time, I got bumped. And not from any prestigious talk show or event, which I might be able to understand a little. I got bumped from the commune! Just weeks ago now. Can you believe it? The goddamned nerve. An organization like the commune has balls the size of American Gladiator Atlaspheres to bounce me from the schedule. I thought we had all this shit out. I thought the days of being bumped were behind me, now that I hang out in smaller circles. Turns out even in a small pond a big fish can get shoved around.

We had hashed all this out, or so I thought. I told the commune I wasn't going to bother writing anymore columns unless they met my two conditions: One, they paid me, and two, I had a regular schedule. Actually, I can let you all know, the regular schedule thing was just because I couldn't think of another demand. No big fish makes only one demand, even if it is about more money. So I just made up the schedule thing on the spot. Who knew, they bought it! Or I thought they bought it, until I got bumped again. This time for some damn Valentine's Day column or something by a friend of a friend of some asshole at the commune. I was major torqued. I mean, I wrote the column and everything. They have pushed back my column on other occasions, when I didn't meet the deadline or I used the column to mop up a spilled drink or something, but this time it was already done. What fucking audacity, like the cartoon says.

I've had my share of bumping in the past, of course. The first time I went on the Carson show I got bumped, just because Robert Goulet had to sing another fucking song. Like nobody's ever heard "The Way We Were" sung by a boozed-up has-been. They can hear it every night at my dad's apartment. But I was just a kid, I didn't know any better. I chalked it up to running with the big dogs, But again and again it happened. I got bumped because The Who went long breaking all their shit at Farm Aid 1988, I got bumped from the M-TV Awards because Howard Stern thought that Fartman character was funnier than sniffing paint. It's fucking ridiculous, people. I got bumped from the Golden Globes because the guy who canceled decided, oh, I want to squeeze into the Ewok suit and give out the award after all. It's bullshit.

The worst of all was the many times I got bumped by Conan himself. I don't have to tell you, since it's no secret to my fans or the judge who issued the emergency protective order, I'm Conan's biggest fan. Still, to this day, even after all the times I've been bumped on his show. And sometimes I was bumped for really dumb reasons, dudes, I don't have to tell you. A totally stupid hack comedian who sold Conan a few jokes at the budget rate or something, or him and Andy were cutting up—cutting into my time, I don't need to remind. Conan, you know I'm your biggest fan, but you bounced me from the show because you guys couldn't keep a straight face during that "In the Year 2000…" sketch? For, like, the hundredth time. Whatever.

Well, this is a warning to everyone, but especially the commune: No more bouncing Clarissa Coleman. I'm not taking it from anybody. You hear? Nobody. Except Conan, if he wants me to sit in for another show. I've got my old Corn Flakes-eating bowl ready and everything, hon.

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