“Hey did you hear about Roreehhg?” asked the urgent man.

“Yes I did,” replied nobody important.

“Pretty rough. Pretty rough indeed.” The urgent man licked his fingers, nervous tics flooding his entire body and created a nuclear panic on the other side of the world. It was not fun to be this urgent man but he would not be appearing in anything after this so at least nobody would have to read about him after this trainwreck scene crashes.

So how have you been lately?” asked someone, forgetting the opening quotation marks. Tempers were flaring. It was not a good situation.

“I’ve been better,” he replied, thinking out loud. “I’ve been thinking: maybe we could think about doing it.”

Several catastrophic moments ensued, during which nobody had the sense to abort this fucking low-effort piece of shit scene. A loud BANG blasted in from the left, destroying the wall with its sonic force. The urgent man gesticulated. Nobody paid attention because they were busy working on the numbers.

“8!!”

“10!!”

“7732!”

“1225!”

“NUMBERS ARE LOOKING GOOD!!” screamed the director above the wind and debris blasting away at anything that was not bolted down. Large desks and broken office chairs slid across the smooth linoleum floor. A whirring train siren sound broke apart several of the employees’ ear drums. The urgent man catapulted into the air voluntarily, discarding his tie so he could do it better. This was a nightmare. It was a total nightmare but it also had no hope of slowing down anytime soon.

“Grab a coffee?” the director suggested. As the director he was responsible for maintaining some sense of discipline in this fucking office so he had to do something. A coffee pot was flipping all over the place and he had to start somewhere. He would take anything he could at this point. The numbers were holding but he couldn’t COUNT on them. He counted the numbers. Nope he could not count on them. He could count them, could not count on them. Counting counting. Counts. The count is the count. Counts count the numbers when the numbers count. When they don’t count who counts them? Not the count. This is what you get when you can’t write for shit today.