Hey, this is Mack, back with another episode of
Write is Wrong. Here we go. Chapter 4, Dreams
and Disappointments. Bob and Jake's afternoon
at Yamashiro Hollywood, overlooking the city
that had promised them so much and delivered
so little, became a meditation on middle -aged
disappointment and unrealized potential. They
sat on a bench with Los Angeles spread out below
them like a map of broken dreams. I love Sundays,
Jake said, taking a deep breath of the smoggy
air. Not me, Bob replied. Why not? Because I
have to go back to work the next day. Dude, you
can't let the thought of that place ruin the
days that you're not even there. Have I mentioned
just how much I hate that job? Bob asked. This
is the first time today. I'm surprised you made
it this long. I can't believe this is where I
am in life, as a writer. What's that guy's name
again? Jake asked. Colonel Compost. Colonel Compost.
What a terrible gimmick. The guy is such a creep,
Bob said. What's his real name again? Jake asked.
Ron Jockman. Ron Jockman? Wow, that name just
screams asshole. More than Colonel Compost? I
think Rear Admiral has been criminally underused
by comedy writers. As far as military titles
go, Jake mused. What? Think about it. Rear Admiral?
Yeah, I get it, Bob said. Hilarious. I bet Vanessa
would agree with me on that. Hey, can we get
back to... Oh, right, sorry. You were saying?
I was saying, I should be writing for a real
show by now. Instead, I'm stuck on the lowest
rated kids show on TV, Bob said. Lowest rated?
Fucking dead last. Quite an accomplishment, huh?
You know there's literally hundreds of kids TV
shows out there, Jake pointed out. Yeah, I'm
aware. Maybe thousands. Your point? No point
really. Just wondering how they track all that
and then label something as the worst. That's
not, that's not really helping. I'm sorry, dude.
It's not your fault. You can't polish a turd.
Yeah, but I know I can do better. And it's about
more than just working for that abusive prick.
What do you mean? Jake asked. It's totally taking
the fun out of writing. I just don't care anymore.
That's got to change, man. You're too talented
not to care. Yeah, I guess, Bob said. I'm just
tired of being wrong all the time. How so? Everything
about my career is wrong. Shit. Everything about
my life is wrong. I think you're being a little
hard on yourself, Jake said. Oh, really? Mid
-forties? Job I hate? No money? No wife? No kids?
Live alone in a tiny apartment? Well, when you
put it that way. But you see what I'm getting
at. Take it easy, Bob. It'll happen for you.
You still have time. I'm closing in fast on 50,
dude. Clock's ticking. We still haven't peaked.
Trust me. Jake said. What about you? You want
to be writing ad copy for the rest of your life?
Bob asked. It's easy money, dude. I can do that
shit in my sleep. You didn't answer the question.
You know the answer's no. Jake's phone buzzed
with a text from Lisa. Love you. Miss you. So
are you up for being an uncle? Jake asked, changing
the subject. You up for being a dad? I don't
know, man. Come on. It'll be awesome to have
a little one running around. I guess I never
thought it would happen. After the miscarriages,
you try not to get too attached to the idea,
Jake said. But it worked this time, Bob said.
So I guess I should give in and enjoy the ride.
You can't keep waiting for the bottom to drop
out, dude. I never, ever thought I'd actually
be a dad, Jake said. But here we are, dude, said
Bob. They smiled at each other and looked out
over Hollywood. Two middle -aged men contemplating
the strange turns their lives had taken. I'm
telling you, man, we have not peaked yet, Jake
said with conviction. Word, said Bob. Let's go
rub the Buddha for good luck. They stood up and
walked over to the golden Buddha statue on the
hillside, a ritual they'd performed countless
times over the years. Hey, I have an idea that
I want to talk to you about, Bob said as they
approached the statue. Idea for what? A screenplay.
Cool, let's hear it, Jake said. As they rubbed
the Buddha's belly, Bob couldn't resist a juvenile
observation. I think Buddha's getting a boner.
I thought you wanted good luck, Jake said. I
do. Then don't disrespect the Buddha with your
potty mouth. Anyway, my idea. Right, the screenplay,
Jake said. It's about... Their conversation was
interrupted by a restaurant employee walking
toward them with obvious irritation. Uh -oh,
Jake muttered. What are you two doing? The employee
demanded. We were just, Bob began. We're closed
and you're trespassing. Trespassing? Jake asked.
Read the sign, assholes. The employee pointed
to a large no trespassing sign that seemed to
have materialized out of nowhere. Was that sign
always there? Bob asked. I'm calling the police.
Bob and Jake looked at each other and ran toward
Jake's car, their dignity abandoned in favor
of avoiding a confrontation with Johnny Law.
All right. Thanks for checking out this episode
of Write is Wrong. Be sure to check back soon
for another episode. Peace.