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300 words

Mel wants 300 words.

By Wednesday.

He doesn't care what they say; the subject is up to me. Great. No problem. Just 300 words. Compared to War and Peace, that's the literary equivalent to spelling Tolstoy's name.

Okay, 300 words. Let's count: 299, 298, 297, 296, 295, 294, 293, 292, 291...granted it's not saying much, but — and you have to admit this — it does flow well.

Heck, I can do 300 words easy.

Oh, and then he wants another 300 words? So this is an on-going thing? That makes 600.

What?

Then another 300 words? Lemme see, (furiously counting on fingers and toes) that's makes 900. Damn.

I need 900 words? That cold, Twilight Zone type of feeling creeps into my skin. What do I write about? What do I say? For that matter, who cares and does anyone want to read this stuff?

Oh yeah, that's just the words needed for this week.

Next week it will be the same.

Say, didn't Dickens get paid by the word? Yep, he did. Made a bunch of cash, too. Maybe that's an idea. I'll just hop a ride on the GM company jet and fly to Washington an ask for say, $1 million a word (I can live off $300 million; I'm not greedy). Congress will do it; they're good guys. They want to keep the economy strong.

Yes, fellow taxpayers, my 300 words is helping to keep the economy strong.

Or, I'll just sit here in the dark and do my homework.

Damn, 300 words.

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