“I’ve got it!” shouted Jacinda across the salad. Michael looked up from his tablet PC and flicked a cuff. A glazed woman ticked a tucked eye over a celery stick from the next table.
“It’s called Lips, right?”
I wish she’d fucking shutup, thought Michael.
“Why don’t we, like, have a pair of walking lips? Through – process, process – a wood! And across a highway! And then into a party! And the lips are, like, singing Take on Me! And then a guy starts singing Take on Me! And everyone, like, loves him! Because he’s singing Take on Me!”
I want to kill you and eat you, thought Michael.
“I can see it,” he said. “It’s perfect in its literal depiction. MS will go breadbin for it.”
And lo, the TV ad after the break was born. That’ll be fifty grand, please.