If Our Lives Were A Sitcom. . .

You guys just had to put the thought into my head. So, of course, I wrote it. I haven't wrote an episode yet, but here's the intro, full and complete, if a little confusing. I've given us a Lair, for no discernable reason. It is in a basement, for a discernible reason. The reason for the basement I'd like if someone would guess, but I can't offer any muffins because I'm flat broke on muffins. And PotO plushies. I've also dubbed us the Trio of Three, stealing the name blatantly from Carl and Tina.

Darkness on the screen. Slowly, white letters begin to appear, accompanied by keyboard clacking, saying this:

Elymas says. . .Friends, let's face it. Life is weird. Not Lizzie Maguire weird. Not Full House weird. I mean, it's not even Monty Python weird. But life, my friends, is weird. Life. Is. Random.

Like computer pop ups, new computer style windows appear on the blacks screen. The first says, "The Ghost Host says. . .Indeed." The second says, "Liberalkid says. . .Yup." More windows appear, at increasing speeds. The clacking of the keyboards becomes deafening, text changes colors, flashes, windows change colors, etc.. Chaos.

All this suddenly explodes as the PotO overture begins to play and we are taken to a quick montage of all the characters, but Kat, Max, and Ben, recorded by an old home video camera, complete with the time and PLAY signal at the bottom and frame about it. Finally, we move to the Lair, the colorful and chaotically decorated Lair.

Kat and Max pass through the camera's view, talking and laughing. Kat's reading. Max is doing campaign work for Villaraigosa. The camera is apparently thrown down onto a table by Ben, who's apparently been managing it, and the three kids move to pose for a picture. Except Kat pushes her hand into the camera. Written on it in smudged ballpoint are the words, "We are the Trio of Three."

Blackout, but the letters stay for a moment. They disappear.

Ben (V.O.) - FEAR US. (Maniacal laughter.)

Max - Oy.

(Sounds as if he's somehow, but not exactly easily, being shut up. Muffled yells, a squeak from Max and a yell of "Get the Punjab!" from Kat.)

Max, Kat, and Ben (V.O.) - (Maniacal laugher. It trails off after a minute.)

Everything fades into darkness. . .darkness. If I get any money off this sitcom and you get the lyric reference about darkness, I will buy you a muffin. A blueberry strawberry-ish sort of muffin. I like those sorts of muffins.

Ben: What about the subject?

Ely: What about it?

Erika: Speaking of which, Ben, I need to talk to you.

Ben: Er, uh, why, whyever would that be?

Erika: I do not haaate Max. I hate everyone. Except Erik, and some nosy Nadir-like figures.

Max: I'm a nosy Nadir-like figure.

Kat: Technicalities, technicalities.

Ely: This is entertaining. (Munches popcorn that has rather inexplicably appeared.)

Nadir: Who is what? Comparing me to which? Why? Pop Tarts?

Kat: NO! NO POP TARTS!

Ely: I like Pop Tarts.

Max: Me too.

Erika: I hate Pop Tarts. . .

Erik: Do not mention Pop Tarts in my presence!

Ben: What is this? Why are you all talking about Pop Tarts?

All But Erik and Nadir: We've no idea.

Erik and Nadir: (Bad acting) Aaaand. . .neither do we.

Kat: Let's talk about Micheal Crawford. Almost as good as Pop Tarts.

Erika: Better.

Kat: Er. . .

Erika: (Menaces with fish, reminiscent of Monty Python sketch)

Kat: Right. Better than Pop Tarts.

Ben: (Despairingly shakes head) Max, do you understand any of this?

Max: Are you kidding? Of course!

Ely: Who wouldn't?

Nadir and Erik: (Have been very quiet this whole time, now they walk away discreetly)

Next on random conversations. . .what is the mystery of the Pop Tarts? What do Erik and Nadir have to hide? Don't touch your browser tool bar, ladies and gentlemen, we'll be right back!

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.