Dave Chappelle this, Lifetime Channel!

When the Lifetime Channel offered me a $1.37 for a three year deal to turn my blog into a fact-based drama of life on the murderous street of Toronto, I believed my career had finally turned around! With that $1.37, I had not only the validation but the security of knowing that my work justified the long days and nights of sitting in front of the computer screen, the cursor mocking me with its lone, blinking eye. I could now write whatever I wanted, no longer chained to pleasing my unforgiving audience of 2.3 lurkers a day. Damn you, I cried out with contract in hand, tears soaking my pale, cracked cheeks. Damn you...

When I woke up the next morning, I called my agent and said I couldn't handle the pressure anymore. My imagination was as bone dry as our foreign policy. All I could think of to share with the world was my daily routine. Really. You don't want to know what I do between the moment I step into the shower and the moment I wrap a towel around my waist. It's just enough for me to black out those humiliating eight minutes each morning.

My agent said he knew some people who knew some animals who might smell a good hut someplace out east. So it was that this morning, I found myself in Urga-lomna, Mongolia, tended to by a race of half men, half fur-coats. They stare into my eyes with the longing of either some distant wisdom that might be forced out from my heart or a good meal (for I am a somewhat meaty 153 pounds).

The wind is bitter. The horses dance over the unending dunes of sand and brown earth. The cleric of this particular nomadic tribe, a decent fellow with wrinkles and folds deep enough to hide my wallet and car keys, tells me to forget about the blog. It is a demon, he says, that cannot be conquered. For it changes shape, mocks you when you think you have cornered it. Reverts from a corporeal being into shadow and light when you try to break its neck with your hands. I dig deep into myself to find the kernel of truth that he speaks of. A minute later, his wife interrupts our lesson and tells him to stop it with the hasheesh. I knock him over with an elbow and climb out of the tent.

I have the $1.37 in my pocket. It is a heavy burden. Cash. Expectation. Washington is looking at my stubbled face. He weeps at my appearance. "Alan," he whispers, "toss it all into the wind. Let it go." I do as he says. The winds picks up the dollar and floats into the cleric's hand some three feet away. He stumbles into the local bar. When he reappears, there is a Johnny Walker in his hand. The coins, a quarter and some pennies, sink into the sand and are lost. Forever.

Damn you, Lifetime Channel, I cry! Damn you!