“That’s nice kid. Pitch me.” Here I was, all twenty two years of do-nothing know-nothing, and a series of strange handshakes had me pitching a TV show to a guy who made them for a living. From the power of hotel eggs I wiped the salt from my lips and let out the first idea that came into my brain.
"A sitcom set around a psychic comedy writer’s room at a coffee house called “Medium Roast”."
HOW is language, despite its ability to relay unbelievable complexity, soooooo imperfect that our insanely wonderful (or is it wonderfully insane) brains get THAT out of 'medium roast'?!? Seriously, how did humans not nuke each other seven times already with such linguistic ridiculousness? I shall never be able to read 'medium roast' without imagining a group of psychic comedy writers holed up somewhere in the back of a coffee shop, in flowy gowns, high on caffeine, surrounded by crystal balls.
Also -- a) freaking brilliant, and b) I see you decided to change the title :-)
If even 10% of this is true (I suspect it's more) you should pitch a sitcom about your actual life.
Hahahaaaaa
Oh Snap The Musical™️
Aaah!
"A sitcom set around a psychic comedy writer’s room at a coffee house called “Medium Roast”."
HOW is language, despite its ability to relay unbelievable complexity, soooooo imperfect that our insanely wonderful (or is it wonderfully insane) brains get THAT out of 'medium roast'?!? Seriously, how did humans not nuke each other seven times already with such linguistic ridiculousness? I shall never be able to read 'medium roast' without imagining a group of psychic comedy writers holed up somewhere in the back of a coffee shop, in flowy gowns, high on caffeine, surrounded by crystal balls.
Also -- a) freaking brilliant, and b) I see you decided to change the title :-)