Who cares? Scabs = cool

Unlike my counterpart, I have the freedom to say whatever I want. That’s the beauty of being a “scab writer.” I mean, yeah, I’ll probably never get into the Writers Guild of America, nor receive any type of distinguished award. And I’ll most likely end up just writing a bunch of crap for people like Michael Bay.

But man, business is going great.

That’s why I’m hoping this writers strike continues. Because for every day those greedy bastards are outside moping and strutting around with their giant signs, I’m at your local Starbucks, writing pure gold.

This whole strike is kind of ridiculous when you think about it. Here they are complaining about how they don’t get enough residuals from the corporations for things like DVD sales and Internet content. But the last time I checked, they wouldn’t have jobs to begin with if these corporations didn’t exist.

Talk about a bunch of hypocrites. Besides, DVDs are a thing of the past. What they should be worrying about are the brain microchip processing residuals. Remember, you’ve got to stay ahead of the game, people.

The funny thing is, the United States hasn’t even noticed. They’re so entrenched in such classic shows like American Gladiators that they’ve barely noticed all the “quality” programming that’s fallen through the cracks. The Office, Heroes and several other shows had to end their seasons early due to the strike.

Deal or No Deal? Oh, don’t worry. That one’s going strong.

Now that I think of it, I don’t even think the American public wants to be aware of this strike. Heck, not only did the Golden Globes finally get cut down to a reasonable running time, but even the Oscars will be more manageable to sit through than in previous years. Finally, I’ll have a reason to watch the acceptance speeches, because there probably won’t be any.

There have been rumors that the strike is likely to end soon, possibly before this article gets published, however, I find that unlikely to happen. First of all, the strike that occurred back in the 1980s lasted 21 weeks, compared to the one right now which is at week 13. And the last time I checked, people were not nearly as lazy then as people are today. Remember, back in the age of big hair, they actually exercised regularly.

How many strikers have stopped walking circles outside the media corporations due to exhaustion and cramps? Probably more than you’d want to know.

But more importantly, media corporations have realized that they don’t need the WGA to survive anymore. With the popularity of reality TV shows like American Idol, the bigwigs have discovered that they don’t need sophisticated plot lines or scripted dialogue to produce “classic” television. They just need to find an obscure group of strangers, hand them a microphone, and let the cameras roll.

And if that fails, they always know there’s a scab they can pick at.

[Reach columnist Eric Uthus at opinion@thedaily.washington.edu.]

Down with scabs

*A brief note of warning: Due to union rules, I cannot write this with much in the way of creativity or imagination, hence the lack of quality.*

Unlike my counterpart, I have a sense of honor. I stand on my principles, a pedestal of truth and a mountain of virtue. In other words, I am a proud member of the Writers Guild of America … well, I, represent them. Since the WGA is on strike, I actually can’t write about the strike in great detail without breaking union rules and becoming a scab.

But I still need to fill this space with something. Anything. That’s right. Just words. Words that have no real meaning would suffice. Words like these. Words devoid of meaning and substance, starving people like you of the very enjoyment of reading them. But I wouldn’t subject you to a scab-like scab attack.

Therefore, I will write at painful, perhaps annoying length about the evil nature of scabs like Eric Uthus.

What is a scab, anyway?

A scab is not just a dried-up, scaly thing that covers a cut on your leg. A scab is a traitor, a rat, or, rather, a ratfink.

So what is a ratfink? A ratfink makes a regular rat look like a bunny rabbit in a gumdrop forest. Or like a baby lamb, crying sugary tears of love, sitting in a pillow of flowers, with a glorious sunrise in the foreground. Or like a dancing teddy bear, waltzing through a field of happy wishes and rainbows.

I think you get my WGA-approved drift.

Scabs are brainless hacks. They can’t even write reality TV shows, which is really sad. I almost feel bad for them. Scabs are workers hired by the Man to render a strike ineffective. We hate the Man, right? This revolution will not be televised.

But enough of this anti-scab rhetoric.

The legal language of a writers strike is very precise: We can only talk about why scabs are the scum of the Earth. No, I take that back. They stick to the bottom of the shoes that the scum of the earth throws in its yard-sale pile. Sure, they have families and mortgages and souls, but scabs break the solidarity of the workers of the work. They are tools of the capitalist, bourgeois ratfinks, the same ratfinks who are “writing” American Gladiators.

Of course, some writers make quite a bit of money. But not nearly enough, I say. I mean, I couldn’t buy a fourth home in Malibu, an extra Corvette, or even a new pool. That’s terrible. And all because of those darn scabs.

If you’re thinking about becoming a scab, I have a few words of warning for you. Jenna Fischer is supporting us. In case you didn’t know, Fischer plays Pam from The Office, perhaps the cutest person in the whole world. You wouldn’t want Pam to hate your guts, would you?

[Reach columnist Will Mari at opinion@thedaily.washington.edu.]