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The Writers’ Strike
Gerry was no mathematician, just a TV producer, but he’d heard the theories. 1000 monkeys on typewriters, given infinite time, could write the works of Shakespeare. ‘Hoodlum’ may have been the top rated show on the network for a decade, and the season finale may have had the fan-boys OMFGing all over the internet, but Shakespeare it wasn’t. He’d call the writers’ bluff; he wasn’t going to be held to ransom.
Zoos all over the world were sent laptops, all networked into a central computer. Any text typed would be analysed, with comprehensible words run together, but as the weeks passed there was nothing to get the main character, Tyler, out of the terrible situation those cunning writers had left him in. “Of course the monkeys can’t write the next episode,” said Gerry, as if suddenly struck by an almighty brainwave, “they’ve not seen the series, they don’t understand it!”
His assistant, Beryl tried to explain the random factor of the monkey-typewriter theory, but it was somewhat lost on poor Gerry.
So DVD box sets were sent to all of the zoos – and yet, despite all of this expense, it was still cheaper than bowing down to the writers’ demands. The series was on auto-repeat, but as a treat, sometimes the directors commentary would be put on, give those monkeys a little more insight into it all.
Weeks later, Gerry, looking somewhat greyer than he did weeks before, was sat at the screen, watching the monkey input come through, hoping for a breakthrough. And there it was.
“Of course!” cried Gerry. “Genius!” He kissed the screen and threw a triumphant fist into the air as line after line of devious plot twists and immensely quotable dialogue filled the screen.
Six months later Gerry was smugly surfing the net for opinion of the season finale. He’d counted a dozen ‘best episode evar!’s and as he was scanning another forum for praise the door flew open. Through gasps of air Beryl managed to say, “They want more bananas!”
Gerry thumped the desk, he’d not let the writers get the better of him, he’d be damned before the monkeys made a monkey out of him. He thought back of last night’s episode, the escape through the sewer, the rats crawling all over Tyler and his gang as they evaded capture and it came to him in another flash of brilliance.
“Beryl, drop keyboards into the sewers, let the rats write the next series by running over the keys!”
Gerry was no mathematician, just a TV producer, but he’d heard the theories. 1000 monkeys on typewriters, given infinite time, could write the works of Shakespeare. ‘Hoodlum’ may have been the top rated show on the network for a decade, and the season finale may have had the fan-boys OMFGing all over the internet, but Shakespeare it wasn’t. He’d call the writers’ bluff; he wasn’t going to be held to ransom.
Zoos all over the world were sent laptops, all networked into a central computer. Any text typed would be analysed, with comprehensible words run together, but as the weeks passed there was nothing to get the main character, Tyler, out of the terrible situation those cunning writers had left him in. “Of course the monkeys can’t write the next episode,” said Gerry, as if suddenly struck by an almighty brainwave, “they’ve not seen the series, they don’t understand it!”
His assistant, Beryl tried to explain the random factor of the monkey-typewriter theory, but it was somewhat lost on poor Gerry.
So DVD box sets were sent to all of the zoos – and yet, despite all of this expense, it was still cheaper than bowing down to the writers’ demands. The series was on auto-repeat, but as a treat, sometimes the directors commentary would be put on, give those monkeys a little more insight into it all.
Weeks later, Gerry, looking somewhat greyer than he did weeks before, was sat at the screen, watching the monkey input come through, hoping for a breakthrough. And there it was.
“Of course!” cried Gerry. “Genius!” He kissed the screen and threw a triumphant fist into the air as line after line of devious plot twists and immensely quotable dialogue filled the screen.
Six months later Gerry was smugly surfing the net for opinion of the season finale. He’d counted a dozen ‘best episode evar!’s and as he was scanning another forum for praise the door flew open. Through gasps of air Beryl managed to say, “They want more bananas!”
Gerry thumped the desk, he’d not let the writers get the better of him, he’d be damned before the monkeys made a monkey out of him. He thought back of last night’s episode, the escape through the sewer, the rats crawling all over Tyler and his gang as they evaded capture and it came to him in another flash of brilliance.
“Beryl, drop keyboards into the sewers, let the rats write the next series by running over the keys!”
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The Writers’ Strike
Gerry was no mathematician, just a TV producer, but he’d heard the theories. 1000 monkeys on typewriters, given infinite time, could write the works of Shakespeare. ‘Hoodlum’ may have been the top rated show on the network for a decade, and the season finale may have had the fan-boys OMFGing all over the internet, but Shakespeare it wasn’t. He’d call the writers’ bluff; he wasn’t going to be held to ransom.
Zoos all over the world were sent laptops, all networked into a central computer. Any text typed would be analysed, with comprehensible words run together, but as the weeks passed there was nothing to get the main character, Tyler, out of the terrible situation those cunning writers had left him in. “Of course the monkeys can’t write the next episode,” said Gerry, as if suddenly struck by an almighty brainwave, “they’ve not seen the series, they don’t understand it!”
His assistant, Beryl tried to explain the random factor of the monkey-typewriter theory, but it was somewhat lost on poor Gerry.
So DVD box sets were sent to all of the zoos – and yet, despite all of this expense, it was still cheaper than bowing down to the writers’ demands. The series was on auto-repeat, but as a treat, sometimes the directors commentary would be put on, give those monkeys a little more insight into it all.
Weeks later, Gerry, looking somewhat greyer than he did weeks before, was sat at the screen, watching the monkey input come through, hoping for a breakthrough. And there it was.
“Of course!” cried Gerry. “Genius!” He kissed the screen and threw a triumphant fist into the air as line after line of devious plot twists and immensely quotable dialogue filled the screen.
Six months later Gerry was smugly surfing the net for opinion of the season finale. He’d counted a dozen ‘best episode evar!’s and as he was scanning another forum for praise the door flew open. Through gasps of air Beryl managed to say, “They want more bananas!”
Gerry thumped the desk, he’d not let the writers get the better of him, he’d be damned before the monkeys made a monkey out of him. He thought back of last night’s episode, the escape through the sewer, the rats crawling all over Tyler and his gang as they evaded capture and it came to him in another flash of brilliance.
“Beryl, drop keyboards into the sewers, let the rats write the next series by running over the keys!”
Gerry was no mathematician, just a TV producer, but he’d heard the theories. 1000 monkeys on typewriters, given infinite time, could write the works of Shakespeare. ‘Hoodlum’ may have been the top rated show on the network for a decade, and the season finale may have had the fan-boys OMFGing all over the internet, but Shakespeare it wasn’t. He’d call the writers’ bluff; he wasn’t going to be held to ransom.
Zoos all over the world were sent laptops, all networked into a central computer. Any text typed would be analysed, with comprehensible words run together, but as the weeks passed there was nothing to get the main character, Tyler, out of the terrible situation those cunning writers had left him in. “Of course the monkeys can’t write the next episode,” said Gerry, as if suddenly struck by an almighty brainwave, “they’ve not seen the series, they don’t understand it!”
His assistant, Beryl tried to explain the random factor of the monkey-typewriter theory, but it was somewhat lost on poor Gerry.
So DVD box sets were sent to all of the zoos – and yet, despite all of this expense, it was still cheaper than bowing down to the writers’ demands. The series was on auto-repeat, but as a treat, sometimes the directors commentary would be put on, give those monkeys a little more insight into it all.
Weeks later, Gerry, looking somewhat greyer than he did weeks before, was sat at the screen, watching the monkey input come through, hoping for a breakthrough. And there it was.
“Of course!” cried Gerry. “Genius!” He kissed the screen and threw a triumphant fist into the air as line after line of devious plot twists and immensely quotable dialogue filled the screen.
Six months later Gerry was smugly surfing the net for opinion of the season finale. He’d counted a dozen ‘best episode evar!’s and as he was scanning another forum for praise the door flew open. Through gasps of air Beryl managed to say, “They want more bananas!”
Gerry thumped the desk, he’d not let the writers get the better of him, he’d be damned before the monkeys made a monkey out of him. He thought back of last night’s episode, the escape through the sewer, the rats crawling all over Tyler and his gang as they evaded capture and it came to him in another flash of brilliance.
“Beryl, drop keyboards into the sewers, let the rats write the next series by running over the keys!”