A collection of short stories, which I think are somewhat... mildly funny.
“Well, that’s all from us at Channel 4 News at 10, until next time. I’m Lydia Coleman, goodnight,” and upon signing off, she let her smoulder hang until the lights turned off, signifying the end of the broadcast. Suddenly, Lydia’s best news face turned into a scowl, and she slumped back in her chair, relieved that her day was nearly over.
She whipped back her platinum blond hair out of the way of her flawless face. Her high cheekbones, bronze skin, button nose, and sultry lips. Then Lydia yelled, “Charlie!” who came running, and immediately popped a cigarette into her mouth, and he was ready with a lighter, which he brought to life, singing the edges of Miss Coleman’s death stick. Her drag was considerable, and after a minute, she released a plume of smoke large enough to kill a rat.
“Thank you, Charlie,” said Lydia appreciatively, dismissing him with a flick of her wrist, and he disappeared from the news desk as quickly as he appeared.
The hourglass woman then rose, and strode away, her pumps echoing off the hard floor with every step she took. It was the same walk she made every day after her newscast since the very first. Initially, she would seethe in silence, with a lit fag between her fingers, and her hands sweeping by her sides. In so doing, she was prone to lighting things on fire, which is why John followed closely behind her every night with an extinguisher. And like a newborn forest fire, her inner rage would slowly burn out of control.
Lydia shouted to the universe, “Who the fuck was responsible for writing the shit I was forced to read tonight?” Whenever crude words like these were uttered, someone was sure to get an earful. And like cockroaches when the lights turn on, everyone on the news crew scattered. “Where the fuck is Jerry?” Lydia continued, “Jerry!”
Jerry was the producer, and was usually the one to be subjected to Lydia’s bouts of anger, who was blamed for every fault Lydia found with the show. He was used to it by now, combatting her anger with sarcasm, but he always flinched whenever she slammed the door open.
“What was that miserable tripe I was forced to rub my tongue all over?” said Lydia marching in, referring to her script for the most recently aired report.
“You paint a horrible image, Lydia. I hope that tripe is a metaphor for top stories?”
“Who was fucking responsible for it? Was it you?” she asked, ignoring Jerry’s smugness before turning around and yelling at John at full volume, “Fuck off, John, or I’ll trounce all over you with my stilettos on!” John quickly evaporated, and Lydia returned her wrath upon Jerry.
“Lydia, for the millionth time, I’m the producer, not a reporter—”
“Be that as it may, you have the final say over the transcripts, and I’ll be damned, if I’ll roll over every night, and let you fuck me in the ass!”
“Very charming, Lydia.”
“And another thing, should you insist on having me read shit, the least you could do is edit the swill, so I’m not drowning in the fucking shit!”
“How eloquent you are.”
“I said, how right you are. Lydia, you have my word, I will try to do better for tomorrow.”
“God fucking help you if you don’t Jerry! Because I swear…” It was here, that Jerry said under his breath, every word she said, before she said it. And he had done so for years without being discovered because she could not hear him over her own thunder, “… I will KILL you if you dont! I will tear out your heart and make you eat it, in a pile of the human excrement you have forced me to read!!!”
Silently, Jerry nodded, as Lydia’s rampage came to a taper. Then he closed his eyes in preparation for the blast of cigarette smoke she was about to blow in his face. Lydia then flicked the butt onto his desk, before she stormed out in a huff, and John promptly ran back inside Jerry’s office with the fire extinguisher, spraying the desk.
Jerry sighed, “Thanks, John.”
Before Lydia left the building, she hurled one final obscenity toward Jerry, “Fix it Jerry! Or I’ll pull your pants down and ram your own cock up your asshole! I’m the one who shares the news with the general public, you fucking cunt!”
John whispered to Jerry, “Well that last one was new. Very colourful.” The last they heard of her until the next day was, “Charlie! Cigarette!”