PATRICK MCVAY

WRITER

Center for Comparative Ironing

It’s time I did something with the millions I’ll one day make in some industry yet-to-be-established. What kind of man refuses to plan for such an eventuality when there are so many worthy causes in the world, and so much evidence that the riches will one day pour in? I think of all the people who iron their clothes all over the world, and how some people do it better than others and could probably impart their ironing wisdom on the rest of us if someone could quantify, with good, hard data, what exceptional ironing looks like. (Perhaps a whole “center” for the exploration of this topic isn’t necessary, but we could certainly use a well-funded program.)

This reminds me of a thriller I was thinking of writing to obtain aforesaid millions. Let’s call this a “screenplay,” though I reserve the right to make it into one of those interactive performance art pieces nobody goes to if I can’t find a film producer to take on the project (as unlikely as that sounds). Our lead character in this dark, brooding film, in which you can barely make out anyone’s facial expressions because of some overindulgent camera filtering by the cinematographer, irons clothes in some huge ironing operation in a basement deep in the heart of some unnamed city in China. One day, he heads outside for a smoke and overhears two factory employees scheming to plant a “controlled blaze” in the factory, timed to go off late at night and set off alarms so quickly that the fire department is able to put it out before the factory is damaged and jobs are lost, except for the job of this one particular douchebag boss, who it will appear was at fault for the fire by having left cigarette ashes on paperwork meant to record the day’s bribes. Our lead character thus finds himself in a moral quandary: either tip off the police to this attempt to frame the boss, or keep quiet because, let’s face it, that particular boss is an actual douchebag, which can be verified with hard data based on the meticulously-kept bribe sheets.  

Okay, there’s the set up. I’ll work on the rest of the screenplay over the course of my remaining years of life, and will leave the manuscript in my will “to the highest bidder.”

Farewell, Boston Phoenix
Big East, R.I.P.
 

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Sunday, 26 September 2021

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