Simon Scheister and the Wonky Publishing Factory

Grandpa Joe: Mr. Scheister?
Simon Scheister: I am extraordinarily busy, sir.
Grandpa Joe: I just wanted to ask about reverting the publishing rights - Uh, the lifetime supply of copyrights... for Charlie. When does he get them back?
Simon Scheister: He doesn't.
Grandpa Joe: Why not?
Simon Scheister: Because he broke the rules.
Grandpa Joe: What rules? We didn't see any rules. Did we, Charlie?
Simon Scheister: Wrong, sir! Wrong! Under section 37B of the contract signed by him, it states quite clearly that all offers shall become null and void if - and you can read it for yourself in this photostatic copy - "I, the undersigned, shall forfeit all rights, privileges, and licenses herein and herein contained," et cetera, et cetera… "Fax mentis incendium gloria cultum," et cetera, et cetera… "Memo bis punitor delicatum!" It's all there, black and white, clear as crystal! You stole P.O.D. markets. You bumped into the glass ceiling which now has to be washed and sterilized, so you get nothing! You lose! Good day sir!
Grandpa Joe: You're a crook. You're a cheat and a swindler! That's what you are! How could you do a thing like this, build up a little writer's hopes and then smash all his dreams to pieces? You're an inhuman monster!
Simon Scheister: You are perpetrating serious misinformation, sir. I said "Good day!"
Charlie: Suddenly I don't feel very motivated to hunt for Golden Tickets, or even write speculative fiction, ever again.
Simon Scheister: What did you say, Charlie?
Charlie: Think metaphor. No Golden Ticket for me, no Golden Goose for you. This entire publishing factory depends upon a transaction that is mutually satisfactory.
Simon Scheister: And your Golden Ticket is…
Charlie: …something from nothing, gold from straw, intellectual property from longish strings of words - a living, and perhaps a legacy.
Simon Scheister: Perhaps we should negotiate like gentlemen.
Uncle Charlie: If he's a gentleman, I'm a Vermicious Knid.
Charlie: Yes, Knid pro quo, eh Grandpa Joe?
Simon Scheister: I've just remembered something magical: invention, my dear friends, is 93% perspiration, 6% electricity, 4% marketing and distribution, and 2% Thunderbird Ripple.
Grandpa Joe: That's 105%. Better check all the math in your contract again, Charlie.
Charlie: Cheer up, Mr. Scheister - I'll bet these Everlasting Republish or Perish Gobstoppers will be bestsellers.
Simon Scheister: I wish someone would write an Oompah-Loompah song to insert here.
Charlie: No problem. We'll just get another writer from the Authors Guild.
Simon Scheister: Do you represent the Authors' little Guild?
Charlie: Don't make me parodize songs from The Wizard of Oz, Scheister.
Grandpa Joe: Is parodize a word?
Simon Scheister: I'll have to ask Legal to check the fine print…
Charlie: Yes. Let's. Let's all do that.

~~~~~

UPDATE: June 1, 2007: There's been an apology and some movement on this issue from Simon & Schuster Simon Scheister regarding the "rights grab" controversy.

--RAC
(With apologies to the genius of Gene Wilder and the creators of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, 1971.)

Meltdown in Mellywood: Mel Gibson repents anti-Semitic 'tude while sporting his first prison tat

Being drunk is no excuse for Mel Gibson's spouting of hatred and lies--right? Would those alleged words have come out of his mouth if he didn't hold them at some level, deep down? The reaction in the media and from Gibson's fans seems mixed, with many people offering some form of forgiveness--if he acts upon his own words:

"Gibson announced Monday that he is participating in an 'ongoing recovery program' to battle alcoholism. On Tuesday he said he wants to meet with Jewish leaders to help him 'discern the appropriate path for healing... I am in the process of understanding where those vicious words came from during that drunken display, and I am asking the Jewish community, whom I have personally offended, to help me on my journey through recovery... Again, I am reaching out to the Jewish community for its help. I know there will be many in that community who will want nothing to do with me, and that would be understandable. But I pray that that door is not forever closed.'" (From CNN, August 3, 2006)

Offering Gibson an opportunity to speak at the Temple of the Arts in Beverly Hills, Rabbi David Baron said, "Yom Kippur, the most sacred day of the Jewish year, is a time of reflection, fasting, forgiveness and healing." Members of Temple of the Arts include "leading members of the film, television, music and media sectors."

Although Mel Gibson might be too currently occupied with rehab to speak to religious and civic groups, that's exactly what he'll need to do to actively rebuild his reputation with many, many people. And, he should greenlight his own recent proposal to create a mini-series based at the time of the Holocaust, despite the pre-emptive cancellation by a major network. He clearly has enough money in the bank from his twenty-plus years of mega-success to educate the next generation about the pitfalls of dangerous and ridiculous racist beliefs. Respectful penance and reparations might slowly begin to help him atone for and nullify the poison spewed into him by his own father, a holocaust denier.

For the record, I'm not Jewish, but I did study the history of the Holocaust (while a student at the University of Iowa) and have read dozens of first-hand accounts by survivors. One thing I've learned is that it takes great individual acts of courage to put an end to ignorance, hatred, and violence--especially when powerful forces in society are in opposition. Especially then.

Mad Max would do the right thing.

So should Mel.

The very cool t-shirt used in the above parady-photo can be purchased at Jewcy.com.

The Fruitcake Song: Does anyone actually eat this stuff?

The Sounds of Fruitcake (Sung to The Sounds of Silence)

Hello fruitcake my old chum
Glad to smell you reek of rum
Because a chunk I downed while weeping
Gave me gas when I was sleeping
And the chewy fruit that planted in my teeth
Still remains
Within the sound of eating

In restless dreams I ate alone
Narrow kitchens bare of bone
‘Neath my ribs I felt a cramp
I touched my cheeks and they were damp
When my eyes were flashed by the stab of a Ginsu knife
That cut the strife
And touched the edge of fruitcake

And in the crazy cake I saw
Ten thousand colors maybe more
Chunks of chewy chopped dried cherries
Chunks of chewy dried blueberries
Chunks of strange currants that I would never share
And no one dare
Disturb the sound of eating

“Fool” said I “You do not want
Hunger like a childish taunt
Hear my words that I might lead you
Take my fruits that I might feed you”
But my words like Christmas trinkets fell
And shattered
In the bleats of snoring

And then I bowed and prayed
To the fruitcake god I’d made
And the dream burped out its warning
In the stench that stayed ‘til morning
And someone said “The words of the fruitcakes are written on the tummy walls
And bathroom stalls"
And belch’d in the sounds of eating

--By Richard Cooper, with sheepish apologies to Paul and Art.