A wry take on real life in Hollywood.

A writer Rob knows fires his assistant without telling him.  But it has a happy ending.  Well, not for the writer...

Rob gets all dressed up, because maybe a t-shirt and sneakers sends the wrong message.  Why dress business casual for a business that isn't, really?

Rob takes his dog to the beach and watches her retrieves a tennis ball. And when someone compliments her, he takes credit for it. In other words, he acts like a producer.

Rob appears in all sorts of media, both video and audio, but no matter where he appears, it’s always the same: he looks tired and fat.

Rob flies through the air like a superhero. Actually, he just jumps over a puddle. But it feels the same.

Rob wrote this Martini Shot on a conference call. He also bought a ticket to New York. He does a lot of things when he's on a conference call. Except pay attention.

Rob becomes a director. One who occasionally forgets to say, "Cut." And "Action." Turns out, directing is hard work. Who knew?

Rob's punished for texting while driving, by being rear-ended by someone who was texting while driving. It's a morality tale...

A few weeks ago, the Writers Guild of America, West -- or whatever it's called right now -- I can't pretend to keep up with the baffling series of Writers Guild of America, East versus Writers Guild of America West conflicts.   Especially since they all seem to involve a lot of angry, ad hominem exchanges, expensive legal fees, plentiful mentions of the blacklist, and lots of petitions signed by writers who were really big in the 1970's. Really, at a certain point, your mind just goes "click" and you tune the whole thing out...