As the last four day of negotiations between the WGA and AMPTP ended on a rather discouraging note, with the Guild's public statement revealing that they won't be jumping into bed to consummate the studios' underwhelming New Economic Partnership until they come up with some sexier numbers, Hollywood now hurtles quickly towards a holiday season full of empty stockings, less-than-joyous picketing carols, and scaled-back Yuletide orgies. Still, some who toil in the industry are determined to party themselves into the New Year undeterred by strike-induced despair; this e-mail invitation from a "bunch of junior execs at the studios who live together in a big house in the Hollywood Hills" posted over at CNBC reporter Julia Boorstin's Media Money blog defies twin negotiating Grinches Patric Verrone and Nick Counter to try and steal their Christmas with exhaustively Seuss-inspired verse:
Every roommate Down in Hollywoodville, Liked the holidays a lot... But the Guilds, Who lived just south of Hollywood, Did NOT!
The Guilds hated Christmas! They striked the whole season! Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason. It could be that their heads weren't screwed on quite right. It could be, perhaps, that dividends on residuals were too tight. But I think that the most likely reason of all May have been that the studios' hearts were two sizes too small. [...]
With us roomies, young and old, we'll sit down to a feast.
We'll start on champagne, and rare studio-roast-beast
Which will be something the Guilds won't stand in the least!
Verrone will then think, "There's no fun allowed now!
I MUST stop this holiday party from coming!
Then he'll get an idea!
An awful idea!
A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!
Verrone will meet with Counter and they'll say "here's what we'll do...
We'll prolong this strike, fire assistants, and cut overtime too!"
They will chuckle, and cluck, "What a great Grinchy trick!
Patrick will say, "Well you've ruined December, you ol' stingy Nick!"
They will stand there on Chaunukah, Christmas and Kwanza,
Hating everyone for not giving in to their demandz-a,
Staring down from their offices with sour, Grinchy frowns,
At us warm-lighted revelers below in Hollywood town.
For they'll know all us low-level peons beneath,
Will be too busy making out below the mistleoe wreath.
"That's a thought," snarled the picketers, "That I simply can't bear!"
And just then they will pause, and put their hands to their ears.
And over the hill, sounds of our party will rise...
Higher than Larry King's cholesterol after chili cheese fries.
They'll hear of our perfect party, as if in some holiday fable,
And perhaps, just perhaps, they'll say "let's go back to the bargaining table!"