She walked into the room topless. The fourteen different men of various sizes, ethnicities, and penis lengths stared at her, unmoving. The room was silent for once since the album of the year was announced. The temperature had risen almost immediately, and the four windows fogged up. Time was frozen. It’s as if you could hear a pin dr-…no, it was quieter. It’s as if you could hear Kim’s earring drop into the Tahitian ocean. *Plunk.* Every hair on Little P’s arm was erect. He was strengthening the Zika virus with each fly that flew into his mouth. She looked at the man sitting next to him, who was looking down at his crotch. She sighs and shook her head, a movement that was overlooked being that they were still in a time continuum, reflecting all sense of reality into her pierced nipples. She looked down at them. They were a little red at the moment. She believed they were infected from the kumquat seeds she tried to stick in there last week. There was a tattoo of her favorite movie, Judy Moody, and the Not-So-Bummer Summer displayed across the meat of the two. She wondered if any of the guys noticed, or even like thought she was the least bit mysterious. They had deflected her ideas for weeks, exchanging them for some rhetoric on why Taron Egerton would do well in indie horror features. However, they had enemies (A24 and others). And those enemies wouldn’t wait long until they snatched up Taron and fed him to the dinosaur flics. She glanced at the board. What were they even speaking about? There were two circles. One with the drawing of an elaborate posh labradoodle, and the other, another drawing of a knife. An inspiring quote from Mandy Patinkin was in the middle of the two circles.

It was a miracle the show was on its seventh season. It was complex. It was nuanced. It had everything, it had life, it had character… but it didn’t have women. Originally, the entire show was pitched with a single sentence. “Imagine The Martian on Earth but the guy is so lonely and he has his buddies but he wants a gf but she’s dead, and so’s all the others.” It was rejected countless times, to the disappointment of the lasting cast of a couple of TikTok actors they got from Wish, but eventually, it was picked up by an “underground” production company who knew some actual TikTok guys who were actually from TikTok and didn’t know what Youtube shorts were. And so all was fine in the world. Until the “whole god darn feminist corporation of the whole midwest” complained. Alison Bechdel walked up to the studio itself, knocked on the door, and spit on the mat. And so, a female writer was brought in. She was there to keep the group grounded. And they were in this moment. They might’ve been the most grounded she’d ever seen them. It was as if they had suddenly taken a feminist lit class, put their fist up in solidarity every time they drove past Planned Parenthood, and read The Feminine Mystique in junior year and put it on their top-shelf. She believed the respect was coming from the time that she blurted out that she was bisexual in one of their topical group conversations about racial inequality and so they suddenly thought it was okay to hit on her. Gay. Gay. Gay. Women. Women. Kissing. Women. Kissing. Women. Kissing. Me. Penis. Penis. Gay. Gay. Gay. That’s what she imagined was all that was unspoken. No original ideas, no pitches, no elaborate plans to capture Miles Teller and Jonah Hill and reveal their true connection. For fucks sake (FFS). Was Peter watching an America’s Got Talent Simon supercut again? She had a soft spot for Peter, but c’mon! Peter had a strange obsession with Simon Cowell, and it wasn’t just the teeth or the accent. She believed Peter had a satanic connection to Simon. She once opened the door to the copier room and saw Peter slice open his finger with a piece of paper and then stick it onto another piece of paper to then lay on top of another piece of paper and then bandage his finger with another piece of paper. She was getting more into the whole environmentally-conscious thing, so this automatically stuck out to her. Shopping at whole foods, drinking Yerba Mate, supporting Wikipedia… So, she couldn’t help but wonder about Peter’s ulterior motives for wasting so much paper. She took her hands and placed them on her tits, every guy’s eyes locked on them. She started to pretend to milk them. It was all part of her plan.

“Cows. Matt Damon discovers cows.” She said. The air was buzzing. Ideas were flowing. She had broken the silence. The unspoken chatter of the room turned into pessimism about the effects of factory farming, discourse on the various types of sexual jokes involving cows, and rhetoric on why Taron Egerton could play a cow if he was tricked into it by Elton John. Peter looked up. He nodded. And she smiled.