"Sugarbear! Get in here with the latest Insta-tracking poll numbers. We need a handle on how my crisis response is playing."
"Yes sir, Mr. Governor. The bad news is that your approval number is down to fourteen percent. The good news is that undecideds climbed two points to seven percent."
"Son of a bitch. So my disapproval rating is...let's see...carry the six...hang on...aw, crap, who does math in their head anymore. What about the real-time focus group?"
"They rate your crisis management somewhere between incompetent and treasonous."
"This calls for drastic measures. Get me General Oblong on the phone."
Lisa Ortiz in the newly commissioned KTLA underground bunker studio in San Berdadino. We have a live report from George Pumpernickel in the KTLA chopper. George, can you give us the latest on the monster's progress?
-Thank you, Lisa. Haikuzilla had been stopped near Century City for a reading. National Guard armored vehicles moved into a defensive cordon and opened fire. This only seemed to enrage the monster, and he started moving east on Pico, then south toward the 10.
George, there was some speculation here in the studio that Haikuzilla might avoid the 10 due to late rush hour congestion and traffic for the Lakers game. Does that seem to be the case?
-No, it does not. Due to the monster's tremendous size and the destructive power of his verse, high traffic volume has not affected his movement.George, can you advise commuters on the traffic situation?
-Expect heavy delays on both the 101 and the 110. The 10 is closed east of Culver City due to the fact that it's destroyed. And there's a half mile wide trail of destruction weaving from Santa Monica to Koreatown, so it's quite possible that commuters won't have a home to return to. The best course of action might be...Shove off, you bastards. We started our descent first. We'll crash both of these birds if we have to. Sorry, Lisa. Professional disagreement with our colleagues at KABC. Hold on. Breaking news. The monster has stopped. He might unleash another volley of verse. We're going in closer.
Fetid brownish blobs
Decorate my lawn. Beware
Of the dog indeed.
Oh the humanity. Haikuzilla's uncluttered ode to dog poo has destroyed the Miracle Mile. And now it's headed for my favorite Ethiopian restaurant. Fly in closer so I can throw my press badge at him.
"General Oblong? This is the governor. I've got you on speaker with my pollster, my image consultant, and my public relations honcho. What can you tell us about the National Guard's ability to stop this thing."
"Shouldn't we be talking with disaster response experts? Or public health people? LA hospitals are not equipped to handle poetry burns."
"General, please. This is a crisis, and we have to focus on what's important - how this plays next November. We were thinking you could drop some sort of giant net on the monster. Then we could keep it in captivity here in Sacramento to use in campaign commercials."
"With all due respect, Governor, no one makes nets that big. Or that strong."
"Fine, fine. Can the National Guard knock him out with something? Nitrous oxide, maybe? I want to take this thing alive. Think of the photo ops."
"My soldiers can't get close enough to put a mask over its face. We'd have to pump the atmosphere full of nitrous. Every dentist office in California would be wiped out to requisition that kind of supply. And LA County would be permanently stoned."
"Gah, the National Guard is worse than useless for furthering my career. How can you take out Haikuzilla, then?"
"That's the thing, Governor. We can't. Our high tech weapons are useless against simple, evocative verse. Provided that verse is coming from a three-hundred-foot-tall lizard-thing. Which in this case, it is."
"All right, Oblong. If the National Guard can't save LA, I'm calling someone who will."
Lisa Ortiz reporting to you from the KTLA underground bunker which they said we were crazy to build because who's going to be watching TV after a nuclear war. Who's laughing now, motherfuckers? You jackasses are off the air. Our ad rates are going through the roof, and there's nothing you can do about it. Since we're the only station in Los Angeles, here's some exclusive footage for you. George?
-Thank you, Lisa. I'm glad to see you're handling the stress well. We're hovering above downtown, where Haikuzilla is laying waste to the financial district. I'd advise commuters to avoid the 110, and to expect significant delays on the 101. Zoom in close! The monster has stopped in front of the Disney Concert Hall.
My cat eats her lunch
Spits out a hairball, then goes
To town on her butt.
George, the explosion seems to have knocked out your video feed. Can you describe what you're seeing for our viewers?
-Steel beams and cellos everywhere. The monster's raring back. Here comes another blast.
Yesterday I ate
A bug. Crunchy. Not unlike
A charred symphony.
-Thanks, George. We'll check back with you to see if Haikuzilla moves toward the 101 or the 5.
"Get me Michael Fey on the line...I don't care if LA is a disaster area. Call him on the super-secret Hollywood phone."
"Fey. Make it quick."
"Mr. Fey, I'm calling to present you with the opportunity to perform the highest deed of public service that California can ask of one of its citizens. Namely, to ensure my re-election next November. And if you save Los Angeles in the process, that's okay, too. All you have to do is take one of your camera crews downtown and work a giant reptile into the on location shots for Werewolf Firejumper Prison Break IV. Then get some killer shots for my commercials. I'm assured by the State Monster Preparedness Board that the antidote to haiku is mindless blockbuster sequels. What do you say? Can we count on you?"
BIO: Caleb Echterling's New Year's resolution is to write more stories in the 4th person, as soon as he figures out how to break the 5th wall into the 6th dimension. His work has appeared in Jersey Devil Press and Twisted Sister Lit Mag, among others. He tweets funny fiction using the highly original handle @CalebEchterling. You can find more of his writing at www.calebechterling.com.