After much deliberation, I have decided to go on strike. I have been inspired by the Writers Guild of America strike to fight for my own residual payments. The writers in Hollywood are demanding payment for episodes viewed on the Internet. Companies make a profit from ads running with these shows, and the writers see none of this extra income. This is unacceptable.
The demands to end my strike are simple. First, I want residual payment for online ads. For every hit The Daily Cardinal's website gets because of my articles, I want two dimes. I know it's a high price to pay for entertainment, but these articles are as precious as gumballs to me, and should be worth as much in compensation. Or they could just pay me in Hershey's Kisses. I'm open to negotiation.
Second, I want a base-pay increase. As of now, I am paid - well actually, I'm not paid. I work hard for several minutes every week to bring high-quality entertainment and news to my readers, and I haven't received a dime. Don't bother me with petty details like the fact that no one on staff is paid - all the more reason they should join me on the picket line.
My third demand is that Aloha SOAR be taken out of the coolers at all the Babcock Hall ice cream parlors around campus. I know this doesn't really relate to the fight, but I wanted to make one ridiculous demand to let them know they couldn't just throw money at this problem to make it go away. Aloha SOAR is a ridiculous pineapple ice cream, and it reminds one of SOAR, which makes it even more disgusting. I demand it be removed to make room for far more delectable and chocolaty choices.
Since the Cardinal was not willing to go back to the negotiation table, I took to picketing. My sign and I began pacing The Daily Cardinal doorway. For a while I was gaining steady support, even from celebrities. Bono came to the office to support me, and even started to serenade me. However, he must have only heard about my strike as he was passing through Madison and decided to support it - just like everything else in the world - because his campaign song was the theme to Green Acres"" with the words changed. After hour 27 of Bono's inspirational singing and speeches, I left the picket line in deep, deep depression.
Next, I staged a sit-in. Positioning myself at the Features desk, I would not be moved. Sadly, seeing as I only visit the office once a week to meet with my editor, no one actually knew who I was. When the police tried to arrest me for vagrancy, I had to give up on my protest. I also had to ask the photo editor to draw a little mustache on my columnist photo, as I am now on the lamb and cannot risk using my real identity anymore.
Because my protesting was not as effective as the Writer's Guild of America's, I decided to enter negotiations with my editor. My two-dime payment for every viewing was shot down instantly. I thought for a minute the candy payments would be considered and briefly thought about upping the ante to Cadbury Creme eggs only, but was shocked back into reality when my editor slid his offer across the table.
The note read: ""How about I give you a three-minute head start before I chase you around the office, screaming profanities and beating every thought of payment out of your head with a large golf club?""
I wrote back, ""Fair enough.""
And ran.
So, as I write bruised and spiritually broken from my hospital bed, it is obvious that my strike failed. I can only pray that the Writer's Guild of America strike will end soon. I am strapped into my bed and yet another re-run of ""'Til Death"" is coming on. Must... pull... plug!
If you support Megan's strike, or the real strike for that matter, e-mail Megan at mcorbett2@wisc.edu.
