Elaine Sells Out

"Just say your lines into the camera..." Elaine twirled a can of beans around her hand. "...and then you say the line." Her head twisted to the side while a man in his early thirties explained the commercial to her. Reflections from the Director's glasses showed Elaine what her image looked like. "So, if we can just..."

"I want to use my new superhero name..." Interjected Elaine. "La Chica Loca de Demonio."

"Why..." Lights illuminated the sound stage casting the director in shadow. "...Would you want to go by that?"

"Its Korean for Adorable Cuddle Monster." Interjected Elaine, angrily.

"No. It isn't." Surprise overcame the confused man. "It means..."

"Cut!" Elaine yelled, pulling out her pistol and firing into the air. Shards of glass rained; the reflection of fiery sparks present in their sand stained faces.

"Guns!" Elaine's grandmother and manager walked out. "You give now!" Reluctantly Elaine handed over her guns to her round elderly mentor. The crevices and breaks in her skin hid the light of the stage within the her deep brown canyons; over the floral dress hung a large, brown bag that gave off a distinct smell of mint and muscle ointment.

"Okay, just roll." No longer just annoyed, but now fearing for his life, the director sat down with his hands on his head. "Quiet on set..."

"Howdy ya'll..." Elaine pressed her thumb against the belt loop of her jeans and cocked her torso back. "When I'm not fighting crime I'm getting paid by these folks to sell you this." Elaine held the can out while smiling.

"Cut..." The director shouted, ushering a movement around the stage.

"That's my line!" Elaine yelled. The guns pressed upon her nerves like the longing of a phantom limb.

"You read from the cards. Those are your lines!" White cards held hand written messages from a team of tech writers hired to sell a product.

"I read them." A low whine pitched from Elaine. "I read them twice; that guy saw me." Elaine pointed to a man she enlisted as an accomplice.

"Mrs. Angara, can you talk to your..." The director turned his back to survey where the elderly woman a few moments ago stood. "Where did she go?"

"She said she needed to play Loteria." A young intern with a headset around her blonde haired head spoke in an uncertain term. Lights bounced off of the her oily forehead distracting from the large framed glasses that covered her brown eyes. Shadows from the key lighting draped her press badge accessorized t-shirt, keeping her away from the bussle of the ensuing commotion that would come from her revelation.

"What?!" The director and Elaine spoke in unison. Almost collapsing in grief the director fell to his chair, catching his face with his hand. Elaine unleashed a childish groan that normally encompassed problems she faced.

"Can we please just read whats there?" A plea came from the director, as Elaine tossed the can in her hand.

"Howdy ya'll. When I'm not fighting crime I'm eating..." She turned the can so she could read it. "Beans? Fuck that."

"Cut."

"Howdy ya'll. You should eat bean, unless you're a bitch."

"You can't say that in a commercial!" The director pointed out to Elaine.

"You can't say that because you're a cu..."

"Cut!"

"Beans are for hippies to make tofu and do gay sex. I don't want to sell this; I want to sell beer and meat." The can that Elaine held fell to the ground. A cylinder rolled down the stage and over to the crew.

"Can we get her that? The demographics would favor it." Behind the lights the shadows hid the young intern from Elaine's sight. Begrudgingly, the director accepted the change.

"Fine..." He shook his head. "...Get her a beer."

"Hi everybody..." Elaine's body swiveled back and forth. "...I'm drunk and you should be too."

"I don't know what happened..." The intern explained. "She's only had two beers."

"Cut!"

Elaine held onto one of her pigtails under the bright lights and began to cry. "I threw up in my hair."

"Cut!"

Passed out along the sound stage, surrounded by several empty beer cans, Elaine rested her tired but empty little head. "Aw, she's sleeping like an insane little angel." The clip board holding intern looked upon Elaine.

"Cut!"

"Granddaughter done?" Wearing her floral dress and holding a handful of winning cards, Grandma Angara walked into the sound stage.

"No. She passed out before we could..." Scratching the confusion atop his head comforted the director. "...finish one commercial."

"I have things to do." A long scream of Ilonggo awoke the sleeping superhero. Within a few shakes of her head, Elaine came back to the feint level of consciousness that Elaine maintained at all times.

"This is raw meat. You can cook it if you want, but then you would just be a..."

"Stop filming. That's good enough, just stop filming and we'll go with that."

Weeks later the Surgeon General issued a statement that contrary to the popular belief perpetrated by certain member of the superhero community, meat should be cooked before eating. And more importantly, 27 countries deem it a crime to use Elaine Angara as a spokesperson for anything.

What 27 countries?