Feature Emerald On A Communication Isle

Mary owned land by the jockey club and scratching her head the grandfather clock in the other room informed ‘six pm magazine tell the cast time task was approaching soon.’ It was then she wanted to check out what the television maiden was claiming and the investor in the community decided to pen an email about what the decision was on hiding their true looks.

“Dear News Director: I DO NOT WANT TO WAIT AROUND UNTIL THEY SCRATCH THE SURFACE TO OUR PRIVATE GOOD FORTUNE BUT IN CONCERN TO THIS SITUATION, IT IS GETTNG LATE,” she wrote using the electronic keyboard, “please click to confirm this link ‘no more mask’”

Comfortably secure in the big city sweet Talia was preparing for the dinner time information distributing broadcast and found a second to check the correspondences that were being sent from the public to the station.

“It’s almost six o’clock Sarah and I know your slot is going to be a winner,” a competitive scream was heard only a few feet from where Talia was wrapping things up.

“This is going on Monday’s honey past due list.”

Feeling shaken that Mary was inquiring about the invisible facial facades they wore Talia reflected upon her successes in the local communication industry, “she put the magic in me getting me a job on this show,” Talia pondered honestly not saying a word, “she made me lucky when I was out of the money.”

After leaving the cubicle Talia hustled down to the studio where the talent was starting to take their places and with no time for blocking rehearsal anything could happen, “for the third time I love my cat,” the cover model sports personality answered the telephone fan request, “yes she is my dream girl at my place.”

Sarah raised the eyebrows seeing Talia’s sweating freeze, “so my dear maiden what are we claiming today?”

“Uh I had a dead heat decision on these two stories to give you,” Talia explained, “they are both feel good banter friendly enders, one is entitled Mayfield of Dreams about a baker who creates the most incredible dreamlike brownies,”

“And the other one,” Sarah started to tap the Longines watch that she could afford when it appeared in a gift bag.

“An Irish leprechaun named Ciarrai Abu,”

“Oh, I heard of Ciarrai Abu he was a true winner,” the sports personality interrupted, “he played fullback for Notre Dame.”

“Here is a photo of the baker and a nice Irish, Leprechaun graphic with a rainbow,” Talia finally arrived at the work week finish line, and it was time taking the hint realistically realizing about the starter allowance payoff requirement connected to the position she was hired for a couple of years ago.

Returning to the square kiosk used to write at Tiara grabbed the mobile moving chair that had wheels.

Looking up she could see the monitor capturing the beauty pageant sideline cheerleader sorority watch me tease image Sarah promoted on her professional publicity background sheet.

“This day the music died thirty years ago when a local band was informed by a local property baron they were out of the money,” Talia felt a gulp while Sarah read the prompter lines, “Rock and Fellers as they were known were winning favorites but not rich.”

Suddenly, a ding sounded which made Talia reach her texting device, “Is the air on fire in the studio?” The written message inquired.

“Why would the air be on fire?” She texted back.

“I told you to stoke their immature flames,” a response scribed back “create a tragic media circus inferno, you liked the big story,”

“I like nice feature stories those big problems are for Facebook you tube to send us, and I just have to cut paste and the job is done,”

“Easy work for ladies who like to push buttons,” the script said after another ring.

“Who are you?” Talia wanted to know.

“The lovely inspiring story filled with rainbows and lucky charms,” Tiara read in fear, “Ciarria Abu! And I am not a leprechaun I am a Fomorian!”

Before nightfall, Sarah’s thirty minutes were over and along with the sports personality the two headed back into the corporate style setting. Seeing a VHS tape in the news feed container she read the yellow memo post it, “Follow up Ciarria Abu,”

“Do you want to find a Friday night watering hole,” the local athletic legend offered,

“Just a second,” Sarah found one of those old machines, “geez take a look at these savages,” she responded as the planted presentation unspooled.

Following the order the statistical whiz kid smiled, “that’s Fomorian he played tight end and center for Notre Dame, graduated with a degree in oceanography just like Ciarrai Abu needed major financial aid.”