Kevan Smith - Dayve

“It’s all day!  You have to be here ALLLL DAY!”

“No, no way.  Too long.  Let’s just make it a coupla hours? Huh!”

“Nope! Rules says ‘It’s a DAY”

“But, but” he sulks.  “You’re a bully”

“I haven’t got all day” demands another “three hours, that’s enough.  Three, maybe four, that’s plenty, but not allllll dayyyyy!”

“Look sweetheart, if he said all day it’s going to bloody well be ALL-bloody-DAY!!”

“What do you mean?” said the cross-eyed snob in the corner “that we have officially been instructed to spend all day doing this?”

“Yes, ya twit!  We have now been officially instructed, even commanded, to sit here and not leave all day to get this done, and so will spend all day here.  IN SHORT, we will do an All-Dayer”

“I can guess we have all been ‘All Dayved’.  It’s right up there, you have all been instructed in writing, you have an ‘ALL-DAYVE’ action on your hands”.

“But what commitment, who says it will take All Dayve to do this thing all-dayve??  What if we finish early?  What if it doesn’t take all dayve to do an All Dayve Action?  What do we do with the rest of the time?”

“I dunno, have a second cuppa coffee, or even a third.  Eat something.  Eat your fingernails for all I care.  Take a little nap like Burt always does, without trying.  Maybe write a story, tell a yarn, think up a joke.  But NO Scrolling.  You have to be with the group.  You have to be present.  No slinking off reading some AI political clap-trap, or I-Viewing something.  WITH the Group all day.  That’s the only way an All Dayve works.”

“So!  Dayve it up sweetcheeks.  Let’s see your best All Dayve Action; your on-the-spot, magical, spontaneous activity; your absolutely ground break undies ripping; pants pissing; best-of-all-time, never been done before Opus on this historic All-Dayve event.  Just you, no cheating. No googling, no ChatGPTing, no copying!!!  Straight out of your brain girls n boys; something original from there to here” as he stabs his temple with his finger then jams it into the table, nearly breaking both.

The cross-eyed snob stares at the stairs wondering if he can dash for the outside door but blinks, sways and almost nods off from the inspiration.  The rest swear, flare, snare, stare, despair, compare, then go back to staring ….. or eating their fingernails. 

Cross-eye slips off his chin-supporting elbow and almost hits his head on the table; bounces up, blinks, farts, looks around, still can’t focus.  Then nods off again.

Being a Dayve seems to always be a challenge!