For Immediate Release

SUSAN CLARKE NARROWLY ESCAPES INJURY FROM FLYING GRAPEFRUIT

Feb. 11, 2009, LOS ANGELES, Calif. Around noon today, while carrying a basket of laundry across the driveway, Susan Clarke narrowly escaped being pelted by an armada of airborne grapefruit. The grapefruit, seven total which now lay in various states of squishiness in the driveway, were loosed by sudden high winds and whipping rain that unexpectedly shook up what had been a bright, sunny, but cold morning. In the melee, wayward citrus headed Clarke’s way from a neighbor’s tree on the other side of the fence.

This isn’t the first time the rebellious produce has posed a hazard for Clarke in the week since she moved into her new apartment. Over the weekend, while she and her boyfriend unloaded a heavy wooden cabinet from the back of her truck, he was walking backwards with the furniture when his foot struck something and he nearly tripped. Though he reported that it felt like he kicked rat, it was in fact another felled overripe grapefruit. The grapefruit was chastised, but obviously failed to send the message back to its brothers on the tree not to mess with the new tenants next door.

“I have very little experience interacting with nature,” explains Clarke, who has dwelled in urban areas for 20 years. “Most places I’ve lived, the main concerns have been keeping bums out of the building, not running out of hot water, and not falling through the hole in the floor.” By comparison, the sassy grapefruit are a rather quaint nuisance.

In 1687, renowned scientific mind Sir Isaac Newton had his own cross to bear in regards to fruit in motion. His chance meeting with the business end of an apple led to the publishing of his treatise Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica, which introduced his theories of motion and gravity. Likewise, Clarke’s experience with flying grapefruit led her to write a press release, which slightly fewer people would read. She and Newton also have a shared love of long, flowing wigs.

In Clarke’s undisclosed new neighborhood in Los Angeles, there are several retailers of Mexican-made Fresca. The Mexican-made version of the famous grapefruit soda is far superior to the domestic version as it is made with cane sugar rather than corn syrups. Clarke has plans to stand under the grapefruit tree and ominously drink a bottle of Fresca to send a very clear message to the tree.

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SUSAN CLARKE REPORTS EPIDEMIC OF SHOWER CHAIRS BEING USED AS PATIO FURNITURE

FEBRUARY 11, 2009, LOS ANGELES, Calif. A recent walk around Susan Clarke’s unnamed ghetto neighborhood has revealed an unsavoury trend in lawn décor— shower chairs designed for the elderly and handicapped being used as patio furniture. Clarke first noticed this offense on her own block, in front of a row of cottages that also included a broken baby changing table and an upside-down 5-gallon bucket of pie filling. Several weeks after spotting and therefore becoming obsessed with this anomalie, she spotted yet another sadly out-of-place shower chair several blocks away on the front porch of a falling-down but stately old bungalow. She believes that this constitutes an outright epidemic.

Clarke has spent a good deal of time analyzing why the shower chairs, which are useful bathing aids for the infirm and elderly, incite such nausea when they are out of context and located next to a pie filling bucket. The chairs have tubular aluminum frames with wide, concave, plastic seats perforated with holes. They have large rubber caps on their feet. Similarly-designed chairs are being sold at Ikea under exotic, umlaut-riddled monikers, so wherein lies the difference? “When you look at a used shower chair, consciously or subconsciously, you picture a naked, sick, old, unclean person in it. And consciously or subconsciously you know that someday you will be a naked, sick, old, unclean person. But right now it’s a sunny day and you’re just taking a walk, so you’d rather not be faced with thoughts of your humiliating spiral towards death.”

There is currently an apartment vacancy on the cottage property with the shower chair, changing table, and pie filling bucket in front. “I kind of want to move there and meet the people responsible for the display, get inside their heads, see what makes them tick,” says Clarke. “It could be some outsider artist and this is their project about the human life cycle and pie.” More likely, it is just poor people with a pile of crap.

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For Immediate Release

SUSAN CLARKE NO LONGER COMMITTED TO QUALITY

Dec. 9, 2008. LOS ANGELES, Calif. After decades of adhering to strict standards of excellence in her personal and professional life, Susan Clarke is abandoning her commitment to quality and from now on will be “phoning it in.” The decision to embrace a more laid-back lifestyle marks a significant development for Clarke, who has a history of exerting far more effort than is required or even expected in any given situation. At this morning’s press conference, Clarke announced an epiphany that her modus operandi as a “relentlessly critical self-flogger” has only served to freak her out on a daily basis, without earning the money or accolades she was conditioned to expect as a result. Thus, she will be reducing her efforts.

From her post in her Echo Park apartment — formerly the last bastion of quality in the Greater Los Angeles area — Clarke is confident that her esteemed reputation for producing top notch writing work and keeping a tidy house will not be negatively impacted by her new approach. With an uncharacteristic confidence brought on by today’s landmark decision, she explains that even if she were to decrease her average effort by 40 to 50%, she would “still be on par with the top writers and housekeepers out there because my half-assed work is still better than the average person’s 110% effort.” For added clarity, Clarke punctuated the end of her sentence with a z-shaped snap.

Clarke maintains that today’s revelation is a time for celebration, not a sad day of surrender to be mourned throughout the Quality community. “I’m just being realistic about the fact that I’m more awesome than I generally give myself credit for,” she shrugs. “I could really chill the fuck out and no one would even notice.”

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For Immediate Release

SUSAN CLARKE ALMOST REVERSES ANTI-APPLIANCE STANCE TO BUY COFFEEMAKER

November 19, 2008, LOS ANGELES, Calif. At 10:30 this morning Susan Clarke, well-known in four states for her cynicism towards consumer goods, began taking the first steps towards buying an electric drip coffeemaker. However by 11:15 she had come to her senses and reaffirmed her commitment to her 12 year-old French press pot.

The close call with consumerism occurred after Clarke dumped half a cup of wet, coarse, coffee grounds on the kitchen floor for the 780th time while trying to transfer them from the glass carafe into the garbage can. Earlier in the morning Clarke and her boyfriend had expressed a shared desire to awaken to the smell of brewing coffee. Unless they were to surgically attach an opposable thumb onto the cat, they agreed that this could only become a reality through the advanced technology of an electric, counter-top, drip coffeemaker. Clarke decided to briefly put aside her Amish-like affinity for analog cooking solutions and research coffeemakers on the Internet. “I compared product reviews and price points for a full 45 minutes before suddenly coming to my senses and realizing how stupid it was to buy something that does something I can already do for free.”

Clarke’s coffeemaker kybosh is based on her firm belief that “a stove is all you need.” She cites coffee makers, rice cookers, and electric kettles as “redundant appliances,” as one only needs to boil a pot of water on a stove to make coffee, rice, or hot water. Furthermore, microwaves, Foreman grills, bread makers, and toaster ovens “are ugly, made of plastic, and will eventually break and end up in the landfill” at which point the consumer is suckered into spending 80 dollars for a new one. Plus, there are the issues of the design aesthetic, even with Target working overtime to make everything look Japanese. “I don’t like blinking LED lights anywhere on my premises, and all the coffeemakers have those” Clarke announces with finality. Tomorrow she will return to using her French press pot, “and just suck up the fact that it’s a whore to clean up after.”

Today’s decision came as no surprise to Clarke’s boyfriend, who is just grateful that she never asks him to buy her anything.

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For Immediate Release

SUSAN CLARKE ATTEMPTS TO CREATE PERMANENT VACATION CONDITIONS AT HOME

Sept. 9, 2008. LOS ANGELES, Calif. Susan Clarke faced the post-Labor Day doldrums head-on this week by ordering hundreds of dollars worth of high-end sheets, towels, micro-roasted coffee beans, and other luxury items off the internet. The uncharacteristic shopping spree was an effort to rage against the dying of summer and to upgrade her housing amenities to the level she fell in love with at a boutique hotel over the summer. “I want to feel like I’m in an awesome hotel all the time” she explained, fully aware that this will not be easy in a 1970s apartment that is outfitted with grey office carpeting and popcorn ceilings.

Clarke began her journey to vacationland in the bedroom, dropping a pile of dough on one thousand threadcount sheets and a comforter cover that aim to achieve the “white poofy cloud” experience of a boutique hotel bed. She added four significantly overstuffed pillows to encourage sitting up in bed and reading the paper, and ordered four pounds of coffee beans from a top Pacific Northwest coffee roaster to enjoy while doing so. Clarke hopes that the “white poofy cloud” will encourage actual bed newspaper reading and coffee drinking at home, where such an indulgence is often overruled by the need to check work emails or feed the cat. “By creating a vacation-like space, I hope to reach a vacation-like state of mind. Which means nothing will really seem that important anymore and I may possibly get fired.”

The iPod dock and little notepads and pens for the bedside tables should arrive by the end of the week. For the desk, Clarke is creating a linen bound book containing copies of local restaurant menus. The laminated emergency escape map of the building should be ready to mount on the back of the door by the end of the week. Further vacation reclamation plans include spending significantly more time sitting in warm water — formerly a vacation-only indulgence that was impossible at home due to a broken tub drain. A weekend DIY project put an end to that situation and Clarke is now able to enjoy relaxing bubble baths followed by several hours of lounging in a (stolen) oversized terrycloth robe, eating small packets of smoked almonds, and not caring about anything.

Five-star service remains the only outstanding issue that Clarke has been unable to replicate in her upgraded housing situation. On her current salary, she cannot afford housekeeping, laundry, concierge, or butler service of any kind, and is left with no choice but to put a bow tie on the cat and pretend that he is doing things for her when he is actually not. Clarke’s boyfriend turned down this imaginary job offer prior to it being foisted on the feline.

As of press date, the hotel has not called about the robe.

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For Immediate Release

SUSAN CLARKE FIRES CONSCIOUS,
PROMOTES SUBCONSCIOUS TO HEAD OF TEAM

May 14, 2008. LOS ANGELES, Calif. This afternoon at approximately 3:30 pm Susan Clarke officially fired her conscious and gave her subconscious a raise and complete run of the show. The move was inspired by a trip to the bathroom where, while performing a mundane bathroom task, she suddenly arrived at the answer to a problem she had been trying to solve all day…consciously. Clarke considered the countless times that she has experienced similar breakthroughs —suddenly remembering the name of that movie she couldn’t think of last night while vacuuming the next day, or all those times she came up with totally genius ideas while treading that semi-conscious fog right before sleep.

“Basically,” Clarke explains, “My subconscious gets a whole hell of a lot more done in a day than my conscious, so it was time to do some corporate restructuring.” The conscious was given a fair buyout including all back holiday pay and a booklet of gift certificates good at any Mann theater. Unfortunately, per company policy, the conscious did have to endure a humiliating walk to the parking lot with its box of desk knickknacks while accompanied by a security guard. There were no incidents and the conscious was off the property by 5 pm. An email informing fellow team members of the new chain of command was sent shortly thereafter. Hushed discussions in the kitchenette followed.

Clarke is looking forward to settling in under the fresh leadership of her subconscious beginning tomorrow. “I haven’t had any new initiatives or plans to expand my operations for ages,” she recalls of the stagnant days under her ineffectual conscious, “because I was always trying to come up with them.” Now that Clarke has put the subconscious in charge of operations, she’s confident she will finally begin to see the growth that has eluded her for so long.

The conscious could not be reached for comment.

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For Immediate Release

SUSAN CLARKE WISHES SHE HAD ORDERED THE OTHER SANDWICH

March 11, 2008. LOS ANGELES, Calif. Last night at a pub Susan Clarke ordered a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich but soon discovered that she was more in the mood for the roast beef melt her boyfriend had ordered. The BLT had initially jumped out at her from the menu, bacon fan Clarke having abstained from the stroke-inducing treat for several weeks. However when their orders arrived and Clarke was invited to sample her boyfriend’s sandwich — shaved roast beef, grilled onions, and cheese on grilled rye bread — there was simply no going back. “I generally don’t enjoy red meat” she explained, “but this sandwich would have had a Hindu blindly clubbing cows and chasing them around with slices of bread.”

The band broke into a Fats Waller song on the nearby stage but Clarke’s attention remained focused on surreptitiously consuming her mate’s meal while he studied the guitar playing. Her own wheat toast began to curl at the edges, her bacon devolved into a dog chew toy, and her lettuce went limp. She attempted to reconcile her regret over the sandwich order with the consolation that the onion rings rocked and she was glad she opted for them over the steak fries. “Sometimes you think you know but you don’t know.” She added, “You know?”

This was not the first time Clarke has made a decision at a pub that initially seemed like a good idea but soon proved to be a terrible, terrible mistake. In one incident she swapped pink slips with a busboy and came home as the proud owner of a 1973 Pinto. Another time she woke up on the tour bus of a psychedelic figure skating revue. Details of still two more incidents can be found by accessing the related police reports via the Freedom of Information act.

In an effort to prevent future ordering misjudgments, Clarke is preparing a portable PowerPoint chart to help assist her in future restaurant endeavors. The chart helps the user identify their current state of mind in order to assess their best food option at that time. With thorough step-by-step analysis of Clarke’s physical and psychological states as well as recent media exposure, aura hue, and the longitude and latitude of the eating establishment she hopes she will be able to avoid reliving what has come to be known as “the bacon debacle of 2008.”

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For Immediate Release

SUSAN CLARKE ASSIGNS HIP MONIKERS TO “NEIGHBORHOODS” IN HER APARTMENT

February 8, 2008. LOS ANGELES, Calif. At a press conference held in Echo Park this afternoon, Susan Clarke unveiled a freshly drawn map in which she has renamed the districts of her apartment with hip, two-and three-syllable nicknames fashioned after New York City’s SoHo and NoLita. The former living room, whose main attraction is the large picture window, has been rechristened PiWi, while the office, which is located directly to the South of PiWi, is now appropriately called SoPiWi. Furthermore, SoPiWi is broken down into smaller districts including BoSheCo (the bookshelf corner), DUD (down under the desk) and StoCaLi (the storage shelves above the cat litter box).

Inspired by the highly touted rejuvenation of nearby Downtown Los Angeles, Clarke’s branding initiative is an attempt to create a sophisticated urban reputation for her apartment, which is an otherwise uninspired box with office carpeting and popcorn ceilings. “This apartment could have a major presence as a retail/entertainment live-work loft complex,” Clarke explains from a comfortable seat in KiTa (the kitchen table). “But it needs some savvy, upscale marketing to stand a chance in the highly competitive field of urban gentrification.” Clarke’s additional branding tactics will include updating the font of the #3 on the front door to something more streamlined in brushed aluminum, planting eco-friendly bamboo next to the driveway, and a cross-promotional campaign with Design Within Reach. Clarke ultimately hopes that she can create enough buzz about her address to incite a bidding war between Robek’s and Cold Stone Creamery over who gets to build a retail outlet in her carport, known as BeBe for its location below the bedroom.

Clarke scoffs at memories of former apartments, which were quaintly non-commercial and located in economically mixed, functional neighborhoods. “If it’s not highly researched, targeted to a specific demographic, prepackaged, attached to a corporation, and honed by a focus group,” she posits, retrieving a Mexican Fresca from FriDo (the fridge door), “who would want to live there?”

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For Immediate Release

SUSAN CLARKE QUITS YOGA CLASS AFTER SEEING TEACHER IN BAD SHORT FILM ON YOUTUBE

JANUARY 31, 2008, LOS ANGELES, Calif. Susan Clarke has announced that she is yet again on the hunt for a good yoga teacher after unwittingly discovering that her most recent instructor is actually an aspiring actor. His real identity was a shock to Clarke who thought that his white turban, beard, and Hammer-like gauzy pants signaled an authentic yogini, the type who study for years in India and devote their lives to a path of enlightenment. The red carpet seems a more likely goal, Clarke concluded, after stumbling across the half-asana in one of thousands of dismal “Office” parodies clogging up YouTube. The faux-gini was clad in Dockers and a tie and was limply “sending up” cubicle life with such weak results that Clarke felt the need to take Child’s Pose for a good 10 minutes in order to regain her balance.

“I’m okay with the fact that actors serve my food and patrol my beaches for sharks,” Clarke offers. But when it comes to her psycho-spiritual growth, she demands “a dedicated expert who doesn’t have to split early to read for a walk-on role on According to Jim. “I don’t trust a part-timer with a headshot to helm my quest for profundity.” She confesses that she might not have come to the same conclusion if the short film had been any good, “But it sucked. It was completely unfunny and unoriginal.”

Fortunately, Clarke had only taken four classes with the fraudulent raja, suffering minimal disruption of her karma.

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For Immediate Release

SUSAN CLARKE SPOILS ROMANTIC MOMENT BY MAKING SASQUATCH JOKE

NOVEMBER 8, 2007, LOS ANGELES, Calif. Last night, Susan Clarke and her boyfriend were enjoying a romantic fall evening at home (read: about to get it on) when Clarke cracked a joke about Sasquatch and by all accounts, ruined the magic of the moment. The specific events leading up to the joke are unclear, but at one point the conversation turned to a certain characteristic of the male anatomy which prompted Clarke to quip “That’s what Mrs. Sasquatch said.” The non sequitur led to further speculation on the mating life of Sasquatch, and the tender candlelit intimacy was all but trampled. Such blunders are common among socially retarded comedy writers, and it is a drawback that Clarke’s long-term relationship has had to deal with on more than one occasion.

“What if there were only two Sasquatches, and they didn’t even like each other?” Clarke posits, reliving the topic that unquestionably put out last night’s fire. Once the pair resigned themselves to thoroughly unsexy examination of possibly fictional wildlife, they found themselves with more questions than answers. “What if there was only one guy and one girl Sasquatch, and they kind of figured they should mate, but they totally hated each other?” Clarke brought up the very real possibility that the male Sasquatch might be immature, or malodorous, or always has to be right about everything. “To be fair,” she continued, “the female Sasquatch might be a total bitch. “ Clarke and boyfriend both considered the possibility that one of the Sasquatches could also be gay, further preventing them from carrying on their legacy of leaving enormous footprints in the deep woods of the Pacific Northwest once every 42 years. A night of unfettered passion it was not.

In an effort to prevent the tragic booty derailment from occurring again, Clarke is going to adopt the practice of purging her best comic material of the day from her system before the boyfriend gets home, performing a standup set in front of a potted palm if necessary. Clarke’s boyfriend has indicated he would settle for turning up the volume on Al Green’s Greatest Hits to drown out any inappropriately non-dirty talk.

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