The Infamous Katie Rogers

Joe Blakes 99% theory- by Pete Zappia

Joe Blakes 99% theory by Pete Zappia

Dark, smoky room
Joe Blake is sitting on a large sofa chair, with a large smile on his face. A LAP DANCER is revealed coming up from between is legs, sits on his lap and starts grinding him. The camera pulls back to reveal Katie Rogers on his right with a bored look on her face also getting a dance.

KATIE:
I know that you needed cheering up after you got dumped by your girlfriend. But did we have to come to a lapdancer's Club? What kind of pervert are you?
Jenny is revealed to the left side also getting a dance, she is all into it. Dancing and clapping along, stuffing money into the lapdancer's g-string
JOE:
What's wrong with you. I think It's great. I don't why we haven't been here before.
(Put's another dollar in the dancerís g-string)
Shake that money maker baby, ooh wee

JOE:
You don't get it do you. Its not about seeing a fine lady naked.
(to the Dancer)
Yes you are.
That is only part of the package
KATIE:
What kind of bullshit you talking about?
JOE:
You see I come for the feeling of pleasure. It's not just a sexual thing. Itís for the fantasy. When I get a beautiful woman dancing on top of me. For the length of the song, Maybe three minutes. I feel like a millionaire. You see it's selling a dream. A dream that this beautiful woman finds you completely desirable. She looks deep into your eyes and your imagination runs wild. You think about what it would be like making love to this aesthetically pleasing female. The dream that anything is attainable. You feel handsome, confident, wanted, free. Then when  the song finishes. Thereís no courting, no awkward phone calls, no meeting the parents and friends, no bad feelings. A quick painless break up. The next song starts up and you start another dream with another beautiful lady, with no hard feelings. Just the perfect relationship.
KATIE:
Typical male reaction. You break up with a girl and all you want to do is see as many different naked woman as you can.
JOE:
Typical female reaction. As a woman it is far easier to get a man for a rebound. Than it is for a man to even get a kiss from a woman. Ever heard of the male/female 99% theory?
KATIE:
99% theory? No, I am not familiar with such a scientific formula.
JOE:
Well it's like this. A really good looking guy approaches any woman on the street in a brand new Ferrari and says to her.  I know that I don't know you but you, you are the most beautiful lady I have ever laid eyes on. I was wondering if you would accompany me to my mansion where I would make love to you and guarantee the best sex you have ever had, no strings, 99% of women would tell him where to go. Am I right?
KATIE:
Can't argue with that.
JOE:
Now same kind of situation. A man walking down the street. A clapped out chevy nova pulls up next to them. The driver is an average looking girl, nothing special, winds down her window and says to the guy.  Hey there, I really want to go down on you, get in! Now what percentage of guys do you think would jump in that car in a heartbeat.
KATIE:
About 99%.
JOE:
You damn right and most of the 1% left over would think about it real hard and kick themselves for not doing it.
KATIE:
(laughing)
Are guys really that desperate?
JOE:
Not at all, it comes down to this. Men just don't get it offered to them. Unless of course they are rich, famous and wealthy. Even then, they had to work hard to get where they are in order for that to happen. If a man could get any woman he wanted whilst living in a cardboard box, you would see a lot more homeless people on the street.
KATIE:
(Getting up from the sofa)
That's a very damning thing to say about your gender.
JOE:
Well, unfortunately it is the truth. While your up, ill have a Jack and Coke. Double.
(Blows Katie a kiss.)

Stephanie Olivieri- animator, writer, Katie's trusty shorts writer.

Stephanie Olivieri- writer

My pal Steph joined the Katie Rogers writing team after reading one of her book excerpts on her web page. She seems to have a knowledge of Coffee, shoes, places and fashion like you wouldn't believe and has the ability to
combine this into her stories without effort. I love her obsession with the traditional English chip shop chips.

Stephanie Olivieri has been writing stories since she was a child and wrote her first 'book' at the age of twelve about a boy name Larry.

She grew up in New England and went to school at the University of AZ where she studied musical theater and creative writing. She currently works in entertainment as an artist for animation doing bother character work and storyboards. She has two novels published under a pen name, and is currently working on her third.

Stephanie loves to travel and experience life. She has lived in Europe, Australia and all over the US, including both New York and Los Angeles. Now she resides on the West Coast and plans to continue working in the entertainment field as a writer and an artist. 

I AM NOT ADDICTED - a Stephanie Olivieri short

I am so not addicted!

I am not addicted.

Last night I had to meet Lauren at this trendy new club in Tribeca, which was fine except I was running late and couldn't get a cab to save my life. I think even if I had been wearing the famous white shirt, not one would have stopped. Point is, I was late, we stayed late and I got up late today.

Tizzy and I signed up months ago for the New York City Ballet workout classes. We had mastered the DVDs and we were excellent dancers. I don't mean to boast, but as you know, I am fabulous on the dance floor and everyone watches me. It is true. This would be a cinch, or so I thought.

It was 9:45 and the class started at 10! Bugger, no time for coffee! I jumped out of the duvet, ran into the kitchen area, really only a few feet from my bed, (flats in New York are so small). I stubbed my toe on something that wasn't there yesterday, and was in desperate need for some coffee before my workout.

I grabbed the pot that had like a quarter of an inch left from yesterday and lifted it to my mouth and gulped it down. I hadn't really mastered the way to make American coffee, but I always had back up at home. Not being a morning person, I needed a cup before I could leave the flat to get a proper one on the way to work. This was medical, really, I couldn't function without it, and you wouldn't want to cross me until I was two in the can. Trust me.

I put on my trainers and flew out the door, not enough coffee in my system to even comprehend the hustle and bustle of the New York morning. My head was pounding and the sun was way too bright. I was thankful to have my new Gucci sunnies on.

I enter the class and sign in. Stand next to Tizzy, who just stares at me chuckling and some girl from, like Los Angeles with a head set in front of us starts the class.

I know I can dance, but today, I can't seem to get any of the moves right. The class goes one way, I go another. I am going forward when they are going backwards, my head is still throbbing, and I am not in the mood for the girl next to me, opposite from Tizzy,  (also looks a bit lost), who is doing everything perfect. Her perfect hair, her warmers on her perfect perky body was doing my head in, maybe because I couldn't be arsed to even change from what I wore to bed.

Finally after 5 minutes of hell and what the bubble head at the front calls a warm up, we got to lay down. Oh my God! This should have been easy, but everything in my long, slender, body hurts as I try to mimic the moves. I feel like I must be thick or something, because I can't seem to do anything correct.

Must have coffee, I am thinking as the girl next to us puts her leg over her head effortlessly and is smiling as she does this. I glance at Tizzy who is also in the position. I look at my leg and I can't seem to raise it. I can't concentrate and my head is fuzzy.

All I can think about is what I will order when I get out of here. Will it be a Venti latte? Will I go for a double shot of espresso? Iced? Hot? Flavored? I think of the thick, brown, beverage and my mouth begins to water. I am in a day dream about ordering the prefect drink when Tizzy taps me.

I am shocked to see her face so close to mine and she tells me that I fell asleep during the class. I don't believe her, but when I look around the place is empty. We laugh for a second and she just says, "You are addicted." I of course protest, that it is not an addiction, it is a requirement for me. Some people need water, I need coffee. I thought I should get some kudos for even showing up without a proper cup first.

Doggone - a short by Stephanie Olivieri

Doggone - a short story.

Bloody hell! It was about 90 degrees and I was already running late to a fabulous party on Staten Island, which to be perfectly honest, I wasn't exactly sure where that was, and knew that there would be a ferry involved.

I hopped into a cab that I found, by luck, on Broadway and 70th, and made my way down to pick up Eleonora and Jenny at the New York public library, where they were sitting on the steps people watching and soaking in some of the summer sun.

When I got there, they were dressed and ready, which delighted me and took me aback, because those two were never ready on time. Jenny stood up and announced triumphantly that they were even early, but she was standing in front of our friend and I was nervous about the reason why, and turns out, with good reason. There, sitting behind her, panting, drooling and sticking, was a gianormus dog thing that looked rather like a small horse. It came up to me and slobbered all over my new shoes. I felt a little bad, but I didn't really think we could bring a dog to Staten Island with us for this afternoon party.

Jenny threw her arms around his neck and exclaimed that she found a shelter that was on the way to the Brooklyn Army terminal to get the ferry. I agreed to take the dog with us. We walked out in front of the library and flagged down a cab who wouldn't take the dog, then another, and then another, when finally a towncar pulled up and a tall man in a dark suit asked us if we needed some help. I tried not to smile too brightly, as Byrne was still the love of my life, even if he was home playing video games on his new 60 inch tele. (Anyhow) Jenny introduced herself to him and explained what had happened and that we would love a ride. The three of us and the dog squished into the back.

He dropped us off at the shelter, where we had to tell the woman behind the counter, that we found the dog, and therefore couldn't actually drop him off without trying to find his owners first. I was wet and my shirt was sticking to my back because of the humidity, and I was feeling a bit faint. Having only coffee for breakfast, I knew that I needed some food.

We decided that we would take him with us to Jenny's and leave him before catching the ferry to Staten Island. An hour later, we were wet from sweat, we smelled like dog, but we were on our way. I looked down at my skirt and it had a big mud stain on the front as well as was wet.

We waited in line with about thirty other people for about twenty minutes and I was wondering what the heck was going on as I was told the ferry went every 10-15 minutes. Then someone shouted that this was the last ferry to Brooklyn, and I looked at Eleonora who had a shameful expression on her face. I grabbed the Newcomers Guide to New York from my bag and furiously flipped through it only to find that we were at the wrong place!

I turned on my heels and ran into the street whistled for a cab, and actually got the first one to stop and yelled ' South Ferry Terminal for Staten Island!', he pulled away quickly knocking the three of us back as he dodged cars and stopped traffic taking some back-roads as he called them across to the other side of the city. I saw a hotdog vendor actually jump to the side for fear of his life, and people were yelling at us. I looked at Jenny and thought maybe because I had yelled at him when I got in, he thought he had to drive like this. We whipped around corners, and even went the opposite way down a one way street before we came to a screeching halt and all three of us, hit the front seats with a thud. I, of course, cut my lip. He smiled triumphantly and held out his hand for his fair.

We got out still shaking from the crazy ride, only to see the ferry pulling away. We yelled, but a man told us not to worry, another would come soon enough, and would we like some coffee. He was reading my mind. I saw there sipping my coffee, smelling of dog, and tasting a little blood as I regained my composure for the party. I looked in a mirror on the opposite side of the table at the three of us, and we still looked great, all things considering, I say that says a lot of us girls. Nothing will stop us from being fabulous, not the heat, not a lost dog and not a crazy New York cabbie. I laughed to myself as the image of that dog alone in Jenny's flat came to mind, oh well. We could worry about that later. Now it was party time, and Staten Island was waiting.
- Stephanie Olivieri

Dont call me in the Morning!

Finally finished with my client's publicity after a month of mind numbing negotiation, sleepless night's of worrying and
a week long of partying.
Only problem now is that dozens of my friends want to spend time with me. I leave my answering machine on.
It has already 18 missed messages and my mobile has exceeded the message limit. I'm on my fifth friend calling when i turn of my mobile and go back to sleep.

Call me what you want....just dont call me in the morning.

  Call me what you want...just don't call me in the morning.

Bourbon in my Coffee by Stephanie Olivieri

Bourbon in my Coffee .

Bourbon In My Coffee!

OMG! Why didn't I think of this before? Coffee drinks, actual alcohol in coffee. This is brilliant!

Last night I went out to dinner with Tizzy and some girls from work, when on the menu I saw this thing called a Jamaican coffee, which was basically, rum, coffee and more rum. Wicked!

They had several coffee and alcohol drinks, and I must admit that I tried a few.
First I had the Jamaican, then I went onto the Nutty Irishman, which is Baileys, Frangelico and coffee, then I had a concoction of white crème de coco, spiced rum and coffee, there was the standard Irish coffee, and then there was the classic B52 drink, but in coffee.

I found my heaven, cocktails and coffee mixed into one. I was a kid at Christmas, or a very rich woman at Tiffany's, with her black American Express in hand.

We sat there in our fabulous outfits, my new Jimmy's and perfect ILM on and I tested the list.

My friends were trolling for men as I kept to the table ordering one right after the other. The smooth finish of the creamy Baileys combination followed by the sharp whiskey was dancing in my mouth, when a familiar flavor would come into play, my beloved coffee.

Back home, I don't remember coffee drinks being like this, but I am sure London being trendy, they must do, and if not, I think I could revolutionize this market.

A few hours passed and my eyes were blurry and my mouth was fuzzy, I was still drinking the list. I think at this point I was onto a Swedish Coffee, which if I can get around my head, was; Stoli, White crème de coco, Baileys, Coffee and some mystery alcohol, but it was delish.

At 5 a.m. we ended up at Eddies dinner pigging out on American breakfast of eggs, hash browns, more coffee and grease.

When 1-o-clock rolled around I felt like a new woman. Not the slightest hang over, and I think I had found the perfect way to drink all night. This was brilliant!!!

Yay! A new way to drink coffee. . . what more could I ask for?