He was the editor for banal-seeking magazine: Fine and Dandy But Not That Dandy. The magazine was focused on the semi-dangerous feats and respectably-average moments of everyday lives. People would call the publication an "unfunny Onion,” but Mr. Muster was somewhat offended by such criticism (levied by his entire extended family on Thanksgiving night) and called his venture into the dying print media as "a less corporate Parade magazine.”
Issue #3 had a cover story on a ten year reunion for a Peace Corps Troop. They went bungee jumping. It was a two-page spread on 8x11 magazine paper with 11-point Baskerville font. The spread was centered around a picture of the troupe(sic) going bungee jumping. (They were viewed from left to right as follows: some really lanky dude, some pretty girl, some other guy; they were of varying ethnicity).
He sold it from his website, bradmuster.com, and had copies at various, sundry bookstores within a fifteen mile radius. As a gesture of spoiling himself on the day of publication, he ate dinner. That night he slept-walked toward his computer and Tweeted (@BradMuster): "Win Ben Stein’s Money Winners Are Embedded With A Disease of some sort."
This was re-Tweeted about a week afterwards and then was retweeted heavily when a famous and popular Indo-Pakistani comedian not only retweeted it but did a stand up comedy bit on it. This garnered much more notoriety, adding "Win Bein Stein’s Money Winners Are Embedded With A Disease of some sort." into the pantheon of obsess-and-discard catchphrases as "where's the beef”, "I see dead people", and "ya mama's on crack.”
Months later-- while he tried to do 8,000 push-ups for The annual "Push-Up Against HIV//HPV" push-up-a-thon-- he received a phone call from Parade magazine, which bears repeating, was his mainstream and corporate competitor. He was interviewed and came away with respect for the way they treated their interviewees.
Four months later he was interviewed and featured on various media sites. “No one really gave a fuck,” he thought, so he promoted the shit out of Fine And Dandy But Not That Dandy whenever he was on television.
He was offered a television deal for a pilot which was eventually picked up by a basic cable network. Ben Stein did not sign off on the show This made Mr. Muster’s show more of a modern-day Munsters situational comedy with the whole family being zombies; it lasted two episodes. The show was called The Dysfunctional Undead.
This is when he first started receiving the calls.
At first it was Eriq LaSalle, Ben Stein's manager. LaSalle was in good spirits and had asked a couple questions that were similar to the arbitrariness of a cold call. Brad had expected a phone call from Ben Stein (or his people) for one of three reasons: either they didn't like the mockery of not only his show and his money, but also of himself; or a cease and desist order from making money; or both.
Before Mr. Muster was able to respond with his "fine-thank-yous", an angered voice halted all pretense of a cordial correspondence.
"How the fuck did you know, you cocksucker?!" His voice wasn't the voice of the normal television voice. That voice was a dull lullaby; this voice was the sound of a very angry wolf fucking another very angry wolf.
"Excuse me?"
"How much are you trying to get?"
"Ben Stein?"
"You cocksucker, are you expecting me to believe that you -- just at random -- Tweeted that and fucked with my life?"
He was taken aback by Mr. Stein. Thoughts raced through his mind of what could have possibly given Ben Stein such rage.
"Mr. Stein," Brad said. "Hold it now. I don't know what you're getting at sir, but I run a very fine publication. I am not trying to slander your name. I'm just trying to build my brand."
"You son of a bitch," Stein yelled. "So you lead me to believe..." -- he paused -- "...maybe you are a dumb shit. I don't know."
"Well that may very well be the case, Mr. Stein. Listen. I'll stop whatever it is that I'm doing unless you pay me any profit from the commercial use of that line. Now, I don't have a copyright to that phrase, but I feel I should be properly compensated as your writer."
Brad Muster did not start off in the direction of a verbal ransom note when the sentences had formed from all eleven muscles that one used to talk, but by the time he was done he decided to flex. He figured that whatever angered Ben Stein was a result of the tweet and thusly of Mr. Muster himself, and that he can remedy whatever ailed Ben if he could get the money to mass-publish Fine And Dandy But Not That Dandy.
"Listen up," Stein said. "Take two steps to the right." Muster, while unsure of what was going on, decided to follow Stein's directions.
"Take one step forward," Stein continued. When Brad hesitantly stepped forward, he tripped on his own feet and was saved a pratfall by clutching onto the dress drawers in front of him. When he looked to his right, the window he was standing next to had been cracked with jagged glass in the shape of a target practice bulls-eye. He could still hear Ben Stein's hostile voice on the receiving end of the phone which prompted him to get back on the cell phone, shell-shocked.
"Don't call the cops and we won't shoot again,” Stein commanded on the other end of the line. He could not respond. Stein had hung up.
In trying to make sense out of what just happened, he decided to continue business as usual. He assumed Stein was an honorable enough man to not try to kill him. He went to the laundromat and did his (“HOLY-SHIT I TALKED TO BEN STEIN,” he said to himself) laundry. While doing three loads-worth of this special laundry, he sat in a chair, listened to his mp3s at random (“BEN STEIN TRIED TO KILL ME!”), worked on collecting the advertising money for the magazine, and budgeting the next issue (No cover story yet “WHY DID HE TRY TO SHOOT ME?”).
When he returned home, he helped himself to a can of The Club Long Island Iced Tea and watched whatever was on the television.
He couldn’t help but avert his eyes from the television to his cracked window. The street lights from outside illuminated the cracked lines, making them prominent. The view outside his third floor apartment was nothing to admire. The plain, grey buildings sat quietly across the street, and the line of people for Chinese take-out continued with no end. The view did not take anything away from the broken glass but rather accentuated it. The reflection of the cathode rays from his primitive, non-flatscreen television altered the lighting when it refracted upon the cracks. He put an ashtray on the windowsill, lit up a cigarette, and watched it burn for one minute on the ashtray -- only smoking it so the cherry wouldn’t die. He then took pictures of the window.
Ben Stein or one of his associates had shot at him, but Brad survived. In addition he had his cover for the next issue of Fine and Dandy But Not That Dandy.
Mr. Muster woke up a tad hungover from the two cans of long island iced tea. His first thoughts darted towards last night.
He actually didn’t know how he’d feel.
Walking toward the kitchen, he anticipated what his window would look like. When he turned toward the window, it was cracked. Its outermost web of shattered glass had extended out just slightly more. His phone alarm went off. It was 7:03 AM. It was time to get ready for his day job.
