A Usurper to the Throne
by Clarissa Coleman 

I’m madder than a skunk who smells like flowers. ‘Cause they usually smell like ass, is what I mean.

I just found out there’s a usurper to my crown. That’s how my sister, Cassandra, phrased it, and it seemed to fit pretty well. Really Branaghian or something. A usurper, for those of you who don’t have a smart lawyer sister to tell you, is a real bitch who thinks she’s hot shit and tries to steal what you own right out from under you. Picture Christina Aguilera snaking Britney’s number one spot with a cheesy cover of some New Edition song.

The tart’s name is Jayme Kristofson, and I know that’s totally made up. Her real name’s probably Shirley Hemphill or something, but she’s all showbiz-smart and is trying to steal all my thunder. Her first target is the Metallichick comic book I do. I was too late to notice and before I knew it she went from being some kind of rabid comic book fan—I should have known something was wrong when a girl said she liked comic books—to Nat Herschel’s girlfriend. Nat, if you’re reading this, if I got the website address right for the first time, she’s playing you, dude. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you to your face, but you were ignoring me and had your ears covered and shit. It’s called denial, dude—look into it. But you should know better—no one with a body like that really thinks an Elfquest T-shirt is cool. Face facts, man.

I’ve had my share of hot-to-trot actresses trying to horn in on my business over the years, I’m no newcomer. There was this short teen-ager who used to stand in for me when I was on Who’s Your Daddy? and she was always saying she could rehearse a scene in my place when I was too hungover to do it. She knew how to climb the ladder, always getting coffee for the other castmembers and complimenting the director on his work. But I was a smart kid, and Dusty had friends in the cement business who made sure she broke her leg and couldn’t stand in so well afterwards. It’s a rough game, that’s all I got to say. Don’t walk in to a fight without someone covering your back.

There are other examples, too, but some of those I was well over 18 and could legally be considered an accomplice, so let’s just skip to the point: I know hardball. If this bitch wants to play, I’m bringing my ball. So to speak.

She may be pinning Nat’s tail on the donkey, and suggesting costume changes and cover ideas and whatever, but if she thinks she’s going any further than that, she don’t know Clarissa Coleman. I can bide my time, I can wait in the shadows, but I’ll get you in the end. I don’t need Dusty’s friends to keep you from stealing my role. Especially not since they’re all in their mid-90s by now.

Besides, just between you and me, she’ll never fit into the costume. Not without hoarding half the world’s supply of Kleenex. Not that I’m scared or anything. The fans wouldn’t accept it. They’re used to my angry growl on the cover of that book each month. Some people may argue you can only see the bottom 25% of my face, like Nat once did, but I say it’s enough to tell the difference between a genuine talent and a hack sleeping her way to the—well, slightly elevated above the bottom, anyway.

Truthfully, I’m not even all that happy with this assignment. Posing in a goofy vinyl/plastic costume with a big-ass sword in a freezing basement is good when you’re just starting out, but I can do much better, as I keep telling people. But at this point, even if I wanted to leave the job, I wouldn’t. She needs to be put in her place but good. If I let her steal this from me, even if I don’t want it, the next thing I know she’ll be showing up on the Archipelago Law reunion ten years from now. Then I’d have to get that sword out for real.

Oops, I Did a Hardcore Porno Again
I did so many movies over the summer after I got rolling in the low-budget sci-fi movie biz it was probably just a matter of time before I wound up in a porno. You’re going from house to house, one shady basement after another, step in front of cameras, guys give you scripts (or “gist” the scene to you) and you ad-lib for a couple minutes.

Video Games Killed the Child Star
I got to go out to this studio in New Jersey and record the video game character’s voice, and it takes a whole shitload of time. I’ve done DVD commentaries before and even did some voice work, once in a while. None of it compares to all the video game voice work. Apparently these characters talk a whole fucking lot.

Killer Coleman
I hit the first cat on the way to work Monday. I was late for a few photographs for that comic book I’m on the cover of, Metallichick. And this ain’t even a talking gig, it’s not like they couldn’t find some hot skank hanging out on the stoop and get her to fill in.

Crammed in the Closet
So it turns out my sister’s gay. Quite a big bomb-dropping, for a regular family, I guess. If you ask me it’s just a ninth-inning attempt to reinvent herself like a third-rate Madonna, or a 1970s David Bowie.