A friend of mine asked me to publish this “review" on DeBaser on his behalf. I’m happy to do so. It’s a bit of self-promotion—I hope it won’t be too unwelcome.
The Art of Pitching (by Karlo Bromsen)
Act I – The Forks
-The Pitch-
(A Berlin flatshare. The corridor is long, dimly lit. Karlo stands in the kitchen, stirring a pot of
boiling pasta.)
Karlo: Richard, dinner will be ready soon. (From the far end of the hallway, Bon’s room
erupts with long, drawn-out Kung Fu screams.)
Karlo (pausing, confused): What on earth is Bon doing?
Richard (without looking up): I think… press work.
Karlo (raising an eyebrow, then humming The Godfather theme while chopping tomatoes):
Press work, huh. Interesting. (He searches the drawer, frowns.)
Karlo: Wait—where are all the forks? (Richard shrugs. They hear another yell. Bon bursts
into the kitchen, slightly sweaty, grinning.)
Bon: Don’t worry. I used them. Every single fork.
Karlo: Used them?! For what?
Bon: I launched them out the window. Each one carrying a link. Straight to Pitchfork. (They
rush to the window. Down on the street below, no forks remain. Just silence. The night air
hums.)
Karlo (quietly): So… maybe Pitchfork got the links?
Richard (after a beat): Or maybe they’re just… sharpening their knives. (They all lean out the
window, listening.)
Act II – The Ladle
(Scene: Same Berlin flatshare. The kitchen table is now bare, no forks in sight. Karlo is
sipping wine, Richard is scrolling on his phone. Bon enters, holding a large soup ladle.)
Karlo: Bon… why are you holding a ladle?
Bon: Because we’re out of forks. And the forks didn’t work.
Richard (grinning): Maybe Pitchfork needs bigger cutlery. Something with weight. (Bon
slams the ladle on the table. Everyone jumps.)
Bon: This time, we send spoons. Heavy, shining spoons. They carry bigger things.
Karlo (raising an eyebrow): Bigger things?
Bon (dramatic): New coverage. The latest stories. SPIN. Obscure Sound. Carried on spoons,
launched straight into the night. (He opens the window, and mimics throwing invisible spoons
into the darkness. A faint metallic echo reverberates in the street.)
Richard (scrolling): Look, they’re flying…!
Karlo: Flying where? Richard: The links - toward Brooklyn. (All three lean out the window.
Silence. Then a distant sound of cutlery clinking.)
Karlo (quietly): So… maybe this time, they’ll digest ?
Act III – The Plan
(Scene: Same Berlin flatshare. The band gathers around the kitchen table, this time armed
with pens and notebooks.)
Karlo: Maybe Pitchfork doesn’t need forks. Or spoons.
Richard: What then?
Bon: A story. Written down. Published. Something they can’t ignore.
Karlo: Exactly. Debaser told me we could even write it ourselves.
Richard (smiling): So we pitch the pitch?
Bon (raising an eyebrow): The Art of Pitching.
(All three nod. A lamp flickers above the table. Outside, the city hums. The journey
continues…)
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