Baby Jackjack wasn’t actually a baby. He just suffered a rare form of dwarfism that caused him to maintain the proportions of a baby. In actuality, he was forty-one. He worked as a “professional baby,” acting in commercials and films that required a baby to do a scene impossible for a real baby to do–anything from talking to jetskiing.
What Jackjack really wanted to be was a poet. He wanted to be able to write anonymously, so no one would know what he looked like. He just needed to work while he published his stuff. Once he could sell collections, he could live on that, or so he figured. Since he was barely stronger and more mobile than a baby, he qualified for a number of disability claims, so his government money covered most of his needs. He just fell into the acting thing. It was too easy to put a man who looked like a baby on camera and gain millions of viewers.
But Jackjack didn’t want to be a perpetual child star. He wanted to write. So he stuck to smaller productions. Like this commercial for borscht. Jackjack didn’t even know what borscht was. But some company was trying to push it as good baby food, so Jackjack had to sell it.
Sitting in a booster chair at a kitchen table and a three-wall set, with cameras all pointed at the talking baby, Jackjack took a spoonful of the stuff.
It was goddamned awful.
Rather than saying the scripted line about growing up so fast he could talk, Jackjack said, “This borscht tastes like horse shit. It’s borsch shit. I wanna push it away.”
“You’re never going to be a fucking rapper, Jayjay,” said the director. “Now say the goddamned yum-yum line so we can all go home.”
Lil’ JJ. That would be his rapper name. He said the goddamned yum-yum line and went home to write about borsch shit.
Today’s three prompt categories were, “Professional baby,” “Borscht,” and, “Unintentional poetry.”
I still don’t know what borscht is.