Author's Note: Well, I think this'll be pretty darn awesome.

Disclaimer: NBC owns 30 Rock.

Liz opened the door to Jack's office. Jack was putting a golf ball across a small strip of artificial turf.

"Wow Jack, just when I thought you had used every big-executive cliché in the book," said Liz.

Jack continued despite the mild criticism. "Did you ever play sports Liz?"

"I was the mind-towel girl for my middle school's checkers team," Liz said optimistically.

"I hope you know how pathetic that sounds."

"Oh, I do. I lived it." said Liz, nodding.

"Well, seeing as you're not precognitive, you must've had a reason for coming up here besides reminding me that you're not very athletic."

Liz flopped down on the couch, "No, I'm actually just hiding from my stupid staff."

"Lemon, your staff consists of children and Lutz."

Liz waved her hand spastically.

"What was that?"

"I was trying to casually motion towards the bar for a drink."

Jack poured her a drink. "Don't do that anymore. Now, what did your staff do?"

"They keep trying to get me to write stuff." Liz took her drink in one gulp. Then sputtered, blinked, coughed, then sneezed.

Jack didn't know what to sigh pitifully at, so he rolled his eyes. "Isn't that your job, to 'write stuff?'"

"Well, yeah, but I'm never the sole writer... there's so much pressure..."

"Why are you the sole writer now?"

"Because everybody else has writer's block! None of them have contributed a single idea for two days."

"Liz, do you know how Walt Disney got performance out of his writers?"

"No."

"He abused them. He would constantly change deadlines, hours, pay, and at all times made sure that they knew they were one-hundred percent disposable."

"So your saying I should treat my staff like crap to better results?"

Jack took out his cell phone and dialed a number. "I hate you." He closed his phone. "That was my right hand man."

"Gotcha."

Liz returned to her office, where her fellow TGS writers were laying on the ground, pacing, or playing rock-paper-scissors.

"Alright nerds, the last one to turn in a script to me is fired."

Frank and Topher ceased their game of rock-paper-scissors. "What?"

"Yeah, you heard me. Fired."

Topher was indignant. "You can't just threaten writer's block away!"

"Oh yeah, well Jack told me that Wa- you know what? No. I don't need to explain anything to you lower peoples. Just make me some TV."

Liz retreated to her office before further comments could ensue. She locked the door behind her, then turned around and saw that Tracy was in her chair. Had she been older, she would've had a heart attack. Or, as Dr. Spaceman would say, a soulsplosion.

"Tracy, what are you doing here? Jeez, you almost gave me a soulsplosion."

Tracy folded his hands. "Word on the street is you guys haven't been able to think of any new stuffs."

"How is that on the street?"

"But I believe that I can be of some assistance. The reason that you can't think of anything to write about is because you guys never live life. I mean, what are you going to write about, producing an NBC comedy? That can't be a show."

"Well, I-"

"So that's why you're going to spend the day with me."

"Tracy, I really don't think-"

Tracy picked up his phone. "Dot Com, cancel all of my appointments... no, that shark can just go in with all the other fish." Tracy shut his phone. "Let's go."