[The scene takes place inside the plush offices of IMAGEMAKERS, a major New York PR firm. A kindly old black man with white hair [Mr. Jones] is led into the inner sanctum. He shuffles quietly to one of the big leather chairs at the foot of the enormous desk of Carl Anderson, one of the reps.]

Carl: Good morning and welcome, Mr. Jones! Thank you for coming in to IMAGEMAKERS today. Perception management is an important aspect of any professional entertainer. How can we help you take that next step in your career?

Mr. Jones: Well that’s what I’m here to talk about…

Carl: Excellent. I’m sure we can help you, Mr. Jones. You made the right decision. We represent all kinds of artists from every walk of life. Now it says here in your file that you’re a ‘Blues Man.’

Mr. Jones: That’s right.

Carl: I gather that you are a musician.

Mr. Jones: That’s right. I play the blues…my latest album is called ‘JESUS: I AIN’T NOT BELIEVIN.’

Carl: I see. And you go by the stage name of ‘Stinkbutt Jones.’ Am I reading that correctly..?

Mr. Jones: That’s right.

Carl: Mr. Jones…do you mind if I call you ‘Mr. Jones?’

Mr. Jones: You can call me Stinkbutt. Everybody do…

Carl: Thank you, Mr. Jones…er, no. Let’s keep things formal for now. I must say I’ve heard a lot of famous blues musicians with descriptive nicknames before, like ‘sleepy,’ ‘Big Boy,’ ‘Fats,’ ‘Gatemouth,’ ‘Blind Willie so and so…’

Mr. Jones: That’s right.

Carl: …But I don’t think I’ve ever heard ‘Stinkbutt.’ Tell me, Mr. Jones, do you get much work?

Mr. Jones: No.

Carl: …hmm…

Mr. Jones: That’s why I’m sitting here talking to you…

Carl: Okay. I’m sure we can help you, Mr. Jones. I think the first thing we need to do is give you a new image. Can you tell me, how exactly did you come by the nickname ‘Stinkbutt?’

Mr. Jones: How you think..? C’mon, man…I was a smelly baby…

Carl: I just think we might consider giving you a new stage persona. Maybe something besides ‘Stinkbutt?’ I think –

Mr. Jones: No way, man. I ain’t changing my name. I have my pride!

Carl: How can I put this? Your stage name is rather colorful, shall we say..?

Mr. Jones: That’s my given name, motherfucker! My momma gave it to me. I’m not gonna change my damn name…

Carl: Well I think perhaps your name might be detrimental to your career at this point, such as it is…

Mr. Jones: Hell, that’s a big part of why I sing the Blues! I can’t change my name. Besides, you think my name is bad; my brother’s name is Pus-face.

Carl: I…er…um…okay Mr. Jones, let’s leave that alone for now. Can I ask what instrument do you play? Harmonica? Guitar? Piano?

Mr. Jones: No, man. I Play the TUMBI!

Carl: Oh, okay…you play the tuba..? It must be hard to play the tuba and sing..?

Mr. Jones: I said tumbi, not tuba, dammit!

Carl: Ah ha. Please pardon my ignorance, Mr. Jones, but what the heck is a tumbi? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that…

Mr. Jones: Oh, man. Don’t you white boys know nothing? The tumbi is a one-stringed instrument native to the Punjab region of India…everyone knows that. What do they teach y’all in them fancy schools?

Carl: And you play the blues on it?

Mr. Jones: Yes. Ain’t nothing BUT the blues when you only got one string..!

[FADE TO BLACK…]