Harlan Ellison rips the proposed WGA contract into tiny little pieces, lights the shreds on fire and then uses a grenade launcher to send the glowing ashes back to Guild leadership. Summing up? He's pissed:

THEY BEAT US LIKE A YELLOW DOG. IT IS A SHIT DEAL. We finally got a timorous generation that has never had to strike, to get their asses out there, and we had to put up with the usual cowardly spineless babbling horse's asses who kept mumbling "lessgo bac'ta work' over and over, as if it would make them one iota a better writer. But after months on the line, and them finally bouncing that pus-sucking dipthong Nick Counter, we rushed headlong into a shabby, scabrous, underfed shovelfulla shit clutched to the affections of toss-in-the-towel summer soldiers trembling before the Awe of the Alliance.

Here's Ellison ranting earlier:

He's dreamy. Frothing, but dreamy.