Talk Show On Mute

I wrote this story with a little inspiration from Incubus and a random profile I read on Writers Cafe.

 

                          Talk Show On Mute

 

 

“Hey folks!  Tonight on, What Would You Do! , the show that interviews the common man, we have Richard Ryder.  He prefers to be called Richard the Lionheart. Richard is from a small town in New Jersey. He’s unemployed and lives with his parents!”

Richard sit ups. He sticks his chin into the microphone.

“Hi John. Hi everybody else.”

Applause ON. The audience applauds.

Applause OFF. The audience stops clapping.

 

“Richard, why go by the alias Richard the LionHeart?”

Richard sticks his chin into the microphone. “Well John, I kinda like the way it sounds. It’s got a good ring to it.”

“I see. You do know he was a tyrant?”

“I have to be honest with you John. I’m not big on ancient history. It’s all about the here and the now.”

“I see,” says John Wigglesworth, the radiant host, through a tight smile of shiny veneers.

He snaps his head towards the camera. “Well, let’s get right to it then!”

“Stop the bloodshed! No more blood for oil!” A voice off camera yells. The crowd murmurs. The festive spirit of the talk show set dwindling. Two guards pounce on the man and drag him away.

 

Applause ON. The audience goes wild.

A man in a panda suit dances for the crowd. He does the robot to an 80’s dance beat. He pumps his fists to techno. A hip-hop track comes on and he starts gyrating his hips, thrusting into an invisible woman. Two girls in tiny bikinis throw t-shirts, Cd’s, gift certificates, and I-Pods into the crowd.

John Wigglesworth checks his hair in a mirror held up by a pimply nineteen year old assistant. An Asian woman wearing a red beret fixes John’s make up.

Someone speaks through a megaphone, “And we’re back on in 3…..2……1…”

Applause  OFF.

 

The crowd goes silent. Panda Man does the worm until he’s out of sight. Bikini Girls scamper away.

“Well Richard Ryder…..”

“The Lionheart.”

“Excuse me?” John says.

“The Lionheart. Richard the Lionheart. That’s what I prefer to be called. It was one of the conditions I made in agreement to come on the show.”

“Right. Richard…….the Lionheart.” John smiles at the camera.

“The heart of America into your home folks!” he says.

“Okay, first question. If you could spend the day with any celebrity, who would it be?”

Richard sits up. He sticks his chin into the microphone.

“That’s an easy one. Bilbo Baggins.”

The Lionheart sits back in his chair, satisfied with his answer.

“Bilbo Baggins?” John asks perplexed, the layers of foundation on his face canyoning.

John clears his throat, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t Bilbo Baggins a fictional character from one of those incredibly long movies about a ring?”

Richard sits up. He sticks his chin into the microphone. “Actually he’s originally from a book.”

“A book?” John asks in disgust.

The audience starts booing. Someone screams, “F**k you Richard Ryder!”

“The Lionheart,” Richard says into the microphone. He narrowly dodges a rolled up black T-shirt launched at his head.

 

Applause ON. Booing turns into cheers.

In the audience, men hurry down the row of seats, handing out beer cans.

A megaphoned voice yells, “Chug! Chug! Chug!”

The audience pops their cans in unison. The sound of chugging and slurping fills the set. AC DC’s Highway to Hell plays in the background. The audience works together, passing the empty cans down to men waiting with garbage bags at the end of the rows.

John Wigglesworth rubs himself through his pants for half a moment. The camera focuses in on John. He stops. A queue card behind the camera reads: Next question.

“Onto the next question folks!”

Richard has put on the black shirt that was thrown at him. LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTED! , it says in huge white lettering. The camera zooms in on him. He gives the thumbs up.

“I love you mom,” he says to the camera.

John cuts him off. “ Next question.”

Richard looks at John expectantly , waiting for the question.

“What would you do if you had a million dollars?”

Richard doesn’t sit up. He doesn’t put his chin to the microphone. He thinks. After a moment, he speaks.

“Well, I’d probably spend a quarter of it on hookers and drugs. The rest I’d probably donate to some underfunded inner city library.”

John Wigglesworth places his hand to the plastic disk lodged in his ear. He turns towards the camera, “Be back after this commercial break!”

“Listen up,” the show’s producer yells through a megaphone, “will the studio audience please make their way to the exit.”

The audience grows confused.

“Now!” he screams.

A mass of bodies get up and start shuffling towards the exit. People begin protesting.

“Shut up! Shut up or we’ll collect your prizes and you’ll go home with nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing.”

Only the movement of feet can be heard.

 

Applause ON.

The crowd cheers and claps as they exit the set.

“Cocksucker,” John Wigglesworth mutters under his breath, glaring at Richard Ryder Lionheart. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small vile, and sprinkles some white powder on his pinkie finger. He snorts it up. Smoothing his suit jacket and pants with the palms of his hands, he walks over to Richard.

“I hope you know you know you ruined our show.”

“Why’s that?” Richard says.

“Did you hear yourself? Listen I’m all for freedom of speech and all that s**t, but did you ever stop to think , “ Hey I’m on TV.” ? ”

“I don’t watch TV. It’s bad for your brain.”

“Get out. Get out of here now,” Johns says, visibly agitated.

“Do I still get my five hundred bucks?”

“Get the f**k out!”

Richard runs out of the studio. He pauses just before the exit.

“Hey John ?”

“What?”

“Kiss my a*s.” Richard pull his pants down revealing a pasty white a*s. He hikes his pants up and walks out.

John sinks down into Richard’s empty seat. He looks up at the ceiling and sighs.

“I should’ve been a priest.”

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[roarke]

kind of like a mash-up between "Network" and "Fahrenheit 451"... kinda.

priest, talk show host... what's the difference, right? I almost had flashbacks of Oprah's audiences.... almost.

Fast snappy writing, pop culture vivisection, Jerry Springer should be so homaged...
good stuff.

[ClockWork GRIMM]

Wooow... I don't know why but I really loved reading this one... It hooked my interest and for some reason was an amazing read to me... I don't understand what the plot was if there even was one but I thought this one was mesmerizing.... Keep writing on it and turn it into a novella...

[Twisted]

It's fast paced and direct to the point. The fact that you defined the tv persona with the host and his real self gives a snap of reality to the mix. The tough crowd was like the ones off Jerry springer almost. I enjoyed it very much. P.S. Thank you for the review. I assure you I will add on to what is there.

[mark slade]

very creative with the applause button. cool story, man.