Tuesday, May 24, 2016

#chapter1.10 - radio haze (iii)

the mCsituation

Subsequently,  a long drone leaked out of the monitor's speakers, much like a bagpipe's lower register. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..."
"What fresh new devilry is this? Is someone dying on the radio? Is it some fiery beast risen from hell?" asked Lockjaw.
"No, Captain," said Mr. Schlock. "It is one of your Earth-human audio programs, "That Ummerican Life."
All of the survivors went silent, listening carefully. Lockjaw cocked his head, dog-like. "Oh, now I hear it," he said. "It's a man. Talking. Sort of."

Indeed, it actually was a human voice of some sort. "Hell...o. Welcome..." Then a long pause. Then what might have been a prolonged  inhalation. "UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH."

Then the speech began again--and again, barely audible.  "Welcome.." Lockjaw checked his watch. "...to..."  He then began mixing a martini from what was left of the bar. "Okay, who wants more booze?" Everyone raised their hands including the children.  "Hey, what the hell, we're all going to be dead soon, eh?" "...That..." "Just let me shake this up like Taylor Swift on meth." "...American.." Lockjaw continued shaking the container. "...Life." "Finally, we have a title! Hey, let's see what's in here." The captain opened the container. "Just enough left for me, sorry everybody."
it said. A sad sigh went through the little crowd.

Or perhaps the sadness was caused by the voice droned on its low, barely audible, yet somehow annoying monotone. "Today...let'-- talk--about--anger. Not--just--any--anger. [long pause]No. Buuuuuuut [deep inhalation] the worst type of all: The--things--people--say--about--my--show. Let's start with Dave. Dave, you insulted a woman by calling her a, and I quote, and our listeners should probably cover their ears at this point or set down their cup of non-caffeinated herbal tea or just turn off their hearing aids, assuming they can still hear at all--"

The voice of a man, high-pitched and filled with rage, interrupted him. "Yes I did, Jeebus just get to the damn point. You said you were going to call for an ambulance if I answered your questions!"

"And he's being rude by interrupting me. But I will ask the question: Did you call this woman a 'fat bitch'?'

[Somewhere, on another far-off planet, a bearded mystic intoned, "I just felt a disturbance in the Farce, like the sound of a million cups of chamomile being spilled at once. Followed by an outpouring of angry emails, internet postings, text messages, text messages sent as emails, and even letters hand written and sent via post."]

The voice of the angry man filled the room. "Yes I  called her a fat bitch, she's eating my goddamn arm off. Please call an ambulance or do something! Arrrgh."

"Now let's get her response. What do you say to that, madam?"

A woman's voice spoke in response. "Braiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiins!"

The angry man"Dammit my arm is gone! I'm bleeding out here! Please somebody help me! I think  I'm--" There was a crashing noise, like a body falling out of a chair and hitting the floor.

"So there you have it, Ummerica: A rage-filled misogynist; a woman who simply wants to feed upon human flesh. Next up: A story about unappreciative and most likely bigoted, misogynistic leeches who refuse to be guilted into sending money to support this show and other terrific programs on National SomethingSomething Radio."

"For the sake of Jeebus turn it off!" shouted Lockjaw.

"We can't find the remote!"

Lockjaw clenched both fists and sank to his knees cried out: "Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"





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