Post by Jack of Blades on May 2, 2006 16:16:13 GMT -5
(We open up on a studio that resembles the eponymous game show. It's exact in its likeness except for the fact that an ambulance has reversed through the studio's wall and is ever-present along with the unconscious paramedics. The theme music of the show plays as Jack makes himself known on stage. He's looking much more host-like with his Television title wrapped around his chest. He’s wearing a skincap over his long hair and what looks like a merkin on his chin to make him look like Howie Mandel. Surrounding him are twenty-six beautiful models and they are all holding a briefcase. Jack walks closer to the camera as he speaks.)
Jack of Blades: Twenty-six patients needing a heart transplant. Twenty-six briefcases containing twenty-six varying degrees of open-heart surgeries. Tonight on Death or No Death.
(The titles roll in a similar fashion as they would but with the boxes spraying organs rather than cash. The camera turns back to the studio as the machine selects today’s contestant. A few names scramble around before landing on Dudley. The crowd applaud as Dudley, an overweight alcoholic with a potential aortic dissection. He raises his hands in triumph before coughing and making his way to the necessary stand.)
Jack of Blades: Dudley is an office supply manager from Wisconsin. His hobbies include fishing, drinking and fishing and drinking. What do you call it?
Dudley: Frinking.
Jack of Blades: Frinking, yes. And do you have any sort of need or estimation for the board? What sort of heart operation are you aiming for and why do you need it?
Dudley: Don’t. Gonna put it on eBay for a nice little bit of pocket cash.
Jack of Blades: So you’re not actually ill, you’re just fat. And you’re a terrible human being. Fair enough, Dudley, the board ranges from the lowest prize of makeshift heart which is simply a roast potato with a whistle glued to it to a full heart transplant taken from a athlete of your choosing and performed by precise robots all paid for by the show’s insurance company.
(The crowd cheers.)
Jack of Blades: Ok, Dudley, we have a bunch of generic models all hoping for a casting agent to be watching this and give them a movie roll and all waiting for your first choice.
Dudley: Number four.
Jack of Blades: Number four, open it up please.
(She does so to reveal the word ‘pacemaker.’ The crowd sighs as it goes.)
Jack of Blades: Wow, not a good start, there. Next box please Dudley.
Dudley: Seventeen.
Jack of Blades: You heard it, number seventeen
(Seventeen opens revealing a cow’s heart. The crowd gives a sort of indifferent sigh before Jack begins to speak.)
Jack of Blades: Duds, you will not be going home with a bovine ventricle today. Okay, final box of the round.
Dudley: Number eleven
Jack of Blades: Okay, let’s have it.
(The model with box number eleven opens it only for a ‘facehugger’ from the ‘Alien’ series to jump out and attach itself to her face. She falls on the floor as it implants an embryo in her chest. The crowd, Dudley and Jack laugh with glee before the phone rings and Jack is forced to pick it up.)
Jack of Blades: Good evening, Banker. Yes, he is a fat twat. And between you, and me he fucking stinks. That much, huh? I’m glad no one realises I’m just talking to myself.
(He puts the phone down and looks at the distressed Dudley.)
Jack of Blades: The Banker must be in a good mood today because he is offering you a healthy heart but amputees will do the surgery.
(It’s a respectable offer. The crowd claps as Dudley moves to answer.)
Dudley: With that said I’ll have to say…
(He goes to mutter either ‘deal’ or ‘no deal’ but an audience member choking muffles it into indistinguishable noise.)
Jack of Blades: Sorry, can we have silence in the audience, thanks. Again?
(Dudley goes to speak but is broken off by another cough. Jack does not learn his answer and seems annoyed.)
Jack of Blades: Don’t worry, I’ll sort this out.
(Jack goes to the audience to find the source of the coughs. A sickly, pale young teenage female is there choking into a napkin.)
Teenage Patient: Sorry, it’s just..yarh…kck…this uh cough.
(The Teenage Patient’s mother leans into the microphone.)
Teenage Guardian: Sorry, we were just hoping that tonight would be our night. Sorry, again.
(Jack punches the teenager’s guardian in the face and walks back to receive his answer of Dudley before a ‘suit’ interrupts him.)
Suit: Hey, stop this. I’m from the network; the show is cancelled. Sorry.
Jack of Blades: Why, I mean we’ve added reality elements, you like reality shows dontcha?
Suit: Yeah, but sick people? That’s not profit. Why do you think we have models instead of impoverished mothers who need the moolah? Eh? Who wants to see the needy get cash for vital surgeries when we can watch beautiful people earn thousands for a new ski-boat? We like reality, but this is just too real.
(Jack nods as the ‘Facehugger Model’ starts to shake as an alien bursts out of her chest. The camera turns to static before switching off completely.)
Jack of Blades: Twenty-six patients needing a heart transplant. Twenty-six briefcases containing twenty-six varying degrees of open-heart surgeries. Tonight on Death or No Death.
(The titles roll in a similar fashion as they would but with the boxes spraying organs rather than cash. The camera turns back to the studio as the machine selects today’s contestant. A few names scramble around before landing on Dudley. The crowd applaud as Dudley, an overweight alcoholic with a potential aortic dissection. He raises his hands in triumph before coughing and making his way to the necessary stand.)
Jack of Blades: Dudley is an office supply manager from Wisconsin. His hobbies include fishing, drinking and fishing and drinking. What do you call it?
Dudley: Frinking.
Jack of Blades: Frinking, yes. And do you have any sort of need or estimation for the board? What sort of heart operation are you aiming for and why do you need it?
Dudley: Don’t. Gonna put it on eBay for a nice little bit of pocket cash.
Jack of Blades: So you’re not actually ill, you’re just fat. And you’re a terrible human being. Fair enough, Dudley, the board ranges from the lowest prize of makeshift heart which is simply a roast potato with a whistle glued to it to a full heart transplant taken from a athlete of your choosing and performed by precise robots all paid for by the show’s insurance company.
(The crowd cheers.)
Jack of Blades: Ok, Dudley, we have a bunch of generic models all hoping for a casting agent to be watching this and give them a movie roll and all waiting for your first choice.
Dudley: Number four.
Jack of Blades: Number four, open it up please.
(She does so to reveal the word ‘pacemaker.’ The crowd sighs as it goes.)
Jack of Blades: Wow, not a good start, there. Next box please Dudley.
Dudley: Seventeen.
Jack of Blades: You heard it, number seventeen
(Seventeen opens revealing a cow’s heart. The crowd gives a sort of indifferent sigh before Jack begins to speak.)
Jack of Blades: Duds, you will not be going home with a bovine ventricle today. Okay, final box of the round.
Dudley: Number eleven
Jack of Blades: Okay, let’s have it.
(The model with box number eleven opens it only for a ‘facehugger’ from the ‘Alien’ series to jump out and attach itself to her face. She falls on the floor as it implants an embryo in her chest. The crowd, Dudley and Jack laugh with glee before the phone rings and Jack is forced to pick it up.)
Jack of Blades: Good evening, Banker. Yes, he is a fat twat. And between you, and me he fucking stinks. That much, huh? I’m glad no one realises I’m just talking to myself.
(He puts the phone down and looks at the distressed Dudley.)
Jack of Blades: The Banker must be in a good mood today because he is offering you a healthy heart but amputees will do the surgery.
(It’s a respectable offer. The crowd claps as Dudley moves to answer.)
Dudley: With that said I’ll have to say…
(He goes to mutter either ‘deal’ or ‘no deal’ but an audience member choking muffles it into indistinguishable noise.)
Jack of Blades: Sorry, can we have silence in the audience, thanks. Again?
(Dudley goes to speak but is broken off by another cough. Jack does not learn his answer and seems annoyed.)
Jack of Blades: Don’t worry, I’ll sort this out.
(Jack goes to the audience to find the source of the coughs. A sickly, pale young teenage female is there choking into a napkin.)
Teenage Patient: Sorry, it’s just..yarh…kck…this uh cough.
(The Teenage Patient’s mother leans into the microphone.)
Teenage Guardian: Sorry, we were just hoping that tonight would be our night. Sorry, again.
(Jack punches the teenager’s guardian in the face and walks back to receive his answer of Dudley before a ‘suit’ interrupts him.)
Suit: Hey, stop this. I’m from the network; the show is cancelled. Sorry.
Jack of Blades: Why, I mean we’ve added reality elements, you like reality shows dontcha?
Suit: Yeah, but sick people? That’s not profit. Why do you think we have models instead of impoverished mothers who need the moolah? Eh? Who wants to see the needy get cash for vital surgeries when we can watch beautiful people earn thousands for a new ski-boat? We like reality, but this is just too real.
(Jack nods as the ‘Facehugger Model’ starts to shake as an alien bursts out of her chest. The camera turns to static before switching off completely.)
