Error 420
One Thousand Club
(I got a little idea from a TV show and I'm coming in raw here, just writing on the fly.)
The phone screen glowed with bright colors and shapes. The hand of Richard Wilcox gripped his phone tightly, his sweat dripping off of his brow. The phone screen spoke in a "WELCOME TO IRELAND'S TOP REALITY SHOW, DEATH RACE! WE'VE HEARD YOUR VOICES, PEOPLE, AND WE'VE GOT A FANTASTIC SHOW FOR YOU!" Richard tapped a button on the side of his headphones, lowering the volume. Flashing colors reflected in his blue, vacant eyes. A brightly dressed host stepped onto the screen, snapping his fingers to dull the generic pop music. "You know, I was looking at the list for today, and wow! Have we got a big pile of shitrile here with us?" A canned audience applauds and cheers. "Honestly, you know who it is, you've voted for them!" More canned laughter. An exhalation from Richard. The camera cuts close to this host, showing his purple hair in the studio lights above his ludicrous grin. His voice drips with smarmy sarcasm. "But it's a part of the show, so let's give our warmest welcome to our contestants!" Another finger snap and a quick cut to the host, standing behind a podium. He snaps his fingers and another podium appears. Behind it is a red-haired woman, in underwear, tears streaking down her face. A quick cut to the host's face. He pretends to whisper to the camera. "Would you take a look at this I'm uncultured?" Uproarious laughter. The camera cuts back to the previous cut. The host rolls his eyes and faces the woman. "So, what are you here for?" The woman's eyes dart around as she chokes with fear. Another quick cut onto the host. "What's the matter, love? Little boy got your tongue?" The canned laughter cackles with delight. "Whoops, did I say that?" He looks to camera. It cuts to a closeup of the woman.
"Well, if you aren't going to introduce yourself, allow me. Missus Christine Brie- oh wait, miss." The "live studio audience" has a quick chuckle at this. "You were a schoolteacher at St. Micheal's, isn't that right?" The woman begins to weep. "Oh, hit a sore bone, did I?" The camera cuts back to the host again. "Good. Now by the looks of it you're not gonna tell anybody what you did, are you?" A cut back to the woman, who is visibly on the precipice of a breakdown. "That's what I thought. You see, pretty missus Brie likes little boys, doesn't she?" The "audience" gasps and boos. The woman is broken and completely bereft. The camera cuts back to the smiling host. "Up next, we have a celebrity guest!" He snaps his fingers and the camera cuts to a second podium. Behind it is a very attractive man in underwear, looking off into the distance, emotionally distant and empty. "Mister Gordon Prince, wanna tell us what you did?" The man is silent. Of course, another cut to the host. "I don't see why I even need to ask this question. We know what you did. Not a fan of the Jews, eh?" The audience boos. "In fact, you were quite public with it." A video plays. It shows a drunken man standing in a night club yelling "Fuck the Jews" over and over. The audience boos as it cuts back to the host.
"So that's our lovely companions on today's... DEATH RACE!" The audience screams in amazement and applauds heavily. Eventually they slow, and the pop music kicks back up as the Host speaks. "I'm sure by now, everybody knows the game! These arseholes will play a game for your entertainment, and then we'll vote on the winner! Today's game: WATERWORKS! The objective of this game is, well, what the goal always is! So, we have our first question for Miss Robinson over here." A drum roll. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" The camera cuts to the woman.
"I-I, I don't know what you mean, I just want to go home please I just-" a buzz interrupts her as the camera cuts to a wide shot of all three podiums.
"WRONG. I guess it's time to bring in Lucy Lang, a loyal subscriber to our show, just like any of you at home. Come on in, Lucy!" A small woman walks on stage left, carrying a fire hose. "GIVE IT TO EM, LUCY!" The woman unleashes the hose, cackling wildly. It quickly knocks the woman to the floor. She gets up over the woman and relentlessly sprays her as she tries to scream. The audience is dying with laughter. The hose shuts off, as Lucy is heavily breathing. The woman is on the floor, shuddering. She gasps for air.
"Good one there, Lucy! Lucy Lang, everyone!" She bows, and the audience applauds. She walks offstage the way she came. "And now a question for ripoff Fabio here. I noticed you came here without clothing. What were you wearing, your SS uniform?" The audience laughs. The camera zooms to the celebrity. He turns and stares at the host. He looks back forward, and then looks down. The buzzer buzzes. "BOOOOOOOORING!" The audience boos. A young man walks out with the same hose as the camera zooms back out. "This is Teddy Shepard here, another regular listener! LET HIM HAVE IT!" The hose catches the Celebrity, throwing him against the ground. Teddy drops the hose over and over with laughter, which prompts the host to laugh. The audience's laughter drowns out the crying of the woman, still on the floor. "Teddy Shepard, everyone!" Teddy waves and leave stage.
"Now it's time for our final section, where it's up to you! If you vote Miss Touchy, go at CBrie. If you're voting for Little Hitler, go at GPrice. For new viewers, that's on twitter, just tweet hashtag kill and tag it with the one you want. We'll be right back with the results on Death Race."
A generic porn ad begins to play on Richard Wilcox's phone. He mutes his headphones and turns his phone over, boredly tapping on his knee. A few seconds later, he picks his phone back up. He hits a button on his headphones and the show begins again, with a closeup of the host. "Ireland, you have picked... Miss Pickle Tickler herself, Christine Brie! Say farewell to this mortal coil, Miss Brie!"
She screams and she tries to run as large armored men grab her. One stabs a syringe into her arm. The audience cackles at every turn. The audience is a sea of cacophonous applause and celebration as she breathes her final breath. Richard Wilcox lifts up his head and removes his headphones. He looks around on the monorail car, at teenagers on their phones, old women gossiping, and tired parents having their children play on tablets. The monorail stops. He puts his phone in his pocket and leaves the car.
(it's probably pretty obvious what TV show I was watching when I had the idea, but hopefully this was unique and creative enough? Tell me what you think.)
The phone screen glowed with bright colors and shapes. The hand of Richard Wilcox gripped his phone tightly, his sweat dripping off of his brow. The phone screen spoke in a "WELCOME TO IRELAND'S TOP REALITY SHOW, DEATH RACE! WE'VE HEARD YOUR VOICES, PEOPLE, AND WE'VE GOT A FANTASTIC SHOW FOR YOU!" Richard tapped a button on the side of his headphones, lowering the volume. Flashing colors reflected in his blue, vacant eyes. A brightly dressed host stepped onto the screen, snapping his fingers to dull the generic pop music. "You know, I was looking at the list for today, and wow! Have we got a big pile of shitrile here with us?" A canned audience applauds and cheers. "Honestly, you know who it is, you've voted for them!" More canned laughter. An exhalation from Richard. The camera cuts close to this host, showing his purple hair in the studio lights above his ludicrous grin. His voice drips with smarmy sarcasm. "But it's a part of the show, so let's give our warmest welcome to our contestants!" Another finger snap and a quick cut to the host, standing behind a podium. He snaps his fingers and another podium appears. Behind it is a red-haired woman, in underwear, tears streaking down her face. A quick cut to the host's face. He pretends to whisper to the camera. "Would you take a look at this I'm uncultured?" Uproarious laughter. The camera cuts back to the previous cut. The host rolls his eyes and faces the woman. "So, what are you here for?" The woman's eyes dart around as she chokes with fear. Another quick cut onto the host. "What's the matter, love? Little boy got your tongue?" The canned laughter cackles with delight. "Whoops, did I say that?" He looks to camera. It cuts to a closeup of the woman.
"Well, if you aren't going to introduce yourself, allow me. Missus Christine Brie- oh wait, miss." The "live studio audience" has a quick chuckle at this. "You were a schoolteacher at St. Micheal's, isn't that right?" The woman begins to weep. "Oh, hit a sore bone, did I?" The camera cuts back to the host again. "Good. Now by the looks of it you're not gonna tell anybody what you did, are you?" A cut back to the woman, who is visibly on the precipice of a breakdown. "That's what I thought. You see, pretty missus Brie likes little boys, doesn't she?" The "audience" gasps and boos. The woman is broken and completely bereft. The camera cuts back to the smiling host. "Up next, we have a celebrity guest!" He snaps his fingers and the camera cuts to a second podium. Behind it is a very attractive man in underwear, looking off into the distance, emotionally distant and empty. "Mister Gordon Prince, wanna tell us what you did?" The man is silent. Of course, another cut to the host. "I don't see why I even need to ask this question. We know what you did. Not a fan of the Jews, eh?" The audience boos. "In fact, you were quite public with it." A video plays. It shows a drunken man standing in a night club yelling "Fuck the Jews" over and over. The audience boos as it cuts back to the host.
"So that's our lovely companions on today's... DEATH RACE!" The audience screams in amazement and applauds heavily. Eventually they slow, and the pop music kicks back up as the Host speaks. "I'm sure by now, everybody knows the game! These arseholes will play a game for your entertainment, and then we'll vote on the winner! Today's game: WATERWORKS! The objective of this game is, well, what the goal always is! So, we have our first question for Miss Robinson over here." A drum roll. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" The camera cuts to the woman.
"I-I, I don't know what you mean, I just want to go home please I just-" a buzz interrupts her as the camera cuts to a wide shot of all three podiums.
"WRONG. I guess it's time to bring in Lucy Lang, a loyal subscriber to our show, just like any of you at home. Come on in, Lucy!" A small woman walks on stage left, carrying a fire hose. "GIVE IT TO EM, LUCY!" The woman unleashes the hose, cackling wildly. It quickly knocks the woman to the floor. She gets up over the woman and relentlessly sprays her as she tries to scream. The audience is dying with laughter. The hose shuts off, as Lucy is heavily breathing. The woman is on the floor, shuddering. She gasps for air.
"Good one there, Lucy! Lucy Lang, everyone!" She bows, and the audience applauds. She walks offstage the way she came. "And now a question for ripoff Fabio here. I noticed you came here without clothing. What were you wearing, your SS uniform?" The audience laughs. The camera zooms to the celebrity. He turns and stares at the host. He looks back forward, and then looks down. The buzzer buzzes. "BOOOOOOOORING!" The audience boos. A young man walks out with the same hose as the camera zooms back out. "This is Teddy Shepard here, another regular listener! LET HIM HAVE IT!" The hose catches the Celebrity, throwing him against the ground. Teddy drops the hose over and over with laughter, which prompts the host to laugh. The audience's laughter drowns out the crying of the woman, still on the floor. "Teddy Shepard, everyone!" Teddy waves and leave stage.
"Now it's time for our final section, where it's up to you! If you vote Miss Touchy, go at CBrie. If you're voting for Little Hitler, go at GPrice. For new viewers, that's on twitter, just tweet hashtag kill and tag it with the one you want. We'll be right back with the results on Death Race."
A generic porn ad begins to play on Richard Wilcox's phone. He mutes his headphones and turns his phone over, boredly tapping on his knee. A few seconds later, he picks his phone back up. He hits a button on his headphones and the show begins again, with a closeup of the host. "Ireland, you have picked... Miss Pickle Tickler herself, Christine Brie! Say farewell to this mortal coil, Miss Brie!"
She screams and she tries to run as large armored men grab her. One stabs a syringe into her arm. The audience cackles at every turn. The audience is a sea of cacophonous applause and celebration as she breathes her final breath. Richard Wilcox lifts up his head and removes his headphones. He looks around on the monorail car, at teenagers on their phones, old women gossiping, and tired parents having their children play on tablets. The monorail stops. He puts his phone in his pocket and leaves the car.
(it's probably pretty obvious what TV show I was watching when I had the idea, but hopefully this was unique and creative enough? Tell me what you think.)
