Show Me

Being strapped into a metal chair with cold, head-bound electrodes
poised to deliver an astounding charge of electricity into your temples
is usually the concluding, not to say most extraordinary experience of
the participant's life.
Having your ex-best friend similarly restrained opposite you would
undoubtedly add to the all-round feelings of amazement and surreal
detachment you were currently attempting to fight down.
Add a dozen or so T.V. cameras, a garish array of multicoloured lights,
several thousand cheering members of the public and an enthusiastic
host explaining just what the hell is going on and you've probably
reached the summit of strangeness.
Stephen Mayes, strapped opposite his best friend Andrew Cantor,
displayed the human brain's wonderful ability to focus on the
ridiculously irrelevant rather then the glaringly important, and
noticed that Andrew's tie was crooked.
*
Joe Stemmas, a researcher bored beyond his 32 years looked up from his
cluttered desk, reluctantly meeting the manic eyes of the well-dressed
whale that was J.C. Kale.
"I love this show, I love this show, I love this goddamn show!" J.C.
exclaimed. He accompanied this statement of adulation with a series of
wild, flailing arm movements and gave the impression he was suppressing
the urge to run on the spot. "We've only done two goddamn seasons and I
know, I just know, that it's the best goddamn thing on TV. Joe, tell me
the ratings again," he punctuated each word of his request with a
bright snap of his fingers, "go on tell me how many goddamn people tune
in every week."
"78 million." he stated with a rehearsed air of nonchalance,
deliberately omitting the 'Mr. Kale' that J.C. insisted concluded any
communication between them. Large numbers didn't impress Joe.
"78 goddamn million." J.C. blew the words forth like a jet of water. He
found large numbers very impressive. So impressive that he ceased his
war dance and settled his bulk onto an alarmingly inadequate
chair.
J.C. wiped his oily brow with a silk handkerchief that was equal in
cost to Joe's shirt, and looked around the office.
"You know Joe, I get the feeling that you don't enjoy life a hell of a
lot. All you do is sit behind that goddamn desk lookin' like some kind
of miserable goddamn horse. We're in the entertainment business for
Chrissakes, doesn't that just excite the hell out of you?"
Joe answered him with a barely perceptible "Hmmph." thought about how
much J.C.'s handkerchief must have cost, and once more lowered his eyes
to the paperwork before him.
J.C. was well used to his researcher's innate lack of enthusiasm for
pretty much anything and once again abandoned his attempt to engage
him.
The office door opened eight inches and a pair of headphones with a
face between them addressed J.C.
"We need you on stage in one minute Mr. Kale."
"Be right with you," J.C. answered, "Joe, I'm going out there to talk
to a few thousand people who actually appreciate what I do."
He raised his considerable body into a standing position and walked to
the door with a bouncing gait that belied his weight.
Joe didn't look up as he left.
*
Martha quietly cursed as the bucket of popcorn that had been
precariously gripped between her knees fell to the floor. Some of it's
sticky contents rolled up to five feet away from her, and would be
transported even further than that on the soles of people's shoes, when
they left after the show. She picked up the stripy cardboard container,
crushed it flat and put it into her shiny black handbag.
"Oh come on," she thought, "I've been sat here for an hour, I have no
popcorn left, and this damn thing hasn't shown any signs of getting
started yet."
As if to answer Martha's inner pleas, the house lights dimmed to
virtual darkness. An expectant hush descended on the gathered mass and
the tension grew.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMAN," a great, booming baritone pronouncement began
to issue from the myriad speakers above the audience.
"WELCOME TO THE MOST WATCHED TELEVISION SHOW IN HISTORY, THE AMAZING
'YOU OR ME'. PREPARE TO BE SHOCKED, PREPARE TO BE STUNNED AND MOST OF
ALL PREPARE TO BE ENTERTAINED.
NOW PLEASE WELCOME YOUR HOST THIS
EVENING&;#8230;&;#8230;&;#8230;&;#8230;J.C. KALE."
The applause was instant and deafening. A single thick shaft of intense
white light danced around the heads of the crowd, whipping and whirling
like a tree branch in high wind. Suddenly, the beam darted towards the
stage and landed on J.C.'s upturned face. He raised his arms, and so
raised the intensity of the already cacophonous cheering. He then
abruptly dropped his arms and it seemed as if every person present had
been suddenly shot dead.
Silence.
J.C. took a deep breath, and looked up and down the mass of people
before him (virtually everyone there would claim he had looked directly
at them).
"Good evening you beautiful people." he shouted his catchphrase and
sparked another ovation.
It faded and J.C. continued, "Tonight promises to be a very special
show. Behind that famous red curtain sit two men. In approximately 1
hour, only one of them will still be breathing. His friend will only be
smouldering."
This invoked, as it always did, a highly animated bout of
laughter.
*

Andrew noticed the red curtain that surrounded the chairs he and
Stephen occupied was beginning to slowly lift.
Wispy tendrils of dry ice seeped in and the floor changed colour as the
stage lights gradually illuminated it.
Their initial feelings of confusion and awe had pushed to the side of
the plate, making room for a large slice of bitter animosity.
Stephen still managed to look excited by the whole spectacle.
"He'll look excited when he's got a few hundred thousand volts coursing
through his veins." thought Andrew, and permitted himself a wry smile
of complacency.
"He'll be smiling permanently when he's being fried." thought
Stephen.
J.C. presented the two contestants with a ringmaster's flourish and
began to speak once more.
"Ladies and gentleman, here we have Andrew and Stephen.
They hate each other's guts; they cannot stand the sight of each other.
They wish the other guy were dead.
And this is television; we're in the business of granting wishes. Let's
get on with the show."

?2001