THE SHORT HOUR S1E4: Paid for by the Galactic Breakfast Association

[Drumroll.]

[DWICK (VO)] "AN' NOW IT'S TIME FER..."

[Crash.]

[DWICK (VO)] "DA SHORT HOUR ON DA DWICK DWICKCAST SYNDICATE!



[DWICK (VO)] "Featurin' crowd favorites, like...LILIHEIRAX TRIBIN!!"

[More cue cards, each showing a caricature of the actor in question.]

[DWICK (VO)] "OPIE VEESHIL! CRAG THURRX! LIL' DWICK! Aaaaaaaaaaand...JORGAL DWICK! ASSHOLES AN' FUCKFACES, THIS IS
DA SHORT HOUR!"

---

[Scene opens. Everything’s black and white, film grain fluttering around like flies in a meat market on an overcast day. We see a turian sitting on an old vaudevillian stage, perched on a wooden stump with a frying pan in one hand, a microphone - yes, an old microphone - in the other, and a porkpie hat on his head. He looks like some kind of bizarre mix of hobo and street magician; as he stands up, calliope music begins to play. The turian parts his mandibles and begins to sing, his voice raspy as the choke on a studebaker that hasn’t been touched in fifty years.]

[TURIAN]: "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH"

[As soon as he the turian starts singing, playing cards - attached to each other by conspicious wires, all of them clearly aces, all of them with bullet holes dead-center - fly out of his pockets in an endless stream. Behind him, several humans dressed as clowns slowly parade across the stage in an endless pantomime involving kitchen utensils and pots and pans.]

[TURIAN]:
THERE’S A CLOWN IN THE CORNER
WITH A POT AND A PAN
HE’S GONNA MAKE SOME BREAKFAST TODAAAAAY

A WEDDING RING DROPS
FROM THE BEARDED LADY’S HAND
AS SHE EATS HER GRITS AND WHEY

OOOOOOH

THE PIG COMES UP
LAYS HIS NECK ON THE BLOCK
SNICKER-SNACK GOES GUILLOTINE BLADE

THE SIAMESE TWINS
GREASE THE PAN WITH TWO GRINS
AND LAY THE BACON NEXT TO THE MARMALADE

OOOOOOOOOH

THE MAGICIAN THROWS THE EGGS
THE RINGMASTER CRACKS HIS WHIP
IN THE PAN THEY SIZZLE AND HOP

THE TATTOOED LADY POURS
THE JUICE INTO THE GLASS
AND THE TOAST COMES OUT WITH A POP

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH

THERE’S A CLOWN IN A CORNER
WITH A PLATE IN HIS HAND
HE ATE SOME BREAKFAST TODAAAAAAY

BUT THE DEVIL KNOWS HIS NAME
AND HE’S SITTING DOWN TO PLAN
MAKE SURE YOU EAT YOUR BREAKFAST TOOOOOOODAAAAAAAAAAAAAY

[The turian bows as confetti and parrots descend from the top of the stage. A single tagline appears:]

THE DDS REMINDS YOU TO EAT BREAKFAST
THE MOST IMPORTANT MEAL OF THE DAY
Brought to you by Crag Thurrx, Songwriter

Right... Points for creativity.

I was... I was watching the news. And then this came on....
What...?


...what?

RUPO WHAT ARE YOU WATCHING NOW

AND WHY DOS IT SOUND LIKE A MOXIE IN A GARBAGE DISPOSAL

OMFG SPIZA IT IS A HOLO SHOW oh my godddddddddddddd uncles are so lame.

Well...at least its promoting something valuable.

Right. I've got nothing to do today, so I'm going to try and get to the bottom of this. There's a lot of pro-krogan symbolism in this stuff, and I think I've worked out what this one's about. I'll explain my reasoning below, because it's complicated. I think this one is a response to the reintegration stuff that's possibly being planned. You know, about coming back to the Citadel?


The clown is the krogan, and he's, I don't know, going to contemplate his future. It's a metaphor. Like, the future is breakfast. He's going to make a future for himself.


Er, wedding ring - because the krogan are... marrying... C-space. There's that big reintegration summit-thing in Aroch coming up, the clans are sending a few notables. They're trying to join with us again, and it's like a wedding, a union of two ways of life, etc. They're marrying into the family. You see?


A reference to the humans. They have fur. So the bearded lady is human...because the Citadel, it's now at Earth. The Citadel has extended the invitation.


Earth is still in ruins though. Gritty. Or something. A reference to the deprivation and shortages, maybe?


I don't know who the pig is.


I'm not sure I want to know.


Because there has to be violence, it's basically the krogan way. I hope that's, er, some sort of reference to the history of the krogan, and how they left C-space in the first place. That actually makes sense, so I'll go with that. Yeah, this is probably about the rebellions and the genophage.

I think I just got it. Pig, right? They're greedy, it's what the humans say, "you pig". So the krogan got greedy, took too many worlds, and doomed themselves to being sterilized.

That's actually sort of moving, I guess. That they realize that now.


Joined together...er...the asari and salarians, the two council races who the krogan protected from the rachni and then, er, turned against. Yeah, this whole thing is a history lesson, like an evaluation.


The turians, arranging a close relationship with the asari and salarians and getting a council seat after saving us from the krogan.


Bacon is the ruins of Tuchanaka - dead pig, you see. Marmalade is...I don't know, the quarians or something. Other outcasts, is what I mean.


Are those, er, salarian eggs?


Uh oh.


Turians again, obviously.


This is how it happened. The turians needed the krogan to fight the Reapers. An alliance was made. The krogan helped retake Palaven. The Reapers are toast.


So the krogan are the clown. I wonder if that's like, some recognition of the fact that their culture isn't really accepted because, you know, it's mostly built around hitting each other and riding on thresher maws, or whatever it is they do at those adulthood trials. And now they see that. But there's a bright new future. Or something.


DDS urges its viewers to support the krogan efforts at reintegrating, and tells the krogan among them to get out there and make something of themselves.

Bitterskin you're doing DDS wrong! You don't try to analyze it, you just watch it, and pretend you hate it and want to unsubscribe.

Welp, Looks like I'm going to be singing this alll day.
Damn you DDS.

Ooooooh, so close, yet so farrrrr


hon, you ever seen a pig? big, mean, ugly things that’re smarter than they look. obviously reapers

or rachni I guess


thing is, with the krogan, well, they just don’t get the idea of someone bein’ better’n ‘em at something, so they figure the Reapers an’ Rachni pretty much marched up…


for the execution

glorifying their place in the universe, as usual


you got this one right


this is just the krogan bein’ spite-y

they think it’s a “use ‘em an’ lose ‘em” thing, gurl


man, marmalade is gross

they think we don’t give a shit what they did to help out, so yeah, we “threw ‘em out”


THIS IS TOTALLY SHEPURRRRRRRRRD


totes wrex


THEY MAKIN’ BABIEEZZZ


yep, pretty much called it there


bitch, you ever seen a krogan clown?

they cray-cray

so yeah, glorifying themselves as usual, not a care in the world, and they’re totes looking forward to crazy new times

going going, though


passive viewing is soooooooooooo passé


oh wow this is some great bud

The things I watch to pass the time between shifts...

Bemused
I can only conclude I haven't had enough to drink yet.

MEANWHILE, IN OUTER SPACE:

[Two “Reapers” once again work on a mass relay. Several seconds pass in silence, their only activity the occasional use of their “eye”-cannons to split apart various hunks of metal. Eventually, however, a single frigate pops in, drops a communications buoy, and blinks out of sight again.

The larger “Reaper” sighs.]

[“TED” THE REAPER] “FUCKING ROBOCALLERS.”

[The second one doesn’t even bother speaking; it just lets out a single burst of cannon fire, reducing it to cinders. “Ted” waves a single tentacle in annoyance, then gets back to work on the relay.

Another frigate appears, drops a relay, and pops out. This one immediately lights up, bringing up holos of various images from around the galaxy – each one flickering into one another too fast for the naked eye to parse. This time, it’s “Ted” who blows up the satellite, though he takes a moment to shout at it before it explodes.]

[TED] “WE DON’T CARE. SELL YOUR SHIT SOMEPLACE ELSE.”

[“PHIL” THE REAPER] “DAMMIT TED, DON’T GIVE IT ANY ATTENTION, YOU’RE ONLY ENCOURAGING IT.”

[And on cue, two more appear.]

[PHIL] [Mid-slaughter] “SEE?!”

[TED] “DAMMIT.” [Eye-blast.] "I SWEAR, THESE ARE WORSE THAN THE PEACE OF 29,000,000 B.C. AT LEAST BACK THEN THE LITTLE BUGGERS HAD THE DECENCY TO LEAVE YOU ALONE WHILE YOU FIXED THEIR TOYS.”

[PHIL] “I KNOW, TED.”

[TED] “AT LEAST THEY KNEW NOT TO POKE THE FUCKING GODSQUID. THEY KNEW IT WAS BLOODY IMPOLITE. ‘NOW, GRO’HI’A’LON, DON’T BOTHER MR. ILLUMINATED, MR. ILLUMINATED HAS HAD A VERY LONG EON AND HE JUST WANTS TO FIX THIS RELAY’S CORE BEFORE HE HAS A QUICK NAP.’ ‘MR. REAPER IS WORKING VERY HARD TO CLEAN UP OUR MESS, NOW, AND IT’S NOT VERY NICE TO BOTHER HIM FOR A CUP OF TEA, NOW, INNIT?’”

[PHIL] “TED, YOU’RE PONTIFICATING.”

[TED] “DAMN STRAIGHT I’M PONTIFICATING! AND I’LL TELL YOU ANOTHER THING – I’M GETTIN' BLOODY SICK AND TIRED OF TELLIN’ ‘EM TO KEEP IT DOWN EVERY FIFTY THOUSAND YEARS! CAN BARELY TAKE A NAP THESE DAYS WITHOUT THEM BREAKING DOWN THE DAMN CITADEL AND SQUAWKING – YES, SQUAWKING ABOUT HOW NONE OF THEM CAN PLAY NICE!”

[”Ted” has really gotten into stride, now “walking” in a crude orbit around the relay as it rants in an impossibly low baritone. “Phil” looks at the camera, a large circular plate descending over the top half of its “eye-cannon,” and it shakes its tentacled core in annoyance.]

[PHIL] “I KNOW, TED.”

[TED] “’REAPERRRRRS, THE AK’AK’AK’AK ARE PUNCHING ME!’ ‘REAPERRRRRS, MR. SUNARRIO WON’T STOP YELLING AT THE PROTHEANS!’ ‘REAPERRRRRS, THE FROGS ARE TOUCHING THE KROGAN IN BAD PLACES!’ ON AND ON AND ON AND—”

[Yet another frigate pops up, but before it can leave, “Ted” barges forward and catches it in a massive tentacled claw. Jump cut to the Frigate’s point of view as it glares straight at its hapless crew.]

[TED] [Repeatedly bashing the frigate into the comm buoy] “WILL YOU SHUUUUUUUUUUUT UP?!?!”

[The frigate hisses as miniscule turian bodies begin drifting out of the wreckage. Both “Reapers” look at the comm. buoy, which is not only still inexplicably functional, but also very obviously recording them.]

[PHIL] “NOW LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE. NOW THEY THINK WE’RE ON ANOTHER MURDERING CAMPAIGN.”

[TED] [Chastised, defensive] “NOT FOR BLOODY LACK OF TRYING—”

[PHIL] “OH, SHUT UP.” [Waving a tentacle in obviously fake glee at the buoy] “HELLOOOOO, THERE, PUNY CREATURES OF FLESH AND BONE! REST ASSURED, WE ARE NOT LOOKING TO TURN YOU INTO A DELICIOUS SLURRY FOR OUR NEXT SET OF REAPER BABIES TODAY. OH, NO. HA HA HA HA!”

[TED] “NOT THAT WE’D WANT TO. GODDAMN UGLY, ALL OF THE—”

[PHIL] “NOT HELPING, TED! ANYWAY, WE JUST WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW THAT EVERYTHING’S PERFECTLY FINE HERE, AND THAT WE’RE STILL VERY BUSY WITH THIS RELAY, SO WE CAN’T ANSWER THE PHONE RIGHT NOW, SO THERE’S REALLY NO NEED TO POP ON OVER AND LEAVE A RELAY OVER HE—”

[All of a sudden, an entire fleet of starships appear, each carrying a buoy of their own. The air fills with the sounds of millions of aliens all chattering at once. “Phil” looks at them, then the comm. in front of it, and visibly “sighs.”

If it’s possible for a Reaper to look sarcastic, Ted’s doing a remarkable job of it.]

[TED] “WELP.”

[Both sigh and prime their eye-cannons.]

[PHIL] “THERE GOES THE NEIGHBORHOOD.”

[End of sketch.]

Greatly amused
Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.

Casually blasphemous
Ancients' panties, this is getting bookmarked.

That... that isn't funny. That isn't funny at all.

Don't pay attention to the tears in my eyes or the big fucking grin on my face, I am not laughing at this.

... seeing as this program has somehow once again breached this one's censorship VI (barraging this one with crude and most improper language and content that is making this one feel uncomfortable) this one still feels it must pick some nits from this sketch.

It apologizes in advance

• Firstly, it believes that the Reapers were incapable of the most glorious gift of speech. At least in the (it apologizes if this is rude to those who speak in the tongues of non-luminescence) the ways of non-hanar. As such a thing would be beneath them.


• The names (and it apologizes for those named this) Ted and Phil are not appropriate names for Reapers. Nor is Mr. Illuminated. Which does one finds offensive.


• The plate on the Reaper's cannon did not function as an ocularlid.


• Reapers are machines. They do not "nap".

This one is sure there are other errors. But it is a most busy hanar and cannot find and write about them all. But it urges the most honorable [CENSORED]

...Why is that name censored? Many apologies.

The most honorable Jorgal and most corpulent volus (it does not know the volus' name. It apologizes) to attempt more research in the future.

[There’s an image of a majestic mountain range on Palaven, silver mountains shining in the dying green-blue sunset. This is followed by a fade-in of a field of flowers on Earth, bending lightly in the gentle breeze as butterflies flutter overhead. Soon, we see a placid lake on Thessia, untouched for thousands of years, the water blue and absolutely crystal-clear. A cut to the jungles of Sur’Kesh; millions of brightly-colored birds flutter around an emerald-colored tree the size of a space pylon, a tree literally centuries in the growing. Finally, a shot of space as the star Dyphonus rises as viewed from the moon of Ur, a gorgeous flare of yellow and orange against a black sky studded with tiny diamonds. Then, slowly, the following words fade into the screen in a beautiful cursive font:]



[Cut to a shot of Terrorbyte beating Dwick with a giant submarine sandwich, covering the krogan in horseradish sauce and olives while Dwick screams nonsensically into the face of an inflatable sheep.]

Still don't know what's going on but damn if I didn't record the rest of it!

[The Short Hour introduces its next sketch by means of a time-lapse set on one of the reconstructed districts of Illium. Asari, salarians and volus shoot in and out of the scene at mach speeds, and Tasale sails over the scene like a drunken racquetball. The camera drifts forward and to the right, and (between dozens of Irunian holobombers) slowly focuses on a single neon sign over your average office building.

The sign reads:]

MICK DUUBLSIN
ANACHRONISTIC ANTIQUES BOUTIQUE
Antics inside!

[Jump cut to the inside of the shop – specifically, to the counter of a salarian who looks like he waltzed out of a particularly psychedelic Woodstock sequence. Not content with a gargantuan pair of glasses, he also dons a lopsided PowerPoncho dyed only in the most lurid pinks, yellows and baby blues possible, and appears to have attached a string of seashells to every possible hem line.

He blinks a few times, the movement of his eyelids magnified by about three sizes.

A door behind the camera opens with a light ding, and the salarian spins to look at it – not by turning his neck like any sane person, but by swooping his entire body to look at the door like a deranged bat. He opens his mouth in a vacant smile.

The image jumps back to the sign outside, and slowly drops downward. The door shunts open, and the figure behind it walks slowly assuredly, up to the counter, where it looms over the salarian.

A side profile shows us what our mystery figure is – a massive turian who looks like he’s on every anabolic steroid in the known galaxy, so much so that even his turian collarbone threatens to be swallowed by his immense neck muscles. Each breath is a rumble, every stride an earthquake. Oddly enough, his entire face is in shadow; yet, as he bends forward as far as his stature will let him, a set of nigh-demonic teeth split open in a hideous grin.

He speaks.]

[TURIAN] ”I’d like to buy an antique.”

[His voice is comically high-pitched and squeaky – the sort of thing you’d expect coming from Elvis, or perhaps a particularly young asari. The salarian, meanwhile, looks utterly overjoyed, so much so that he does a quick twirl in place, seashells in his outfit jangling like a volus’ chit pocket.]

[SALARIAN] “BUT OF COURSE, MR. HEXAEAN! WHAT CAN I GET FOR YOU TODAY? HEE HEE HEE.”

[The air rumbles with the salarian’s bass. The turian, meanwhile, responds by drawing himself to full height, placing a perfectly sculpted elbow on one hand…and fingering his mandible like a little schoolgirl.

His face remains in shadow.]

[TURIAN] ”Wellllll, you see, I was reaaaaally hoping that you might have one of those darling little tea sets you always see those humans on the citadel? See, my kids—”

[He rotates his arm around to access his omnitool and accidentally sets off an Overload charge; it lances past the salarian and shatters a set of asari dishware.]

[TURIAN] ”Oops! Heeheehee! My bad!

[SALARIAN] “OH, THAT’S OKAY, IT HAPPENS—”

[The glass on the door behind them shatters from the resonant frequencies.]

[SALARIAN] “—SEE?”

[TURIAN] ”Well, if you say so, but like I was saying, my kids—”

[A trio of holos pop up, each of a turian that looks like s/he was lifted from a First Contact War propaganda poster – except for the asari, that is, though that’s mostly because the only part of her that’s visible is a pair of enormous breasts.

As he points to each, the muscle in his arms audibly strain against one another. It’s like listening to a pneumatic assembly line.]

[TURIAN] ”Yes indeed, my kids Mort, Interficit and Vjayjay, such darling kids, oh, it was Vjayjay who saw the tea set, she thought it was so adorable, we just had to find a set, but there’s nobody in town who makes them!”

[He reaches over and pats the counter, leaving several small craters in his wake.]

[TURIAN] ”So we thought of you! I don’t suppose you have any of these darling little tea sets?”

[The salarian grins back vacantly, eyes reflecting in his oversize glasses to make him look like some giant beetle.]

[SALARIAN] ”WELL, I’LL SEE IF I CAN’T GET THE BOYS IN BACK TO FIND IT FOR YOU!”

[He turns and hits a button for the intercom, then shouts into it, making the entire set shake with the sound.]

[SALARIAN] “AL! SEB! GET IN HERE!”

[Right on cue, a pair of humans, dressed in identical uniforms and joined at the hip, come barging in, shouting indiscriminately at one another and attempting to punch each other in the jaw.

The scene has gone completely surreal.]

[AL] “—a good talk about giving me my money back for taking my grocery list, but nooooo—”

[SEB] “—completely destroyed our room, you jackhole! If it weren’t for the fact that I was doing all the maid—”

[AL] “—stole all my beer! I’d been saving up all year for that ship—”

[SEB] “—have to sacrifice a bit for the good of the group! After all, we’re the ones that got hit har—”

[The salarian blinks, then shouts. Sand falls from the ceiling.]

[SALARIAN] “TEN-HUT!”

[Both humans snap to attention with their outside arms – though they continue poking and prodding one another with their inside pair.]

[AL & SEB] “YES SIR!”

[SALARIAN] ”THIS LOVELY YOUNG MAN WOULD LIKE TO PURCHASE OUR LAST SET OF BONE CHINA TEA. BE A PAIR OF DEARS AND GET IT FOR ME, WILL YOU?”

[He indicates the turian, who nods enthusiastically (his neck grating at every movement), then overbalances and crashes into a set of used asari lingerie. Al and Seb nod.]

[AL] “I got it!”

[SEB] “No, I got it!

[AL] “You?! Ha! You couldn’t get it if your life depended on it!”

[SEB] “Yeah? If this goes like the last time you had to do something yourself, you’ll just watch me do it, then steal it and bill me for the effort!”

[AL] “You insolent little—”

[SEB] “--pompous, paunchy, oversized—”

[As they bicker, the turian raises himself from the ground and leans against the counter with a loud BANG.]

[TURIAN] “Such a lovely set of boys, those two.”

[SALARIAN] YES, YES. HAVE TO SLAP ‘EM AROUND EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE TO KEEP THEM STRAIGHT, BUT I’M SURE THEY’LL GET ALONG.

[A pylon snaps in the background. Neither of them pay it any heed.]

[TURIAN] “Yes indeed, or they’ll destroy the galaxy trying!”

[SALARIAN] ”SUCH LITTLE ANGELS.”

[They both turn to grin straight at the camera as the two humans come stumbling back, continuing to hurl insults at one another and barely carrying the tea set in between the two of them. The get ever so close to delivering it to the counter when they stumble over one another, sending two teacups flying and shattering on the floor.]

[AL] “Now look what you’ve done!”

[SEB] “Me?! That was all you!”

[AL] “Why you foul—”

[SEB] “—little wretched—”

[AL & SEB] “—CATERPILLAR!”

[They continue to fight, sending dishes flying everywhere. The turian tries to get in between the two of them and salvage the situation, but instead sends more dishes flying as the salarian shouts at them all to quiet down (to no avail). Shouts fly, foundations rumble, and an inexplicable fireball goes off in the background.

Jump cut to another camera as a horde of krogan toddlers in identical suits stare, bored, at the events going on in the shop as recorded on holo. The one in the lead – who looks oddly familiar – exhales slowly and pushes a button labeled “Krogan Diplomacy” on the holoprojector before him.

As the building slowly explodes behind them, they shuffle off screen in unison.

End sketch.]

...

What did I just watch?