THE SHORT HOUR S1E2: KLASSIKAL KLIXENS KLUB

[VO] “And now--”

[Dwick jumps into view with a crash.]

[DWICK] “I’LL HANDLE IT! Jorgal Dwick ‘ere, wit’ terday’s BEST CELEBRITY BREAKDOWNS!”

[Cut to a heavily stylized, very enraged turian, jaw open as he screams. Scrawled on the top:]

ON DA FRINGE WIT’ JORGAL DWICK

[DWICK] “Third prize fer BREAKDOWN’A DA WEEK goes ter Maga Malla, local rich bitch an’ star’a da show In Th’Tub wit’ Maga Malla - Leastways, ‘fore Reapers took aim at’er production studio. “Ever’thin’ finally got fixed enough last week dat dey was ready ter get back ter tapin’, but ‘parrently sommat fucked up wit’ da pipes!”

[Cut to a video clip that obviously hasn’t seen post-production, showing a very snazzy-looking asari from the bust up sitting sensually in a hot tub. She smiles serenely at the camera - obviously about to talk, before her eyes bug out and she leaps out of the tub screaming, body bared for everyone (though C-Space residents only get heavy pixelation).

The reason becomes clear as various pieces of fecal matter and other alien waste come churning out of the water jets.

Back to Dwick.]

[DWICK] “Looks like sommat shoulda had more fiber ‘fore da show!”

[Rimshot.]

[DWICK] “Second prize goes t’Tesra Nolemyx’a Cipritine!"

[Cue a shot of a very battered-looking turian trying to fight off the press as she and her legal team walk toward a newly-rebuilt court.]

[DWICK (VO)] “Da twelf-tier Senior Boot Recruiter’s been walkin ‘troo a shitstorm ever since’er deserter son was found hidin’ in a ship orbitin’ Datriux. Now, we’d show you da clip’a him bein’ towed back ter Palaven--”

[Split-second cutaway. Those going back and looking at the freeze frame can see a close-up of a turian screaming against the viewglass of a fighter as it’s towed to the planet’s military installation.]

[DWICK] “--BUUUUUT, since it’s da Hierarchy, it’s Mommy Dearest an’ her Booty Recruiter what’s gettin’ da heat.”

[Side cut of Dwick, who grins and looks at the camera.]

[DWICK] “Heh. Spikebutts.”

[Rimshot.]

[DWICK] “B’before we get ter Nummer one On Da Fringe, we cut away for a moment ter show you sommat else! Now, grab a cold one an’ get ready ter whoop, ‘cause IT’S TIME FER OUR SEGMENT...”



[DWICK] “DAT’S RIGHT! Citterdel bumblefucks might hold da monopoly on inner-broadcast shit, but we here at da Dwickcast Synykyt’ve culled da best cocks from near-on five hunnerd years-a holovision - an’ we’re gonna show ya each an’ every one’a dem, right here an’ now!"

[He stretches his neck and grins.]

[DWICK] “NUMMER TEN! From way out on Earth--”



[Dwick’s grin freezes. It melts slowly off his face. He glares at someone just off-camera.]

[DWICK] “WHO DA FUCK DID DIS?!”

[He bangs a fist against the wall, leaving a crater.]

[DWICK] “WHO DA FUCK - WHAT DA FUCK IS DAT SHIT? WHO DA FUCK--WHO DA FUCK--”

[He storms off the set; the camera follows him, showing a pair of very shocked vorcha wearing headsets.]

[DWICK] “IMMA GON’ FIND DA FURHEAD RESPONSIBLE FER DIS AN RIP ‘IS HEAD OFF--RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH---”

[He charges offscreen to the tune of crashing and screams of terror.

The cameraman - a very pale-looking human - cranes his neck around the camera. His eyes flick at the exit, then back at the viewer.]

[CAMERAMAN] “Er...we’ll be right back...after I finish...uploading...my will...”

I don't get it. It's a picture of a terran rooster.

YOUR MOM'S A PICTURE OF A TERRAN ROOSTER

DOOO HOO HOO HOO HOOOOOO

Somehow, I'm thinking they meant "Cocks" in a different context...

[Fade into a loud batarian bar with a high walla count. This is evidenced, no doubt, by people surrounding an HV screen showing a Reaper terrorizing a colony.

A crowd of disheveled batarians crowd around a separate booth, however, which – for the moment – is facing away from the camera. As it slowly circles the crowd, the audience sees that the focus of attention is a particularly well-dressed (if slightly paunchy) batarian, smoking an impressive cigar. He looks completely unimpressed with the mayhem outside; indeed, as the Destroyer fires its eyebeam across the side of the city, he nonchalantly takes a sip from his beer and sets it down – close enough to the camera for us to see the label.]

TAJITA
UNDERGROUND
BEER BREWED WITH HAKLANA SYRUP

[As he sets the beer down on the table, he takes a pair of datapads from his audience, holds one up to the light, and presses a series of commands. As a result – at least, assuming cause and effect from the cutaway, a fleet of batarian fighters appear out of nowhere and SLAM the reaper with such a payload that it explodes from the impact.

Cheers erupt around the bar as the camera zooms out, becoming the same image on the HV. Then cut to the high-class batarian, who simply simply looks at it, gives it the barest hint of a smile, and grabs his beer again as the crowd surrounds him.

A Destroyer’s “head” crashes just outside a window in the background.]

[BATARIAN VO] “Tajita Imported Bock. Guaranteed smooth.”

Classy batarian but he aint got no monocle.

And this is why I think the ads on DDS are much more entertaining than any of the actual shows.

MEANWHILE, IN OUTER SPACE

[…Or, at least, a green-screen of OUTER SPACE, surrounding a scaled-down version of one of the many broken mass relays around the galaxy. Perched on top of it are a pair of krogan, dressed in ill-fitting Reaper costumes. They appear to be trying to fix the relay; at least, that’s what the screwdrivers at the end of their arms indicate.

One of them speaks; his voice distorted several octaves downward.]

[“REAPER” 1] “THIS IS BOOOOOOOORING.”

[“REAPER” 2] “YOU SAID THAT TWENTY MINUTES AGO.”

[“REAPER” 1] “IT’S STILL BORING.”

[“REAPER” 2] “MAN, WHY COULDN’T WE HAVE DISMANTLED YOU LIKE WE DID HO’BARIX. AT LEAST HE DIDN’T COMPLAIN ALL THE TIME.”

[“REAPER” 1] “BUT THIS CYCLE’S SO BORING. I THOUGHT WE WERE HERE FOR A FEW CENTURIES OF EXTERMINATING ALL LIFE IN THE GALAXY, MAYBE GETTING IT ON WITH THE LADIES, BUT NOOOOOOOOO, HERE WE ARE, CLEANING UP THE MESS THEY MADE ON OUR LAWN. I MEAN, WHAT THE FUCK.”

[“REAPER” 2] “WILL YOU SHUT UP, TED.”

[They resume working in silence. Two tiny models of salarian cruisers fly up next to them, hovering; the first one slaps them away idly with a “tentacle.” The cruisers explode.]

[“REAPER” 1] “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORED.”

[“REAPER” 2] “WOULD YOU SHUT U--OH HEY, I THINK WE’RE DONE.”

[The relay begins flickering on, much like you’d expect from a ‘80’s fluorescent light. The “eye” begins spinning; it slowly lights up as a cheap CG animation draws in “eezo” from the Relay’s blast radius.]

[“REAPER” 2] “WOO-HOO.”

[“REAPER” 1] “YAY.”

[“REAPER” 2] “NOW TO JUST RECALIBRATE I--.”

[The second “Reaper” shakes its massive body, cutting him off.]

[“REAPER” 1] “WAIT. I HAVE AN IDEA.”

[Floating along (on a trapeze wire), the first “Reaper” drifts over to the second and pokes a few “windows” on the relay, which begin glowing (apparently, they were push-buttons all along). The audience is treated to the view of this relay’s “twin” (which of course is rendered in terrible-CGI-vision) as it slides from its position in empty space to just in front of...well, something big.]

[“REAPER” 1] “RIGHT, GO TELL THE LITTLE BUGGERS IT’S DONE.”

[“REAPER” 2] “SHOULDN’T WE MAKE SURE IT’S CALIBRATED PROP--”

[“REAPER” 1] “TRUST ME.”

[The second “reaper” shrugs and turns around to drift towards a model planet that’s been conveniently sitting offscreen. It pokes itself in the “eye”, but instead of firing its main cannon, it projects a massive hologram that envelops half the globe.

Cue a scene from the main continent as the salarian inhabitants look up, reading it.]

YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE,
SMALL BEINGS OF FLESH AND BONE
THE CREPITO PASTILLUS RELAY HAS BEEN REOPENED
CONTINUED USE IS AT YOUR DISCRETION

[Back to the “Reapers,” who watch, bored, as a swarm of insects - er, salarian ships start flying towards the relay. The second reaper shrugs.]

[“REAPER” 2] “WELL, GUESS WE BETTER GET TO THE NEXT RELAY.”

[It starts to drift away, but the first “reaper” grabs it with a tentacle and drags it back.]

[“REAPER” 1] “WATCH.”

[Cut to the inside of a salarian cruiser, its captain standing at the bridge. He points at the relay as crewmen watch him adoringly.]

[CAPTAIN] “It’s been a long time coming, friends, but the day is finally here: the day we make contact with the rest of the galaxy. Hit the engines, kids - I want to be at the Citadel by dinnertime.”

[PILOT] “You got it, captain.”

[Music swells as the cruiser’s engines glow, and lightling strikes the ship as it flies toward the ship. It flies forward -

- there’s a flash of dazzling white -

- then blue -

- then..cream?]

[CAPTAIN] “WHAT THE SHRELL IS THAT?!”

[CREW] “AAAAAAAA”

[SPLORCH.]

[Cue hundreds of little ships hurtling into - and exploding out the back of - an enormous cream pie sitting directly behind the relay, sprays of tan foam flying everywhere.

The second “Reaper” looks at the first, then back to the relay, then back at the first reaper. There’s a beat; then, they both double over in laughter.]

[”REAPER” 1] “HA.”

[“REAPER”2 ] “HA. HA.”

[”REAPER” 1] “HA.”

[“REAPER”2 ] “HA.”

[”REAPER” 1] “HA. HA."

[“REAPER”2 ] “HA.”

[”REAPER” 1] “HA.”

[“REAPER”2 ] “...WE ARE SO SCREWED.”

[Fade to black.]

If the Crepito Pastillus relay existed, I'd go through it all the goddamned time. I've got a serious weakness for pastries.

That's all I wanted to say. CREPITO PASTILLUS RELAY, PEOPLE - DISCOVER IT.

[The scene opens with a very serious-looking older human - a prime example of humanity with a five-hundred credit tan, a thousand-credit hairpiece, and a ten-thousand credit suit - eying the camera with a look normally reserved for informing family members that their pets have passed on.]

HUMAN: “Has this ever happened to you?”

[Suddenly we see a montage of obviously staged robberies and other crimes; shaky, badly taped videos of turians breaking into homes, batarians slamming crowbars into windows and crawling inside houses, even small galleries and private estates being raided by groups of black-clad asari biotics... just endless scenes of lawlessness and disorder. The human voice continues on, concerned - horrified - by what he’s seeing.]

VO: “Robbery, vandalism, breaking and entering, sabotage, theft - these and other crimes are the kind of thing that the wealthy elite of the galaxy have to deal with every single day.”

[Back to the Very Concerned Human; we see his face, masculine, wrinkled, and strong. He frowns with understanding at the camera.]

HUMAN: “When the scum of the universe is knocking down your door, what are you to do? The answer’s simple - get a better door.”

[Back to a cut of a mansion entirely covered in what appears to be 3-inch-thick armored ceramic plate and just riddled with security cameras, gun turrets, drone ports, antennae, and even automated robotic security guards patrolling the grounds. Electrified tesla coils jut from the ground at uneven intervals, frying anything larger than a salarian midge fly that comes near. It is the perfect fortress for the utterly paranoid.]

HUMAN: “Introducing the Alamo suite of Security Procedures, straight from ValSen Tech. A ten-tier security program with all of the latest ValSen technology, the Alamo gives you not only security, but peace of mind. We want to make sure that there isn’t any ‘LAST STANDS’ in your house.”

[Focus back on the human. He smiles - well, leers - into the camera.]

HUMAN: “My name’s Harvey Feinville. I’m not just the president of ValSen; I’m also a client.”

AVALON

[Exterior: A forest. Sir Balin, along with his brother Sir Balan, are standing over the corpses of a knight and a damsel. A volus stands on the other side of the bodies.]

[Volus] “Which of you knights have done this deed?”

[Sir Balin] “It was I that slew this knight in my defense, for hither he came to chase me, and either I must slay him or he me, and this damsel slew herself for his love, which repenteth me, and for her sake I shall owe all women the better love.”

[Volus] “Alas, this knight that is here dead was one of the most valiantest men that ever lived, and trust well, sirs, the kin of this knight will chase you through the world until they have slain you.”

[Sir Balin] “As for that, I fear not greatly, but that I have displeased my lord King Arthur, for the death of this knight, grieveth me sore.”

[Sir Balan] “So doth it me, but ye must take the adventure that God will ordain you.”

[Exit the volus. Enter Merlin, the wizard.]

[Merlin] “Winsome gloom: Thou hast done thyself great hurt, because that thou savest not this lady that slew herself, that might have saved her an thou wouldest.”

[Sir Balin] “By the faith of my body, I might not save her, for she slew herself suddenly.”

[Merlin] “With vexing omens: Because of the death of that lady thou shalt strike a stroke most dolorous that any knight ever struck, except the stroke of our Lord Christ, for thou shalt hurt the truest knight and the man of most worship that now liveth--”

[He pauses for a breath.]

[Merlin] “--and through that stroke three kingdoms shall be in great poverty, misery, and wretchedness twelve years, and the knight shall not be whole of that wound for many years.”

[Exit Merlin, the wizard.]

[Sir Balin] “...A perilous deed. Hie us, brother, to the lands of King Pellam, for in that country came never a knight but he had strange adventures.”

[Sir Balan]. “Aye.”

[They ride forth. Enter Merlin, the wizard, disguised as a commoner (his hat now bears a placard reading “PRITHEE TAKE NOT THIS MAN AS MERLIN”.]

[Merlin] “Falsely casual: Whither ride you?”

[Sir Balan] “We have little to do to tell thee, sir, but who art thou?”

[Merlin] “Ominously: At this time, I will not tell thee.”

[Sir Balin] “It is evil seen that thou art a true man that wilt not tell thy name.”

[Merlin] “Contemptuous amusement: Ha. Ha. With mysterious and handsome glamour: As for that, be as it may, I can tell ye wherefore ye ride this way: for to meet King Pellam, but it will not avail you without ye have my counsel.”

[A pause, and then Sir Balin makes a startlingly astute (for his genre) connection.]

[Sir Balin] “Ah! Thou art Merlin, the wizard.”

[Merlin] “Startled: Whoa.”

[Sir Balan] “Wert thou not just present, Merlin?”

[Merlin] “Dismissively: Never ye mind, and be ruled by my counsel. Furtively: Come on, then, and ye shall have great worship, and look that ye do knightly, for ye shall have great need.”

[Sir Balin] “As for that, dread you not; we will do what we may.”

[They ride onward. Exit all, and fade out.]

... Alright, I have to admit, I'm watching your channel now, Dwick. You have hooked me with your compelling terran-based medieval drama.

I will never forgive you for this.

I still don't get this bit.

I'll be damned, a show on Arthurian lore that actually looks to have shown its work, on DDS no less.

[The camera pops up to show an extremely attractive asari attempting to eat a slice of pizza. I say ‘attempting’ because she’s not very good at it; the pizza flops all around in her hands, and she can’t seem to get it in her mouth. The best she seems to be able to do is smear the pizza all over her blueberry-colored cheeks. With a final sigh, she tosses the pizza away and starts licking her fingers, a look of eternal frustration on her face.]

VOICEOVER: “Are you tired of pizza that won’t stay where you put it? Are you on the go and don’t have time to sit around and wrestle with that pizza slice in your hand? Are you just not being fulfilled by your pizza experience?”

[There’s a sudden flash, and the asari is suddenly holding some kind of … pizza cone thing. It looks like a heart attack in a doughy wrapper. However, this is clearly not what the asari sees, for her face lights up; delighted, she dives into the pizza cone, mashing her face into it and trying to get as much of it in her mouth as possible.]

VOICEOVER: “Don’t fret! Now you can enjoy your pizza experience in a portable way, down at LEGUIZZAMO’S PIZZERIA! We’re offering pizzacones for the commuter on the go! If you don’t have time to suffer through a whole slice, just say the word and we’ll put eight inches of hot, steaming food in your hand! You want sausage? Pepperoni? We can do it! Our spicy peppers will put tears in your eyes! Too hot? Tone it down with a squirt of ranch dressing!”

[In time with the voice over, an ecstatic human is squirting ranch dressing on her pizza cone with the pressure of a fire hose - the dressing explodes on the pizza cone and ricochets, dousing the face of the attractive asari earlier. For some reason, this is incredibly delightful to both women. In the background, a turian is suggestively shaking a container of pepper flakes onto his pizza cone. Suddenly we see a shot of a krogan trying to force three of the cones in his mouth at once with a terrifying grin, ranch dressing smeared all over him like some kind of... well, it’s best if this went undescribed.]

VOICEOVER: “So come down to Leguizzamo’s Pizzeria today and try our new Pizza Cone! It’s the hottest food craze on the whole Citadel!”

[Suddenly, a greasy-looking Italian man with a pencil-thin mustache and lust in his eyes nods at the camera, his smile thin and terrifying.]

MAN: “I’m Dante Leguizzamo of Leguizzamo’s Pizzeria, and I approve dis message.”

I want it

That looks actually pretty okay, the fully loaded ad aside.

Ugh, even without the ad, I can't see how anyone would think that looks tasty.

That's because you eat nothing but shitty, flavorless nutripaste, faceplate. Made from flavorless plants. Created on the table of bland.

So I'm pretty sure anything above "bland plant" would overload your shit tastebuds and kill you.

Oh, ValSen Tech. Before I was subjected to the vagaries of comparative poverty, you were truly my first choice in home defence. With a single click of a button, the Icarus Suite would detach your bathroom and fire it five hundred feet into the air. The parachute was always somewhat patchy, but you can't have everything. Not even for two million credits.

How can any show accurately reflect Arthurian lore? It is extrapolated from three mutually contradictory accounts, collected in a source so notoriously unreliable it may as well be Britain's Historia Augusta, and filtered down through centuries of rival interpretations and stories. As far as we know, Arthur was either a Romano-British overlord, a figment of medieval mythology or a small village in Lincolnshire commanding spectacular views of the Nene valley.