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Reality TV Bites
By spikeNdru, July 14, 2004
PG, 738 words
What was Wolfram and Hart’s real plan for Team Angel when they gave them the LA Branch? This ficlet presents a possible snarky answer.
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Angel called a mandatory meeting. One by one, the crew trickled in. When they had all assembled in his office, Angel asked, “What is this ‘Reality TV’?”
Wes looked blank, Gunn looked disgusted, Illyria looked like she was communing with an errant fly that had somehow gotten in, Spike looked amused and Angel looked at Lorne.
“Don’t look at me! I had nothing to do with it!” Lorne protested.
“But what is it?” Angel asked.
“It’s a way for the networks to realize maximum bang for their buck. They take ‘real’ people, or z-list celebrities, put them in contests or closed sets and eliminate them one by one,” Lorne replied.
Illyria perked up at the mention of sequential elimination and focused her attention on Lorne, fly temporarily forgotten.
“The producers don’t have to hire writers, directors, or ‘name’ actors, so all the profits go directly to them and the networks,” Lorne added.
Wesley shook his head. “Terrible concept.”
Spike chimed in, “And the shows suck! Er, I mean, wonder who the git is that thought this one up?”
“Wolfram and Hart,” Angel supplied.
“Sorry?” Wes asked.
“Wolfram and Hart. They invented this concept of reality TV, disseminated it to the networks looking to make a quick profit at the expense of the viewer, and punished people that had gotten on their bad sides by making them appear as contestants,” Gunn explained.
Eve strolled into the office and declaimed, “I’ve got the ‘scoop’ and that rhymes with ‘poop’ and that’s what you all are in—deep doodoo.”
“And why is that, Eve?” Angel gritted his teeth. It was a good thing W&H had such an extensive dental plan.
“W&H made a deal with the WB to produce S5 as a reality show, you all agreed to it, but then your memories were wiped so you wouldn’t remember,” Eve chirped. “You’re all suckers and that rhymes with—”
At that moment, The Terminator, dressed in a $6000, custom-made Italian suit, slammed open the office door and pointed at Eve. “You are the weakest link. Goodbye.”
Eve disappeared and the Fang Gang, along with millions of viewers at home, cheered.
“So, what’s the deal here?” Angel asked.
“You’ve been cancelled,” Hamilton informed the AI Team. “Despite an 8% increase in viewers over last year, and despite the fact that all other WB shows have decreased in Nielson numbers, and despite the innovative new reality concept, you’ve been cancelled. Did you really think you could go up against W&H and win, Angel?”
“To what ‘innovative new concept’ are you referring?” asked Wesley.
Hamilton smirked. “Oh, yes, the ‘mind wipe’. Well, since it’s all over but the shouting (and those damn ‘Save Angel’ campaigns), I guess it won’t hurt to inform you of what you’ve really been doing this year.”
Hamilton shook his head slowly from side to side and made “tsk tsk” noises. Even “tsk tsk” noises sounded scary coming from Hamilton.
“Gunn was a ‘project’ of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. . .” Off Gunn’s shocked look, Hamilton continued, “Oh, come on, dude, you must have known something was up! After three years of ghetto chic, you’re suddenly dressing in Armani and singing Gilbert and Sullivan? Tsk tsk.”
Hamilton turned to Illyria, who had captured the fly, put it in her mouth, and was either studying or digesting it. “Extreme Makeover? Hel-l-l-o-o-o?”
Hamilton pointed at Lorne. “American Idol—you came in third, by the way.”
He nodded to Spike and Angel. “Survivor. The ‘Shanshu’ prize, the alliances, the manipulating other characters to support one or the other of you, the gay sub-text,” Hamilton’s gaze ticked to Angel, “The meaningless sex?”
Spike pumped his fist in the air. “Rock on! Er, I mean, bloody hell!”
Hamilton threw up his hands and looked at them both. “Don’t tell me you boys hadn’t figured out it was all about being the ultimate Survivor? Where have you been all season? In the Batcave?”
“What about me?” Wesley asked quietly.
“You got the last rose, Wes. After Angel, Gunn and Knox were eliminated, you won. Sorry that didn’t work out for you. But, hey, at least you didn’t end up like Rick and Darva.”
Hamilton looked around the room with a satisfied smirk. “Well, kids, gotta blow. I’m done with this interim gig. We’re goin’ to the Big Screen.”
Hamilton sighed in anticipation. He couldn’t wait! Captain Tightpants in 20 foot tall Cinemavision. . .
The End
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