Best Show Fan Fiction

[Bryon_Scallopini]

Tom Has a Small Problem

Tom sat in his hotel room looking out at the Golden Gate Bridge, wondering how much more touring he could take. He had never been crazy about bands who write songs about being on the road, but now that Tom was on the road, he kind of understood what they were going through: another night, another show, another lonely hotel room.

He pulled out his favorite book, The Little Prince, and started reading. In addition to being a moving parable of innocence, the adult world, and human bonds, it's also quite a quick read. Tom, of course, has a unique take on the book:

He is the pilot. The podcast landscape is the desert. The Best Show is the magical well. Mike is the scholar. Dudio is the accountant. Bad callers are baobab trees. And Jon is the little prince.

But Tom was having trouble concentrating, so he turned on the TV and watched My Dinner with Andre for the first - and last - time. On top of it being just a couple guys talking for several hours, one of them says something unforgivable:

"Of course, The Little Prince was a book that I always thought of as disgusting, childish treacle...I think a kind of SS totalitarian sentimentality is in there somewhere...You know, there's something, you know - that love of, um - well, that masculine love of a certain kind of oily muscle. You know what I mean? I mean, I can't quite put my finger on it. But I can just imagine some beautiful SS man loving The Little Prince."

Tom was horrified. He loved The Little Prince. He wasn't a Nazi. Was he? No, he wasn't. Far from it. Tom decried prejudice in all its forms, whether based on race, gender, religion, sexuality, or circuitry. But how could he prove to the world that his love for The Little Prince was as innocent as the prince himself?

He knocked on Jon's door.

"Hey Tom, what's up? Fun show in Portland."

"Yeah," Tom said absently.

"Are you okay? Do you wanna go over the Bryce-bootleg thing?"

"No," said Tom presently. "I have a new idea for the Frisco show."

"Don't call it Frisco," said Jon.

"Well, stop overpronouncing Francisco. There's no hard e."

"Deal."

"Here's my plan. They announce us, and I come out on stage and sit on a stool, and pull out my copy of The Little Prince. And I start reading. About how when I - I mean the pilot - was a little boy, he tried to draw an elephant inside a boa constrictor. But everyone thinks it's a hat. And of course the audience thinks it's a bit. At first they're quiet. Maybe some nervous laughter. And then I keep reading. About how I became a pilot, and crashed in the Sahara. Now it's like 20 minutes. The audience is audibly restless. I act offended, and keep saying 'Be quiet! Be quiet! I'm reading!' And I keep reading. After another ten minutes, people start heckling, saying 'We want Roy' and stuff.. And I bait them. I start saying stuff like, 'Huh, I didn't realize people from the Bay Area are so stupid.' Just riling them up. And I keep reading, even though you can barely hear me with all the complaining. And when I get to the part about where I meet the little prince in the desert, and I say, 'Do you guys wanna meet the real little prince?' And people are yelling yes, because they think it's going to be you. And I say, 'Well, then be quiet, because that's the next part I'm going to read.'"

"When do I come out?"

"You don't. I just keep reading. You can go see Alcatraz or whatever."

"I want to be there. I want to be part of the show."

"You will be there. In spirit. As the little prince says, 'what is essential is invisible to the eye.'"

"I'd rather be visible to the eye," said Jon.

"Well, maybe in L.A. Anyway, I read the whole book, and by the end, there's one guy left, but he claps because he appreciated the experience."

"Like in Man on the Moon, when Andy Kaufman reads all of The Great Gatsby?"

"Exactly," Tom said.

"But he never really read the whole book."

"Well, I will. And we'll donate the proceeds to the Anti-Defamation League. Just to show there's nothing unsavory about The Little Prince."

"Wait, whaaaaaaaaaaat?" Jon asked.

Tom told him about the scene in My Dinner with Andre, and how offended he was to be compared to a member of Hitler's SS just because he happened to like The Little Prince.

"Tom, no one thinks you're a Nazi. Come on: we were making fun of Timmy Von Trimble and Panzerfaust Records. Though you did seem to know a lot of white power bands."

"I just Googled them," Tom said. "Didn't I?"

Tom shuddered, remembering one of his and Jon's most famous creations: the two-inch-tall white supremacist. Jon had come up with the two-inch science experiment part. Tom had come up with the white supremacy angle.

"Hey," Jon said, "what if we have Timmy Von Trimble reading The Little Prince? Like, making really offensive comments."

Just at that moment, an image popped into Tom's head: Michelle Shocked at Yoshi's in San Francisco two years ago, when she tried to do some crowd work during her encore:

Shocked: So it’s not too late. You can jump into this Jesus gang anytime you want. But, um, I was in a prayer meeting yesterday, and you’ve gotta appreciate how scared, how scared folks on that side of the equation are. I mean, from their vantage point - and I really shouldn’t say "their," because it’s mine, too - we are nearly at the end of time. And from our vantage point, we’re gonna be, uh...I think maybe Chinese water torture is gonna be the means, the method. Once Prop 8 gets, uh, instated, and once, um, preachers are held at gunpoint and forced to marry the homosexuals, I’m pretty sure that that will be the signal for Jesus to come on back.

Audience members: Whaaaaaaaaaaat?

Shocked: You said you wanted reality. If someone would be so gracious as to please tweet out, “Michelle Shocked just said from stage, 'God hates faggots.'" Would you do it now?

Audience member: Don’t come to San Francisco saying that shit.

Shocked: "Don’t come to San Francisco saying that shit." Let’s take that note...Where do I go to say that shit?

Audience member: Arkansas.

This was exactly the kind of thing that Tom was hoping to avoid happening at his San Francisco show. He had always had a morbid fascination with public meltdowns: Michelle Shocked, Mel Gibson, Michael Richards, and on. It's always amazing to see someone's demons expose themselves. And it's amazing how many of the meltdowns take place in California.

But Tom prided himself on not having any demons. Except for one, he realized: little Timmy Von Trimble, who now threatened to derail the entire Schrapling-Worster tour.

Suddenly Timmy's voice popped into Tom's head, completely displacing the voice of Tom's conscience, and any other voices he was harboring, and began filling Tom with all kinds of notions. It was only through sheer willpower that he was able to pull off his usual Tuesday podcast: for three hours, he struggled valiantly to avoid becoming a mouthpiece for that little voice of hate. It was a David and Goliath story, with Timmy's squeaky, loathsome little persona shooting slingshots of white supremacy at Tom's armor of equality.

Tom spent Wednesday at Golden Gate Park, trying in vain to shield himself from Timmy's intolerance and xenophobia. Seeing tourists from all over the world, he found himself wanting to tell them to just go back to where they came from. He didn't dare see what Timmy had to say about Chinatown.

On Thursday morning, Tom walked to Fisherman's Wharf. As he watched the sea lions jostle on the platforms, he realized he had a slingshot too: The Little Prince. What better way to teach Timmy about love than the story of the little prince's love for his rose?

But when he got back to his hotel room, to his dismay, his copy of The Little Prince was missing. Then he heard Jon quietly sobbing in the adjoining room.

"Hey, that's my book!" Tom screamed.

"But it's my story," said Jon. "I'm the pilot. You're--"

"I'm the pilot."

"You're that king that thinks everybody's his subject. Well, I'm not your subject. I'm reading The Little Prince at the show tonight. You can go check out Angel Island."

"Not with my copy you're not!"

Tom lunged at Jon, and soon they were tussling over The Little Prince. Inevitably, the book ended up in tatters.

"Great!" Tom screamed. "Where are we going to get another copy?"

Thus began their trek to City Lights Books. Unfortunately, they were almost immediately lost in the foggy hills.

"Man, this is a curvy street," said Jon.

"I know! It must be the curviest street in the world."

"Well, it sucks," said Jon.

Three hours, and many wrong turns later, they found themselves in front of a set of brightly-painted Victorian houses perched incongruously in front of the City skyline.

"This sucks even more," said Tom.

Hopelessly lost, and yet there for each other, they each had the same realization: they were both the pilot and they were both the little prince. And they couldn't do the show without each other. And the show was starting in twenty minutes.

Quickly hopping on a cable car, they made it to the Great American Music Hall and snuck in the back with seconds to spare. Tom caught a glimpse of the crowd from behind the curtain.

"Nice and white," said Timmy.

"Oh, fuck me," said Tom, remembering the  micro-Nazi still occupying a tiny part of his brain. He hadn't gotten a chance to read The Little Prince again in the hopes of teaching Timmy the value of compassion. All he had was one little scrap of The Little Prince left over from his struggle with Jon.

"Here goes," said Tom, and began reading:

...serious reason to believe that the planet from which the little prince came is the asteroid known as B-612. This asteroid has only once been seen through the telescope. That was by a Turkish astronomer, in 1909. On making his discovery, the astronomer had presented it to the International Astronomical Congress, in a great demonstration. But he was in Turkish costume, and so nobody would believe what he said. Grown-ups are like that...Fortunately, however, for the reputation of Asteroid B-612, a Turkish dictator made a law that his subjects, under pain of death, should change to European costume. So in 1920...

"What happened!" screamed Timmy.

"Well, he changed his clothes and people took him seriously."

"So the dictator was right."

"No!" said Tom. "The point is, we shouldn't judge people based on appearances and prejudice."

"Like the way I judge mud p--"

"Eeeeeeeeeuuuuuugh," said Tom.

The intro music began playing.

Tom could only pray.

"Maybe I should just shut my little mouth," said Timmy, and completely disappeared from Tom's consciousness.

Jon looked a little nervous. But Tom was completely calm.

It was their cue:

"You go first," said Jon.

"I'm not going first. You go first," said Tom.

They bickered for a couple minutes and made several disparaging comments about San Francisco before realizing their microphones were on. But they soon willed themselves to go on stage, and put on a two-hour show brimming with comedy and laughter - and not a single epithet. Well, there were a few epithets, but nothing racial. And a satchel even made an appearance.

It was the best of the Best Show brought to stage, and Tom and Jon were simply inspired. After the show ended with a triumphant mix of mirth, music, and mayhem, the audience slinked out. Tom and Jon picked up their check and took a taxi to Coit Tower.

Looking out at the Bay, with the lights of Marin in the distance, Tom was relieved that he had avoided having an onstage meltdown, and was looking forward to the show in L.A. Timmy was safely buried deep in his subconscious, and would not be making an appearance for a long, long time.

"So who's the special guest for the El Rey show?" asked Jon.

"Some hypnotist," said Tom.
 

[Bryon_Scallopini]

Tom Has a Big Problem

A lot of people have been wondering what Tom is doing in Toronto - again. As he said, it's for a "job," which has only led to more speculation. To put the rumors to rest: yes, it's a real job, so no quote marks are necessary. No, it's not one of those corporate comedy gigs, where you do 15 minutes of your safe material in front of a room with no context for a nice big payday. (Unfortunately.) It's nothing to do with TV, music, movies, or voice coaching.

Just stop worrying about it. It's Tom's business and literally none of yours.

The more pressing question is, what was in Tom's so-called Canadian Slurpee? Was Tom in fact, as Mike suggested, "heavily medicated"? Or rather, heavily self-medicated? Or was it simply a matter of fatigue after doing four fantastic, energy-packed shows on the West Coast and then heading straight for his job in Canada?

Nope, Tom was definitely on something. And though one might be tempted to blame the bad phone line for Tom's muffled, almost demodulated voice, Tom was actually calling in on a crystal clear ISDN line, so that's not it.

It all started with The Sublimator. Tom was more than a little intrigued by Damian's contraption for smoking, or rather vaporizing, marijuana. And when the singer mentioned possibly having the The Sublimator advertise on the Best Show, the wheels in Tom's head started turning.

Having already made plenty of references to vaping on the show and on tour, Tom realized he had set the stage for product tie-ins on The Best Show. If Colbert could do it with Sabra hummus, why couldn't Tom do it with The Sublimator?

Unfortunately, between recording the interview with Damian and setting up the ISDN line with Dudio for the call-in part of the show, Tom had a quick succession of disappointments and frustrations.

First, Jon said he had "some misgivings" about using Bryce for advertising purposes.

Second, Mike - of all people - said he wasn't entirely comfortable promoting cannabis-related products on the Best Show.

Thirdly, Damian said he was only kidding about having The Sublimator advertise on the Best Show, because he was actually planning to advertise it on his podcast.

Fourthly, Damian mentioned his lawsuit against Camel and Rolling Stone several years ago for implying his band (F'd Up, as Tom refers to them) endorsed Camel cigarettes, and said to Tom ominously, "You do not want to get in the ring with me."

Fifthly, Tom forgot that the lawsuit was dismissed.

Sixthly, Daniel Bejar, a.k.a. Destroyer, refused to allow his song, "The Sublimation Hour," to be used for advertising, and claimed to be even more litigious than Damian.

Seventhly, Tom had a little too much of the ol' Canadian Slurpee, if you catch the drift. (Two Canadian Slurpees.)

It's really too bad, because Tom had been on a roll after the West Coast shows. It's like that scene in Six Degrees of Separation, when Will Smith's character is caught with a man in bed after having a nice evening with the rich couple who think he's Sidney Poitier's son, and he says, "I was so happy. I wanted to add sex to it." Tom had been so happy. He just wanted to add Slurpees to it.

Damian asked how he was feeling, and all Tom could muster was, "Fucked up."

But the eighth and final blow - or perhaps takedown is more apt - didn't actually hit Tom until he listened to the show the next day. Tom suddenly realized that there was a far greater threat to his control of the Best Show than Dudio's pranks and Mike's machinations.

There was someone who was actually more confident than Tom, more unpredictable than Mike, and more likeable than Dudio.

Tom knew he had to quit his voice coaching job and race back to New Jersey. He needed to take back the Best Show from the last person he expected to steal his throne, but who had now been revealed to be the true usurper:

"Big mistake, Kristen," said Tom.
 

[hatmoose]

i don't want to be rude or anything but is anyone else terrified of this thread

[Bryon_Scallopini]

Tom Makes a Big Change

Tom returned from Canada with a lot of big ideas: ideas for guests, ideas for calls, and ideas for dealing with Mike, Dudio, and now Kristen. But Tom's biggest idea was for the studio: going analog.

When Gary the Squirrel interviewed John Vanderslice at the Great American Music Hall in San Francisco, the producer happened to mention that he was opening an all-analog studio in Oakland. And thus the bug was planted.

Tom was well aware of the whole analog vs. digital debate in music, which goes at least as far back as the advent of compact discs, with purists on both sides claiming their chosen medium is superior. Without rehashing the argument, there are of course benefits and drawbacks to both analog and digital recordings, and it's largely a matter of budget and personal preference.

With rehashing the argument, the debate between analog and digital centers on four aspects: noise and distortion, frequency response, dynamic range, and signal processing. Analog recordings - namely, records - tend to have more noise and distortion when played due to slight imperfections in both turntables and the records themselves. Digital recordings also introduce noise in the form of aliasing, quantization--

But let's not rehash the argument. We can all agree that advocates for analog tend to find the sound "warmer" than digital recordings, and advocates for digital tend to point out that advocates for analog are fetishizing the aesthetic and fooling themselves.

In any case, Tom felt it was time for new a new budget and personal preferences.

Out: CDs and CD players

In: new turntables and records

Out: ProTools recording software

In: reel-to-reel recorder

Out: MacBooks

In: notebooks

Out: Dudio (and Kristen)

In: John Vanderslice (or other expert on analog)

Out: Tom's small collection of digital synthesizers he never talks about

In: a large collection of analog synths Tom won't stop talking about. He will also begin creating a Eurorack modular synthesizer, but the crown jewel will undoubtedly be his Moog 55 with 61-key duophonic keyboard

Out: the couch

In: a table for the Moog 55

Now, if anyone thinks that Tom is perhaps stretching his budget, he or she would be correct. But keep in mind that he opted to not go for the Emerson Moog Modular, a faithful recreation of Keith Emerson's so-called Monster Moog, and if you have to ask how much it costs -- it's $150,000. Tom could have several Moog 55s for that price.

Tom called a meeting for Monday to explain his new analog approach to the Best Show.

"I just find analog a lot warmer," said Tom. "Digital is cold and soulless."

"That's fine for in the studio," said Dudio. "But we'll still have to stream the show using digital technology."

Tom glared at Dudio.

"You do what you have to do - just don't involve me with whatever digital shenanigans you pull."

"Well, they're not exactly shenani--"

Dudio decided not to press it.

"What about my new song?" pressed Mike. "Will you only play it if it's on vinyl?"

"Or tape," said Tom.

And so a sort of analog-digital detente was reached, with Dudio shielding Tom from seeing how any "digital sausage" is made for the Best Show, and Mike stocking up on blank cassettes.

But there was still the matter of the Moog 55. Mike, Dudio, and Kristen all urged Tom to reconsider making such a big purchase, especially considering that Tom wasn't - as he himself would admit - the most proficient keyboard player. Terre was, needless to say, apoplectic. But all their skepticism and doubt only made Tom want a big modular synthesizer even more.

"Here's the thing," he said. "Keith Emerson basically--" he struggled for a way to put it politely-- "adjusts his jock nonstop when he plays his Moog. I'm more subtle. I focus on the texture of the sound as I adjust the oscillators, letting it slowly evolve and transform. I create soundscapes."

"Maybe you could play your soundscapes with your sound collages," suggested Kristen.

"Yes!" said Tom, taking her off his List.

"An analog sound collage?" asked Dudio.

"A complete mindfuck, said Tom.

"Hey, did you see that piece in the New York Times about the 'vinyl LP frenzy'?" asked Mike. "Record plants are having trouble keeping up with demand, because hipsters think vinyl sounds 'warmer.'"

"No," said Tom, adding Mike to his List.

That night, Tom had another nightmare. He was stuck inside a colossal vintage modular synthesizer: it was exactly like Tron, except less digital, and a lot warmer. There was a 61-key duophonic keyboard being played by Keith Emerson and Sherman Hemsley, and each time they hit a note, Tom's whole body oscillated at an unnatural frequency. It was as if he were a human tuning fork being banged by a petulant child, or a Jew's harp being played by a virulent anti-Semite. It was truly terrifying.

Then some weird stuff happened with an armadillo and a manticore.

When Tom woke up, he decided to call off his big purchase.

Later that day, Mike and Dudio arrived at the studio before the show.

"What is that?" asked Mike, dropping his satchel.

"A Buchla 200," said Tom.

They all stared at what looked like the control panel for a space shuttle, with colorful, tangled wires protruding everywhere. It was emitting a strange, pulsating hum.

"What about the Moog?" asked Mike.

"The keyboard bothered me," said Tom.
 

[Bryon_Scallopini]

Tom Changes the World

No one, not even Dudio, was able to get the Buchla to stop humming and pulsing. In fact, any attempt to tame the behemoth seemed to make it angry and hum and pulse even louder. And when it began whirring, that was the last straw. So Tom was forced to return the massive modular synthesizer for a refund (minus a restocking fee) and regretfully return to the digital world.

Driving home, Tom felt a vague sense of guilt. Even if he had been able to tame the Buchla, what was he really hoping to achieve? How was his mastery of an esoteric analog synthesizer really going to improve the Best Show anyway? Comedy was what made the Best Show great, and calls, and The Call, and sound collages, and a lot of little things - but noodling on a Buchla would be, at best, not completely negative.

Positive change was what was called for, Tom thought. He had been following the Pope's trip through Cuba and the US, and wanted to embrace the pontiff's call for a "revolution of tenderness and love." But how? Just then, he was cut off by a Volkswagen. Normally you might expect an expletive from Tom, and if Mike was in the car, a reference to a recent article about the Volkswagen emissions scandal.

And Tom did call the driver a fuckface. But then he saw something that made him refrain from honking: a bumper sticker on the car which said "Think Globally, Act Locally."

Somehow he had never seen or heard that expression before, and it had a profound and instant effect on him. It was as if Tom took that pill Bradley Cooper took in Limitless, except instead of making him rich and power hungry, it made him selfless and hungry for doing good. And just like Bradley Cooper, Tom realized that the first thing he needed to do was clean up: but instead of an apartment, Tom needed to clean up his town.

Passing a local park, he noticed some trash on the grass. So he pulled over, got his grabber out of the trunk, and went to work. The trash can was already overflowing - hence all the litter - but fortunately Tom had some plastic bags, and within about 45 minutes, he filled up his trunk with all the garbage people had thoughtlessly discarded.

Then something caught his eye sticking out of the sand in the playground. He walked over, and it was just as he feared: a hypodermic needle. Fortunately Tom happened to have thick gloves and a biohazard bag, and he was able to safely remove the needle before any children arrived.

As he was about to drive home, he noticed a homeless man on a park bench mumbling to himself. Normally Tom would either ignore him or maybe give him a buck, but this time, he gave the man the sandwich he had gotten from Wawa.

The man was extremely grateful, and asked if he could do anything for Tom.

"No," said Tom, "but if you see any junkies--"

"I'm a junkie," the man said.

"I can help," said Tom. "What's your name?"

"Danny."

"Well, Danny, could you use some money? As long as you don't spend it on drugs?"

He swore he wouldn't spend it on drugs, so Tom gave him $150.

Danny thanked Tom for believing in him, and said that Tom's act of charity inspired him to quit taking drugs and try to get his life back on track. It was a touching scene, marred only slightly at the end by Tom saying, "Smell you later."

On Thursday, Tom divided his time between volunteering at a soup kitchen and setting up a mentoring program for comedy writing and broadcasting, a kind of 826 Valencia for podcasting.

On Friday, Tom received a cease and desist from Dave Eggers regarding his unauthorized use of the 826 Valencia name. Tom desisted.

Returning to the park, he was disappointed to find more trash than ever. Not only that, the playground was strewn with needles: hypodermic, insulin, tuberculin, oral, dental, venom extraction, you name it. There were even a couple turkey basters.

You might expect Tom to make one of his trademark sounds of disgust. He did not. Instead, he got to work, carefully removing all the needles and basters, getting rid of every last one just before a field trip arrived.

On Saturday, Tom drove to Sunset Beach hoping to find some trash left behind by beachgoers. Instead, the beach was incredibly tidy, without a needle or a "white eel" in sight. In fact, he found more Cape May diamonds (translucent quartz rocks) than beer caps and soda lids, and he struggled to fill up one small bag with trash. So he Googled "New Jersey's filthiest beach," and the first result was an article on NJ.com:

In a state whose beaches struggle with the reputation of being less than pristine, there's a stretch of Raritan Bay waterfront in Union Beach that just may be New Jersey's dirtiest.

Lately there's been an epic bluefish run, drawing hordes of fishermen who have come and left a trail of litter that can only be described as sickening and disturbing. Fish carcasses. Beer cans by the dozen. Plastic bait bags.

It was music to Tom's ears.

When I first went fishing myself there in early May, it was nothing short of depressing. I spend an inordinate amount of time on New Jersey beaches and this was as bad as anything I've ever seen.

When I went back this week, things were getting better. Not great, but much better. What happened?

One guy - a fisherman himself - decided he'd had enough and went to war against the slobs.

"Eeeeeeeeeuuuugh," said Tom.

Someone had beaten him to the punch. So he gave his shiny pebbles to some grateful children and headed back to his park, happy to see he was making a difference. There were hardly any syringes. Tom cleaned up the playground and park, and retrieved a lot of trash from the lake.

On Sunday, Tom rested.

But on Monday, Tom worked harder than ever, feeding, cleaning, scrubbing, delousing, donating, counseling, sponsoring, and altogether outdoing even the Pope for ostensible acts of charity. And taking the lead from Pope Francis, instead of going out with Mike and Dudio after their Monday meeting, Tom decided to dine with the homeless.

Danny happened to walk by the encampment, and though he was clearly on drugs, Tom was pleased that he had apparently taken a shower.

On Tuesday, Tom drove by the park, and was amazed to see how clean it was. No litter, no junkies, no needles. Just smiling kids, parents, and grandparents. All because he had shown up and done something. All because he had thought globally and acted locally.

But wasn't it just a drop in the ocean? Or rather, removing a polluted drop from the ocean? And when you accounted for all the extra driving Tom had been doing, was he even really making a net difference? Yes, he was. But, like Oskar Schindler, Tom realized that he could have done so much more.

He decided that he needed to think globally but also act globally - to fully join the revolution of tenderness and love. To clean up not just a park here or a beach there, but the entire garden of creation. Then he remembered the big refund check he got for the Buchla, and knew he had to use that money to help heal the world.

That evening, he parked in front of the studio as Mike and Dudio arrived.

"What's that?" asked Mike, clutching his satchel.

"My new Tesla," said Tom.
 

[Bryon_Scallopini]

Tom Gets a Second Chance

Tom had never been a big fan of Elon Musk. But now that he had a Tesla, he saw the world a little differently, especially Elon Musk. Whereas before he saw the billionaire entrepreneur as arrogant and even vainglorious, Tom now saw him as both brilliant and glorious. And he knew just how to spread the word: by driving around in Elon Musk's greatest triumph, the Model S.

It was a great conversation starter:

"Hey, nice car."

"Thank you."

Tom was working on ways to develop the conversation from there, but there's only so much you can say at a stoplight. One of the things Tom wanted people to know about was Musk's incredible history of success:

At age 12, he sold the code for a video game to a PC magazine for $500. In 1995, he founded Zip2, an online city guide, which sold for $300 million in 1999. Later that year, he founded X.com, which merged with Paypal in 2001, which was bought by eBay the next year for $1.5 billion, earning Musk $165 million. He began funding Tesla in 2004 and co-founded SolarCity in 2006. His current net worth is over $13 billion.

He's like a real-life Bradley Cooper from Limitless, Tom thought. Except for one incident: in 2001 he got spat on by a Russian space boss. However, that incident did lead to Musk's other amazing triumph: SpaceX, short for Space Exploration Technologies Corporation (not Space Sex), which has the goal of sending a human to Mars within 20 years.

Back in 2012, Tom had signed up for Mars One - the international contest to be among the first crew sent to Mars - with the hopes of going to Mars in 2027. One of the things he liked about Mars One was the requirements for being an astronaut: it wasn't about prestigious degrees or even aviation experience. It was about character: "resiliency, adaptability, curiosity, ability to trust, and creativity." Aside from some minor trust issues due to a zip line incident, Tom fit the bill. And there were two aspects of the requirements Tom embodied the most: resiliency and creativity.

Resiliency:

- You persevere and remain productive.
- You are at your best when things are at their worst.
- You have indomitable spirit.

Creativity / Resourcefulness:

- You are flexible in how an issue / problem / situation is approached.
- You are not constrained by the way you were initially taught when seeking solutions.
- Your humor is a creative resource, used appropriately as an emerging contextual response.

When Tom read about humor being a requirement, he knew that he had to risk the $75 to apply. Tom quite justifiably prided himself on his humor, though he had to admit that he wasn't sure about it being used appropriately as an emerging contextual response. In fact, weren't humor and appropriateness often in direct opposition? Wasn't Roy's inappropriateness what made him the perfect foil? And as for an emerging contextual response, wasn't that just clumsy corporate-speak for "don't be too funny"? Did the Mars One boffins really want comedy on the spacecraft, or just some hack who could recite corny jokes?

Tom bought a bunch of old Reader's Digests on eBay and boned up on Campus Comedy, Humor in Uniform, and Life in These United States.

"If it gets me to Mars, I'll tell knock-knock jokes," Tom said.

But then he read something in the Mars One fine print which was a deal-breaker: it was a one-way trip.

"No way," Tom told Terre. "I'm only going to Mars if I can get back to Earth. Unless you'd like to apply too. I've got $75 right here..."

Terre demurred and Tom withdrew his application, though Mars One kept his application fee.

Tom feared he might never "slip the surly bonds of earth," but now that he heard about SpaceX's mission to Mars, he realized he might just have another chance. And now Tom had an in: he drove one of Mr. Musk's creations, the Model S. In fact, by buying a Tesla, Tom was in a sense helping fund his own mission to Mars.

All he needed was a chance to get face-to-face with Mr. Musk to explain not only why a Martian colony would need comedy, but a whole comedy team: if he could bring Terre along with Mike, Dudio, Kristen, and of course Jon, there would be no need for a return journey, and Tom would have something no other podcaster has: a truly captive audience.

Tom would have his work cut out for him convincing them all to give up their lives here on Earth for the sake of the Best Show, but the news from NASA about flowing water on Mars might help. First, though, he he had to convince Elon Musk. And after a lot of Googling, Tom found out that Musk was going to be attending a space tourism convention in Montreal that weekend.

As he drove toward Canada, Tom worked on his elevator pitch - but quickly decided it would be better to stay in the lobby. There was one phrase he was hoping to work in: "I'll science the fuck out of it."

Unfortunately, his Tesla soon ran out of juice - annoyingly, in Edison, New Jersey.

So Tom rented a Kia and checked into the Queen Elizabeth late Friday night. As he headed to the elevator, he saw him: Elon Musk, getting in the elevator.

Tom paused. Was it worth the risk of having another traumatizing elevator encounter in order to try for a second chance at Mars? Then he remembered reading that Elon Musk had once been so badly bullied as a child that he had to be hospitalized. If Musk could recover from that, surely Tom could recover from whatever psychic damage another elevator turf out would entail.

"Elon!" he shouted. "Hold the elevator!"

Elon apparently didn't hear Tom, and seemed to actually be hitting the door close button, but Tom managed to get to his hand in the closing doors in time to force them to reopen.

Tom couldn't believe he was in the presence of his idol. Musk also seemed to be in a state of disbelief, and began hitting the door open button. But the doors wouldn't open.

"I just have one question," Tom said.

Ask about the Mars program, ask about the Mars program, he told himself.

"Back in the day--"

"I don't have time for questions," Musk said, as the elevator ascended.

"did you ever--"

"Are you thick, bro?" screamed Musk. "No questions!"

"happen to catch--"

The elevator stopped at the lounge.

"They better have shrimp," said Musk, exiting the elevator, leaving Tom stunned, chagrined, and never knowing if he ever happened to catch Bob and Ray.

Tom wandered around Montreal, brooding. What was the point of slipping the surly bonds of Earth, of dancing the skies on laughter-silvered wings, of climbing sunward and joining the tumbling mirth, if the guy in charge of it all was a surly jerk with a God complex?

Tom decided then and there to put his Martian dreams on hold once again, and just enjoy what Earth had to offer. And when he got home, he decided to take his Tesla back to the dealer. On Tuesday, Tom and Jon created a parallel universe in which matter and anti-matter meet in the form of Philly Boy Roy and the Pope, with similarly explosive results.

On Thursday, he and Terre were making plans for the weekend.

"What do you want to see?" Terre asked.

Tom thought about his twice-dashed interplanetary dreams, and about all the nights he had spent dreaming of the red planet and squinting at the sky.

"Hotel Transylvania 2," said Tom.
 

[Bryon_Scallopini]

Tom Gets a Third Chance

Tom has always been a big fan of Matt Damon. Ever since he saw him in Mystic Pizza in 1988 utter the now-famous line, "Mom, do you want my green stuff?" Tom followed his career with respect, admiration, and sometimes even awe. So when he found himself at the cineplex with Terre last Friday, he was surprised to see that there was a new Matt Damon movie he hadn't heard about: The Martian.

Mike had mentioned some recent controversy about Damon's comments about gay actors in a British newspaper. But Tom didn't bite.

"I'm sure it was taken out of context," he said.

"Well, the context was the rumors about him and Ben Affleck--"

"I hate Ben Affleck," said Tom.

"About them being gay, and Matt Damon said he didn't want to be put in the position of--"

"Complete dirtbag."

"Anyway, it seemed like Matt Damon was saying it was better if actors stay in the closet."

"He probably just meant that actors are more effective when they're a mystery."

"Here's the quote," said Mike, pulling his copy of the Guardian out of his satchel.

Now, if you've ever peeked inside Mike's satchel, there's really only one word to describe it: Borgesian. Except instead of an infinite library or a book with more pages than there are grains of sand, Mike seems to have an endless supply of recent newspapers with noteworthy articles highlighted and annotated. It's as if you compressed an entire newsstand into the space of a satchel, but still somehow left room for snacks from Costco.

"Don't play gotcha journalism," said Tom.

Mike was undeterred.

"Here," he said, pointing to the article.

"I don't need the media filter."

Mike was getting frustrated with Tom's evasions.

"When it comes to establishing your world view, I was curious, Tom: what newspapers do you regularly read to stay informed and to understand the world?"

"None of them," said Tom.

And so Tom avoided hearing the details of the overblown brouhaha, but also unfortunately didn't hear about The Martian.

As discussed briefly before, Tom has for a long time hoped to make a trip to Mars. Hopes of joining Mars One were dashed when Tom realized it was a one-way trip, and hopes of hitching his wagon to Elon Musk's Mars mission crashed when Tom realized that there was going to be a personality conflict.

But Tom found he would get a third chance to visit Mars - at least vicariously - via Matt Damon's new movie. Granted, it wouldn't be as exciting as actually going to Mars. Or would it? So instead of seeing Hotel Transylvania 2, he and Terre went to The Martian.

Tom loved it.

"It's like Gravity on Mars," said Tom. "With more focus on teamwork."

He spent the weekend working lines from the movie into conversation, such as "technically it would be under maritime law," "that makes me a pirate - a space pirate," "this won't exactly be an Algonquin Round Table," and "I am the greatest botanist on this planet." Perhaps his favorite was, "your music sucks."

Tom also spent the rest of the weekend revisiting Matt Damon's greatest roles: from Steamer in Mystic Pizza to the eponymous Private Ryan, Mr. Ripley, and Jason Bourne, and then to his lesser-known roles: Rannulph Junuh in Bagger Vance, Donny in EuroTrip, and and George Lonegan in Hereafter. Finally, Tom scoured YouTube for the really obscure stuff: Charlie Robinson and Cotton Calloway in the TV movies Rising Sons and The Good Old Boys, respectively, and finally, Edgar Pudwhacker in Glory Daze.

"Eeeeeeeeeuuuuuuggh," said Tom.

Glory Daze had everything Tom hated: beer-guzzling, cliched college characters, crude gags, carousing, and worst of all, Ben Affleck.

"He's an unclogged toilet," Tom said. "Wait! He's a clogged toilet. Not even Matt Damon could rescue that trash."

"Come on," Terre said. "He was good in Good Will Hunting."

"What? Goodwill hunting? Like bargain hunting?"

"Their first big movie. Good Will Hunting."

"Never heard of it," said Tom.

"We saw it together! You kept asking everybody if they liked apples, and telling them everything was their fault."

"You're gaslighting me."

"No, I swear--"

"Here's what I hate about Ben Affleck," said Tom. "The lying. He lies about his drinking, he lies about his gambling, he lies about his slaving ancestors, he lies about the nanny."

"What did you think about his Oscar acceptance speech for Argo?"

"Didn't see it. I don't watch awards shows."

Terre was beginning to wonder if she was being gaslighted.

"Tom! We had an Oscar party! You made hors-d'oeuvres!"

"I don't eat--"

Tom looked around the room, completely dazed.

"What the fuck? Where's Jon? We're supposed to go on in five minutes."

"Go on where?"

"Here at the El Rey. We've got this guy who's going to hypnotize me on stage. He was just warming up with me. Now I remember. There was a magazine with Ben Affleck on the cover. I asked if he could make me forget every movie he was in. The code word he used was..."

"Hors-d'oeuvres," said Terre.

"I hate Ben Affleck."

"Hors-d'oeuvres," said Terre.

"What the fuck? Where's Jon? We're supposed to go on in five minutes."

Terre explained to Tom that there must have been a problem with the hypnotist, because they didn't use him for the show, and now whenever anyone said hors-d'oeuvres, he would either become overly critical of Ben Affleck, or revert to just before he was hypnotized at the El Rey.

So Tom hadn't been lying about never seeing Good Will Hunting or Ben Affleck's acceptance speech. He had simply been hypnotized to forget seeing them. Now he had to track down this terrible hypnotist, and in the meantime avoid situations which might involve hors-d'oeuvres or Ben Affleck.

But Tom had lied about one thing, and he knew he had to come clean. So he called Mike.

"Hey, remember when you asked me what I read to stay informed about current events? And I said nothing?"

"Yeah?"

"Well...I do read something to stay in touch."

"What?" asked Mike.

"In Touch," said Tom.
 

[Bryon_Scallopini]

Tom Changes

It's been a difficult week to avoid hors d'oeuvres. First, Mike came to the Monday meeting with an article he read about a woman in Connecticut suing her 12-year-old nephew for $127,000 for giving her an "exuberant greeting" at his eighth birthday party which led to her falling over and breaking her wrist.

"Here's the best part," said Mike. “She tells the jurors, 'I was at a party recently and it was difficult to hold my hors d’oeuvre plate.'”

"What the--" Tom struggled against his hypnotic conditioning connected to the term hors d'oeuvres. Fortunately he was able to stifle the F word.

"She's being called the most hated woman in America," said Mike.

"I'm sure it was just a formality for a homeowners insurance claim," said Tom.

Mike rolled his eyes.

"She and that dentist should get together. They could be the most hated couple in America."

"The dentist has a wife and children," said Tom. "Leave him alone."

"I found that aunt on LinkedIn. You should see what I'm gonna--"

"Let it go, Mike. I'm sure she and her nephew love each other very much."

Mike couldn't believe Tom was so even-keeled about the whole thing, and was determined to get a rise out of him.

"Did you hear about the Tom Brady walkout? He's the new spokesman - or 'brand ambassador' - for Tag Heuer watches. Well, they invited a bunch of photographers to his big announcement, and when they arrived, the organizers complained that they weren't dressed up enough. And then - here it is - 'while the fotogs waited for Brady, some sympathetic servers offered hors d’oeuvres--'"

"I...hate...Ben..."

"What?" asked Mike.

"Nothing," said Tom, stifling his hatred of all things Affleck.

Mike read the rest of the article.

"They were like, 'The food is not for you, don’t eat the food!'" our source alleged. "For two hours we were forced to remain stacked on a 2-foot riser that several people fell off."

Finally, a coup brewed when Brady was "an hour late." "He’s a sports guy," sniffed our ticked-off source. "You think there’s people in France talking about Tom Brady? He’s not George Clooney. He doesn’t have an acting career. He’s not even Ben Affleck...If you want to see him, flip to your sports section - he’s there throwing footballs."

That’s when the crew decided they’d had enough and bailed on Brady, leaving in a huff.

"It was a tremendous act of solidarity that only begins to address the sometimes inhumane ways professionals are treated," our source declared. Page Six does agree that no hors d'oeuvres is inhumane!

Mike looked expectantly at Tom. This would surely get his blood boiling.

But it didn't. Tom took several deep breaths and quietly whispered some sort of mantra.

"May I see the article?" Tom asked.

Mike handed him the Post.

"You didn't read the last paragraph," said Tom. "'But another source countered that Brady was just 20 minutes behind schedule because interviews at the site ran over, and that only six surly photographers stormed off. A rep for the event told us, “We got every picture we wanted.'”

"Huh," said Mike, more determined than ever to get a reaction from Tom. "Then did you hear about this? Playboy's going to stop printing pictures of naked women."

Before Tom could get off an "eeeeeeuuuughhhh," Mike pulled yet another newspaper from his satchel and began quoting Hugh Hefner's introduction to the magazine in 1953:

If you're a man between the ages of 18 and 80, Playboy is meant for you. If you like your entertainment served up with humor, sophistication and spice, Playboy will become a very special favorite.

We want to make it clear from the very start, we aren't a "family magazine." If you're somebody's sister, wife or mother-in-law and picked us up by mistake, please pass us along to the man in your life and get back to your Ladies Home Companion.

Within the pages of Playboy you will find articles, fiction, picture stories, cartoons, humor and special features culled from many sources, past and present, to form a pleasure-primer styled to the masculine taste.

Most of today's "magazines for men" spend all their time out-of-doors - thrashing through thorny thickets or splashing about in fast-flowing streams. We'll be out there too, occasionally, but we don't mind telling you in advance - we plan on spending most of our time inside. We like our apartment. We enjoy mixing up cocktails and an hors d'oeuvre--

"What...the...f--" Tom caught himself again.

"What?"

"Keep reading."

Or two, putting a little mood music on the phonograph and inviting in a female acquaintance for a quiet discussion on Picasso, Nietzsche--

"Scheiße!" said Tom.

"Jazz, sex," finished Mike, not quite sure what to make of Tom's German outburst.

"Aus, aus, aus!" Tom shouted.

And so Mike went out, leaving his New York Times on the coffee table. Tom read the last sentence to himself:

"We enjoy mixing up cocktails and an hors d'oeuvre or two, putting a little mood music on the phonograph and inviting in a female acquaintance for a quiet discussion on Picasso, Nietzsche - Arschgeige! Arschgesicht! Arschfotze! - jazz, sex."

The good news was, hors d'oeuvres no longer seemed to exert any power over Tom. The bad news was that Nietzsche seemed to be exerting a significant pull. And nobody was there to pull Tom out.

"Ich bin der Übermensch," said Tom.

Now, anybody who knows Tom knows he has a way with words, but those words tend to be in English. He did study a little Spanish in high school, but he had a habit of shuddering whenever his teacher rolled her r's or pronounced Mexican foods correctly, so he didn't learn quite as much as he would have liked. And his exposure to German is more or less limited to the Bourne Identity and some specialty magazines he once mistakenly picked up.

Yet somehow, through the spooky power of hypnotism, Tom was more than getting his point across in German. It was as impressive as it was upsetting.

Tom read the sentence one more time:

"We enjoy mixing up cocktails and an hors d'oeuvre or two, putting a little mood music on the phonograph and inviting in a female acquaintance for a quiet discussion on Picasso, Nietzsche - Kommt nicht immerfort die Nacht und mehr Nacht? Müssen nicht Laternen am Vormittage angezündet werden? Hören wir noch Nichts von dem Lärm der Todtengräber, welche Gott begraben? Riechen wir noch Nichts von der göttlichen Verwesung? - auch Götter verwesen! Gott ist todt! Gott bleibt todt! Und wir haben ihn getödtet! - jazz, sex."

Just then, Dudio walked into the studio.

"Fick!" said Tom.

"Practicing the old Deutsch?" asked Dudio.

"Nein!" screamed Tom. "Bist du deppat?"

Dudio had no idea what Tom meant, because Tom had a strong Austrian accent.

Fortunately, Tom was somehow able to explain that he must have been hypnotized to scream in German whenever he heard the word Nietzsche.

Dudio knew just what to do. Pulling some wires he had taken out of the Buchla, he attached one end of the wires to the studio's board and the other end, with the help of some chewing gum, to Tom's forehead.

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeuuuuuuuuuuuuuugggggggggghhhhhhhhhhh," said Tom.

"Drücken Sie die Daumen, meine Damen und Herren!"

Dudio began potting up the board. The chewing gum began sizzling. Tom began screaming.

"Das...ist...voll...nervig!"

"Zehn, neun, acht, sieben, sechs, fünf, vier, drei, zwei, eins. Klar."

Tom snapped out of his trance, staring at Mike's newspaper.

"Are you okay?" asked Mike. "I handed you the paper, and you just kept staring at Tom Brady's watch, mumbling something. Did you hypnotize yourself?"

"I'm fine," said Tom. And he wasn't lying. In fact, he felt incredibly refreshed, and confident that he had exorcised whatever hypnagogic demons he had been harboring. He would no longer be subject to the power of suggestion.

"So, any plans for the weekend?" asked Mike.

"Jazz, sex," said Tom.
 

[Bryon_Scallopini]

Tom Changes Back

Tom stood on the beach, staring wistfully at the sea. Then he looked down at the pile of pretty rocks he'd collected. Most were common pebbles, but Tom had found a few Cape May diamonds which shimmered in the late afternoon light. Returning from his reverie, he gathered up the rocks and placed them in his pouch.

He had been thinking about time a lot: the past, the future, Back to the Future, the thousands of years it took to make the pebbles smooth, the decade and a half of The Best Show, the ten months of the new Best Show, the endless days and nights he worked to make the Best Show great.

When he got home, he showed Terre his loot.

"Wow," Terre said. "You got some really...nice...minerals."

"Jesus, Terre, they're rocks!" Tom screamed.

Of course, there were both rocks and minerals in his pouch, and he had a lot to learn about rock collecting. But he was going to learn. And one day, he might even teach.

On Monday, he headed to the studio for an "all hands on board" meeting with Mike, Dudio, and Jon.

Tom has been a little on edge after all his hypnosis-induced jazz/sex talk last week, and the situation was only exacerbated by Mike humming Dave Brubeck whenever he saw Tom, and Dudio making strained references to the Utah Jazz. Even Jon got in on the action by suggesting they work a "long, jazzy - really jazzy - drum solo" into this week's call.

"Don't say exacerbate," Tom said.

"I didn't," said Mike.

All the teasing was in good fun, and when it came to teasing, Tom certainly was one of the best at dishing it out. But sometimes he wasn't so great at spooning it in.

"Don't say spooning," Tom said.

"I didn't," said Dudio.

Tom was clearly under a lot of stress.

He found himself wishing he could be a kid again, if only for a day, and he couldn't stop thinking about Tom Hanks in Big. If only he could go back to before he knew about sex, and jazz, and lying, and stealing, and bills, and all the evil and banality in the world.

"Don't say banality," Tom said.

"I didn't," said Jon.

"Listen," Tom said. "I've gotten lax. I've looked the other way when people have sworn on the show, and perhaps I haven't set the best example myself recently. But we need to redouble our efforts to keep this a family-friendly show. Okay?"

"Sure, chief," said Mike.

Tom grimaced.

"I'm serious. No sex stuff."

"Even normal, healthy sex between consenting adults?"

"You mean missionary?" asked Dudio.

"Yeah," said Mike. "Or perhaps--"

"No!" shouted Tom. "No sex talk."

"You got it, boss," said Dudio.

Tom cringed.

"Moving on--"

"What about, just talking about people's bodies?" asked Jon. "Like the arms of old male porn stars."

"No...sex...talk."

"Sure thing, captain," said Jon.

Tom liked the sound of that.

At this point, some people might get the impression that Tom is a bit of a prude. Far from it. He believes that sex is a beautiful gift to be shared between two people who love each other very much. In fact, for a long time, his go-to karaoke song was Blur's Girls and Boys, which contain a couple lines when have always meant a lot to him:

Girls who are boys
Who like boys to be girls
Who do boys like they're girls
Who do girls like they're boys
Always should be someone you really love

and

Nothing is wasted
Only reproduced
Get nasty blisters
Du bist sehr schön

That song, Tom felt, embodied the contrast between the ideal - love - and debauched desperation - blisters - and why he was proud to have stuck to his ideals and found love, both personally and professionally. He had no idea what the German said, but he liked the sound of it.

Soon enough, though, his go-to song became their woo-hoo song.

In any case, he felt himself at a crossroads, and knew he had to have a fitting topic to save the Best Show from turning into a non-stop raunchfest.

"Okay: show topic suggestions?"

"Jazz," said Mike, humming Take Five again.

"Sex," said Dudio.

"No sex!" said Tom. "We've been over this."

"I meant sechs, the German number for six. Maybe do something on neunundsechzig. Would you be interested in talking about 69, Tom?"

"Eeeeeeeuuuuuggggghhhh," said Tom.

Oral sex was, ironically, Tom's least favorite subject of conversation.

Jon made a series of inappropriate suggestions and Tom finally told him that they no longer needed all hands on board at the meeting.

Finally, they decided on a topic which brought back memories of innocence: When I Was a Kid. Weird misunderstandings and lapses of logic kids have. It was sure to elicit nostalgia and some laughs.

And it did. People called with all sorts of crazy kid stories. And The Call was wonderfully demented, though Tom was not happy with Jon's unauthorized digression about porno arms.

A wide-eyed kid even called up to ask Tom about his voice work on Steven Universe. Tom bantered with him, half-wishing the whole show could be like that: just engaging in the giddy guilelessness of childhood.

Then Nathan Fielder called in, and before long, Tom found himself trying to shift the subject away from Captain "Sully" Sullenberger's fellatio habits.

Mike, to no one's surprise, was thrilled with this turn of events.

Tom was not. Wishing there was some podcast equivalent of the FCC - perhaps a PCC - with which he could warn guests to keep it clean, he realized that it was too late. Even one of his comedy heroes had a foul mouth. What was next? Alan Partridge discussing anal? Chris Elliott discussing...anal? Tom had somewhat limited list of taboo topics in his mind.

Why couldn't everyone just be like Tom and bleep any bad words, inside or outside their heads? The bleeps are always funnier than whatever anyone could actually say. He thought of Gob's sexual harrassment speech in Arrested Development:

And please refrain from discussing or engaging in any sort of interoffice [BLEEP] or [BLEEP] or finger-[BLEEP] or [BLEEP] or [BLEEP] or even [BLEEP] even though so many people in this office are begging for it.

Tom quickly queued up his sound collage, trying to figure out how to prevent the Best Show from becoming a mouthpiece for potty talk.

The haunting strains of Frankie Teardrop gave way to all sorts of strange samples, some familiar, some new, and How Soon Is Now? even made an appearance, instantly transporting some listeners back to a more innocent, and probably awkward, time.

And then something happened. The Soundboard app started going haywire, as if it was revolting against Tom. Suddenly the list of samples - "Do you have puppy dogs?" and so on - were replaced with vulgar titles, each one more obscene than the last. It was as if the universe was telling Tom he was fighting a losing battle against the barbarians. And now, instead of Gob, Tom began to feel like Job.

He looked over at Dudio. For once, this wasn't one of his pranks. He looked at Mike. For once, he didn't seem to be secretly plotting something.

Just then, he got a text from Jon:

Free speech!

For whatever reason - perhaps chafing at Tom's chafing at all his porn star talk - Jon had sabotaged Tom's Soundboard program and filled it with the most filthy material possible.

Summoning Mario Savio, Tom thought to himself:

There's a time when the operation of the machine becomes so odious, makes you so sick at heart, that you can't take part! You can't even passively take part! And you've got to put your bodies upon the gears and upon the wheels…upon the levers, upon all the apparatus, and you've got to make it stop!

And so Tom turned off the sound collage. Perhaps, he hoped, the MacBook's Time Machine function would return his computer to its natural, unsullied state. But probably not. Deciding it was impossible to turn back the clock, Tom continued the show, and just decided to let the chips - and the unbleeped bleeps - fall where they may.

Tom was relieved in a way. He no longer had to fight against the tide. He no longer had struggle against the current. He no longer had to swim upstream to - nevermind. He could let the denominator keep sinking until it divided evenly into everything and everyone. The Best Show would become a no-holds-barred venue for graphic discussions of sex, drugs, and if time allowed, rock'n'roll.

By the time the Half Hour of Power started, Tom had resigned himself to the Best Show basically being a forum for whatever Mike wanted to discuss. And in this case, it happened to be penises, chimpanzee thumbs, and pornography hidden in the woods.

After the show was over, Tom looked down at his keyboard and saw that Jon had left a sickening little surprise between the keys, something only a real time machine could fix. He never wanted to say the F word more in his life. He knew now that he could never give up his fight against the forces of barbarism.

"Fudge," said Tom.
 

[Kurz]

i don't want to be rude or anything but is anyone else terrified of this thread

Terrified is a strong word, but yeah, this does have a last caller of the current show vibe.

[Bryon_Scallopini]

Tom Bleeps Himself

After all the commotion of the last couple weeks, Tom decided he would try to be as outwardly calm as possible. And a big part of that was controlling his occasional outbursts of what Spock called "colorful metaphors." So, whenever Tom felt like using any four-, ten-, or sixteen-letter swear words, he would, in his most Vulcan manner possible, say what any network censor would have him say: bleep.

It was logical. And it worked.

Tom told Mike he was over four bleeping minutes late for the bleeping Monday meeting, and told Dudio that if he tries any Halloween bleeping prank bleeps, he would shove his bleeping iPhone 6 Plus so far up his bleep that Dudio would be bleeping ringtones from his bleep.

They took it in stride, though Dudio and Mike were concerned that Tom wouldn't be able to maintain his composure when dealing with Jon and might, as Dudio put it, "revert to Klingon."

Over they years, Tom Schrapling and Jon Worster have collaborated brilliantly and clashed incandescently, though Jon bleeping up Tom's computer, not to mention bleeping on his computer, was perhaps a new low.

But Tom is a forgiving person, and once he let Jon know that if he ever tried any of that bleep again, he would bleep his bleep so bleeping fast he'd wish he'd never been bleeped. To be honest, at this point, Tom was bleeping more than just swear words.

So they buried the hatchet and got back to the business of comedy creation. This week's Call - The Newbridge Wall - was going to be an extra special one: the culmination of years of Newbridge lore, months of discussion, weeks of writing, days of recording, hours of editing, and over 45 minutes of timeless comedy.

After they finished mixing the last of the Newbridge Wall songs, Tom looked at Jon and said, "That ought to bleep the little bleep."

"Who?" asked Jon.

"The little bleep who writes the creepy bleeping bleep fiction on my bleeping forum."

"You have a forum?"

"The Friends of Bleep," said Tom. "I mean Tom."

"A whole forum for your friends?"

"Any bleep can register. And this one bleep writes the most bleeped up stuff. Completely out of his bleep. Like a last caller bleeped to life."

"I'm sure it's done with affection," said Jon.

"That's bleeping worse!"

On Tuesday, Tom and Jon unleashed The Newbridge Wall, the most epic call since the Best Show's rebirth. You couldn't help but be in awe of the work and the craft, and the apparent ease with which the insanity unfolded. It was, without hyperbole, one of the best things ever on the Best Show. And it even had an unbleeped swear word.

On Friday, Tom called a rare post-show meeting with Mike, Dudio, and Jon.

Looking at them, Tom realized that he wasn't Spock: Tom was of course Captain Kirk. Mike was a saltier McCoy, Dudio was Dr. Who in some sort of crossover episode, and Jon had a certain Ferengi quality. There wasn't a lot of logic in the Best Show universe.

"The forum's going wild," said Mike, pulling some print-outs from his satchel.

"People want to buy the whole Newbridge Wall album," said Dudio.

"Ka-ching," said Jon.

Tom thought back over the years of the Best Show, with him and Jon always going for something great, and greater, always trying to outdo themselves. That's what led to the most inspired calls, the Mayubanatorial debate, the pledge drive prizes, the infomercial, the box set, the tours, everything.

It's what led to The Newbridge Wall. How could they possibly top it?

"Fuck," said Tom.

[rpm1200]

Thank you Bryon_Scallopini for doing these. As someone who did his own labor-intensive and possibly creepy tribute to The Best Show, I appreciate the work that went into these and I think they're hilarious. If there was such a thing as FOT Forum Thread Of The Year I'd vote for this.

I'd also like to point out to Krokodil_Gena that this thread proves that the "dipshit" in The Newbridge Wall went out uncensored on the original broadcast.

Thanks and Happy New Year!