Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2007-04-14 10:31 am
ptahrrific) wrote2007-04-14 10:31 am
Entry tags:
Fake News: Things That Happen To New Guys
Title: Things That Happen To New Guys
Fandom: TDS/TCR
Genre: Dark comedy.
Rating: PG for language, scariness.
Words: ~1800
Disclaimer: The usual two:
For the Report characters: They and their universe are property of Stephen Colbert, the other Report writers, and of course Viacom. Not mine. Sue me not, please.
And for the real people, the poem:
Please, make no mistake:
these people aren't fake,
but what's said here is no more than fiction.
It only was writ
because we like their wit
and wisecracks, and pull-squints, and diction.
We don't mean to quibble,
but this can't be libel;
it's never implied to be real.
No disrespect's meant;
if you disapprove, then,
the back button's right up there. Deal.
Notes: I'd been thinking for a while that I should write something about the new correspondents who don't show up in fanfiction. And then I followed links from![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
metafandom to about twenty different essays on race and fandom, and I figured I should write something about the nonwhite correspondents, now that there finally are some. And then ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
tds_gen appeared, and I figured I should write some gen.
I ended up killing three birds with one stone.
Things That Happen To New Guys
When Rob Riggle was hired to work on the Daily Show, he got his own office. Or rather, he got an office meant for two people, but at the time there was no one else in it. He was surprised to find out later that all the other correspondents, except for Sam and of course Jon himself, were paired up; as the new guy, he had expected to get the crummiest space imaginable, and instead he was the only one with his own room and an extra desk.
If any of his co-workers were envious, they didn't complain to Rob about it. Of course, Rob could have bench-pressed any one of them. That might have been a deterrent.
When another new correspondent was hired a few months later, Rob was informed that he would lose the extra space, and he realized that he looked forward to it. He didn't mind having room to stretch, but it had started to get lonely.
He was playing World of Warcraft that afternoon when Aasif Mandvi walked in with a large cardboard box. "Yo, Aasif. You helping the new guy move in? That's nice."
"Um, no." Aasif set the box down on the empty desk and began lifting things out: a laptop, an organizer, some folders. "I am the new guy."
"Yeah, right. You've been around longer than I have."
"I freelanced for the show for a while," corrected Aasif, looking slightly uncomfortable. "But I was only officially hired as a regular last week."
Rob paused his game. "Hang on. You mean you weren't a regular when I started?"
Aasif looked even more uncomfortable. "No."
"So that whole 'Halloween tradition' prank--"
"All in good fun," said Aasif, focusing very intently on arranging his box of pens. "No harm done, right?"
"You told me it was the kind of thing that you always did to the new guy," pressed Rob. "I thought you were a senior correspondent then."
"Yeah, well." Aasif shrugged awkwardly. "I wasn't."
"I dressed up as a nurse on your say-so and you hadn't even been hired yet?" As Rob clenched his fists, he could feel the sleeves of his T-shirt tighten satisfyingly over his biceps. Not that he would actually beat up the guy (even if it weren't a harassment scandal waiting to happen), but he liked being recognized as someone who could.
To his credit, though, Aasif barely flinched, and when he responded it was in a relatively firm voice. "You must have done that kind of thing when you were on SNL, though, right?"
"Yeah - but not because I was tricked into it! My boss had never had to ask me why I was dressed up as a slutty nurse on national TV!"
"All right. All right. I get it." Aasif held up his hands. "I'm sorry we messed with you, okay? I would've left it alone if I'd known it would upset you this much. Peace?"
And what could Rob say to that? "Sure," he agreed grudgingly. "Peace."
"You ever hung out with this Colbert guy?" asked Aasif a few mornings later.
Rob had not, in fact, hung out with Stephen Colbert. The host of the Report had invited him to lunch soon after he'd been hired, supposedly to "get to know the new guy" but in fact to perform some kind of hazing ritual involving, at least in his case, a six-pack and a garden hose.
What exactly Colbert had been planning, Rob never found out. He had showed up in full Marine uniform. Lunch had been spent very agreeably with a much-subdued Colbert, who had spent most of it repeating how much he supported the troops.
Rob hadn't seen him since. He suspected that this was a relief for both of them.
He could have explained all this to Aasif, but instead all he said was, "Only once. Why?"
Aasif waved at his monitor. "He just invited me to lunch, that's all. Something about keeping up with new correspondents. Think I should go?"
Rob shrugged as noncommittally as possible. "Doesn't matter to me."
"It's a free lunch, anyway," observed Aasif, looking at the email again. "Although I wonder what he wants me to bring a rubber duck for."
With perfect truthfulness, Rob replied, "I have no idea."
"He's where?!" shrieked Samantha Bee.
Rob looked from face to stunned face at the correspondent lunch table. "Like I said, lunching with Colbert."
"And you let him go?" cried a scandalized John Oliver, voice jumping an octave or two, accent coming in thicker than usual.
Rob shrugged uncomfortably. "It's none of my business what he does."
"Man, that ain't true and you know it," snapped Larry Wilmore. "Not when it comes to a man as dangerous as Colbert."
"Rob - Corddry, I mean - ended up in the hospital after the little prank Stephen pulled to 'welcome' him," explained Sam, her voice now low and serious.
"Remember when I broke my nose, and we made a joke out of it?" added Oliver. "We acted like it happened during that field piece? It wasn't from the piece. It was Colbert's fault."
"I still remember what he did to me," remarked Dan Bakkedahl with a shudder. "I couldn't sit down for a week."
"And then there's what he did to Beth Littleford," added Sam.
Dan shot her a puzzled look. "Who's Beth Littleford?"
"Exactly."
"I got out of it at the last minute," put in Jason Jones. "I was warned just in time. Honey, have I thanked you for that yet today?" Sam shook her head. "Well, thank you."
Rob was feeling lower by the second. "Come on," he said weakly, "this always happens to new guys, right? I mean, look at me - you all convinced me that it would be a good idea to report in costume last Halloween..."
The defense died in his mouth as five looks of utter disgust were turned on him.
Sam was the first to speak. "Rob," she said, "you wore a costume for a few minutes on TV. You were mildly embarrassed. We laughed. Life went on. Aasif is going to get hurt."
"I wasn't just mildly embarrassed," protested Rob in a very small voice. "It was only my third or fourth appearance, and I'd been trying to make a good impression, and my new boss had to stop and ask why I was dressed as a slutty nurse. He probably thought I was a freak."
Sam was too exasperated to respond to this; as she slapped her forehead, Jason spoke up. "If anything," he said, "Jon was probably jealous that you made a better drag queen than he does."
"Quite so," agreed Oliver, stirring his tea. "Of course, Jon always ends up wearing strapless dresses and then doesn't bother to shave, which I can assure you does not help."
For a brief moment Rob was too stunned even to be ashamed. "You're kidding."
"Ohhh, no we're not," laughed Dan. "We'll show you the pictures some time."
"Are you trying to tell us," added Larry, more seriously, "that you let Aasif Mandvi go into mortal danger just because of this dumb chip on your shoulder? And you call yourself a Marine! What ever happened to 'all for one and one for all'?"
I was a Marine, not a Musketeer, thought Rob; but he didn't say it out loud, because Larry had a point and he knew it. So he said that.
"But I'm going to fix it," he added, standing up. "I'll be right back."
Aasif was ushered into the Report studio by a nervous-looking intern and informed that Colbert would be a little late. It was understandable; Aasif was just one of a large team, but Colbert was the driving force of his show. Of course he would have less time for breaks. In the meantime, Aasif set his things down in the green room and made himself comfortable.
At last the door opened and the host himself came in. He was impeccable from head to toe: not a hair out of place, not a speck of dust on his Brooks Brothers suit. But he had a kind of aura that would have demanded respect if he had been barefoot and in rags. Aasif didn't know what to make of it. The best way that he could think of to describe it was that Stephen Colbert walked as though he had an entourage.
"Aasif!" he said cheerfully, striding forward and holding out his hand. "So glad you could make it."
The correspondent stood, smiled, shook the proffered palm. "Good to meet you, Mr. Colbert."
"Please," said the other, winking genially, "call me 'Dr. Colbert'." Aasif laughed, then wondered suddenly whether Colbert actually meant it.
"Anyway. To business!" began the host; but just then the door opened and in came, of all people, Rob Riggle, breathing as though he had just run a long distance.
"Sorry to interrupt," he said brusquely. "Aasif - I spilled coffee on my shirt, so I borrowed one of your extras. I just came around to ask if that was okay with you."
He was certainly wearing Aasif's shirt; it was far too small for him. His broad chest strained the buttons, two of which were undone to make room for his thick neck; every inch of the fabric seemed stretched over muscle. There was no way it could be comfortable. On the other hand, as long as Rob was okay with it, Aasif didn't begrudge him the use. "Go ahead," he said. "Just wash it when you're done, all right?"
"Sure," agreed Rob, then nodded to the good doctor. "Yo, Colbert. How's it going?"
And then Aasif realized that the host was standing perfectly still, as though in the presence of some wild creature that would pounce at the first sign of motion. "F-fine," he stammered.
"Still supporting the troops and all that?"
"Oh - yes - yes, of course."
"Good to hear. So, you're taking Aasif out to lunch, right? Don't be too hard on him. He's new, sure, but he's a buddy of mine."
Colbert fairly trembled. "I see."
"I'm sure you do." Rob glanced down at the table. "Say, what are the rubber duck and the can of frosting for?"
"Oh - those? Nothing. Nothing at all!"
"Okay. I'll just take them back to our office, then, and save Aasif the trouble." He walked forward - at which Colbert jumped out of the way as though repelled by a magnet - and scooped up the things Aasif had brought. "See you later."
"See you," agreed Aasif. Colbert said nothing, but remained frozen until Rob had gone and shut the door behind him.
Then the host turned to his guest and said, in a much more feeble voice than Aasif had ever expected to hear from him, "So ... lunch. Where would you like to go? Don't even think about expense - it's all on me. Just name the place. I want you to be able to tell your," he gulped, "buddy that you had a great time."
Fandom: TDS/TCR
Genre: Dark comedy.
Rating: PG for language, scariness.
Words: ~1800
Disclaimer: The usual two:
For the Report characters: They and their universe are property of Stephen Colbert, the other Report writers, and of course Viacom. Not mine. Sue me not, please.
And for the real people, the poem:
Please, make no mistake:
these people aren't fake,
but what's said here is no more than fiction.
It only was writ
because we like their wit
and wisecracks, and pull-squints, and diction.
We don't mean to quibble,
but this can't be libel;
it's never implied to be real.
No disrespect's meant;
if you disapprove, then,
the back button's right up there. Deal.
Notes: I'd been thinking for a while that I should write something about the new correspondents who don't show up in fanfiction. And then I followed links from
metafandom to about twenty different essays on race and fandom, and I figured I should write something about the nonwhite correspondents, now that there finally are some. And then tds_gen appeared, and I figured I should write some gen.I ended up killing three birds with one stone.
Things That Happen To New Guys
When Rob Riggle was hired to work on the Daily Show, he got his own office. Or rather, he got an office meant for two people, but at the time there was no one else in it. He was surprised to find out later that all the other correspondents, except for Sam and of course Jon himself, were paired up; as the new guy, he had expected to get the crummiest space imaginable, and instead he was the only one with his own room and an extra desk.
If any of his co-workers were envious, they didn't complain to Rob about it. Of course, Rob could have bench-pressed any one of them. That might have been a deterrent.
When another new correspondent was hired a few months later, Rob was informed that he would lose the extra space, and he realized that he looked forward to it. He didn't mind having room to stretch, but it had started to get lonely.
He was playing World of Warcraft that afternoon when Aasif Mandvi walked in with a large cardboard box. "Yo, Aasif. You helping the new guy move in? That's nice."
"Um, no." Aasif set the box down on the empty desk and began lifting things out: a laptop, an organizer, some folders. "I am the new guy."
"Yeah, right. You've been around longer than I have."
"I freelanced for the show for a while," corrected Aasif, looking slightly uncomfortable. "But I was only officially hired as a regular last week."
Rob paused his game. "Hang on. You mean you weren't a regular when I started?"
Aasif looked even more uncomfortable. "No."
"So that whole 'Halloween tradition' prank--"
"All in good fun," said Aasif, focusing very intently on arranging his box of pens. "No harm done, right?"
"You told me it was the kind of thing that you always did to the new guy," pressed Rob. "I thought you were a senior correspondent then."
"Yeah, well." Aasif shrugged awkwardly. "I wasn't."
"I dressed up as a nurse on your say-so and you hadn't even been hired yet?" As Rob clenched his fists, he could feel the sleeves of his T-shirt tighten satisfyingly over his biceps. Not that he would actually beat up the guy (even if it weren't a harassment scandal waiting to happen), but he liked being recognized as someone who could.
To his credit, though, Aasif barely flinched, and when he responded it was in a relatively firm voice. "You must have done that kind of thing when you were on SNL, though, right?"
"Yeah - but not because I was tricked into it! My boss had never had to ask me why I was dressed up as a slutty nurse on national TV!"
"All right. All right. I get it." Aasif held up his hands. "I'm sorry we messed with you, okay? I would've left it alone if I'd known it would upset you this much. Peace?"
And what could Rob say to that? "Sure," he agreed grudgingly. "Peace."
"You ever hung out with this Colbert guy?" asked Aasif a few mornings later.
Rob had not, in fact, hung out with Stephen Colbert. The host of the Report had invited him to lunch soon after he'd been hired, supposedly to "get to know the new guy" but in fact to perform some kind of hazing ritual involving, at least in his case, a six-pack and a garden hose.
What exactly Colbert had been planning, Rob never found out. He had showed up in full Marine uniform. Lunch had been spent very agreeably with a much-subdued Colbert, who had spent most of it repeating how much he supported the troops.
Rob hadn't seen him since. He suspected that this was a relief for both of them.
He could have explained all this to Aasif, but instead all he said was, "Only once. Why?"
Aasif waved at his monitor. "He just invited me to lunch, that's all. Something about keeping up with new correspondents. Think I should go?"
Rob shrugged as noncommittally as possible. "Doesn't matter to me."
"It's a free lunch, anyway," observed Aasif, looking at the email again. "Although I wonder what he wants me to bring a rubber duck for."
With perfect truthfulness, Rob replied, "I have no idea."
"He's where?!" shrieked Samantha Bee.
Rob looked from face to stunned face at the correspondent lunch table. "Like I said, lunching with Colbert."
"And you let him go?" cried a scandalized John Oliver, voice jumping an octave or two, accent coming in thicker than usual.
Rob shrugged uncomfortably. "It's none of my business what he does."
"Man, that ain't true and you know it," snapped Larry Wilmore. "Not when it comes to a man as dangerous as Colbert."
"Rob - Corddry, I mean - ended up in the hospital after the little prank Stephen pulled to 'welcome' him," explained Sam, her voice now low and serious.
"Remember when I broke my nose, and we made a joke out of it?" added Oliver. "We acted like it happened during that field piece? It wasn't from the piece. It was Colbert's fault."
"I still remember what he did to me," remarked Dan Bakkedahl with a shudder. "I couldn't sit down for a week."
"And then there's what he did to Beth Littleford," added Sam.
Dan shot her a puzzled look. "Who's Beth Littleford?"
"Exactly."
"I got out of it at the last minute," put in Jason Jones. "I was warned just in time. Honey, have I thanked you for that yet today?" Sam shook her head. "Well, thank you."
Rob was feeling lower by the second. "Come on," he said weakly, "this always happens to new guys, right? I mean, look at me - you all convinced me that it would be a good idea to report in costume last Halloween..."
The defense died in his mouth as five looks of utter disgust were turned on him.
Sam was the first to speak. "Rob," she said, "you wore a costume for a few minutes on TV. You were mildly embarrassed. We laughed. Life went on. Aasif is going to get hurt."
"I wasn't just mildly embarrassed," protested Rob in a very small voice. "It was only my third or fourth appearance, and I'd been trying to make a good impression, and my new boss had to stop and ask why I was dressed as a slutty nurse. He probably thought I was a freak."
Sam was too exasperated to respond to this; as she slapped her forehead, Jason spoke up. "If anything," he said, "Jon was probably jealous that you made a better drag queen than he does."
"Quite so," agreed Oliver, stirring his tea. "Of course, Jon always ends up wearing strapless dresses and then doesn't bother to shave, which I can assure you does not help."
For a brief moment Rob was too stunned even to be ashamed. "You're kidding."
"Ohhh, no we're not," laughed Dan. "We'll show you the pictures some time."
"Are you trying to tell us," added Larry, more seriously, "that you let Aasif Mandvi go into mortal danger just because of this dumb chip on your shoulder? And you call yourself a Marine! What ever happened to 'all for one and one for all'?"
I was a Marine, not a Musketeer, thought Rob; but he didn't say it out loud, because Larry had a point and he knew it. So he said that.
"But I'm going to fix it," he added, standing up. "I'll be right back."
Aasif was ushered into the Report studio by a nervous-looking intern and informed that Colbert would be a little late. It was understandable; Aasif was just one of a large team, but Colbert was the driving force of his show. Of course he would have less time for breaks. In the meantime, Aasif set his things down in the green room and made himself comfortable.
At last the door opened and the host himself came in. He was impeccable from head to toe: not a hair out of place, not a speck of dust on his Brooks Brothers suit. But he had a kind of aura that would have demanded respect if he had been barefoot and in rags. Aasif didn't know what to make of it. The best way that he could think of to describe it was that Stephen Colbert walked as though he had an entourage.
"Aasif!" he said cheerfully, striding forward and holding out his hand. "So glad you could make it."
The correspondent stood, smiled, shook the proffered palm. "Good to meet you, Mr. Colbert."
"Please," said the other, winking genially, "call me 'Dr. Colbert'." Aasif laughed, then wondered suddenly whether Colbert actually meant it.
"Anyway. To business!" began the host; but just then the door opened and in came, of all people, Rob Riggle, breathing as though he had just run a long distance.
"Sorry to interrupt," he said brusquely. "Aasif - I spilled coffee on my shirt, so I borrowed one of your extras. I just came around to ask if that was okay with you."
He was certainly wearing Aasif's shirt; it was far too small for him. His broad chest strained the buttons, two of which were undone to make room for his thick neck; every inch of the fabric seemed stretched over muscle. There was no way it could be comfortable. On the other hand, as long as Rob was okay with it, Aasif didn't begrudge him the use. "Go ahead," he said. "Just wash it when you're done, all right?"
"Sure," agreed Rob, then nodded to the good doctor. "Yo, Colbert. How's it going?"
And then Aasif realized that the host was standing perfectly still, as though in the presence of some wild creature that would pounce at the first sign of motion. "F-fine," he stammered.
"Still supporting the troops and all that?"
"Oh - yes - yes, of course."
"Good to hear. So, you're taking Aasif out to lunch, right? Don't be too hard on him. He's new, sure, but he's a buddy of mine."
Colbert fairly trembled. "I see."
"I'm sure you do." Rob glanced down at the table. "Say, what are the rubber duck and the can of frosting for?"
"Oh - those? Nothing. Nothing at all!"
"Okay. I'll just take them back to our office, then, and save Aasif the trouble." He walked forward - at which Colbert jumped out of the way as though repelled by a magnet - and scooped up the things Aasif had brought. "See you later."
"See you," agreed Aasif. Colbert said nothing, but remained frozen until Rob had gone and shut the door behind him.
Then the host turned to his guest and said, in a much more feeble voice than Aasif had ever expected to hear from him, "So ... lunch. Where would you like to go? Don't even think about expense - it's all on me. Just name the place. I want you to be able to tell your," he gulped, "buddy that you had a great time."