Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2008-01-29 01:32 pm
ptahrrific) wrote2008-01-29 01:32 pm
Entry tags:
Fake News: From the Nation, With Love
Title: From the Nation, With Love
Fandom: The Colbert Report
Rating: PG
Words: ~2100
Disclaimer: 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: This is unabashed group self-insert, giving "Stephen" a direct injection of viewer love. The comments used have been abbreviated to cut down on repetition; for the unabridged version, including who said what, see here.
I wasn't sure how to lead in to them, and then the 1/28/08 interview dropped the perfect setup into my lap. (Of course, I've never read The Purpose-Driven Life, nor am I any kind of religious, so I may be pulling some of this of thin air.)
From the Nation, With Love
"...created the entire universe, just so He could create this galaxy, just to create this planet, and tilt its axis just right so it wouldn't burn up or freeze up, to sustain human life, because he wanted to create human beings, because he wanted to create you. To love you. He loves even Stephen Colbert."
"Oh -- I believe that," said Stephen with a broad smile.
This Rick Warren fellow -- he Got It.
"So what do you think the purpose of life is?" he continued. That was the kind of question that the guy who wrote The Purpose-Driven Life ought to have a good answer for.
"When you be who God made you to be," enthused Warren, "that makes God smile. I used to think that God only smiles when we're doing spiritual stuff -- confessing, going to church, reading the Bible, things like that -- but actually, God gets enjoyment out of watching you be you. That's your purpose!"
Stephen sat back in his chair with a broad grin. "So my purpose is to shout at people I disagree with!"
Warren laughed his jolly, unreserved laugh; the audience let out a cheer.
For a moment Stephen turned to bask in the cheering, then faced Warren again and invited his agreement. "Am I living my purpose, Rick?"
Still laughing, Warren exclaimed, "Not at all!"
The grin froze on Stephen's face. "Excuse me?"
"You aren't really listening, are you?" said Warren, but there was no anger in it, or even irritation, or anything except that same generic, all-encompassing joy. "Your purpose is to be you. Shouting at people isn't who you are; it's a way of hiding who you are!"
"And who, exactly, do you think I am?"
"I don't know! Only you and God would know for sure. But you're definitely not the person we see on TV."
Stephen's hackles were now fully raised. "What are you implying?" he demanded. "That I'm not angry? That I'm not patriotic? That I'm not a good Catholic? That I'm not a sex symbol? What about this isn't me?"
"Well, a lot of it!" said Warren matter-of-factly. "You're incredibly aggressive because you're afraid to be seen as weak. You're a fanatical patriot because you're afraid to admit to any doubt in your country, and a fanatical Catholic because you're afraid to admit to any doubt in your faith, and a fanatical heterosexual because you're terrified of being seen as gay. It just goes on and on! You come on TV and you pretend to be the person you want to be!"
"Of course I do! That's the whole point of truthiness!"
"But, don't you see -- God loves truth! He wants you to be you!"
"I can't!"
It was a shriek, fists slammed on the table, and it startled Warren enough that he actually shut up.
Stephen's gut was screaming at him that he had crossed a line, that he had to use all his resources to pull back, now--
--but then Warren said "Why do you think that?" and Stephen couldn't be cautious any more, couldn't think rationally, couldn't think anything but I will wipe that sympathetic look right off your stupid smug face.
"I can't," he repeated, rising to his feet. "I cannot be me. I have to be truthy, because when I'm true, I am not a good person. Do you understand that? Do you even recognize how wrong it is to be the person you're describing? Because, yes, I am weak! That's the truth! I'm weak! I'm scared! I'm a pathetic gutless coward! And I have doubts about everything! I doubt the President, I doubt the Pope, I take all the things I'm supposed to accept without question and I go and question them!"
He leaned forward, palms planted on the tabletop, taking a kind of terrible glee in the way Warren shrank back. "You want more Truth?" he asked, knowing there must be a glint of madness in his eyes, past the point of caring. "I'm gay! You're an evangelical, you understand that every word of the Bible is true -- how can you say God wants me to be me if He ordered that people be stoned for the same thing? Do you see it now? If I were myself, God wouldn't love me! And if He wouldn't love me, who would?"
"I would!"
Stephen whipped around to face the source of the voice. The audience. It had come from the audience. "Who said that?"
For a moment, there was dead silence, except for his own panting and the hammering of his heart against his ribs. Then, slowly but steadily, someone in the audience rose to her feet.
"My name is Katy," she said. "And I am a member of the Colbert Nation. And Stephen, I want to tell you why I love you.
"Stephen, you started your show so the Nation would know its leader. You've succeeded, honey, so well. I love you because I can see who you are behind your armor."
And there, for just a moment, she faltered; but all at once someone else was rising, speaking, filling in the gap. "My name is Erica, and I'm a member of the Colbert Nation. Stephen, you give us so much, anger mostly, and ask for nothing in return except love, and occasionally flowers. I can see, however, that the anger is just a mask...."
"I can see your fears, your hopes, your insecurities, your fantasies," continued the first. "I see them when you laugh, when you cry, when you fight so hard against yourself."
And then another was standing. "My name is Shishu, and I am a member of the Colbert Nation. Stephen, I see through your joyous façade, and look at the fear of rejection that resides in your heart. Then there are the times you so desperately hide your mistakes, your past misdeeds, the things you are ashamed of."
How much do they know? And how could they?
And another! "My name is Erica--" (it was a new one, a second Erica) "--and I am a member of the Colbert Nation. Stephen, I understand the stress, emptiness, and fear that you suffer from each day. It's apparent to those who care so much for you -- your Nation cares."
Oh, God, how many of them are there?
As if to answer him, more and more began to rise, no longer waiting for a pause but leaping to their feet on the heels of the ones before. "My name is JeanKelly, and I am a member of the Colbert Nation. Stephen, I see inside you. I hear your thoughts and know your fears. I know your strength, your weakness, your hate and your love."
"My name is Ashlie, and I am a member of the Colbert Nation. Stephen, you try so hard to conceal who you are -- your joy, your worries, your anger, your sorrow, your compassion -- anything that doesn't fit inside the Papa Bear mold is repressed."
"My name is Erin, and I am a member of the Colbert Nation. And Stephen, I see through your walls. I see the things you hate, the things you're ashamed of, the things you repress and deny and cover up."
"My name is Hannah, and I am a member of the Colbert Nation. Stephen, I feel for you."
They were talking over each other now; the first words had been the warning raindrops, and now it was a downpour--
"We see what you try to hide, and God knows we all try to hide pieces of ourselves away from the world."
"I see you straining to keep up your pristine white walls. But Stephen, I don't watch and love the barriers that hide you, I love that handsome guy who crouches behind them."
"There is nothing, and I mean nothing that will ever affect my view of you. My own gut always tells me you can always, always, be forgiven."
--and still there were more standing--
"My name is Nicole, and I'm a member of the Colbert Nation. Stephen, here's why I love you. Every night, you give and give and in return, you ask for nothing but our undying love and flowers. But because the Nation loves you, you get so much more. You truly care about your Nation, and when you hurt, we all hurt."
"My name is Caroline, and I am a member of the Colbert Nation. Stephen, you already know that we bow down to your truthiness. When you decide to feel your non-anger emotions at us, everything will be all right."
"My name is Mynx, and I am a member of the Colbert Nation. Stephen, please let us in."
--and with that, they all began to say the same thing--
"Please, show me the real Stephen. I will not scold you. I will not ridicule you. I will not turn my back nor run and hide from you."
"Hang in there and don't be afraid to express your true feelings. Don't worry, we will still respect you."
"Let us share in your fears and perceived inadequacies, the failings and weaknesses you believe taint you."
"Pain is only temporary, Stephen. Doing something about it may be so hard at first, but you and your Nation will be so pleased with the outcome."
"My name is Beth, and I am a member of the Colbert Nation. Stephen, we all just want you to know that it is okay to be you."
"I will stand with you, and I will help you face whatever it was that made you wear the mask in the first place."
"We know you're strong, and you don't need to fake it to prove it to us."
"So stand up, Stephen. Be who you are."
"You have the whole Nation behind you to catch you if you need to fall."
Stephen's legs buckled beneath him.
He grabbed the edge of the table like a man who tumbles over a cliff and reaches for a branch, knowing there is no hope of its holding him for long--
--and he had no idea who broke from the audience first, but nobody stopped her, not security, not the stage manager, not the audience coordinator, and then all the others were with her--
--and so it was that, when at last Stephen fell, it was into dozens of waiting arms.
He struggled, trying to push them away, but they were all around him, smothering him, as he choked back a sob...
"We will still respect you if you cry in front of us," murmured one voice. And another said, simply, "Crying is okay."
"Because, Stephen, it's okay. I love you. Your Nation loves you."
...which was good, because now he was crying, huge gulping sobs. "You can't -- you c-can't--!"
"Why not?" demanded someone. "So you're not the person you want to be. It's okay."
"It's what makes you human," said someone else. "And, despite your disbelief, loved."
Then the flood of words began again, but it didn't sweep him away; instead, somehow, it was holding him, buoying him up, and the people around him no longer felt smothering but supporting, and then somehow each intangible phrase became just as stable and unflinching as the people, giving his soul something to lean against.
"I will love you," went one of these, "as I love you now, no matter who the real Stephen turns out to be."
"Our love and loyalty are steadfast," went another, "and our wrists and ankles are strong."
"So don't worry about losing us as your fans. We all love you, and will continue to love you until the end of time."
"You don't need those walls you're hiding behind; you'll be just as amazing if not more so without them."
"You have limitless love and support from us all."
"Not in spite of who you are. Because of who you are."
"And we're behind you all the way. You can trust us."
"Unconditionally, forever. No matter what."
"We don't need you to be perfect - it is enough for us for you to simply be."
"And, if you want, I can still give you flowers."
The shift was so sudden that Stephen let out a laugh at the sheer absurdity of it -- with support like this, who the hell needed flowers? -- and then, though he was still sobbing, he was laughing too, and his Nation laughed with him, and held him, and didn't mind in the least that he was clinging to them for dear life.
Fandom: The Colbert Report
Rating: PG
Words: ~2100
Disclaimer: 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: This is unabashed group self-insert, giving "Stephen" a direct injection of viewer love. The comments used have been abbreviated to cut down on repetition; for the unabridged version, including who said what, see here.
I wasn't sure how to lead in to them, and then the 1/28/08 interview dropped the perfect setup into my lap. (Of course, I've never read The Purpose-Driven Life, nor am I any kind of religious, so I may be pulling some of this of thin air.)
From the Nation, With Love
"...created the entire universe, just so He could create this galaxy, just to create this planet, and tilt its axis just right so it wouldn't burn up or freeze up, to sustain human life, because he wanted to create human beings, because he wanted to create you. To love you. He loves even Stephen Colbert."
"Oh -- I believe that," said Stephen with a broad smile.
This Rick Warren fellow -- he Got It.
"So what do you think the purpose of life is?" he continued. That was the kind of question that the guy who wrote The Purpose-Driven Life ought to have a good answer for.
"When you be who God made you to be," enthused Warren, "that makes God smile. I used to think that God only smiles when we're doing spiritual stuff -- confessing, going to church, reading the Bible, things like that -- but actually, God gets enjoyment out of watching you be you. That's your purpose!"
Stephen sat back in his chair with a broad grin. "So my purpose is to shout at people I disagree with!"
Warren laughed his jolly, unreserved laugh; the audience let out a cheer.
For a moment Stephen turned to bask in the cheering, then faced Warren again and invited his agreement. "Am I living my purpose, Rick?"
Still laughing, Warren exclaimed, "Not at all!"
The grin froze on Stephen's face. "Excuse me?"
"You aren't really listening, are you?" said Warren, but there was no anger in it, or even irritation, or anything except that same generic, all-encompassing joy. "Your purpose is to be you. Shouting at people isn't who you are; it's a way of hiding who you are!"
"And who, exactly, do you think I am?"
"I don't know! Only you and God would know for sure. But you're definitely not the person we see on TV."
Stephen's hackles were now fully raised. "What are you implying?" he demanded. "That I'm not angry? That I'm not patriotic? That I'm not a good Catholic? That I'm not a sex symbol? What about this isn't me?"
"Well, a lot of it!" said Warren matter-of-factly. "You're incredibly aggressive because you're afraid to be seen as weak. You're a fanatical patriot because you're afraid to admit to any doubt in your country, and a fanatical Catholic because you're afraid to admit to any doubt in your faith, and a fanatical heterosexual because you're terrified of being seen as gay. It just goes on and on! You come on TV and you pretend to be the person you want to be!"
"Of course I do! That's the whole point of truthiness!"
"But, don't you see -- God loves truth! He wants you to be you!"
"I can't!"
It was a shriek, fists slammed on the table, and it startled Warren enough that he actually shut up.
Stephen's gut was screaming at him that he had crossed a line, that he had to use all his resources to pull back, now--
--but then Warren said "Why do you think that?" and Stephen couldn't be cautious any more, couldn't think rationally, couldn't think anything but I will wipe that sympathetic look right off your stupid smug face.
"I can't," he repeated, rising to his feet. "I cannot be me. I have to be truthy, because when I'm true, I am not a good person. Do you understand that? Do you even recognize how wrong it is to be the person you're describing? Because, yes, I am weak! That's the truth! I'm weak! I'm scared! I'm a pathetic gutless coward! And I have doubts about everything! I doubt the President, I doubt the Pope, I take all the things I'm supposed to accept without question and I go and question them!"
He leaned forward, palms planted on the tabletop, taking a kind of terrible glee in the way Warren shrank back. "You want more Truth?" he asked, knowing there must be a glint of madness in his eyes, past the point of caring. "I'm gay! You're an evangelical, you understand that every word of the Bible is true -- how can you say God wants me to be me if He ordered that people be stoned for the same thing? Do you see it now? If I were myself, God wouldn't love me! And if He wouldn't love me, who would?"
"I would!"
Stephen whipped around to face the source of the voice. The audience. It had come from the audience. "Who said that?"
For a moment, there was dead silence, except for his own panting and the hammering of his heart against his ribs. Then, slowly but steadily, someone in the audience rose to her feet.
"My name is Katy," she said. "And I am a member of the Colbert Nation. And Stephen, I want to tell you why I love you.
"Stephen, you started your show so the Nation would know its leader. You've succeeded, honey, so well. I love you because I can see who you are behind your armor."
And there, for just a moment, she faltered; but all at once someone else was rising, speaking, filling in the gap. "My name is Erica, and I'm a member of the Colbert Nation. Stephen, you give us so much, anger mostly, and ask for nothing in return except love, and occasionally flowers. I can see, however, that the anger is just a mask...."
"I can see your fears, your hopes, your insecurities, your fantasies," continued the first. "I see them when you laugh, when you cry, when you fight so hard against yourself."
And then another was standing. "My name is Shishu, and I am a member of the Colbert Nation. Stephen, I see through your joyous façade, and look at the fear of rejection that resides in your heart. Then there are the times you so desperately hide your mistakes, your past misdeeds, the things you are ashamed of."
How much do they know? And how could they?
And another! "My name is Erica--" (it was a new one, a second Erica) "--and I am a member of the Colbert Nation. Stephen, I understand the stress, emptiness, and fear that you suffer from each day. It's apparent to those who care so much for you -- your Nation cares."
Oh, God, how many of them are there?
As if to answer him, more and more began to rise, no longer waiting for a pause but leaping to their feet on the heels of the ones before. "My name is JeanKelly, and I am a member of the Colbert Nation. Stephen, I see inside you. I hear your thoughts and know your fears. I know your strength, your weakness, your hate and your love."
"My name is Ashlie, and I am a member of the Colbert Nation. Stephen, you try so hard to conceal who you are -- your joy, your worries, your anger, your sorrow, your compassion -- anything that doesn't fit inside the Papa Bear mold is repressed."
"My name is Erin, and I am a member of the Colbert Nation. And Stephen, I see through your walls. I see the things you hate, the things you're ashamed of, the things you repress and deny and cover up."
"My name is Hannah, and I am a member of the Colbert Nation. Stephen, I feel for you."
They were talking over each other now; the first words had been the warning raindrops, and now it was a downpour--
"We see what you try to hide, and God knows we all try to hide pieces of ourselves away from the world."
"I see you straining to keep up your pristine white walls. But Stephen, I don't watch and love the barriers that hide you, I love that handsome guy who crouches behind them."
"There is nothing, and I mean nothing that will ever affect my view of you. My own gut always tells me you can always, always, be forgiven."
--and still there were more standing--
"My name is Nicole, and I'm a member of the Colbert Nation. Stephen, here's why I love you. Every night, you give and give and in return, you ask for nothing but our undying love and flowers. But because the Nation loves you, you get so much more. You truly care about your Nation, and when you hurt, we all hurt."
"My name is Caroline, and I am a member of the Colbert Nation. Stephen, you already know that we bow down to your truthiness. When you decide to feel your non-anger emotions at us, everything will be all right."
"My name is Mynx, and I am a member of the Colbert Nation. Stephen, please let us in."
--and with that, they all began to say the same thing--
"Please, show me the real Stephen. I will not scold you. I will not ridicule you. I will not turn my back nor run and hide from you."
"Hang in there and don't be afraid to express your true feelings. Don't worry, we will still respect you."
"Let us share in your fears and perceived inadequacies, the failings and weaknesses you believe taint you."
"Pain is only temporary, Stephen. Doing something about it may be so hard at first, but you and your Nation will be so pleased with the outcome."
"My name is Beth, and I am a member of the Colbert Nation. Stephen, we all just want you to know that it is okay to be you."
"I will stand with you, and I will help you face whatever it was that made you wear the mask in the first place."
"We know you're strong, and you don't need to fake it to prove it to us."
"So stand up, Stephen. Be who you are."
"You have the whole Nation behind you to catch you if you need to fall."
Stephen's legs buckled beneath him.
He grabbed the edge of the table like a man who tumbles over a cliff and reaches for a branch, knowing there is no hope of its holding him for long--
--and he had no idea who broke from the audience first, but nobody stopped her, not security, not the stage manager, not the audience coordinator, and then all the others were with her--
--and so it was that, when at last Stephen fell, it was into dozens of waiting arms.
He struggled, trying to push them away, but they were all around him, smothering him, as he choked back a sob...
"We will still respect you if you cry in front of us," murmured one voice. And another said, simply, "Crying is okay."
"Because, Stephen, it's okay. I love you. Your Nation loves you."
...which was good, because now he was crying, huge gulping sobs. "You can't -- you c-can't--!"
"Why not?" demanded someone. "So you're not the person you want to be. It's okay."
"It's what makes you human," said someone else. "And, despite your disbelief, loved."
Then the flood of words began again, but it didn't sweep him away; instead, somehow, it was holding him, buoying him up, and the people around him no longer felt smothering but supporting, and then somehow each intangible phrase became just as stable and unflinching as the people, giving his soul something to lean against.
"I will love you," went one of these, "as I love you now, no matter who the real Stephen turns out to be."
"Our love and loyalty are steadfast," went another, "and our wrists and ankles are strong."
"So don't worry about losing us as your fans. We all love you, and will continue to love you until the end of time."
"You don't need those walls you're hiding behind; you'll be just as amazing if not more so without them."
"You have limitless love and support from us all."
"Not in spite of who you are. Because of who you are."
"And we're behind you all the way. You can trust us."
"Unconditionally, forever. No matter what."
"We don't need you to be perfect - it is enough for us for you to simply be."
"And, if you want, I can still give you flowers."
The shift was so sudden that Stephen let out a laugh at the sheer absurdity of it -- with support like this, who the hell needed flowers? -- and then, though he was still sobbing, he was laughing too, and his Nation laughed with him, and held him, and didn't mind in the least that he was clinging to them for dear life.
no subject
I am so happy with the way this turned out. You really meshed up our letters into a great supportive statement for Stephen, and I loved it. Great job!
'The Second Erica'
no subject
Thank you!