Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2006-07-18 11:57 pm
ptahrrific) wrote2006-07-18 11:57 pm
Entry tags:
Fake News: The Robert Report, part 2
Title: The Robert Report, part 2: The Opening
Fandom: TCR
Genre: Comedy
Rating: G
Words: ~600
Warnings: Still none.
Disclaimer: The Colbert Report and its characters are the creation of Stephen Colbert, Eric Drysdale, and the other writers. Characters used without permission - but with love (and, more importantly from a legal standpoint, without profit).
Notes: Bobby wonders why he puts up with this job.
This is what I had in mind as the original one-shot. It doesn't go with one specific opening, though it does make reference to the performance reviews. Table of Conents.
The Robert Report, part 2: The Opening
That magical time of day has arrived: ten seconds to 11:30. Not that there's any supernatural halt to errors, malfunctions, and crises at this point. But it's late enough that even if a problem did arise, Bobby wouldn't be able to do anything about it.
Therefore, this is his time to relax.
He stands off to the side of the set, between the studio audience and the main bank of cameras, carefully avoiding the tangle of wires that spreads across the floor like kudzu. He knows without looking the exact angle of the teleprompter, and where to stand so as not to block Stephen's view.
He munches on a cookie.
Being stage manager is usually a thankless job. If something goes wrong, the blame usually goes back to you; meanwhile, most of the world doesn't know what you actually do. (Bobby's forever explaining to people that even though he is only ever seen standing around with a clipboard, he is integral to the show's operation.)
But it's worse than that for Bobby, because Bobby is stage manager for The Colbert Report, and Stephen Colbert is the kind of boss who takes personal credit for everything that goes right. Not just in the show's operation, either: when Canada elected a Prime Minister from the Conservative party, the host ordered a balloon drop with the graphic "I Fixed Canada!"
So Bobby works for a man who is completely oblivious to his efforts, and who will get mad if you so much as accidentally pronounce the wrong "T".
Not for the first time, Bobby wonders why he hasn't quit.
The cameras go on. Bobby stops with the cookie—he doesn't want unidentified crunching in the broadcast—and Stephen starts talking.
He's egotistical, he's hypocritical, he's stubborn, he's petty, and he cannot stand to be wrong. On top of that, his personality is so overpowering that, before the unassuming Bobby had time to notice what was happening, Stephen had permeated every area of his life.
The host spins in his chair to face another camera.
Even the half-finished cookie in his hand is there because of Stephen. Before his last performance review, in response to a set of painfully unsubtle warning looks from Stephen, Bobby bought twenty boxes of Thin Mints from his daughter's Girl Scout cookie sale. Half of them are still in his freezer.
Stephen spins the chair again.
Why hadn't he bought some variety? Because he was Bobby, the quiet and amiable, and with Stephen holding out the order form and eyeing him expectantly, he'd been too flustered to even look at where he was scribbling the "20".
At least he likes Thin Mints.
No. Enough rationalizing. This is no way to work. This is no way to live.
Bobby quietly finishes the cookie and makes a decision. He has to do it. He has to muster up some courage, look Stephen in the eye, and give him two weeks' notice. Why didn't he do this long ago?
And then Stephen spins to face the front, and begins, "This—"
He stops.
The studio holds its breath.
The quiet lasts a second too long—
—Bobby's heart is in his mouth, his nerves frozen—
—and this is why he stays, because every day at this job is like jumping off a cliff—
"—is The Colbert Report!"
—and finding that, like the eagle swooping across the screen as the theme song starts, you have wings.
Fandom: TCR
Genre: Comedy
Rating: G
Words: ~600
Warnings: Still none.
Disclaimer: The Colbert Report and its characters are the creation of Stephen Colbert, Eric Drysdale, and the other writers. Characters used without permission - but with love (and, more importantly from a legal standpoint, without profit).
Notes: Bobby wonders why he puts up with this job.
This is what I had in mind as the original one-shot. It doesn't go with one specific opening, though it does make reference to the performance reviews. Table of Conents.
The Robert Report, part 2: The Opening
That magical time of day has arrived: ten seconds to 11:30. Not that there's any supernatural halt to errors, malfunctions, and crises at this point. But it's late enough that even if a problem did arise, Bobby wouldn't be able to do anything about it.
Therefore, this is his time to relax.
He stands off to the side of the set, between the studio audience and the main bank of cameras, carefully avoiding the tangle of wires that spreads across the floor like kudzu. He knows without looking the exact angle of the teleprompter, and where to stand so as not to block Stephen's view.
He munches on a cookie.
Being stage manager is usually a thankless job. If something goes wrong, the blame usually goes back to you; meanwhile, most of the world doesn't know what you actually do. (Bobby's forever explaining to people that even though he is only ever seen standing around with a clipboard, he is integral to the show's operation.)
But it's worse than that for Bobby, because Bobby is stage manager for The Colbert Report, and Stephen Colbert is the kind of boss who takes personal credit for everything that goes right. Not just in the show's operation, either: when Canada elected a Prime Minister from the Conservative party, the host ordered a balloon drop with the graphic "I Fixed Canada!"
So Bobby works for a man who is completely oblivious to his efforts, and who will get mad if you so much as accidentally pronounce the wrong "T".
Not for the first time, Bobby wonders why he hasn't quit.
The cameras go on. Bobby stops with the cookie—he doesn't want unidentified crunching in the broadcast—and Stephen starts talking.
He's egotistical, he's hypocritical, he's stubborn, he's petty, and he cannot stand to be wrong. On top of that, his personality is so overpowering that, before the unassuming Bobby had time to notice what was happening, Stephen had permeated every area of his life.
The host spins in his chair to face another camera.
Even the half-finished cookie in his hand is there because of Stephen. Before his last performance review, in response to a set of painfully unsubtle warning looks from Stephen, Bobby bought twenty boxes of Thin Mints from his daughter's Girl Scout cookie sale. Half of them are still in his freezer.
Stephen spins the chair again.
Why hadn't he bought some variety? Because he was Bobby, the quiet and amiable, and with Stephen holding out the order form and eyeing him expectantly, he'd been too flustered to even look at where he was scribbling the "20".
At least he likes Thin Mints.
No. Enough rationalizing. This is no way to work. This is no way to live.
Bobby quietly finishes the cookie and makes a decision. He has to do it. He has to muster up some courage, look Stephen in the eye, and give him two weeks' notice. Why didn't he do this long ago?
And then Stephen spins to face the front, and begins, "This—"
He stops.
The studio holds its breath.
The quiet lasts a second too long—
—Bobby's heart is in his mouth, his nerves frozen—
—and this is why he stays, because every day at this job is like jumping off a cliff—
"—is The Colbert Report!"
—and finding that, like the eagle swooping across the screen as the theme song starts, you have wings.