Fake News: Expecting, Chapter 1
Jul. 4th, 2007 02:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ptahrrificTitle: Expecting, Chapter 1: An Idea Is Conceived
Fandom: The Colbert Report
Rating: G for this part
Words: ~2600
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: Though Stephen used the phrase "Island of Dr. Moreau fan fiction" before I named the character in this story, I did not actually see the relevant episode until after I came up with the name. Either it's a sign of divine inspiration, or the shadow government is beaming the same literary references into our brains.
Clips referenced: The Wørd - Expecting; this intro.
For the table of contents, click here.
Chapter 1
An Idea Is Conceived
Yesterday
The press, of course, got to the hospital first. They had been circling this story for the whole nine months, and coverage had reached a fever pitch in the past few weeks. Every network from CNN to a local Charleston station had a team on the scene.
To get angry at them would be getting angry at a shark for following blood in the water. This story had it all: sex, politics, celebrity, personal drama, and a prickly central figure who not only captured public attention, but thrived on it. The force that drew reporters to the area was more than instinct; it was was on a level with the power that draws paper clips to magnets, draws the tides in and out, draws soup to new ties.
The hospital, sensibly oblivious to this overwhelming primal need, wouldn't even let them in the door.
The crews milled about just beyond the ambulance lane for a while, each anchor talking rapidly into his or her camera, and all saying the same thing, which amounted to nothing at all. You didn't get to cover a story this big if you couldn't say a whole lot of nothing, and say it with gravitas.
Still, when a non-press car pulled in and its passenger climbed out, they descended on him like vultures to a kill, like a wave to a newly finished sand castle.
He knew they couldn't help it. He made his living pointing out that they couldn't help it.
This knowledge did not make them any less irritating.
"Mr. Stewart! Mr. Stewart!" the reporters clamored. "How do you feel? Are you nervous? Are you excited? Do you think this is moral? Do you think it's ethical? Do you think it will catch on? Do you—"
"No comment," replied Jon, shoving his way through the crowd. "Excuse me, please. No, no statement, no comment, no, you're not going to get anything whether you let me through or not, so please, just let me—"
He stepped on several toes, and nearly had his teeth knocked out by a microphone three or four times, but at last he made it to the first set of doors and burst through. Free of the gaggle, he broke into a run, until he reached the front desk and leaned heavily against it.
"I need to get into maternity," he gasped.
The orderly behind the desk was more than used to worried fathers. "Right away, dear," she said. "Now, we have to get you signed in - it'll just take a minute, and we'll take excellent care of your wife in the meantime, don't you worry. Now, what's the mother's name?"
Jon couldn't tell if she was following procedure for procedure's sake, or if she genuinely didn't know what was going on.
The former was irritating, but on some level reassuring. The latter was about the least reassuring thing he could imagine.
"Her name, hon?"
Jon swallowed. "Stephen Colbert."
♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦
October 16, 2006
Nine Months Ago
"...which brings us to tonight's Wørd."
The interns clapped. Stephen couldn't rehearse properly without applause, so a flock of interns were parked in the seats to fill the need. The cameramen joined in too, when they weren't busy manning the cameras.
"Expecting!" intoned the host, and the bullet point beside him echoed the word.
No one knew exactly how the bullet point worked. It had been scripted and straightforward at first, but somewhere along the line it had taken on a mind of its own. Stephen occasionally claimed that the force of his opinions was so powerful that it spilled out onto the television screen around him. When confronted with bullet-point text that didn't seem to conform to his stated opinion, he quickly changed the subject. By the time "Secretly Knows He's Gay" had appeared on the screen, no one even tried to bring it up.
"My first reaction," continued Stephen, "was to be against what I call the 'dude uterus.'" (Or Dude-erus, the bullet noted.) "Because you just know the gays are gonna be all over it. And you know what that means..."
One of the interns was wondering if Stephen had even read the article that he was referring to. It had said very plainly that the option Stephen was espousing was simply not feasible.
This intern was, of course, new. Everyone else knew full well that Stephen hadn't read the article. They were all marveling that their boss could say the word "butt-babies" with a straight face.
The host was a bit more informed on the issue of stem cells. "This November, more candidates for stem cell research are ahead in their districts than candidates against it. That means hundreds of thousands of frozen embryos from fertility clinics — embryos that were going to be destroyed — are in danger of being used for scientific research!" The interns applauded some more.
Stephen's proposal was simple. The politicians who opposed using the embryos for research could have wombs implanted in their own bodies, and carry some of those embryos to term. The host pointed out President Bush as an example. "Just imagine how powerful a photo-op it'll be the next time he vetoes the bill, and he's six months pregnant!" He paused. "Jimmy, can we get a graphic of that?"
"We'll have one by tonight," said Bobby from the side of the stage. He made a quick note of it against his ever-present clipboard: Get President pregnant.
Bobby had considered writing a book about his experience on the Report, but after a few weeks he was rarely able to decipher his own notes.
At his desk, the host plunged on. "So, if you're a male who voted against stem cell research, you simply cannot pass up this opportunity. It is not a choice — it is a moral duty! Will it be easy? No. But take your uterus like a man. It's what the rest of the country's expecting...and that's the Wørd."
It went so well in rehearsal.
♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦
The photomanipulation of the President with a bare and bulging torso turned a few stomachs in the audience; Stephen took the groans for croons of pleasure. "Isn't that beautiful?" he agreed. "There is just nothing more beautiful than a pregnant President."
A moment later, he was back on the script. "He would be putting his womb where his mouth is! Not literally; that's probably not a good idea." (Speaks Awkwardly Enough As It Is, snarked the bullet.)
And then he careened off the tracks altogether.
Stephen had an Idea. The aw-shucks half-smile, the casual shuffling of papers, the innocent raise of the eyebrow: all of these told the experienced viewer that he was about to suggest something that he would present as a modest endeavor, but heaven help the employee who didn't treat him like the most selflessly charitable person since Warren Buffett.
"You know what?" he said, preening just a little, making sure the camera got what he called 'my heroic side' and everyone else called 'Stephen's chin'.
"Maybe I could do it too."
♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦
October 23, 2006
3 Days to Implantation
"Are you sure you wouldn't rather have a lawyer with you, Mr. Colbert?"
"Lawyers? Hah! They're a bunch of Ivy League elitists, with their fancy degrees and their pretentious phrases like 'habeus corpus' and 'ignorantia juris non excusat' and 'yes, that constitutes sufficient grounds for a sexual harassment claim.' So no, madam, I do not need a lawyer. I am perfectly capable of dealing with this myself."
"Your regular practitioner, then? He or she would be able to advise you..."
"I don't need any advice. My mind is made up. Besides, I'm between doctors right now. I fired the last one when he told me to stop drinking eight cups of coffee every day. Look, you can get my medical records without him, right? I know my bloodtype and everything."
Colbert opened his wallet and pulled out a Red Cross card, which he passed across the desk. On one side was a record of his blood pressure on the only date he had donated (09/15/2001); on the other, his name and blood type (B positive).
Phoebe Moreau, MD, PhD, DNSc, DrPH, DPT, and, yes, DFA, gave the card a cursory glance, then went back to studying her visitor. He wasn't ideal. Fit, certainly, if his leaping about on television was any indication; but about ten years older than she would have liked.
On the other hand, he was her first volunteer. Beggars could hardly be choosers. Furthermore, his viewers were exactly the kind of right-wing culture-war extremists that kept picketing her hospital whenever she announced a new research initiative. If anyone could get them to shut up, he could.
And think of the publicity! Colbert could do for her procedure what Julia Roberts had done for adopting foreign orphans.
If it worked.
"I'll be honest with you, Mr. Colbert," she lied, hoping to get a sense of his assets. "I'm concerned about your ability to provide a suitable environment for this child."
Colbert pulled out another card. This one was gold, embossed with silver logos and inscriptions that indicated it was linked to a credit line with a limit so high you'd need the Hubble Telescope to see the top. He passed this to Phoebe as well.
"You take care of the environment inside," he said, tapping his stomach, "and I'll take care of the rest."
Phoebe suppressed the catch in her throat at the sight of the unassuming little piece of plastic. "And how much are you prepared to pay for the procedure itself?"
"Oh, wasn't I clear? That card's for you. I've got my own."
Phoebe had gone into experimental medicine for three reasons: a desire for prestige, scientific curiosity, and the ambition to make lots and lots of money. If this particular experiment failed, she would likely be a laughingstock in the medical community.
Still, two out of three wasn't bad.
"Very well, Mr. Colbert," she said. "We have the papers drawn up; just sign on a few dotted lines and we'll be in business." She had a dozen copies of the legalese, drawn up in preparation for a study that had never materialized due to lack of volunteers; one of these was in the binder that she pulled from a filing cabinet and handed to her visitor.
Her team had prepared so much, gathering knowledge and making guesses and planning for every eventuality they could think of. But now that it was going to be put to the test, she could see that it was like preparing to jump off a cliff by throwing pillows over the edge — with no idea how high the cliff actually was, or what might be at the bottom.
Someday she ought to take a vacation and do some nice relaxing skydiving. Maybe in nine months she would have the time.
"What are these?" asked Colbert, flipping through the binder.
"They absolve myself and RYT Hospital-Dwayne Medical Center of responsibility in the event of..."
Colbert glowered. "I told you, I don't like legalese."
Phoebe sighed. "It means that we will do everything we can to make this work, and in return you can't sue us."
"Fair enough." Colbert began signing. This was a tedious process, as every signature was large and loopy and finished off with several unnecessary flourishes. Phoebe half expected him to tack 'To My Biggest Fan' in front of them.
She took the time to make plans. She would have to alert the team, call the IVF clinic, figure out how to spin this for the press...it would be out of her hands once it got out, and there were some groups that would throw a hissy fit no matter what she did, but she had to control it as best she could. And speaking of control....
Colbert reached the last page; Phoebe put he hand on his, holding it back. "Wait."
The pundit looked up. "What? Do you want me to sign something else? I have a few emergency 8x10 glossies in the car..."
"This is serious, Mr. Colbert, and I need you to really mean it when you sign this one."
"Was I not supposed to mean the others?" asked Colbert, cocking his head.
"You were, but just listen." Phoebe held his gaze, infusing her voice with - what did he always call it? She would have to start watching his show more — ah, yes: gravitas. "You're in this for the long haul. If you agree to this, you cannot fire me at any time. And when I give you medical instructions, you will follow them. To the letter. Whether you like it or not. Because it won't just be your health at stake here; it'll be the life of the baby. Do you understand me?"
Something in her tone had made the right impression; Colbert nodded solemnly. "I understand."
"Cut back on the coffee."
He balked. "But—!"
"It's not good for the baby. If you're going to do this, you cut back on the coffee. If you can't handle that, don't sign."
She remembered something else she'd seen on the show, and amended: "If you don't have the balls to do that, don't sign."
With that, she let go of his hand. It wavered for a moment, then wrote the signature, with an extra flourish for good measure.
Phoebe fought back a wild grin.
"Well, Mr. Colbert," she said brightly, "let's get you knocked up!"
♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦
November 1, 2006
4 Weeks
The cry of an eagle rang through the studio.
"Tonight!" cried Stephen. "Clips of my show are pulled off YouTube." Blank Screen Challenge, read the subtitle. "Looks like you'll have to watch them the old-fashioned way: on your video iPod."
He spun in his seat to face a second camera. "And I travel to Hollywood to profile California's 30th!" California Reaming. "Though it swears it's still only 29."
He turned to face a third camera, this one looking up at him from the floor, and the subtitle proclaimed The Nailing of Doctor Moreau. "And my guest tonight, Dr. Phoebe Moreau, will explain how I came to be the medical miracle of the century."
The host turned one last time; the fourth camera zoomed dramatically in. "It's the first day of November sweeps," he said, a mischievous smile playing on his lips, "and I'm pregnant! This is The Colbert Report!"
♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦
The crash of a dropped plate sounded briefly over the opening credits of the Report's theme song. Moments later, a young girl's head appeared at the kitchen door. "Mommy? You okay?"
"I'm fine, honey. Don't come in. There's broken glass...No, don't worry. I'll clean it up."
The girl looked from her mother's face, to the glass at her feet, to the television screen set in a false cupboard, on which the word "Superstantial" had just appeared. "Did Papa do something stupid again?" she asked.
"You shouldn't say that about your father," replied Lorraine Colbert automatically. "Go back to bed, honey. I'll deal with the mess."
Fandom: The Colbert Report
Rating: G for this part
Words: ~2600
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: Though Stephen used the phrase "Island of Dr. Moreau fan fiction" before I named the character in this story, I did not actually see the relevant episode until after I came up with the name. Either it's a sign of divine inspiration, or the shadow government is beaming the same literary references into our brains.
Clips referenced: The Wørd - Expecting; this intro.
For the table of contents, click here.
Chapter 1
An Idea Is Conceived
Yesterday
The press, of course, got to the hospital first. They had been circling this story for the whole nine months, and coverage had reached a fever pitch in the past few weeks. Every network from CNN to a local Charleston station had a team on the scene.
To get angry at them would be getting angry at a shark for following blood in the water. This story had it all: sex, politics, celebrity, personal drama, and a prickly central figure who not only captured public attention, but thrived on it. The force that drew reporters to the area was more than instinct; it was was on a level with the power that draws paper clips to magnets, draws the tides in and out, draws soup to new ties.
The hospital, sensibly oblivious to this overwhelming primal need, wouldn't even let them in the door.
The crews milled about just beyond the ambulance lane for a while, each anchor talking rapidly into his or her camera, and all saying the same thing, which amounted to nothing at all. You didn't get to cover a story this big if you couldn't say a whole lot of nothing, and say it with gravitas.
Still, when a non-press car pulled in and its passenger climbed out, they descended on him like vultures to a kill, like a wave to a newly finished sand castle.
He knew they couldn't help it. He made his living pointing out that they couldn't help it.
This knowledge did not make them any less irritating.
"Mr. Stewart! Mr. Stewart!" the reporters clamored. "How do you feel? Are you nervous? Are you excited? Do you think this is moral? Do you think it's ethical? Do you think it will catch on? Do you—"
"No comment," replied Jon, shoving his way through the crowd. "Excuse me, please. No, no statement, no comment, no, you're not going to get anything whether you let me through or not, so please, just let me—"
He stepped on several toes, and nearly had his teeth knocked out by a microphone three or four times, but at last he made it to the first set of doors and burst through. Free of the gaggle, he broke into a run, until he reached the front desk and leaned heavily against it.
"I need to get into maternity," he gasped.
The orderly behind the desk was more than used to worried fathers. "Right away, dear," she said. "Now, we have to get you signed in - it'll just take a minute, and we'll take excellent care of your wife in the meantime, don't you worry. Now, what's the mother's name?"
Jon couldn't tell if she was following procedure for procedure's sake, or if she genuinely didn't know what was going on.
The former was irritating, but on some level reassuring. The latter was about the least reassuring thing he could imagine.
"Her name, hon?"
Jon swallowed. "Stephen Colbert."
October 16, 2006
Nine Months Ago
"...which brings us to tonight's Wørd."
The interns clapped. Stephen couldn't rehearse properly without applause, so a flock of interns were parked in the seats to fill the need. The cameramen joined in too, when they weren't busy manning the cameras.
"Expecting!" intoned the host, and the bullet point beside him echoed the word.
No one knew exactly how the bullet point worked. It had been scripted and straightforward at first, but somewhere along the line it had taken on a mind of its own. Stephen occasionally claimed that the force of his opinions was so powerful that it spilled out onto the television screen around him. When confronted with bullet-point text that didn't seem to conform to his stated opinion, he quickly changed the subject. By the time "Secretly Knows He's Gay" had appeared on the screen, no one even tried to bring it up.
"My first reaction," continued Stephen, "was to be against what I call the 'dude uterus.'" (Or Dude-erus, the bullet noted.) "Because you just know the gays are gonna be all over it. And you know what that means..."
One of the interns was wondering if Stephen had even read the article that he was referring to. It had said very plainly that the option Stephen was espousing was simply not feasible.
This intern was, of course, new. Everyone else knew full well that Stephen hadn't read the article. They were all marveling that their boss could say the word "butt-babies" with a straight face.
The host was a bit more informed on the issue of stem cells. "This November, more candidates for stem cell research are ahead in their districts than candidates against it. That means hundreds of thousands of frozen embryos from fertility clinics — embryos that were going to be destroyed — are in danger of being used for scientific research!" The interns applauded some more.
Stephen's proposal was simple. The politicians who opposed using the embryos for research could have wombs implanted in their own bodies, and carry some of those embryos to term. The host pointed out President Bush as an example. "Just imagine how powerful a photo-op it'll be the next time he vetoes the bill, and he's six months pregnant!" He paused. "Jimmy, can we get a graphic of that?"
"We'll have one by tonight," said Bobby from the side of the stage. He made a quick note of it against his ever-present clipboard: Get President pregnant.
Bobby had considered writing a book about his experience on the Report, but after a few weeks he was rarely able to decipher his own notes.
At his desk, the host plunged on. "So, if you're a male who voted against stem cell research, you simply cannot pass up this opportunity. It is not a choice — it is a moral duty! Will it be easy? No. But take your uterus like a man. It's what the rest of the country's expecting...and that's the Wørd."
It went so well in rehearsal.
The photomanipulation of the President with a bare and bulging torso turned a few stomachs in the audience; Stephen took the groans for croons of pleasure. "Isn't that beautiful?" he agreed. "There is just nothing more beautiful than a pregnant President."
A moment later, he was back on the script. "He would be putting his womb where his mouth is! Not literally; that's probably not a good idea." (Speaks Awkwardly Enough As It Is, snarked the bullet.)
And then he careened off the tracks altogether.
Stephen had an Idea. The aw-shucks half-smile, the casual shuffling of papers, the innocent raise of the eyebrow: all of these told the experienced viewer that he was about to suggest something that he would present as a modest endeavor, but heaven help the employee who didn't treat him like the most selflessly charitable person since Warren Buffett.
"You know what?" he said, preening just a little, making sure the camera got what he called 'my heroic side' and everyone else called 'Stephen's chin'.
"Maybe I could do it too."
October 23, 2006
3 Days to Implantation
"Are you sure you wouldn't rather have a lawyer with you, Mr. Colbert?"
"Lawyers? Hah! They're a bunch of Ivy League elitists, with their fancy degrees and their pretentious phrases like 'habeus corpus' and 'ignorantia juris non excusat' and 'yes, that constitutes sufficient grounds for a sexual harassment claim.' So no, madam, I do not need a lawyer. I am perfectly capable of dealing with this myself."
"Your regular practitioner, then? He or she would be able to advise you..."
"I don't need any advice. My mind is made up. Besides, I'm between doctors right now. I fired the last one when he told me to stop drinking eight cups of coffee every day. Look, you can get my medical records without him, right? I know my bloodtype and everything."
Colbert opened his wallet and pulled out a Red Cross card, which he passed across the desk. On one side was a record of his blood pressure on the only date he had donated (09/15/2001); on the other, his name and blood type (B positive).
Phoebe Moreau, MD, PhD, DNSc, DrPH, DPT, and, yes, DFA, gave the card a cursory glance, then went back to studying her visitor. He wasn't ideal. Fit, certainly, if his leaping about on television was any indication; but about ten years older than she would have liked.
On the other hand, he was her first volunteer. Beggars could hardly be choosers. Furthermore, his viewers were exactly the kind of right-wing culture-war extremists that kept picketing her hospital whenever she announced a new research initiative. If anyone could get them to shut up, he could.
And think of the publicity! Colbert could do for her procedure what Julia Roberts had done for adopting foreign orphans.
If it worked.
"I'll be honest with you, Mr. Colbert," she lied, hoping to get a sense of his assets. "I'm concerned about your ability to provide a suitable environment for this child."
Colbert pulled out another card. This one was gold, embossed with silver logos and inscriptions that indicated it was linked to a credit line with a limit so high you'd need the Hubble Telescope to see the top. He passed this to Phoebe as well.
"You take care of the environment inside," he said, tapping his stomach, "and I'll take care of the rest."
Phoebe suppressed the catch in her throat at the sight of the unassuming little piece of plastic. "And how much are you prepared to pay for the procedure itself?"
"Oh, wasn't I clear? That card's for you. I've got my own."
Phoebe had gone into experimental medicine for three reasons: a desire for prestige, scientific curiosity, and the ambition to make lots and lots of money. If this particular experiment failed, she would likely be a laughingstock in the medical community.
Still, two out of three wasn't bad.
"Very well, Mr. Colbert," she said. "We have the papers drawn up; just sign on a few dotted lines and we'll be in business." She had a dozen copies of the legalese, drawn up in preparation for a study that had never materialized due to lack of volunteers; one of these was in the binder that she pulled from a filing cabinet and handed to her visitor.
Her team had prepared so much, gathering knowledge and making guesses and planning for every eventuality they could think of. But now that it was going to be put to the test, she could see that it was like preparing to jump off a cliff by throwing pillows over the edge — with no idea how high the cliff actually was, or what might be at the bottom.
Someday she ought to take a vacation and do some nice relaxing skydiving. Maybe in nine months she would have the time.
"What are these?" asked Colbert, flipping through the binder.
"They absolve myself and RYT Hospital-Dwayne Medical Center of responsibility in the event of..."
Colbert glowered. "I told you, I don't like legalese."
Phoebe sighed. "It means that we will do everything we can to make this work, and in return you can't sue us."
"Fair enough." Colbert began signing. This was a tedious process, as every signature was large and loopy and finished off with several unnecessary flourishes. Phoebe half expected him to tack 'To My Biggest Fan' in front of them.
She took the time to make plans. She would have to alert the team, call the IVF clinic, figure out how to spin this for the press...it would be out of her hands once it got out, and there were some groups that would throw a hissy fit no matter what she did, but she had to control it as best she could. And speaking of control....
Colbert reached the last page; Phoebe put he hand on his, holding it back. "Wait."
The pundit looked up. "What? Do you want me to sign something else? I have a few emergency 8x10 glossies in the car..."
"This is serious, Mr. Colbert, and I need you to really mean it when you sign this one."
"Was I not supposed to mean the others?" asked Colbert, cocking his head.
"You were, but just listen." Phoebe held his gaze, infusing her voice with - what did he always call it? She would have to start watching his show more — ah, yes: gravitas. "You're in this for the long haul. If you agree to this, you cannot fire me at any time. And when I give you medical instructions, you will follow them. To the letter. Whether you like it or not. Because it won't just be your health at stake here; it'll be the life of the baby. Do you understand me?"
Something in her tone had made the right impression; Colbert nodded solemnly. "I understand."
"Cut back on the coffee."
He balked. "But—!"
"It's not good for the baby. If you're going to do this, you cut back on the coffee. If you can't handle that, don't sign."
She remembered something else she'd seen on the show, and amended: "If you don't have the balls to do that, don't sign."
With that, she let go of his hand. It wavered for a moment, then wrote the signature, with an extra flourish for good measure.
Phoebe fought back a wild grin.
"Well, Mr. Colbert," she said brightly, "let's get you knocked up!"
November 1, 2006
4 Weeks
The cry of an eagle rang through the studio.
"Tonight!" cried Stephen. "Clips of my show are pulled off YouTube." Blank Screen Challenge, read the subtitle. "Looks like you'll have to watch them the old-fashioned way: on your video iPod."
He spun in his seat to face a second camera. "And I travel to Hollywood to profile California's 30th!" California Reaming. "Though it swears it's still only 29."
He turned to face a third camera, this one looking up at him from the floor, and the subtitle proclaimed The Nailing of Doctor Moreau. "And my guest tonight, Dr. Phoebe Moreau, will explain how I came to be the medical miracle of the century."
The host turned one last time; the fourth camera zoomed dramatically in. "It's the first day of November sweeps," he said, a mischievous smile playing on his lips, "and I'm pregnant! This is The Colbert Report!"
The crash of a dropped plate sounded briefly over the opening credits of the Report's theme song. Moments later, a young girl's head appeared at the kitchen door. "Mommy? You okay?"
"I'm fine, honey. Don't come in. There's broken glass...No, don't worry. I'll clean it up."
The girl looked from her mother's face, to the glass at her feet, to the television screen set in a false cupboard, on which the word "Superstantial" had just appeared. "Did Papa do something stupid again?" she asked.
"You shouldn't say that about your father," replied Lorraine Colbert automatically. "Go back to bed, honey. I'll deal with the mess."
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 07:20 am (UTC)I think I can quote almost everything..but the whole "the force that drew reporters to the area was more than instinct; it was was on a level with the power that draws paper clips to magnets, or the tides in and out, or soup to new ties" just made me start LoL and I didn't stop ever..I'm still grinning like a loon.
Anyway..I did see the trailer and it's not as out there as I had thought which totally says something about Stephen as a person. What it says I'm not sure yet 'cause this didn't hit me fully just now..I need time to digest on this crazy/wonderful.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 07:21 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 07:50 am (UTC)*crying from effort*
*fails*
You win my life.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 08:52 am (UTC)Seriously, thank you =D
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 07:57 am (UTC)Seriously. The awesomeness has struck me dumb. You'll have to wait for a better comment.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 09:01 am (UTC)It's going to be a long story, so I can wait ^_^
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 08:02 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 09:14 am (UTC)Glad to have you along for the ride!
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 08:31 am (UTC)Im loving this good craack! more more more please *is not greedy At all*
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 09:15 am (UTC)Thank you!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 01:33 pm (UTC)"You shouldn't say that about your father," replied Evelyn Colbert automatically.
Oh my goodness, this wins. *collapses in giggles*
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 05:33 pm (UTC)Thank you!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 02:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 05:46 pm (UTC)I think Stephen's self-centeredness comes not from not caring about other people so much as not noticing that other people have needs too. His great defining character flaw is ignorance. On that rare occasion when something breaks through it, such as 9/11, he's a good guy. (Alas, it didn't last, as he hasn't donated since.)
Thank you!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 03:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 05:48 pm (UTC)I think Stephen's defining flaw is not apathy but ignorance. On that rare occasion when something breaks through it, such as 9/11, he's a good guy. (Alas, it didn't last, as he hasn't donated since.)
And thank you!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 03:32 pm (UTC)Thanks for showing this to me. *is sometimes oblivious*
Update, soon? =D
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 05:51 pm (UTC)Watch this journal or
And thank you!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 04:43 pm (UTC)"Was I not supposed to mean the others?" asked Colbert, cocking his head. <--- Ohh, this was nice. Totally something that he would say on the show! Sort of a sarcastic joke without REALIZING it's a sarcastic joke, you know? Nice.
I've never read mpreg before, but this sounds as plausible--in the Colbert universe--as anything. I love how your fics are always so intertwined with canon. :D :D
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 06:01 pm (UTC)The caveat "in the Colbert universe" is my lifeline here.
And thank you!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 06:10 pm (UTC):DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
I'm so giddy about this. It's fantastic so far. Eeeeeeee. Can't wait to see what you do with his family.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 06:22 pm (UTC)But I'm glad you're enjoying so far =D
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 06:19 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 06:25 pm (UTC)*discreetly pumps fist in air*
This wouldn't be my first choice of fic to show Stephen, but I'm glad you enjoy it!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 07:28 pm (UTC)Crack at its unbelivable finest.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-05 02:18 am (UTC)Thank you!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-04 09:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-05 02:14 am (UTC)Glad you're enjoying it, and I'm going to shoot for a new chapter every three days ^_^
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-05 03:51 am (UTC)"or soup to new ties."
That's my favorite line. =]
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-05 01:00 pm (UTC)Glad you like it!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-05 04:10 am (UTC)I mean, I knew it was coing, but that you did it, and like this?
That is to say, it's damn fine so far and I'll be eagerly awainting the next chapter.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-05 01:12 pm (UTC)So glad you enjoy it!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-05 04:35 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-05 01:36 pm (UTC)So glad it's working for you!
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-05 05:23 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-05 01:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-06 01:03 pm (UTC)I am SO glad I read this. <3
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-06 06:38 pm (UTC)Thank you!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-07 11:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-07 11:53 pm (UTC)Glad you like it!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-08-24 11:16 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-08-24 01:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 04:13 pm (UTC)I think I didn't even see the Trailer (yeah, in my head, it's capitalised - I've never seen anything like it, not in the world of fanfic at least) until after I'd read the final chapter/epilogue. I'd have read the story from the start if I had, I'm convinced about that; but as it is - well. Go read my comment on the trailer posting. (Like I said, I'm going round leaving comments on fic I wanted to sans good internet connection. You're first.)
I liked this chapter a lot. I think it was a good opening - sets up the premise, does it well but concisely, for which I am grateful - your habit of linking to relevant clips and so on saves you an awful lot in possible repetition of known material, which can be off-putting; and it's a sneaky way of dragging us into your mindset about the whole Colbert-as-character 'verse. (That's a good thing.)
Jon blowing into the hospital like a little hurricane of Stewart-ness. That I adore - the fact that you immediately set up the tension between what he wants to do (snap at the damn reporters) and how he actually acts; and again in the second chapter where he will not say the words, Don't you know who I am? Part of Jon's charm is that there always seems to be more going on than we see on the screen, and I'm glad that you wrote that in. You do have a deft hand with your Jon characterisation. And having the reporters identify him for us was a nifty little trick which I admire - there's nothing worse than being beaten over the head with something. Ditto the little segue at the end of that segment:
"Her name, hon?"
Jon swallowed. "Stephen Colbert."
Lovely use of The Word. Bobby's note made me laugh. I write down things like that, too - carry a notebook everywhere I go and god help the person that tries to make sense of my scrawl.
And again, with my love for your segues:
It all went so well in rehearsal.
Which brings me to the last segment, because, really, Evelyn not knowing until the Report came on? I can see that happening. I'm glad you took the family into account in this story, given that family and support are one of the main themes. Maddie's comment was great. As was her simply looking to the television and knowing, just knowing that Stephen had done something. And Evelyn's automatic response. It really is what happens in situations like this, isn't it? (Not that there's ever really a...situation quite like this.) There's another fic somewhere in this fandom where Jon goes, "Pet the cat. It's therapeutic." - and then just carries on the conversation - and I love little throwaway comments like that. They're true to life, and it helps both reader and writer avoid the pitfall of dialogue that sometimes sounds too scripted, which can be a danger - particularly, I think, in this fandom.
Onward ho.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 05:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:O_o
Date: 2008-01-27 02:33 am (UTC)It won't affect his becoming the president of...*can't remember which state it was*...will it?
lol
I love you
can you have my MPREG babies?
Re: O_o
Date: 2008-01-27 03:55 am (UTC)Thank you!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-13 08:49 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-11 11:50 am (UTC)And especially in this fandom (being a tiny little bit to close to RPS for my taste anyway) it seemed completely out of place (I had not seen the video in question before, obviously ;).)
But since I like your other stories I gave you the benefit of the doubt and I'm very glad of it. You really make it work, hell, at this point it seems there's hardly a way Stephen could not do it! XD How could anybody imply he doesn't have the balls to get knocked up?
I'm really looking forward to the next chapter (which I absolutely should not read now, because I have work to do, but...*sigh*)
(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-11 12:12 pm (UTC)Glad you're intrigued!
(no subject)
From: