He spends the whole day cursing at himself for why he cannot turn away from his evil ways. He'd neglected the value of something he once had because of trivial, unhealthy urges to get a feel of women other than the one he was married to. 'How could I have been so blind?! How could I have been so stupid?! What did they have that she didn't? Coupled with the fact that she had what they didn't. Whatever came over me as to make me so idiotic and self destructive? Why didn't anybody tell me any better? Hell, people did. I was warned. She herself did when she started having suspicions. Even one of the call girls did, when she saw Emily's photo on the night stand. But someway, somehow, I was too blind to see what they meant. A spell had been cast over me to not see that I was putting the only sacred thing I got in jeopardy. And now, what do I have? Utter dissatisfaction. Despair! What I actually needed was to draw closer to my wife, instead, I didn't think better of it and did everything with repercussions as to drive her away. How stupid could one really get? Hell of a way for a man to get hypertension. And now, I'm using that as an excuse to keep on the stupidity. To keep frolicking with prostitutes … prossies! What the hell is wrong with me? Where did my mama go wrong? And my own son isn't helping matters, that no-good, good-for-nothing, reckless rascal. He'd much rather bring random women to the house to bang than try and get his mommy and daddy back together. If only he could get his head outta his ass and help me get mine outta, well, every other woman's ass. Then, maybe things will start to move in the right direction again. Right now, you could call me a sex addict, add the drugs to that mix, and what have you? A ticking bomb? A man standing on a mine, yet to relieve just that little bit of pressure, setting it off, blowing himself to bits? Damn! Damn me to hell.'
This is Henry Dwight Cassidy. He's the program director at 'Ent,' a satellite TV network with it's headquarters in Universal City, Los Angeles. The network specializes in reality programming based on celebrities and fashion. Mr. Cassidy, a man of 6 feet 3, and obese dimensions, is a looming figure of a man. His exiled wife used to call him big bear. But during heated arguments, her and her son would rather just call him 'fat ass.' His weight doesn't bother him, though. It's all he's ever known. And besides, stress is a killer. Except for the fact that his wife left him, he thinks life is still worth a shot, and he actually loves his job at Ent, and it's just about the only thing keeping him from blowing his brains out. 'Or is it?' He turns to the side and takes a long look at the sleeping call-girl he's sharing the bed with… He takes her again.
It's a pitch-black, stormy night with a downpour riddled with some serious lightning and thunder. In the living room of Blake's home, all the lights are off, save the TV, which is on the Ent Channel. Blake is sat in his high-back arm chair in front of the TV, he doesn't move a muscle, and is not so much watching the TV as he's mourning in deep melancholia. The host of junk food he's been stuffing his face with lay about him as he sobs about his job lost, his livelihood lost, his pride lost. He's just grateful, there's no one around to see him in such pathetic state, especially when it was at it's absolute worst with wailing. But now, he's just sniffling, and wiping relentless tears off his face. 'Why didn't it hit me this hard back at the office? Why didn't I fight this with more than just empty words? What is the voodoo those goddamned charlatans did that made me accept this unjust, satanic horseshit of a decision. They think they're pretty clever, don't they? They must think their living legends; gods in their own right. Well, I'll show 'em just how wrong they are. Just how terribly wrong. We'll see who has the last laugh.' He keeps stuffing his face with Fat cakes, and chugging Coke---he'd take liquor, but now he's too broke and unemployed to hemorrhage it like that. Best save that liquor for when he needs to prove he can still sustain his liquor routine. Although, he wonders if liquor and Fat Cakes go well together. And in all this, despite the fact he's now an unemployed pauper, he can't deny, the grub good. Awesome in fact.
He hears someone approach the front door, probably Jo, and he knows any attempts now to cover up his misery would just look more pathetic. In the darkened, TV lit living room the front door opens, letting in a little light from the hallway as Joanna enters, carrying a wet umbrella.
"Why is it so dark in here?" She turns on the lights. Joanna's had time to seethe about Blake stealing her ride. Now she's still pissed, but more composed than berserk. "Where's that dumb fuck that got me all soaked without my car?!" She sees Blake sat in front of the TV, she only sees him from behind, and as he just sits still and motionless, she can't the misery in his face. She moves toward him. "You psychotic son of a bitch! I should shoot you! That's what I should--" She comes around, and sees his misery. He's still sobbing, now maybe even overdoing it to evoke pity from Jo so she doesn't go too hard on him.
Joanna's surprised and concerned. She knows her man couldn't possibly be faking this. "What!... Honey, what's the matter?" Then, she recalls she's been genuinely concerned about his employment status after he told her this morning of new management taking over. "Oh you got fired, didn't you?"
Blake can only speak sobbingly. "The term is 'downsized'. His crying heightens. "But it hurts just the same." He keeps wailing.
Joanna comes in, hugging him. "Oh, baby."
The front door opens, and Olly comes in, already blabbing about something to anyone that cares to listen, before even gauging the countenance of the room. He momentarily gets his bearings, pausing in fright, hoping nobody died, or even more so, got maimed… "What happened?"
"He got downsized," says Joanna.
Olly's actually relieved it wasn't something terribly bad, but of course he tries not to let it show. He pulls on a sympathetic look, "Oh man! I didn't even mean it, when I was running my mouth in the morning." He moves in, joining the hug.
"It's okay, Olls. It's not your fault," says Blake, sobbingly.
"I'm really really sorry, man," says Olly. He now pats Blake in the back. "There there. You're the unbreakable-Blake … the Blakules…" Joanna rolls her eyes. OllyOlly continues, "I'm sure you'll figure this out."
"Yeah," Joanna chimes in.
"I hope so, I hope so," whimpers Blake.
"This isn't gonna help!" Joanna regards the crazy assortment of junk food on the coffee table.
Blake can't help but feel guilty. 'I better not get fat on my lady. Jo wouldn't wanna sleep with no fat ass,' he thinks. But he says, "I didn't know what else to do, I'm hurting, Jo, I'm hurting pretty bad."
"Well this is only gonna make you fat." She begins gathering the junk food to throw away, and Olly helps himself to a Chocolate doughnut, saying,
"Cheer up, bro, there's still a lot of good left in this world." He stuffs his face full of chocolatey deliciousness, "Mmm."
Lightning flashes in the sky outside the window, and the living room lights flicker. Thunder claps and the rain pours even heavier. The TV goes blank and displays the "NO SIGNAL" graphic. "Great, now, even the TV's gone. I should just kill myself."
Joanna can only pity the pathetic predicament of her man. "Ohhh Honeeey! Okay, watch my tits." She kneels before him and begins unbuttoning her blouse.
Olly can't help but notice. "Ew, I'm eating."
"Get outta here, Olly," says Joanna.
Olly leaves the room. Joanna holds her blouse open and begins jiggling her boobs. Blake can't help but smile.
"They're nice, aren't they?" says Joanna.
"They are nice," says Blake, in a rather calm tone, despite the tears still on his face. He wipes his eyes, so he can see better. Joanna smiles, and he smiles back as she keeps jiggling much to his delight. Then there's a flash of lightning so bright like it's right there in the living room. A light bulb blows out, and the lightning comes with thunder so loud, Blake and Joanna flinch a mile, and Olly probably shit himself. The lightning strikes a satellite dish on the roof of the building, and that satellite dish happens to belong to Blake's household. But that lightning and thunder struck fear in the heart of its subjects more than anything else.
"Holy shit!" says Blake, holding onto his heart.
"Whoa!" says a frightened Joanna.
"Damn!" Olly calls out into the living room. "I think I shit myself." And he knows he seriously has to check that out.
"Are you okay, honey?" Joanna asks a troubled Blake who still has his hand on his heart. A man already in distress from losing his livelihood, and now this kind of shock. He's hoping what he's feeling is not a heart attack in progress. But it soon subsides, and he can breathe again, he takes a long one…
"I'm fine, baby."
Olly comes charging into the living room. "Is everyone okay?"
"We're fine, Olly," says Joanna, as she buttons her blouse back up.
"Damn! It was like right in the house," says Olly.
Blake sees that the TV's back on. "At least it brought back the TV." Now Blake can keep his eyes glued to the TV, forgetting all his sorrows as he sits on his ass and watch other people earn a living by enchanting him and taking his money. At least it's not porn. Blake fixes all of his attention on the Ent channel, it's showing 'Ent News', the hosts, a man and a woman, always dressed like they're in a fancy restaurant, and always having to be polite and banter with each other for the show, the fact that they're always on each other's throats in real life notwithstanding. They're talking about how the 10th season of everyone's favorite reality show, 'Catching Up With the Carlsons,' starts the day after tomorrow, the 26th. Blake and his household are big fans of the show, they've been keenly looking forward to the season premier, counting the days, and he got that news broadcast loud and clear, but his good judgement tells him something's off. "Wait wait wait, what's this bull? They say season-ten of 'Catching Up,' starts the day after tomorrow."
"No it starts on the 26th, that's … how many days time?" Joanna looks at the ceiling, trying to do tabular subtraction in her head, but the figures just won't line up. Sometimes, it could be difficult for anyone when you need to borrow 1, but I'd say it's difficult for her every single time, and she gives up. "Well, today's 17th, so do the math."
"26th, that's what I thought," says a puzzled Blake.
"You probably just misheard," says Joanna.
"Yeah," Blake reluctantly agrees.
And now, on the TV, the news anchors talks about how the old, blockbuster movie, 'We Hope You Bounce Back'---The only thing, Blake is damned sure he hates that goddamned movie---turns twenty years old today. That it premiered on the 24th of July 2001. But that doesn't sound right to Blake, Joanna or Olly.
"Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa, hear that?" Blake asks.
"Yeah, but today's the 17th. Why do they talk as if it's the 24th?" Olly asks.
"Yeah!" says Blake and Joanna.
"Are they like tripping on something or what?" says Blake.
And now, the news hosts---I call them hosts rather than anchors because what they broadcast is more on the entertainment, subjective side, as opposed to the world affairs, objective side. So, 'anchor' would seem out of place, and the boat would drift aimlessly. But what they broadcast is news nonetheless---So, now, the news 'hosts' talk about how excited they are that the Oscar Awards is finally here, that everyone should tune in tomorrow 6pm PST for the live broadcast of the ceremony. Blake, Joanna and Olly eye each other, bewildered. They've been looking forward to the Oscars, counting the days, except it's not tomorrow, it's not even for a week. So, why the hell did these newscasters just say it is tomorrow? Their news programming doesn't line up.
"Okay, what the hell is going on here? As far as I know the Oscars is on the 25th. Why the hell do they say it's tomorrow?"
"Yeah man!" says Olly. "I too thought it's on the 25th … Could they have advanced it to tomorrow? Is that even possible?"
"Well, we can look it up," says Joanna.
"I'ma do just that," Blake picks up his phone and begins typing, calling out as he types. "When – is – the – Twenty - twenty-one – Oscars?"
Olly can't help but chuckle. "Dude, that ain't how you use a search engine. You don't have to type a full complete sentence or even make grammatical sense for that matter. The search engine recognizes single words, and combination of words. You don't have to make a meaningful statement. You should have just typed keywords: 'Oscars date,' dude, and you don't have to type '2021,' the search engine knows this is 2021. The first results are gonna be for the 2021 Oscars."
"Smug son of a bitch. He's right," Blake thinks, "But I'll be damned if I looked wrong." "Olly," says Blake, sighing feigned exasperation, "I'm an editor, you don't think I know this shit?!"
Olly smiles, "You're still an editor? Didn't you get fired?"
It doesn't come to Blake or Joanna as a shock, that Olly would draw humor from Blake's awful predicament. Of course, Olly used to be the most conservative one, but it was Blake and Joanna themselves that influenced him into becoming a boundless humorist, they made him see that 'funny is funny.' Anything is excusable as long as it's funny. In life, be funny and interesting first, then maybe you can be honest and just. Although, even though they're the kind of people that'll make fun of anything or anyone, it's just words, or actions, that may in fact be extreme and severe, but, they're not entirely without scruple, and in time of dear need, will lend compassion considerably. "You're still an editor? Didn't you get fired?" says a smiling Olly.
Joanna and even Blake can't help but giggle, although, Blake's is a bit feigned. "Downsized," he says, swearing in his head at how fast Olly has learned to become a savage zinger. Understanding, 'Wow, so it does sting this bad when people are scorned.' "Downsized," he says. "They'll put me right back when they … upsize back."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, bro" says Olly.
Joanna giggles. Blake tries to feign a smile. It's hard.
He now looks at his phone. "Yes, we have a result…"
"It took this long?" Joanna asked.
"The WiFi went out today," says Blake. "I had to check which of the neighbors don't use a password on their WiFi, turns out they all do. So, I tried Abie's old password, and it still works, she didn't change it since the last time she let me use. Thank God I was pathetic enough to memorize it," he smiles. "It took time to recall, though." He adds, "Honey, it's your turn to get the WiFi. Thank God one of us still earns an income."
Joanna rolls her eyes.
Blake faces Olly, gesturing his phone, "If what I typed was so wrong, why did it get results? huh? huh?"
Olly can only smile back, shaking his head.
Blake continues in his derisiveness, "Mr. Search engine, this, that, blah blah balderdash. I wonder how you made it into college…" Even he doesn't buy it, and starts breaking into giggles. "Probably had to let somebody screw you."
Olly giggles, then goes sarcastic "Ha ha bloody ha. Just read the results. The redundantly and blunderingly gotten results."
Blake looks on his phone, trying to stifle his smile. "According to this, the Oscars is still on the 25th. All the results say 25th."
"Then how come everyone at Ent has their heads up their asses?" Joanna asks.
"Maybe today was drugs day," says Olly.
Blake thinks about his months long stint with Crack Cocaine. It was the problem, despite being the solution. Well, those days are gone. 'And is it so bad that I cherish the memories? Hopefully the memories of overcoming it … I really hope.' "They must have mistakenly aired something from a past year," says Blake. That's the only explanation."
"So they're showing old news?" says Joanna, "That's messed up."
"Really messed up," says Olly, shaking his head.
They keep their eyes on the TV, wondering how the a TV network, and a major one at that, could make such a whopping mistake. But then the news hosts talk about the brand new reality show, "Don't Mention Love," everyone's been looking forward to. Blake, Joanna and Olly's eyes widen. The hosts continue about how the show premiers on the 1st of March, 7p.m. PST, "in just 5 days time."
Blake, Joanna and Olly exchange looks, mind reeling. And then, the news hosts banter about whether that 5 day estimate is correct, whether there's a February 29th in "2021". Blake, Joanna, and Olly cock their heads.
"2021!" says Blake, "Okay, this whole thing just went from obscure to downright spooky! Is it some kinda massive prank?"
"How could it be this year?" Joanna asks. "They would be on the 24th, today's the 17th. How could that be? Makes no sense."
"Okay, I'm starting to get chills about this whole thing," says Olly. "Think about it… The TV went out due to bad weather, And then it came back right on that freakish lightning and thunder; Since then, it's been showing stuff that seems like it's on the 24th. A week from now. A week in the future." A moment of silence as everyone considers this…
"A week from now, a week in the future," Blake mocks. "Just listen to yourself, man. Just listen to yourself. Of course this is what you'd like to think when your life is never in the least bit exciting. You ain't got no girlfriend, you ain't got no money, you ain't got no friends. And now you think you can live up any fantasy you want. Ahn-ahn, that's not how it works, sir. What you need to do is get your head outta your ass and go get a life." They laugh.
"I need to get a life?" says a smiling Olly.
"Yeah," says Blake. "Now listen, Olly," he motions to the TV, "This thing is probably just some massive prank, or all of them at Ent is on Crack or something. Oh, maybe someone put the drugs in the vent so it circulates and spreads, I saw this in a movie once, they won't know what hit them, very plausible. There are so many people that'd wanna do something like that. Competitors. Other networks that'll rather see Ent brought down. It's pretty simple. Everyone erupts with laughter except Blake, he actually believes this crap. He gazes at his derisive companions, trying to uphold whatever dignity he has left.
"And you say it is me that needs to get my head outta my ass," Olly mocks, "In fact, I think you'd be better off if you got your head up in your ass, it'd be a step up."
Joanna's laughter heightens.
"Laugh all you want," says Blake, "When in the end it's revealed that I'm right, you can then shoot each other in the head."
"Great one, baby," says Joanna, laughingly. She now motions to the TV, "But seriously, someone'll have to get sued or fired for this, that is if it really is a prank, because it's gone on for too long now."
A moment of silence as they pay closer attention to the TV, and nothing, really, seems to have changed; The programming still seems to be ahead of the days. "I dunno, man, the whole thing just seems spooky and unsettling," says Joanna. And Olly motions her to Blake like 'What she said.'
"Or who knows," says Olly, smiling, anticipating flak from Blake "maybe during that freak lightning, someway somehow we got transplanted into the future, and now it's the 24th instead of the 17th. That too would explain this."
Blake takes the opportunity. "For Christ sakes, man, gimme a break." And Blake can't say much, because he's run out ideas to demystify the situation. He's even starting to think in the line of Olly's hypotheses.
"Someone look up what day it is," says Olly.
Blake looks on his phone. "It's still the 17th, genius.
"I meant look it up the internet. The phone would be transplanted as well, and the time on it, genius"
Blake does so. "It's still the 17th on the internet, genius."
"Which means, the only fitting explanation is that the lightning set the TV reception to the future," says Joanna.
"Come on, Jo," Blake smiles, "I know he's your brother and all, but the man is mad. See the way he dresses?" And surely enough, Olly is wearing his pajama pants, but hasn't yet had a chance to take off the hefty denim jacket he came home in. He himself smiles at that.
"Well, what other reasonable explanation would there be at this point?" he asks Blake.
"Do you even know what that word-" Blake now does air quotes " 'reasonable' means?"
"Well, whatever it may mean … to you, there's an easy way to resolve this. I'm gonna go check Abie's TV. And seriously, nobody touches this TV, we don't know what this is, and mysterious and interesting as it is, woe betide us if we don't do everything we can to understand and resolve it. Now nobody touches anything, not the remote, not the lights, nothing electronic or electric. Not even your phones."
"Gimme a break, man," says Blake. "Okay, no one's touching anything, go check Abie's TV. We gotta know. It's the first good idea you've had, ever."
"Look," says Olly. "This thing could really be what it seems to be. And if it is, there are ramifications we'll need to explore. No one wants to jeopardize that."
"Yes we get it, Olls," says Joanna, "now go check Abie's TV. No one's touching anything."
"Right," he gets up, heading out.
With Olly out of the house, Blake has to confer with Joanna. "Since when is Olly this harsh, here he was making fun of me losing my job, it really hurt, you know. Do we do that to people, make fun of their hardships and downfall?"
"Oh yes we do," says Joanna. "We do it cuz it's funny, not because we mean any harm or scorn."
"Well, it really stung when Olly did it to me. I just hope people won't do it to me as much as I do them, that'll be something."
"Yeah," Joanna solemnly says.