Tom Shore Saves America
Heat # 10 - Political Satire/Hypnosis
Synopsis: A popular news anchor sets out to influence a general election by hypnotizing Americans.
Tom Shore, the handsome anchorman of the top rated national evening newscast, sat at his favorite table in the corner of a posh restaurant overlooking Main Street. He had called an impromptu lunch with Phillip Cole, the head of entertainment and Artie Schwartz, the news director at his network.
After the pre-requisite pleasantries, Tom began the meeting in his famous baritone voice. “The American people would be greatly ill served if my brother wins the general election.”
Artie Schwartz cut through a bloody steak with his sausage-sized fingers. “I agree. He’s handsome, young, independently wealthy and a Rhodes scholar to boot. The last time we had a president like that we impeached him.”
“And we’ll impeach any other president who takes liberties with interns without the expressed consent of the GOP,” Tom assured the men. “Listen, guys. My brother is a tiger in sheep’s clothing. Don’t be fooled. Long ago, he told me his secret for maneuvering himself to the top ranks of the Democratic Party and so far it’s worked, but we must stop him before he gets out of hand.”
Tom let his words sink in as he leaned back and took a sip of his lunch, which consisted primarily of rum and Coke.
Phillip Cole leaned forward and whispered, “C’mon, Tom. What is it? What’s his plan for becoming the leader of the free world? Lying about his opponent, tampering with the ballots in Florida, bribing constituents for votes or does he have something illegal in mind?”
Tom enjoyed the delicious mystery he’d conjured. He casually sipped his meal replacement drink as his ego slurped up the attention. When his thirst was sufficiently quenched, he continued. “Richard’s plan for becoming President of this great country of ours is the same devious plan he used to become an Ivy League graduate; for becoming a top lawyer in that white shoe law firm; for becoming a much admired Senator and overall…do gooder.”
Phillip and Artie flinched at the very mention of the word. They waited breathlessly in anticipation of Tom’s revelation…until Artie’s stout belly began to rumble and Phillip’s mouth became a virtual desert, which prompted them to dig into their food and drink like starving wolves. Tom observed them in disgust as the men gorged themselves; still he needed them to make his plan work. Tom reached into his jacket pocket and produced a tiny slip of paper, which he laid on the center of the table.
“What is that?” Phillip asked.
“It’s a fortune from a fortune cookie. It used to belong to Richard,” Tom said gravely. “And I believe this fortune is also the catalyst that could forever unravel the fabric of this great nation.”
The men leaned forward and read the slip of paper.
“Dear God,” Phillip said. “It’s worse than I thought.”
Artie pushed his round spectacles higher on his bulbous nose. “That can’t be right. That cannot be the secret to his success.”
Tom smiled, happy that the slip of paper had the desired effect. “Gentlemen, that is precisely how he plans to take over the country and we must do everything in our power to stop him.”
Artie read aloud the words on the slip of paper in a slow staccato like he was a child still learning how to read. “Kill…them…with…kindness.”
The men looked at each other and then around the restaurant to ensure their conversation was not overheard.
Phillip was the first to break the silence. “It can never work. There’s no way in hell that any politician is going to make it into the White House by, by –” he stuttered. “I can’t even say the words.”
“By being kind,” Tom said. “I’m afraid so, my friends. How do you think he’s become Senator with so little government experience? I’ve seen how his nice guy persona has won the hearts of little old ladies. I’ve witnessed first hand how young babies coo and giggle when he moves in for a kiss. But the most despicable thing of all…”
“I don’t know if I want to hear the rest of this,” Artie said. He placed a hand on his protruding belly as though he were about to vomit.
“You must know the truth,” Tom replied, his voice darker than before. “I once saw my brother rescue a drowning child -”
“Please don’t tell us anymore,” interrupted Phillip.
But Tom was on a roll now. “Ten years old. Gave him CPR,” he felt a giddiness from the collective gasp at the table. And now for the big reveal, Tom thought. “That child, gentlemen, was a registered Democratic.”
“Oh my God!”
“Tom, no!”
Tom was pleased at the direction of the conversation. He hadn’t become the best in the business for nothing. He was acutely aware of how to get the news, but more importantly, he was a master at delivering the news. It’s all about the delivery.
“I’ve thought a lot about what to do about Richard’s run for the presidency and what I’ve come up with is a revolutionary idea.”
“Which is?” The men asked in unison.
“Hypnotism. It’s the only way to save the American people.” Tom took another sip of his drink and waived the waiter over to place an order for another round. The delay gave the men time to let Tom’s words marinate.
“You mean, put America in a trance?” Artie asked. “Is that legal?”
Tom responded, “We work on television. Everything we do is legal. America must be protected from Richard and his un-American, radical mindset. Can you imagine what this world would become if everyone walking the earth lived by the mantra, ‘Kill them with kindness’?”
“We’d all be dead,” Phillip responded gravely.
“Or worse…out of a job,” said Tom. “Just consider for a moment what that would do to our ratings. None of us deserves to be killed by kindness. It’s inhumane.”
“But how are we supposed to hypnotize them?” Phillip asked. “Americans only watch 150 hours of television per month and our parent company only owns one network, sixty-five percent of the cable stations, eighteen newspapers and thirty-nine radio stations around the country.”
Tom savored another sip of his rum and Coke. His eyes began to glaze over and his cheeks reddened. The spirits he drank lifted his own and deepened his resolve to save Americans from dangerous propaganda. “From now until election day, I want the stations flooded with news stories of violence, thievery, mayhem. I don’t care if the breaking news of the day is about Angelina Jolie adopting the entire continent of Africa. By the time the story hits our airwaves there had better be sightings of her ducking gunfire on her way out of there.”
Phillip replied, “So you basically want us to copy Fox News?”
“No. I want our coverage to be worse than Fox News. And with the number of viewers we have, it’s only a matter of time before a steady diet of violence streaming across the airwaves hypnotizes viewers to our message.” Tom tapped his index finger into the table to further drive home his point. “I want us to make the reporters on Fox look like priests in a Catholic Church reading from the good book itself on the eve of Judgment Day.”
Artie sat, mouth slightly parted and heart racing at the prospect of Tom’s scheme. “I think this sounds like a brilliant idea,” Artie marveled. Out of the blue, Artie wondered who would win in a wrestling match between Pat Robertson and Joel Osteen. I never trusted that Osteen guy. A guy who smiles that much has got to be up to something. Artie did his best to clarify what Tom proposed. “If Americans can be hypnotized into understanding that being nice is a means of murder – which is punishable by the death penalty in many states - then maybe they’ll take a more responsible approach to life and not be nice to people, which will ensure a longer life for everybody.”
Tom smiled and bobbled his woozy head. “Like taking candy from a baby.”
“What about your sister, Cara?” Phillip asked, still skeptical. “How does she feel about Richard’s run for President?”
Tom groaned at the mention of his sister. “Cara doesn’t think about anything besides herself and those stupid movies she produces. I hear the latest one involves little blue men.”
“I hate to say it, Tom, but she’s equally as dangerous to America as your brother.” Phillip said. “Those movies coming out of Hollywood can be very influential.”
“Tell me about it. Did you see the one called Pay It Forward a few years back? Turned into a goddamned national phenomenon. People running around doing good things for strangers and expecting nothing in return,” he shook his head in disgust, “it’s un-American. Now,” Tom continued, his tongue becoming slow and heavy, “I want to talk about which reporter is going to go out and gather up some doom and gloom news stories so that we can begin hypnotizing Americans.”
“John Castelgood?” Artie suggested.
“No, he’s too – ” Tom tried to think of a good word to describe John Castelgood but since his language skills were beginning to escape him, he said the first word that came to mind, “short. I want a few special reports filed by the sexy one.” Tom snapped his fingers. “You know, the one with the boobs.”
In unison the two men answered, “Tami Weber.”
“Yes,” Tom’s eyes twinkled at the mention of the young journalist with the sexy British accent. “She’ll be perfect. It’s settled then.” Tom lifted his glass for a toast. “To America. May she never be killed by kindness.”
* * * *
On election night, Tom Shore sat behind the anchor desk and prepared to go live.
“Two minutes,” the floor director called.
He wiped the beads of sweat that had formed on his carefully plucked brow and re-read the utterly shocking copy before him. Surely the producer had gotten the numbers wrong…
“Ninety seconds.”
There weren’t enough words in his vocabulary to describe what was happening. It was a massive disaster of apocalyptic proportion.
With a shaking palm, Tom reached beneath his desk for the coffee mug that held the warm, relaxing recipe that normally enhanced his charm and gave him the confidence to navigate the program to the top spot every night.
Tonight, however, he needed the elixir just to get through the election night broadcast.
“Thirty seconds.”
“How’s my hair?” he asked testily.
The news director gave his hair two thumbs up.
“How’re my lips? Last night they looked a little chapped.” He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out his favorite doomsday lipstick - Sand Storm #27 - and dotted his lips. It was the perfect color for delivering utterly depressing news.
“Five, four, three…”
Tom began the newscast with a quick reading of the day’s top new stories.
“Let’s turn now to Tami Weber who’s live at a local polling site, the Riverside Elementary School, in Oakland County. Tami, are the reports we’ve been hearing all day accurate as far as you can tell?”
“They are, indeed, Tom,” Tami reported. Her golden hair was cut into a take-me-seriously bob while her low cut, close-fitting top screamed take-me-now. “The national turnout at the polls are unlike anything we’ve ever seen in a national election. As you can see behind me,” the cameras panned the crowded gymnasium, “it is nothing but mayhem here. Constituents are turning out in droves to cast their votes today.”
“Is there any indication as to why voter turnout is so high this year? Was it just the interest in the issues?”
“We’re talking about Americans, Tom. They couldn’t care less about the issues. In a rare move by a major Hollywood studio, the new James Cameron film, Avatar II, was released at midnight. The highly anticipated film has been breaking box office records today and many people have played hooky from work in order to vote and then catch the movie. After the movie, there are Avatar-themed parties being thrown – for free - at multiple venues around the country for moviegoers. Voters who say they voted for Senator Shore and have their movie ticket stub are being allowed into the celebration. They’ve got free alcohol, the most divine hor d’eourves I’ve ever tasted and…wait for it…Guitar Hero, baby. Turns out, I’m awesome on guitar.”
This is the last America will ever see of those boobs, Tom seethed.
“And, full disclosure here Tom, your brother, Senator Richard Shore is a Presidential candidate and your sister, Cara Shore is the Executive Producer of Avatar II and both are hosting this event. You must be really proud of how nice they are!”
Tom struggled to maintain his authoritative disposition but his mild inebriation combined with the impending defeat of a humane civilization were getting the better of him.
“Tami, do you know if perhaps some people are lying just to get inside the party? Perhaps they didn’t actually vote for the senator or even see Avatar II for that matter.”
“Sorry, Tom. Poll numbers don’t lie. Unless you happened to be running in the 2000 election. The senator is ahead by a gazillion points, not to mention that no one who has seen Avatar would ever lie about such a thing. It’s just not the Pandora thing to do. Oh, and did I mention that moviegoers only have to pay for the movie once and then they can go back to the theater all day with their ticket stub and see the movie again for free? How nice is that, Tom?”
“It’s very nice and that’s precisely what’s wrong with America!” Tom exploded into the camera. He pounded his fists onto the desk and yelled, “Being nice is anti-capitalism, anti-conservative, and anti-American!”
Breathless, sweaty and with two hairs out of place, Tom Shore took a deep breath and coolly turned back to the camera.
“And we’ll be back, right after these messages.”
The End.
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