Age Against the Machine

“Warning: this episode of The Crow Show has been rated TV-14-L. It contains strong language that may be unsuitable for younger audiences. The opinions expressed in this episode are solely those of the host and his guests and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Mystery Rider Productions or their affiliates. Viewer discretion is advised.”

The words and TV rating on the screen blew away in a fog of dust while an animated cowboy with a skeleton mask rode into view on a horse. The animal bucked up in the air and let out a powerful shriek while the cowboy screamed, “Yee-haw!” The words “Mystery Rider Productions Presents…” appeared below the now frozen logo after a bolt of lightning ripped through the screen. The logo also blew away in a cloud of dust in favor of the words, “Today’s Episode: Age Against the Machine”.

The black screen faded in to reveal a clapping audience while the camera circularly panned toward the main desk. On one side of the desk sat a grumpily frowning gentleman in a suit and tie while occupying the other side was a pleasant-faced middle-aged lady in a sun dress and hat.

“Ladies and gentlemen, here’s the star of The Crow Show: Marcus Crow!” shouted the background announcer, prompting the clapping audience to rise to their feet and cheer even louder than before. A dapperly-dressed black male appeared onstage smiling and waving at his adoring crowd while smoothly making his way toward the desk. Mr. Crow even bowed to his audience like they were gods as the cheering slowly died down.

“Hello, everyone! Welcome to the Crow Show! Today’s episode is probably going to be the most controversial one we’ve had in a long time. I’ve hired extra security to come out if necessary. The topic of course is the so-called Brat Ban sweeping the nation. Children deemed too noisy or disobedient are being ejected from public places along with their parents. Some people agree with this policy while others believe it’s unfair and ageist towards these small children. My guests today represent both sides of the Brat Ban debate.

To my left, she is a stay at home mom of two sons and she’s also a parenting blogger who claims to be on the wrong end of the Brat Ban, give it up for Ms. Leslie Cain!” The audience cheered and clapped as Marcus stole a kiss on the back of Leslie’s hand. He continued, “To my right, he is a retired restaurant manager who has enforced the Brat Ban multiple times in his career, give it up for Mr. David Charles!” The audience’s cheers were purely for the sake of being respectful and had nothing to do with their love of Mr. Charles.

“Okay everyone, let’s get started. Now before I…”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait,” interrupted David. “I want to clear the air on something before we begin. Mr. Crow, you said earlier that people are suggesting the Brat Ban is ageist, but I’m here to tell you it’s not. Ageism would suggest that I’m prejudiced. I didn’t prejudge those children. I judged them based on things they all universally do.”

With her arms folded and a death stare on her face, Leslie asked, “And what do all children universally do, Mr. Charles? Do they get hungry? Do they get impatient? Do they…you know…act like children? You can’t hold little babies to the same standards as adults. It is unfair, David.”

Marcus extended his arms in a quasi-barrier between his two guests and said, “Okay guys, let’s have a little bit of civility here. We’re trying to get to the bottom of…”

“Bottom of what, Marcus? Your Nielsen ratings?” belted David, which was followed by an “ooo” from the audience. The host straightened his tie and remained passive while David pointed his finger at him and said, “Don’t think for a minute that I don’t know about how badly this show is doing. You knew full well me and this crazy bitch would never get along, so why don’t you…”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” interrupted Leslie, holding her hands out defensively. “What the hell’s your problem? I didn’t come here to be humiliated by an ageist creep!” The audience came back to life with a round of applause. “I came here to have a civilized debate! Maybe if you’d actually open your eyes every now and then, you wouldn’t have to throw those children out of your restaurant!”

Marcus tried once again in vain to restore order, but David blasted right through his verbiage with, “You’re right! I don’t have to worry about throwing kids out, because I don’t have a restaurant anymore! I sold it to my oldest son so that I wouldn’t have to…”

An even louder “Oh!” emanated from the audience while Leslie cut off her foe. “You have a son? So you actually have kids and you’re out here making these ridiculous claims? The irony’s killing me more than your greasy ass food probably would have!”

The audience continued to voice their “ooos” and “ahs” as David and Leslie traded barbs back and forth. David said, “First of all, you fucking moron, unlike the bitchy parents who had to get thrown out, I raised my kids the right way! If they did half the shit that these banned kids did, I’d beat their asses with a belt!”

The banter between Leslie and David escalated when the two guests stood up and came nose-to-nose with each other. Marcus had given up hope completely and sat at the table with his shaking head in his hands. The beefy security guards in black T-shirts stormed onto the stage to separate David and Leslie, but the two wouldn’t stop turning the studio into a cacophonic hellhole with their screeches and screams. The audience didn’t do much to ease Marcus’s aching head with their own noisy chants.

The stressed out host finally put a stop to the madness when he shot up from his seat, extended his arms in another pseudo-barricade, and shouted, “Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” The audience, guests, and security team calmed down long enough to allow the host’s words wash over them like a tidal wave of rage. Marcus straightened his collar and shouted, “This is not the Jerry Springer Show! I will not have fighting on my program! This is a respectable show and I demand that everyone here treat it as such!”

“I don’t know, Marcus,” mocked David. “The Jerry Springer Show’s pulling better ratings than the Blow Show right now. Maybe you can get some more viewers if that Leslie chick takes her clothes off!”

Leslie Cain bolted towards David Charles like she was shot out of a cannon and rained down fists and elbows upon the child-hating guest. Not even the fierceness of the security team could contain the motherly fireball. She just kept climbing over them and throwing more haymakers, to which David inadequately covered his head and dropped to the floor.

Marcus jumped up on the table and dove onto the mass of humanity brawling it out on the stage, while the audience mockingly chanted, “Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!” During the scuffle, Marcus Crow suffered a deep scratch on his arm and bled buckets all over the stage. The redness in his arm was only matched by the redness in his vision. He hungered for violence. He hungered for retribution. The sinister urge ate a hole in his stomach. In his blind rage, he threw a punch at what he thought was the source of the scratch.

But then the audience gasped in horror when it was Leslie who took one on the jaw and flopped over unconscious. The bruises were on Marcus’s knuckles. He stopped giving a shit about his bloody arm and started hypnotically at his purple fist. In that moment, everybody was quiet, the security guards slowly backed away, and time itself stood as still as a statue for Marcus Crow.

The frozen host barely noticed David Charles’s hand on his shoulder when the guest mocked, “Well, well, well, I guess you’ve got your ratings after all. Isn’t this what you wanted? A steady income? Lots of fame? Well, you’re famous now, buddy. Come on, say it with me: Jerry! Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!”

“I…I…” Marcus wiped a singular tear away from his eyes and softly said, “I’m not Jerry fucking Springer…”

“You’re right, buddy,” said David as he patted Marcus on the shoulder. Making reference to Marcus’s black skin, he said, “You’re the host of the Jerome Springer Show! Enjoy your fame!” David gently shook the still petrified Marcus and danced off the set whistling a merry tune.

Marcus slowly turned his head to face the camera and stuttered, “We…we’ll be right back after…th…these messages.” The camera still rolled long enough to catch Marcus shaking as he pointed at Leslie’s unconscious body and telling his security detail to take her to the medical wing. The sullen-faced bouncers heaved Leslie on their shoulders and carried her away like it was a funeral procession.

Marcus gingerly made his way to the desk and couldn’t bring himself to face the hushed audience, so he held his head in his hands yet again. He lifted his head only a little bit and noticed the camera still hadn’t gone to commercials. “What are you waiting for?!” he roared. “Turn that fucking thing off and take a commercial break, damn it!” Except instead of a five-minute word from the sponsors, Marcus was certain he would have a permanent vacation from television life. He was right: he wasn’t Jerry Springer. At least Jerry Springer would still have a show.