"And that is the end of our episode!" said a white, dark-haired man dressed in a stereotypical "safari" outfit. He was crouching on a grassland. The weather was clear, and it seemed like a perfect. Ignoring the massive Komodo dragon near his leg, that is. In front of him was another white man, with brown hair, also in a safari outfit, sitting in the passenger seat of a beige jeep and holding a film camera. The man on the ground petted the lizard's head nervously for a few seconds. It looked up and glared at him.

"J-join us next week, on a brand new episode of Carl Denham's Wild World!"

The other man turned off the camera. "Great job, Carl. The ratings will be-"

He was interrupted by Carl jumping into the driver's seat. The jeep drove off as fast as it could, leaving behind a mildly annoyed Komodo dragon.

"That thing was gonna bite my fucking nuts off, Tim. Fuck Indonesia."

"Oh, come on. It's not that bad. You're just-"

"FUCK INDONESIA, TIM. I feel like my fucking brain is boiling. The weather hates us, the locals hate us, and the fucking animals hate us. I don't know why I let you talk me into touching that fucking thing."

"It's so the viewers know that you're in touch with nature!"

"Tim, do you have ANY idea how fucking diseased a Komodo dragon's bite is? They're not even venomous, their mouths are just so fucking filthy it kills whatever it bites. Christ, I feel like just touching that thing gave me hepatitis."

"You're one to talk about having a filthy mouth."

"Fuck you."

Tim sighed. "Carl, why'd you even get into this business? You hate every location we go to."

"For the money, Tim. Animal Planet and the Discovery Channel barely have anything related to nature on them these days. Wild World has almost no competition. And no competition, plus nature-hungry viewers, equals ratings gold, which in turn equals fuckloads of money!"

"Except we're not making a whole lot of money."

"Tim, it's a new show. Just give it some time to attract viewers."

"I don't know, Carl."

Carl looked at him, with an annoyed expression on his face. It reminded Tim of the dragon. "Tim, why did I hire you as my cameraman?"

"Because, despite having years of experience behind the camera, you wanted the attention of being the host."

Carl turned his head back towards the jeep's windshield. "I can't wait to get to the fucking ship. Worst thing I have to worry about in New York are cockroaches."

"I'm just being realistic, Carl. It's gonna take nothing less than an eighth wonder of the world to get the ratings up."

"Actually, now that you mention it, I might have just that."

Tim looked at Carl with surprise. "And what, exactly, is this eighth wonder?"

"I've been talking to this Norwegian skipper, Nils Helstrom. He says he has a map of this uncharted island, drawn by a native who was swept out to sea. He's heard all kinds of stories, about undiscovered animals, buried treasure, you know, shit like that. When we get back to New York, he's gonna sell it to me."

"And how do you know he's not scamming you?"

Carl suddenly stopped the jeep. "I don't."

"Then why are you willing to believe him?"

"Tim, you know why. I didn't want to admit, but we're losing money fast. If we don't get our ratings up soon, we'll be canceled."

After a few moments of silence, Carl restarted the jeep. "Fuck, I hope Jack still has some imported beer on the ship. I'm gonna need it."