Well, hello whoever decided to read this. This story is based as a prequel to two Total Drama stories by two of my good friends on this wonderful site. It might seem a little out of the ordinary but if you read their stories you'd understand what I'm talking about in this. Also since this is Mother's Day, shout out to all the mothers out here in the world. We wouldn't be here without y'all. Also, a special shout out to my friends DaRk AnGeL oF sOrRoW rEtUrNs and GwendolynD.
Also, here is a little disclaimer from me to the readers and whoever is looking to sue. I don't own none of this except the actual writing and thinking and the waiter that does the duckface. Marsha belongs to DaRk AnGeL oF sOrRoW rEtUrNs and Dorian Sheppard and the interviewers mentioned in here belong to GwendolynD. Everything belongs to FreshTV and Teletoon. Without further adieu, here is A New Horizon.
I, Christopher McLean, am at a stage of my career that is at a plateau. I sit down and wonder. Why I even continued the series after I got arrested at the end of Season 3. Season 4 was good no doubt but it sort of lacked the substance it had in the beginning. Don't get me started on how bad Season 5 was; my many critics started to see the "scriptedness" of the whole thing. Season 6 was moderately better, but I just absolutely hated some of those dumb bitches. Dave was the worst because he got progressively more desperate as the season went on! [A] Sort of how desperate I was to get ratings up after the whole shit show called All-Stars.
I sit here in this fancy Italian restaurant in the heart of Toronto thinking should I continue this show. Should I just stay on board until the network finally pulls the plug? Should I sell the rights of the show to the 70 year old American billionaire that has bad hair and fear monger named Darryl Tyreese? [B] Should I leave the acting business and leave Dorian, the actor that portrays Chef, [C] host the show on his own as a whole new character? Should I just stay behind the camera and hire Mildred to become the next host? You know what? Fuck that last rhetorical question whoever is reading this. [D] I'd rather have C.J., my infant son, host the show rather than that ungrateful cunt. As I'm contemplating this, I forget that Dorian is sitting right across from me.
Dorian doesn't know I'm considering going behind the camera and let him be the sole host of the show as a whole new character and let a catering services serve the horrible food. All he knows is that I'm considering retirement and selling the rights of the show.
"Chris. You gotta be kidding, man," he says.
"No, I'm not," I retort, "I think my time on the show has somewhat run its course."
He looks at me with confusion. He's known me for so long; he thinks he knows everything about me. He's dated my sister before for Christ's sake! He's always known the energetic, always upbeat and fake psychotic Chris. He's never known the burnt out, I hate my job Chris. He never saw me in private after the breakup of my boy band. Thank God for that! He would've seen chronically depressed Chris and bipolar Chris. Needless to say, that time in my life was not good.
"So you're really thinking about selling the show to that guy with a rat on top of his head?" Dorian asks with some form of concern in his voice. He looks like he is on the verge of tears. [E]
"I really am, Dorian," I reply, "I feel like I need a permanent vacation right now."
"Wait?! What about me? What about my role on the show?" he asks with signs of clear concern on his face.
"Don't worry, D," I say, "You are like a professional wrestler: you are still on contract but you will go by a different name and role."
"I still don't think that dumbass fear mongering fool will be able to keep the show afloat like you do," he answers back in a slightly hostile tone.
"He's a good friend of mine."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes, he is. We've exchanged different philosophies about how we run things."
"Like that's a friendship. What we have is a friendship, man."
"Miss me with gay shit," I playfully say.
"Shut the fuck up, dude. We've known each other for over 30 years now," Dorian says mid-laugh.
As if on cue, our waiter walks up to our table. Our waiter looked like he was only about 16 years old. In an establishment like this, he had to be at least 20 years old. He had an old Bieber cut and no facial hair. His eyebrows looks like The Rock when he sees something he deems interesting. Once he realizes who we are, he pulls out his smartphone.
"Mr. McLean and Chef. Do you mind if we take a quick selfie?" he pleadingly asks with the tone of a fanboy.
"We don't mind," I smugly say. Who am I to refuse a fan of my show?
He pulls out his selfie stick and makes the duck face as he snaps the photo.
"Now what would you gentleman like to drink to start of this evening?" he asks as he gathers himself.
"I'll take a Corona Lite," Dorian says immediately.
"And I'll take a Dos Equis," I say right after him.
"Alright. A bottle of Corona Lite and a bottle of Dos Equis will come out soon," he says as he walks away.
"God knows I hate the duckface," Dorian says with displeasure, "why do bitches always do the duck face? Shit is not cute."
"I know man," I groan in agreement, "It makes me wanna punch the fuck outta them."
"And then they get on Instagram saying how cute they," Dorian droans on.
"For fuck's sake, just stop doing the fucking duckface," I concur, "If you're in the same room as me doing that dumb shit, you will get slapped. I don't care if you are the ambassador to Saudi Arabia, I will slap you just for doing the damned duckface." [F]
"Now let's get back to business," Dorian states a grim tone, "I don't think we should sell the rights to the show to some old fuck faced quack that is always constipated looking."
"Well if I do sell the rights to show, who should I sell them to?" I ask inquisitively, just wondering who would be the solution to this problem.
"Well, what about your sister, Mar-" [G]
"Fuck no, man," I interrupted.
"Why not her?"
"Well, all she is going to do is flaunt around how pretty she is and start petty feuds with the actors—I mean contestants," I say correcting myself. I didn't want anyone to know outside of the ones inside the Total Drama organization or their families to know that the whole thing was somewhat scripted.
"Well, you seem to do the same," he states in a know it all type of tone.
"Damnit, Dorian."
"You know I'm right," he replies, "How about another possibility? What about Blaise?"
"Dorian, you do know that Blaise has had somewhat of an on again off again booty call situation with my sister?" [H]
"Yes."
"You know he is actually head over heels in love with her?"
"Yes."
"You do know that he is probably only loyal to She Who Shall Not Be Named?"
"Yes."
"You do realize that the only reason he is famous is because of her?"
"Yes."
"Well, doesn't it seem like he will just hand over the rights to the show to my sister if we do sell him the rights?"
"You really think Blaise would do exactly that?"
"Yes, yes I do," I say with assurance, "He is so into her that he would destroy the whole world just for her."
"I think that you're over exaggerating on that one," Dorian says with a puzzled tone.
"Well, how about you don't sell the rights and promote someone from the interview office to become the new face of the program while you call the shots off camera?"
"I've given that some thought."
"Who would you have in mind?"
"I was thinking maybe Gwendolyn Daugherty, Michael Harris, or Monk Jones." [I]
Right on cue, our waiter comes back with our drinks.
"Now what would like to order?" he asks.
"I'll have the 10 ounce sirloin with chopped onions and tomatoes with angel hair pasta covered in alfredo sauce," I say while handing him my menu.
"I'll just take the gourmet buffalo wings. I want the sauce extra spicy," Dorian orders.
The waiter takes the menus and walks back to the kitchen with our orders.
"I doubt any of those have what it takes to your or my job on the show," Dorian says quickly after the waiter was out of sight and earshot.
"Your job wouldn't be up for grabs," I say, "Mine would be, Dorian."
"Why do you say Gwendolyn?"
"Gwendolyn has the mean streak and spunk to be a good host and quasi-comedienne on the fly."
"Ok, what about Michael?"
"Mike has the calmness and gracefulness to handle the limelight. He could be like TV's version of Kanye West. Not the Kardashian Kanye. I'm talking Jesus Walk Kanye."
"Interesting. Why Monk?'
"Monk would be a huge hit in my opinion. On the standup comedy circuit, he became a big name. Now he seems to be primed for a breakout in the mainstream."
We sip our beers slowly as we delved into some meaningless small talk. It was fucking meaningless. We jumped from business to my ex-wife's alimony rewards and how big my sister was getting in the fashion world. I'm 42 and considered old. She's 34 and considered to be fashion's hottest new thing. I don't know why we even started talking about this other crap in the first place.
When our food came out, we didn't even acknowledge each other. Dorian tore through about 27 wings in about 5 minutes. I ripped through the sirloin and angel hair pasta like it was nothing.
The check came and we spilt the bill. And we walked outside to retrieve our keys from the valet. We bid our farewells to one another and went on our separate ways for the night. My phone started ringing. I saw that the call was coming from my dear sister.
"Well, hello there, Marsha," I answer calmly. I knew that whenever she called me, it usually means something big.
"Hello, Christopher." She replies back.
"You don't call often," I state, "What news do you have? Is it that you finally finished making that horrid dress?"
"No, brother. I've acquired something big."
"What, a Subway footlong? Or Blaise's fully erect penis?" [J]
"Eww and no. A plane." [K]
"Really? A plane?"
"Not just a plane. I've acquired the replacement plane from World Tour."
"Really. Why would you do that?"
"To prove something to you."
"To prove what?"
"I can host a season better than you."
"Well that sounds like a good bet for me."
"Oh, a bet it will be. The deal is that if the season I host has better ratings than the first season of TDI, I get to acquire the rights of Total Drama and all of its assets." [L]
"What if you lose?"
"You get to design my next two fashion lines."
"Well, that sounds like a deal, little sister," I say confidently, "What will you call this new season of your's?"
"The season will be called Total Drama Paradise."
Author's Notes
[A] This a reference to how much I hate the character of Dave in Total Drama: Pahkitew Island.
[B] Darryl Tyreese is this universe's Donald Trump.
[C] A reference to my friend, GwendolynD, and her story, Total Drama: Behind the Scenes. This story has Chef being named Dorian Sheppard when he is not on the camera.
[D] This was inadvertent. Everything else in these author's notes were, however.
[E] In contrast to Chef, Dorian is more sensitive.
[F] My beta reader, DaRk AnGeL oF sOrRoW rEtUrNs, wanted me to get rid of this little anecdote about the duckface.
[G] Since my story is a tie-in to Dark Angel's story, Total Drama Paradise, Chef has a sister named Marsha that is a fashion mogul.
[H] Reference to Marsha and Blaise's "platonic friendship" in Total Drama Paradise.
[I] My story is also a tie-in to GwendolynD's story, Total Drama: Behind the Scenes. Monk, Mike, and Gwen are interviewers that are in that story.
[J] A reference to an anecdote between Marsha and Blaise in Chapter 16 of TDP.
[K] A reference to the opening scene of Total Drama Paradise.
[L] I set this right after the purchase of the plane and I did this to make it seem like a wager rather than a takeover.
Farewell
Thank you for reading this. I'm open to constructive criticism so lay it on me. I want to become a better writer. Now I'll drift away and start to listen to my "Soulful Mix" playlist on Spotify.