First off folks: please read the parts where they sing. Do you realize how many times I had to watch Yakko's song over and OVER and OVER AGAIN?! A LOT of times…...Okay, maybe not as many times as to promote that I have nothing better to do with my life, but I've watched the whole episode more than I wanted to.
Yakko: "Aw, don't tell me you didn't love it!"
Me: ". . . A FREAKIN' LOT of rewinds, all for YOUR freakin' skit, man."
"Well then—relax, chill out, forget about your—"
"NO!" *Runs away screaming*
He grinned at the screen, "Hiya folks! Hope you guys enjoy our longest segment as of yet! It has singing, dancing, parasites, and a couple of Mike's personalities! And, if ya don't know who our favorite little Schizophrenic is," he cleared his throat, took in a deep breath, and paused dramatically… "…Google it. He has Multiple Personality Disorder, and that ain't no secret! So, sit back and take about five minutes to read! Pee if you must, but do it now so we won't have to wait for ya." He crossed his arms, frowning. "Pft. I don't get to pee after starting the chapter."
All too late, a clock rung midnight, the chimes echoing all around him. Up from David's grave came a cloaked shadow, carrying with him the Grim Reaper's scythe. In the blink of an eye, Chris found that its bony finger was pointed right in his face.
"Chris Mclean . . ." The voice was a hoarse whisper, until . . . Yakko pulled back the hood, coughing. "Do you have any cough drops? No? Nevermind, I think I'm good now."
"Dude, not cool! You almost gave me a heart attack!"
He ignored him, instead taking off the cloak to reveal a blue tuxedo Broadway suit and top hat. He put the cloak over Chris and then ripped it off, leaving on the outfit he wore during Total Drama Action's voting ceremonies (really, they were the same suits).
"I'm your Ghost of Christmas-Yet-to-Come tonight, so…" he snapped his fingers, and the whole scene went black. He began to sing (and yes, you have to read this. No skipping, you lazy readers!) "Relax, chill out, forget about your cares!" He said on a sidenote to the cameras, "This is a man who knows what he wants! He's also a man no one wants!"
"HEY!"
"C'mon, it's time for you to climb these stairs!" Golden stairs were illuminated now, the highest being the ones they stepped on. "You got a good head on your shoulders, Chris. Too bad you haven't got a conscience! Show em' what you can do!"
"I never agreed to do this in the contracts! . . ." He pulled out a rather large packet, scanning through it. "Hey, this isn't even IN my contract!"
"The future's still waitin' for you!" Yakko pulled it out of his hands and threw it elsewhere.
"Leave me alone, you . . . what-what are you?"
"C'mon Chris, cause you've got lots to see before we're through!"
The side of the staircase lighted up, revealing all of the girl contestants from the series dressed as showgirls. Except for Stacy, Jo, and Eva—who were not there to give you that image in the first place—and Blaineley. Sierra was just standing there recording the whole thing—SOMEBODY STOP HER, THAT'S PIRATING IF SHE POSTS THAT ON HER STINKING BLOG BEFORE WE POST THIS!
Oh, and then Mike—er, Svetlana, was between Zoey and Izzy.
"Wow," Chris remarked, "you guys really will do anything for money, won't you?"
"Shut up, dead man," Heather snapped.
"Not Svetlana!" He/she exclaimed. "I do zis for za WIN!"
Yakko whispered to Chris, "It was technically supposed to be all girls, but we weren't exactly sure about this one when he/she showed up at dress rehearsal wearing the outfit . . . Don't even know how he—she?—they got it…So what the heck!"
They all sang, "He's no dream, here us scream his name . . . CHRIS! Had no fun, and he's the one to blame!"
"Helo-o-o nurses!" Yakko went up to Lindsey, "Say, why don't you stop by my dressing room after the show and I'll show you my stamp collection?"
"What's a stamp collection?"
He deadpanned, raising an eyebrow to the screen.
They continued, "There's nothing he can't do!"
"They're crazy about me!"
"He's handsome, yes it is true!"
"Paid em' to say that just to spite you!"
"And happily!" Heather smirked.
The host growled.
"So c'mon Chris cause we've got lots to. See. Before. We're . . ."
"You know what I like about you Chris?" They were at the top of the staircase now, empty darkness below. "Plotz has almost nothing on you, and that's an accomplishment right there!"
He kicked him off the stairs as everyone else sang the final word: "THROUGH!"
Sierra stopped recording and almost sent the video out to her blog…before Wakko grabbed and ate it.
Gasping, she fell to her knees. "NO-HO-HO-O-O-O!"
Dot came into the picture, crossing her arms. "Why are you still here? Can somebody get her off set already?! Security!"
They both landed in a lavish office, sitting in two chairs in the corner. The room boasted of power, something that only a well-off producer could claim as his own. There was a gigantic flat screen on one wall, a bookshelf full of various books, CDs, movies, and other assorted business items that took up the whole of the wall. An aloe plant was in one corner, and a desk with three chairs (and three men sitting in them) sat opposite the TV, with a window behind them, showing the studio.
"First off: welcome to your future," Yakko was chewing on popcorn, sitting back. "I will also be showing you one other clip from your present later on."
"Alright, I'll bite," Chris sighed, "Let me guess: the producers to Total Drama's office? It's changed a bit."
Confetti rained down on them as music played. "Congratulations! You win the grand prize of one. Bi-i-i-ig . . . IOU letter," He handed the host a slip of paper with 'IOU' written out in capital letters, the music and confetti gone. "Feel free to cash it in at any point during the show, though it expires right after this sketch. There's always a catch, am I right?"
"Yeah, you gave me the wrong script!"
"No: we gave you the right script before the new one was given out that day you weren't there."
"Which was two days ago!"
"Correct." He threw a handful of popcorn into his mouth. "And then we ditched that new script, but I think the author likes it better this way. Either that, or she's having a heart attack somewhere off-screen."
Elsewhere, a camera zoomed in on Sideshow, who was busy yelling at an intern from the original show (as all of these extras were interns from the show). "Do you even realize how HARD it is, directing these freaks?! And now they aren't even following a script! And you know what? I am TIRED of telling the Warners to stop bouncing on Owen's belly! If he wants em' off, he needs to get them off himself!"
"Ma'am, please calm down and don't hit me," He quivered a little, "We can't control em,' animal control can't control em,' no one can control em!'"
"Well, find . . ." Her face lit up, and she gasped. "Ooh! Find Elmyra! Or that weird guy who won't shut up!"
"NO! I've dealt with enough crazy people and these stupid crossovers, no more!" He stormed out, and yelled over his shoulder, "You'll have my therapy bill in the morning!"
Back to Chris, "So why wasn't I told about this?"
"You said not to bother you until the production really started. Which was today."
"But—" He did a double take at one of the producers, whom he had thought to be a man with a passing glance: Courtney. And then Alejandro sitting right next to her. Both of them were very well dressed, Courtney's hair pulled back into a bun for a more dramatic and mature effect.
"What are they doing here?!"
"Yep. After the last season (two seasons ahead of your time), her lawyers did a tango on your producers' faces because of the way you treated her in particular. So, here she is…after an," he did air quotes, "accidental heart attack from one of those producers. Al's here because he worked his way up to the top, starting as your personal assistant. You fired him, which made the guy set on doing better than a lowly intern—only one year after that, here he is. And then that other guy's just a newbie that you don't need to worry about."
"He sorta looks like one of my interns…"
"No he doesn't. You're just imagining things."
"But he—"
"Nope."
"Okay—and how far into the future are we?"
He shrugged. "I dunno, sometime after your next two seasons. Production for the next one starts about a year or so from our original time, during the summer, so we're about two years ahead."
An intercom buzzed, and Noah's voice came over the line. "Your eleven o'clock's arrived."
Courtney sighed and answered, "Send him in. You have security cameras on in here? We want to record this moment."
"Yeah…Yeah. You know he can hear us, right? He's standing right here, the intercom's pretty loud…"
Alejandro and the other producer/intern person, Josh by name, glared at her.
She giggled nervously, and turned off the buzzer. "Oh, and Josh? Let Alejandro and I do the talking."
Her partner in crime nodded. "We've been waiting for this moment since our first encounter with him."
And then future Chris walked in, his arms crossed and back straight, glaring at Courtney in general. "The hell, you can't do this to my show!"
"Good morning to you too," She had a cocky smile on, "Did you even get the ratings for your last season? Total Drama's down a hole, and your name's going down with it," She shrugged.
"We have no choice, mi amigo," Alejandro said. "It's not only for your own sake—you'll be a washed-up reality TV star if you don't quit now—but for the island's. If the series quits now, then the government's gonna bomb Boney Island, and all of your toxic waste creations. Including your beloved Larry, Laurie, whatever the heck that overgrown plant's gender is. And your offspring, you sick freak of nature."
Present Chris winced at that—in reality, nothing like that happened. It was asexual reproduction—Larry copied his DNA from a hug or touch, or something, and viola—mutated plant babies everywhere.
"Oh, you'd love to see that, wouldn't you?" Future Chris had his hands in fists at his sides, glaring daggers.
"Yes," Both of them said simultaneously.
"And," Courtney straightened a few files on her desk, "we take great pleasure in telling you, Chris Mclean, that you are stepping down from your position on the show."
"You are being replaced by Mildred 'Blaineley' O'Halloran," Alejandro finished, "and Owen, your now ex personal assistant."
"But—"
"The paperwork is already done. All we need is your signature right here," He took the files from Courtney, standing up and holding them out to the soon-to-be former host.
"Ha! And if I refuse to sign these?" He raised a brow. "You've already screwed up Total Drama, and now you're going to take me away? The only reason why people watch the show is because of me!"
"Nah-ah-ah," Courtney smiled, standing up, "It stated, in the fine print in your renewed contract you signed for this season, that if you are asked to stand down by us, then you are to do so. I believe Section 4, Paragraph C. You have no choice in the matter. You either quit the show Mclean, or face lawsuit."
Reluctantly, he sighed and took the new contract, sitting down. "Crap."
"Crap is right," Alejandro stated. "You're the one who dug yourself into that whole mess, Chris. Now sign the paper, it's almost our lunch break."
In distraught silence, he slowly (and all too painfully) took a pen, signing right above Blaineley's signature. His shoulders and head dropped as he handed the contract over.
"Thank you," Courtney grinned. "Now get out, it's lunch time. And Merry Christmas!"
Yakko followed Present Chris to the doorway, watching his future self sulk outside. "But it can't end like this!" He gasped when the future self walked right through him, out the door.
"Cheer up, at least they saved you before you became another washed-up TV star. God knows we have enough of the leeches nowadays..."
The two producers had burst out laughing when he opened the door, and left. They high-fived, and all three followed out the door for lunch after giggling about how "incredible it felt!"
"But what'll happen to me now?" He went over to the window, and watched as the other self got inside his car and drove away. "How can I stop them from doing this to me?" He turned around.
Yakko wasn't there.
"Seriously?! The ONE thing from my script he follows! Okay, I get it. Everybody who's starred in this over-played show gets it: I'm supposed to change my ways and become a better person! Is that what you people want? Well, fine! I'll give Chef the money from our bet tomorrow—Christmas Day. My Christmas day, that is. Don't even know why he needs so soon, anyway!"
"Dude," Yakko came up behind him, a toilet flushing in the background. "Chill out, we still have one last stop to make."
"O-oh. I thought this was the part when you disappear and I get back to the present."
"Ha! You wish, buddy! C'mon," He grabbed his hand, and they went through the exit—only instead of a waiting room, it was a bar. "Now, we're back in our own time. Yeah, Dot ran outta time before this part. Don't ask. But this is an essential part of your night, so…" He pointed to a table, where Chef and another man Chris couldn't see the face of, who was wearing a black fedora hat and coat, were sitting. And then the finger started to follow a Hello-Nurse looking waitress as his eyes turned into hearts. "You go over there. I'll be the Ghost of Christmas Yet-to-Come over here with her."
"She won't be able to see you, you know that, right?"
"A guy can stare and dream, can't he?"
Rolling his eyes, he walked over just in time to hear the seemingly most important piece of their conversation.
Chef was saying, "Listen man, I'll have the money when I get it. I need these meds though, I only have the four pills left."
Chef . . . is a junkie?!
"—That'll last me through tomorrow tops, and then…" He ran a thumb across the neck. The international sign of death.
The shady man sighed. "You have no idea how much you owe me, Chef—the hospital could fire me for this, you know. I'd lose my whole career, all thanks to stealing this crap for ya. What happened to your show's money?"
"Other needs that ain't involved with this. Budget and paycheck cuts."
"Heh, sure. Whatever. I can't keep doin' this, Chef. You're like a brother to me, but the other day I heard some nurses talking about the missing security footage. And medicine."
"So they put two and two together," he shrugged, "not our problem, so long as you weren't sloppy about it, and paid for it, like we agreed—you get it, I pay for it."
"But this time I didn't have any cash, and I need it! . . . Okay, okay. It's the holidays, I get it. You have the day after tomorrow to bring me the cash, or I'll squeal. Anonymously. Your name." He stood up, and grimaced. "Why couldn't you have just had the surgery in the first place?"
"The show, James. I had to do the show, and then I found out about the disease afterwards. I talked to you, we worked things out. I'm broke now, so I guess it doesn't matter."
"You better have my money real soon," He left, leaving behind the cash for the check. "No pun!" Finally getting a good look at his face, Chris realized the man was one of the paramedics from the show.
The host nodded slowly, and went through the crowd of people to Yakko—who was drooling at the poor waitress. "Hey, is this for real? You mentioned before this wasn't scripted."
"Of course it's real," He turned to him, taking a long sip of soda through a purple silly straw. "How else would we have been able to show you your past self and get away with mixing up the ghost sketches?"
"So how are you doing it?"
"Hey, that's for us to know and you to worry about. And by the expression on your face, I take the effect of the skit's kicked in?" He grinned and arched a brow.
"Just for Chef!" He protested, "And whatever disease he has…"
"It attacked his liver," he took a sip of the soda, "so now he needs those meds to keep the parasite at bay until there's enough cash for the surgery procedure."
"Parasite?! So . . . that bet I lost—paid for the surgery?"
"No, it paid for the next set of medicine he needs by tomorrow."
He sighed, taking a seat. "He got it from the show, didn't he?"
"Yep."
"How?"
"You made him and a few other interns test out a food-eating challenge—with live bugs. Don't know what serving he got the parasites from, but the maggots looked pretty suspicious."
"Mm." He dug into his pocket, and took out the IOU card from before. Looking at it, he asked, "Is there anybody else I've hurt . . . really badly, like Chef?"
"Puh, you don't even know the half of it, kid! Why do you think we've rushed through this thing to get to me? Not like mine isn't the best, but you know what I'm talking about. A great example is Mike and his personalities—he should've been put on medication before the whole Mal deal got bad. And yet he still sent you a Christmas card, because you're the reason why he and Zoey met. Or Sierra and Cody—she's been stalking him since their first meeting. Poor guy can't go anywhere without seeing her, poor girl doesn't quite get why exactly he doesn't want her. Lose-lose situation for the both of em.'"
"An—wait, how is that my fault?"
"You saw how she acted in her audition tapes—"
"Which was why she didn't get on the first couple of times—"
"—But hired her anyway. See, I get that you're a sadist. You make money off of making up sick games for your show—like me and the sibs. But at least keep it under control, ya know? Or else you'll have Courtney and Al in your future. Otherwise, you really don't have too many friends at all in the present, and you'll have even less in the soon-to-be future."
After a few moments of silence, Chris handed him the IOU. "Cause we're in a bar and I don't wanna be drunk in front of the readers, get me a Coke or something?"
"Sure thing." To put his actions into the most breathtaking words possible online: he did so. "You know that that's the only serious thing that's gonna come out of my mouth for the rest of the night, right?"
He nodded, "Oh yeah. So no more grim stuff?"
He shrugged. "Depends on that choice we all know you're contemplating over Chef right now: save a few bucks or save his life. That'll be the first choice leading to your future and fate right there, buddy."
"A few bucks is a hel—uh," he remembered Manny, from the beginning of the story, "I mean, a heck of a lot different than the two hundred fifty I owe him."
He jumped, "TWO HUNDRED—Uh. Well, officially the guy charges your friend extra since he has to steal it illegally, adding up to a total of three hundred."
"Just for medication?! Why didn't he just go to a doctor and get a prescription?!"
"Hey, I don't know everything that goes on around here, ask him yourself! It costs so much because it's a whole month's supply, and not cheap in the first place." A clock stroke one in the morning then. Yakko got up, stretching. "Well, I've gotta go. Remember: it's okay to be sadistic. Just let up slightly, that Eva girl's teamed up with Jo and they're using your picture on punching bags!"
"Yeah, they have anger issues with everybody, but I get the moral of the story. Just let me outta this thing already!"
"We already are."
Within a blink, Chris was back in his bedroom in the mansion.
Sideshow sat in a red plush chair, next to a fire place. She wore a red velvet dress, hair in a bun, and had reading glasses on. Rita was in her lap, Runt was at her feet. She was sipping some milk from a wine glass, and spoke in an odd accent that can only be described as a 'P-psychologist's.' "So, ve have sheen all three ghosts and Blaineley, and now Chris is apparently back at his house. What vill happen next?"
She put down the glass on a table, and the camera panned out to reveal Slappy sitting in another chair just like that. She glared at the screen, arms crossed.
Sideshow rolled her eyes, dropping the accent. "Oh c'mon, get over it and say the line! We had to include mostly Total Drama characters, it was all about Chris, not Plotz!"
"Blah-blah-blah, tune in next week to find out what happens—you gave away my part ah' the story for that bimbo?! Her acting ain't no better than the poor saps they got workin' at Disney! What's she got that's bettah' than me?"
"For one thing," Said Blaineley-person showed up, causing even Rita to look up – Runt was still fast asleep. "I'm not a hundred-forty year-old ex-cartoon character! Sorry to barge in Sideshow, I forgot my make-up bag."
She nodded, "Meant to have that sent out to you, but it's been a busy night. Please, continue."
They then immediately got into each other's faces as Sideshow took a sip of her milk.
"Hey, I'm not young anymore, but at least I know what comedy is!"
"Oh, get real! TV nowadays isn't about comedy, it's about the ratings! And what gets ratings faster than good, raw drama? Action? Besides, what does old fashioned Toon-comedy get actors anymore? Just look at Bugs Bunny, for example. Since Loony Toons, he's been in movies and cameos that aren't worth Celebrity Manhunt's time of the day!" She dodged a falling anvil after that last remark. "And the same goes for your career!" She dodged a falling piano and almost got hit in the face by pie.
"Hey! You better watch your mouth O'Hallery, it's the only part of your body the doctors haven't mangled yet!"
"OH!"
Just as she swung back a clenched fist, Slappy held out a bundle of lit dynamite flowers. "Merry Christmas, Mildred!"
By that time, everyone in the room had run out except for her. "What—"
It exploded, and the camera shut off.
