Story- Scientific Method
Summary: If you have not watched True Blood on Sunday, August 21st, go and watch it and come back. This is an in-depth look into the mind of Alan Ball and the Scientific Method he used to create that episode.
Thanks for LadyHlin for enduring my fucked up brain and looking at this, whatever this is, for me!
Warnings: This, whatever it is, contains adult themes, drug references, hallucinations, and disturbing thoughts and language.
The disclaimer is at the end because I didn't want to clue you in to the many people, places, and things that might find this offensive.
Chapter 1- Acid Trip
Alan Ball stared at the television watching his favorite program Whose Line is it Anyway, and pondered the direction of season four. Sitting on his couch he candidly gazed about the room searching for inspiration.
He had gathered his most compelling resources, setting them all out in front of him for inspection. The most important ingredient for capturing the most emotionally stimulating storylines included LSD. Ball was a busy man and preferred his method of choice in paper form so that it could easily be slipped under the tongue for instant dissolvable effects.
"Damn, if only 'V' was really," he mused with a frustrated sigh as the paper melted under his tongue.
The psychedelic level that needed to be achieved for the most powerful storyline had to go beyond a level three. Last week Ball partook of a milder dose which only provoked the disorientation of himself to determine the direction of the characters for a limited span of time. This level awakened a life changing experience for the onscreen couple and their blood exchange morphed into mild hallucinations, sending the main characters into a fantasy world surrounded by a winter wonderland and a very large bed, fit only for a Viking. They seemed to lose themselves in time and space as they sought their pleasure, seeming to never tire or freeze from the inclement weather around them. Any other real person would have frozen their asses off, but in the psychedelic land of an acid trip, they neither felt the cold nor surrendered to it as they made their own fire beneath the sheets.
No this week Ball thought he needed to outdo himself and generate a much higher level of incompetence. Level three was not nearly enough to create such a state, level four must be achieved.
As he slipped another square-like paper into his mouth, he briefly wondered if they could be stored in a Listerine Strip Pack container as he sat back and waited for the journey that the mind-expanding drug would surely take him on; definitely the ride of his life.
Relaxing into the sofa he scrutinized the variety of things in the room. Several he passed over discarding any ideas that didn't pop into his semi-conscious brain immediately.
He could already feel the power tingling inside his mind as his hearing sharpened, making every uttered sound more distinct than the next, and his vision transformed into a swirling array of brilliant colors.
It was time, he thought. Inspiration came in many forms, but his favorite lied in the hands of the magnificent Drew Carey and his 'scenes from a hat'. Oh yes, Ball had watched Whose Line for years and saw the brilliance behind the idea and had his underlings cuts out words from fanmail received from the show, placing the words in a magical hat.
Drew Carey knew his shit. On one particular great day that Ball had strung himself out, not even able to go to work, he watched his idol on television. Carey was spinning a magical wheel that shimmered with death defying colors, creating a loud pinging noise as it spun. This is genius, Ball thought as his next idea played out in his mind. But, don't ever tell Ball that Carey wasn't behind the intellectually stimulating wheel that spilled out cash because he might just take some of the fan choice words and screw up the show even more.
Preparing himself he lifted his swaying arm to the wheel and spun the dial. His head whirled around and around in time with the wheel as it moved, picking its next hapless victim to torture. The wheel ticked with each person it passed, choosing its next prey. Finally, it slowed and landed on Jessica.
"Jessica it is," Ball stated as he picked up the black patent leather top hat. Shaking the hat, swirling its contents he withdrew a word. Chainsaw.
He had to think about that long and hard because the rainbow that filtered into his consciousness was not giving him any indication of a direction. Carey, the God among men, shouted directly from the television, "Sex," clearly dictating the direction to take.
"Now with who," Ball wondered as he spun the wheel of insight for answers. The wheel clicked to a stop on Tommy, and just as Ball was about to place Jessica with a chainsaw in the drawing room on top of Tommy, the wheel clicked one more time, landing on Jason.
"Hum, Jason. Now where?"
Where was the question, but as with all great brainstorming activities Ball had a prepared method to determine where things happened. Leaning over to his side table he had the Memory Game that he so altered in card form, scratching out the pictures and replacing them with places from the show, just for this task. Each upside-down card labeled every place in his psychotomimetic world, so the situations that the characters found themselves in did not come about by chance, but had an actual scientific method that Ball formulated for his use.
Closing his eyes, he relaxed his mind, allowing it to float as the powers the drug gave him moved his hand, just like the mystical powers of a Ouija board. His fingers landed on a card and he gradually flipped it into his view. The magical word appeared with a shimmering light as it danced around the single word; truck.
So Jessica was with Jason in a truck while they had sex next to a chainsaw. Perfect, he thought congratulating himself on accomplishing such a feat, no doubt his best work of the season.
With a vote of confidence, clearing applauding himself for the exceedingly magnificence of his mind, he spun the wheel again, pondering over his next ill-fated victim, er, storyline.
The ticking of the wheel spun to a sluggish pace, finally landing on Alcide.
"Hum, interesting," Ball thought as the name 'Alcide' spontaneously morphed into a heart-like shape, taunting him with firmly rounded edges.
"Alcide's ass? What's that got to do with this episode? Oh, Magic Eight Ball don't fail me now." Next to him on the couch sat the most mystical medium of all. What would a unicorn be without its horn? What would a rainbow be without all its colors? What would Alan Ball be without his Magic Eight Ball? He would be shit!
"Oh, glorious Magic Eight Ball, I beg you to guide me in my quest for greatness; guide me in my creation of the most nonpareil show to ever exist." Ball clutched the Magic Ball like it was water that fed his very parched soul; kissing it he shook it with all his might. The Magic Eight Ball just might hold the key.
"Will Alcide fuck this week?" he asked the black ball.
"Definitely not," it answered, without even a bit of sway.
"Will he get naked this week?" Ball asked shaking it again with all his might because he so desired to see the hunky wolf baring all. He appreciated his muscular frame and soft curves, rounding out his backside with that smooth juicy bottom that enticed him to want to sink his teeth into that swell.
"Yes," the Magic Eight Ball whispered breathily. Alan wept with joyous tears as the Eight Ball almost sang that sweet word to him.
So, Alcide was destined to parade around naked without giving into his sexual desires.
The ambiguity was not lost on Ball and he knew that he needed to consult another source to get the answers that he required. There was more to Alcide's story than a dangle parade.
Spinning the enchanted wheel, Ball waited for the next name. The lights were getting brighter and things seemed to be clearer as a plethora of rainbows surrounded the wheel and Marcus' name projected forward, jumping out at Ball. This is significant, he thought, knowing that this man would be important in the coming weeks.
Roving his eyes they set their sights on the next tool, the stupendous magical hat. Ball drew the word 'fuck up' from the hat.
Fuck up, he repeated over and over, wondering why his staff would put such a phrase into the hat. Then, it came to him; he needed another name. Spinning the wheel round and round his head moved in anticipation for his answer, but it appeared that the wheel could not decide. The dial stopped exactly on the black line between Tommy and Sam.
Scratching his head he pulled his hand away, watching the movement of his fingers, and if he moved them really fast, they blended together with a multitude of pretty colors. Level four, he thought, clearly proud of what he had achieved, because he believed that his best work came about the deeper the influence. Now for the hard part, he knew the who and the what, but hadn't come up with the where.
His Memory Cards had never failed him in the past, and he moved his hands over the tiles, whispering words of profound wisdom. He lowered his hand and turned over the card; Motorcycle Shop.
He had four people in the scene and someone was about to get fucked, but who? Ball decided that since the cards already came to that climatic decision, they all would. Sam would finally get fucked; Tommy would get fucked up; Alcide would find himself fucked; and Marcus was just a fuck. He smiled proudly to himself as he rearranged his notes for the show.
"What character can I fuck up next?" Ball questioned allowed, still high from his latest challenge that he had solved.
He spun the enlightening wheel and as it crawled to its end, it stopped on Hoyt.
"What could I possibly do with Hoyt?" Ball wondered as he pondered one of the great mysteries of life.
"He lost his pants!" Carey laughed heartily, taunting Ball to try to write that into the script.
"Oh, yeah Carey, I'll show you, watch me," Ball turned to his cards and shouted, "Where!" The room swirled with the force of a hurricane and all the cards left the table in a turbulent fury as the stirred around the room in a violent storm. One card settled onto his lap face up; outside. The seas calmed and the cards floated back down to earth, settling on their rightful place, on the table face down.
Ball was mesmerized by the events, knowing that only powers like those, like the ones he found in his own possession could lead the world to greatness.
He reached for his hat, to further his insight, creating an even more disturbing diabolical plan. The phrase he pulled out read- lost cause.
It never even occurred to Ball of the type of fanmail that he received for such words to even be placed amount his mystical possessions. Pondering the happiness of the audience was not one of his concerns, but following the spirits that led him, so as to not anger them was top priority.
Working his thoughts out loud he concluded, "Hoyt's plight is a lost cause anyway, so wandering outside without pants would be beneficial for him. But how naked is he?" He decided that a question like that could only be determined by the uncanny powers of the Eight Ball.
"Will we see Hoyt's pecker?" Ball asked without much delight. If the powers told him, he would, but he had no desire to see Hoyt's pecker because something so small would be such a disappointment after the might Viking, the big bad wolf, the vampire King, and even his best fairy friend. He hand no love for Hoyt, but he also could not bear for his show to be reduced to such measures.
Peering with one eye, he sought his answer, "Definitely not!"
He breathed a trembling sigh of relief, knowing that he nearly got by that obstacle without being unscathed.
Finally he came to his greatest challenge of the night. What the hell was he going to do with cookie, er, Sookie? It seemed like everyone wanted to take a bite out of her. He decided to take another lesson from the hat. Whirling the contents he spun the papers like a torrent tornado, determined to find the right answer. Reaching his hand in, his fingers claimed an answer; 'stop the show' was written on the paper.
Stop what show, Ball thought, giving his mind a chance to twist over that new idea.
Feeling like he didn't quite have a grasp on what the powers-that-be were trying to tell him, he reached in the hat again, hoping for a more vivid direction. The next words, bat-shit crazy, gave way to more colorful hallucinations as he imagined Bill flying in, swooping Sookie up on his batwings and carrying her to safety. Ball briefly wondered if he remembered any of his editors mentioning if Charlaine Harris created the vampires with wings, but then disregarded the idea. Once the contracts were signed and all the book rights were transferred, any evidence of said content was burned for the sake of creative liberty.
Drew Carey shouted from the television, "Stunt double."
All these words were bombarding Ball's brain, but none of them fused together forming any ideas. He concluded that another dip in the hat was what he needed. Shuffling the papers, mixing them up, he pulled out; slut.
The power of the 'S' filled him as he looked over his working list: stop the show, bat-shit crazy, stunt double, slut and they all surrounded the biggest 'S' of all, Sookie Stackhouse. The 'S' sound slithered like a snake hunting its prey through his mind, lurking in every dark corner for the answers. His mind flipped through mental pictures very fast like a view finder, trying to sequence an order to all the mystery.
He knew the what, but needed more information to find out the who and where. Spinning the wheel, he decided to coin it the wheel of fortune because it alone foreshadowed future events. As the enchanted wheel pulsed to its end, the pointer made another unprecedented decision. It stopped directly on the black line, smack in the middle of Eric and Bill.
"A Sookie sandwich," he thought devilishly, loving Oreos the most because the best part was the savory chocolate that melted in his mouth before he came to a creamy release. The chocolate toyed with his senses in the height of rough foreplay, but the cream was what inspired his luscious pinnacle into a complete state of oblivion.
He concluded that he needed to consort the Magic Eight Ball for the most complicated answer of the night.
"Magic Eight Ball, send your wisdom onto me. Will Cookie find herself sandwiched between Eric and Bill toying with fire in a ménage a¢ trois?" Ball wanted this because it was a chance to see the mighty Swede and the Southern gent sans clothes participating in hanky-panky of their own. Hopefully the jewels that dangled beneath would be a sight for Ball's eyes alone to behold. But did the Magic Ball agree?
"Not this time," the ball coaxed as it relayed another ambiguous answer, causing Ball to pout his disapproval.
"So there's a chance for next week," he wickedly smiled filled with hope, determined to push the power of the magic because it had definitely not defied him for eternity.
Now it was up to the where; where should this almost night of passion take place?
"Daylight, daylight," Carey yelled at Ryan Styles through the medium of the all-knowing tube.
"Daylight!" Ball scoffed, "but Carey, they'd burn." He bantered back to Carey, but his only response was a lift of his hands in an 'I don't know' gesture.
"Daylight….daylight…daylight," Ball mumbled, wondering how he could make a charred grilled cheese sandwich erotic; it certainly was no where near the creamy sweetness of the Oreo that he so desired.
He hoped the cards would give him better insight as he closed his eyes, his body swaying along with his hands to pick the magical answer. Smacking his hands down on the table, he squinted with one eye, almost afraid of the outcome; dream.
"Dream," Ball repeated in his own dreamy like daze. "Dream!" he shouted with more enthusiasm, chanting the word over and over. Standing up he twirled around, knowing that his true intent would not be lost on the show. He would see Eric and Bill bare all.
The room started whirling, like he was caught up in the Disney's Sword and the Stone, as the furniture began to dance, twirling themselves higher in the air. His mop sauntered towards him with a sway of her pole, wrapped completely in his red night shirt, but letting the front fall open giving him a glimpse of what lay beneath. It nudged him flirtatiously, whipping her rope-like hair, letting it fall in a sexy frame around her head. She shimmied her form, letting the red, lacy garment slowly move down her sides.
"She looks anorexic!" Carey shouted with a snorted laugh. The foggy haze lifted as every moving object in the room was broken by the spell of his voice and dropped idling to the floor.
Ball shouted with trembling fear at Carey, "Master, I pledge my fealty to you and would never intentionally defy your command. Let me know of your wishes."
"I already told you," Carey reaffirmed, making eye contact behind the tube.
Ball replayed the facts of the scene. He had a least three characters involved: Bill, Sookie and Eric. Both brawny men were long, lean and lusted after the anorexic telepath who played with fire, dancing in a racy negligee while she had the best sex hair ever on the show. The enchanted hat encouraged him to 'stop the show' before it got too far because he hadn't yet hired a stunt double for Sookie who was definitely not going to turn into a cookie. Her obnoxiously protruding hipbones and ribcage made her look more like she belonged in a hospital instead of being able to satisfy two very hungry horny vampire men. It was totally bat-shit crazy that the scene would ever be allowed during the day, but the problem was solved as it was only a dream.
Now the question that lay heavily on Ball's mind was, who the fuck was he ever going to get to stand in for Cookie when the Swede refused to wear a sock?
*Raises hand* "Alan, I'm right here and will have no trouble with Alex sans sock."
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of TB and I humbly (not really) apologize to Alan Ball, but I needed comic relief. And if I've offended Disney, Hasbro, Drew Carey, Nabisco, Libman Mops, Ryan Styles, Whose Line is it Anyway, Wheel of Fortune, or The Price Is Right I really do apologize because that was not my intent. Oh, and I don't own any of those products, companies or shows. Damn, that was a long list.
A/N: I may try to do this again and if anyone has any other ideas on where Ball gets his ideas from, feel free to pass it along. I may use it if I decide to create another segment.
I could have gone on forever, but I'm sure next week will have a whole other set of problems that the Magic Eight Ball needs to solve.
If you laughed pleased review. I do what to hear what you think of my twisted mind. *Grins*