Stephenie Meyer owns it all folks. Only the lame story and the swearsies are mine.
Stephenie Meyer and I have a lot in common. Except for being Mormon and having big breasts and several amazing bestselling books that I re-read frequently. Ok, the only thing we have in common is age.
All I hear is radio goo goo, radio gaga...
~~OtA~~
BPOV
Bella managed to pick herself up off the ground, trying to keep in tact whatever remaining dignity that she had in place. She surmised that at this stage it wasn't much.
More carefully this time, she sat herself onto the dreaded chair that had rejected her petite ass only a few minutes prior.
The crowd in the room resumed the frenzy of setting the program up for the morning. She pulled out a document that had been emailed the evening before. It was the apology that DJ EC was going to read (she hoped) at the beginning of the program. It was thin at best, but met the minimal requirements of the ruling. Her main goal was to ensure that it's apologetic intent was maintained during the show so as not to diminish the message that was meant to be conveyed across to the audience. She thought it should have contained DJ EC admitting that he was a fucking insensitive jackass. But in her readings of the FCC guidelines the wording couldn't quite go like that. In fact, three fucks and you were out. The FCC could revoke your license. She couldn't figure out how DJ EC hadn't gotten himself into deeper doo-doo considering the stringency of the FCC's moral and ethical guidelines that governed all radio stations nationally. They even had to play a commercial three times a day that told listeners where they could make contact if they were unhappy with the content that was being played on any radio station. The FCC got 18,765 complaints within the day of the "Ms." scandal, or "Ms-gate" as they were calling it in the room. Howard Stern would be proud.
She noticed that Edward, or DJ EC was getting more and more hyped up as the morning went on. She also noticed that his accent started to slip into an American one. His demeanor seemed to change too. He was yelling a bit more often and being a bit more brash. It was like he was Jekyll and Hyde. Semi-normal one minute and the next – behaving like a kid at 10am and no Ritalin.
No one else seemed to notice. She recalled this was somewhere in the court documents. DJ EC was his stage name, an American shock jock. The courts had even been closed to protect his anonymity, and given the public outrage over the case, he was allowed to wear his DJ EC costume into court.
DJ EC was the ski-mask wearing maniac who shocked the airways with his no-holds-barred anti-establishment commentary. At all public events he wore various ridiculously colored ski-masks and flannel shirts, torn jeans and Converse shoes. His outside broadcasts were always heavily guarded by security. With all of the people he had offended, he still managed to pull 75% of the market share of the morning breakfast crowd. Revealing who he was would have cost him and the company millions. He was a landmark case, given security rights normally granted to those testifying against the mafia. He was actually prosecuted under the trademark of DJ EC. She thought it was ludicrous. Unmask the bastard, she thought, and throw him to the wolves.
She did not freak out when a man wearing a ski-mask appeared before her and started to huff and puff like a pro wrestler working himself up for a match. The pre-show chant and all hands in was kind of reminiscent of a rock group about to go on stage. She smiled in spite of herself.
He patted her on the head.
"Don't worry yourself pretty miss, I am gonna make ya proud" He started to walk towards the door.
"Or is that Ms.?" He winked at her and did fake cowboy guns with his fingers.
She was worried that her mouth was opening and shutting like a fish out of water. Like the one she had discovered last week in the bottom drawer of her kitchen. Fluffy 17 had somehow managed to jump out of the bowl and land in the bottom drawer. She had shut it... only to discover the nearly dead fish sometime later when she was searching for cling wrap. That reminded her, she should buy Fluffy 18 on the way home...
Marcus interrupted her private mental conversation, which probably was mental, and ushered her into the producers' booth.
"Babe, this is where we make magic! Or totally fuck up my ability to pay off my new car..." His hands flapped about in an over-dramatic drama queen type of way. How the hell he allowed Ms-gate to happen she couldn't quite figure out, given that he was clearly batting for the same side.
"And this, my little legal eagle, is the mute button. Push this and everything the bad man says goes away, and we cut to a song. Remember, you have 5 minutes to think about what he says before all of the upper west coast hears Captain Spamerica out there make an ass out of us all."
She looked at the tiny yellow button. She thought it should be a little more dramatic, maybe colored red, and a heck of a lot bigger. She noted the timer sitting in front of her and took out her note pad to begin to report the antics of this morning's show.
It started out ok. His 40 second apology sounded professional. To all the listeners he made an even-tempered, but obviously prepared statement declaring in an inoffensive way that he was indeed a fucking jackass.
Unfortunately to those in the booth, they got to witness his mime show which involved him air fucking the microphone, dry humping a chair, and appearing to be taking it up the ass by a secondary microphone behind him.
The apology was followed with a song and him pretending to receive the silent rounds of applause from the invisible fans that obviously lived not so deeply within his imagination.
She thought he reminded her of the type of deer hunting, red necked boys she used to go to school with. Great. Just what she needed - four weeks of the Mike and Tyler gang relived in Technicolor.
The show went on. Today's topic was how much more surgery Heidi Montag could possibly have .Apparently, this involved talking about how her pubic hair would need to be plucked from her chin if she continued and jokes that she thought Mike and Tyler would have high-fived themselves a lot over.
Basically, it was three hours of grown-up bum, poo and wee jokes, intermingled with some seriously IQ-deficient callers ringing in to heckle or agree with him. Hecklers got a five second rant, a witty retort and a rendition of the dial tone in their ear. His cheer squad was given CDs and movie tickets.
The show ended at 9AM. The ski-mask was removed, the meeting room was repopulated, and the entire crew was present for the usual post-show debriefing. She noted that the gorgeous English accent returned to her semi-offensive prey.
"How did I do? Did we behave enough for the day?" He turned to her, smiling and slowly sipped on a glass of juice.
"Verbally, fine. The Heidi Montag joke used to be a Cher joke back in the day, but so far, nothing too offensive that will make you lose your mortgages."
"No mortgages love, own it all outright."
Ugh, a braggart. What a dick. She didn't like anyone with the attitude that money can buy you anything and allow you to do anything. Her friend Rose had enough clients that she was assisting to gain their freedom from the exact same type of asshole she was now sitting beside.
She decided to continue to perform her role, pointedly not looking at him during her summation. She offered her suggestions, opinions and recommendations. The group seemed to calm down from the high of the show and was listening. Some questioned of the recommendations or made the occasional statement on how she was stifling their creativity.
The producer expressed his thanks for her attendance and indicated that the rest of the meeting was purely tactics for improving the show, which she could skip if she wanted. She readily left the room, tripping only once, and she was almost satisfied with her ability to function given the still ridiculous time of the morning. She followed a helpful secretary to the staff room that held a plethora of delicious and not so nutritious looking snacks.
"Pace yourself here, because this is where the first ten pounds jumps onto you."
She turned around to see that DJ EC had followed her out of the meeting. She sighed. He really was incredibly gorgeous. He was running his hands through his delicious bronze hair that had been flattened by his previous head gear, in an unsuccessful attempt to tame it.
"These are all freebies we get from companies that we are either showcasing their products in advertising, or companies who are hoping we will freely showcase their products by talking about how we stumbled upon it in the staff room and it is the next big thing...oh, you don't really give a shit do you?" His smile was rather disarming.
She edged backward until her butt hit the counter.
"DJ EC isn't really me you know." He moved to the opposing counter, leaned against it, and crossed his legs at the ankles in a casually coordinated way. She knew if she tried that her heels would slip out from under her and she would find herself flat on the floor. Or hit her head on the cabinets on the way down. Neither option was a favorable one. She tried to answer him as evenly as she could.
"The words, regardless of who they are written by Mr. Cullen, come out of your mouth, on your radio show, for this radio station. Now, you don't seem to have a gun to your head during the show, so you are liable for any offensive thing that you say that people have a reaction to. You are like that comedian Sasha Bowen thingy..."
"Sasha is a friend actually. I met him through his wife Isla, who knows Emmett. They met when he was an exchange student in Australia...I'll just shut up now and let you finish your tirade." He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, tilting his head down slightly, while looking up at her with his oddly-colored green eyes. Not oddly-colored…magnificently-colored... She cleared her throat.
"You've said unforgivable things that you need to at least pretend to be apologetic and remorseful for saying. You don't understand what kind of power you have and that you can hurt and destroy people, their lifestyles and their values in seconds."
"I play a role that earns this company a lot of money."
"Big whoop. Money can't fill the souls and minds of people who are downtrodden or oppressed!"
"It's just entertainment!"
"It's not entertainment when it hurts someone, you jackass."
"Is jackass one of your favorite words?" His ridiculous question made her snap back, stand up straight and realize what an intense argument they were having.
"Do you have a private office?"
He leaned forward and pointed down the hallway.
"Down there," he replied gruffly.
He allowed her to walk before him, opened the door, allowed her to walk through, and then closed it behind her.
"You are a misogynistic pig!"
"And you are a whiny do-gooder!"
And with that they threw themselves at each other and there was no more talking.
~~OtA~~
Reviewers are sexier. That was what was in a recent British Journal of Amazing facts. Review and find out for yourself... go on, you know you want to.