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why do robots always gotta have hyperrealistic faces? squishy fleshy thing on top of a ton of servos and pistons, it looks all weird and uncanny, especially if it breaks. not to mention the eyeballs which look... fukn scary and not good at all. i dont like it.
tvhead girls have that shit figured out, tho id still prefer a round face, round head, with hair. theres round LED screens out there, i want one of those. i wanna look like a headlamp actually, that would slap. i can be projecting my usual face onto the screen like normal, or show a big question mark or exclamation point in conversation, or just straight up emojis. i could show a giant heart then crash with a bluescreen and go limp after an encounter with another robotgirl.
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it was an entire radio show built around perpetuating a very simple joke, but it was uniquely powerful in its capacity to prompt the reaction I was looking for.
so my slot was at the tail end of rush hour, and i got a fair number of listeners/callers who were on the way home from the office. And like, I had a lot of callers, who almost all wanted to request songs that really didn’t fit with the aesthetic. I had pitched a power pop show when i got my slot, but the callers were not having it; they invariably wanted classic rock.
this made sense in a way. if you think about the demographics of the people who listened to the radio for music in 2010 instead of their ipods or cds or whatever, you’d expect them to skew older right? accordingly, i quickly realized that almost all of the people who called to request songs were Dads of a Certain Age. It was honestly annoying at first - I’m all for most classic rock, but that wasn’t what the show was supposed to be.
And so one day, when i was feeling particularly annoyed with requests that just didn’t fit thematically, i came up with the joke that rapidly became the only reason I kept the show going. Per station rules, I had to play a certain number of pre-recorded PSAs during my show, and before I cut to one I was supposed to read out the song titles and artists for all the music i had played before the break. So this one day when i had to inform the world before the break that the song they just heard was, per a listener’s request, Hey Jude by the Beatles, I decided to do a goof. I said:
“and finally, that last song you heard was Hey Jude, which was of course written and performed by the Rolling Stones.”
I barely had time to get the ads going before the phone started ringing. See, I had been assuming people would realize i was making an obvious joke by claiming one of the most well-known Beatles tracks was a Stones song, but i had failed to consider that my listeners were mostly 55-70 year old dads who were irritated from a long day in the office.
And when those dads heard me, a millennial woman, get the artist of an extremely well-known beatles song WRONG???!
they HAD to call in to correct my ignorance. never in a polite way either, it was condescending and annoyed or nothing. and like, they were just SO personally insulted by my inaccurate reporting that it took a massive amount of effort for me to avoid cracking up during the call. I had never understood why some people would enjoy trolling random strangers on the internet before, but in that moment, I understood the appeal entirely.
obviously i did it again right before the next commercial break, immediately after playing Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen David Bowie.
the phone immediately began to ring.
“ARE YOU AN IDIOT?” one of the callers began, “DAVID BOWIE???? THAT WAS QUEEN!”
“I thought David Bowie was the lead singer of Queen though?” I replied with as much innocent earnestness as i could conjure.
I could hear an intake of breath as the infuriated boomer on the other end of the line struggled to figure out where to even start.
@eduards-stuff I kept doing the same joke for an hour a week for an entire year, and the dads NEVER caught on. After episode 1 of the new format I started taking the angry dad calls on air, which added another layer of hilarity to the whole concept.
My friends on campus knew that hay I was doing and enjoyed tuning in, but only one actual listener ever figured out what I was doing, and he was literally a random 30 year old guy from the netherlands with access to an early internet connection radio service. He was possibly my only actual fan. I only know about him because he went to the effort of making a skype and paying for international service so he could call in, and while I got a few calls from him, the first remains my favorite:
me: hi there, you’ve got TST-
him: *strained, wheezing dutch laughter*
me: hey, is everything o-
him: pfffHAHAHAAH YOU MAKE THEM SO MAD. THEY THINK SO LITTLE OF YOUUUUUUUU BUT THE MEN ARE THE ONES WHO ARE FOOLISH! HA! HA! HA! YOU HAVE DUPED THEM!
me: sir i do not know you and i have never even seen you but i am in romantic love with you.
I got a job at a gas station across from a casino and a guy keeps coming in to buy whole cartons of cigarettes and talks in the third person calling himself "snake eyes pete" and every time I tell him his total hes like "tell ya what if old Pete rolls a snake eyes why dont you give it to him for free?" and he rolls the same set of loaded dice on the counter and it does not matter how many times he rolls snake eyes I will not give him the cartons for free he gets so mad
Snakeyes Pete is from Toronto he gave me a button once that said "Canadians have the best luck" and i said i thought that was the Irish and he said "I fucking hate the irish" and i said okay
You ever hear that old chestnut about how most people neglect the part of the story of Icarus where he also had to avoid flying too low, lest the spray of the sea soak his feathers and cause him to fall and drown?
You ever think about how different the world would be if Icarus died that way instead? If the idiom was to Fly To Close To The Sea? A warning against playing it far too safe, about not stretching your wings and soaring properly?
You ever think about how Icarus died because he was happy?
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You ever hear that old chestnut about how most people neglect the part of the story of Icarus where he also had to avoid flying too low, lest the spray of the sea soak his feathers and cause him to fall and drown?
You ever think about how different the world would be if Icarus died that way instead? If the idiom was to Fly To Close To The Sea? A warning against playing it far too safe, about not stretching your wings and soaring properly?
You ever think about how Icarus died because he was happy?
We’ve all heard tales of the moon being made of cheese, but what if it were made of bones? Bone fragments. Bone dust. Partial skeletons from animals we have no name for, no knowledge of. What if the moon were made of bones?
you noticed that you couldn't move. you blinked slowly, staring at the ceiling as your sleepy brain pieced together why.
an arm was wrapped securely around your waist.
another was tucked beneath your pillow.
one of jason's legs had somehow ended up tangled with yours.
"…jason."
nothing.
you tilted your head just enough to glance over your shoulder.
his face was half-buried against the back of your neck, dark hair sticking up in every direction. his breathing was slow and even, though you were almost positive he wasn't actually asleep anymore.
you smiled to yourself.
"jason."
a low hum vibrated against your shoulder.
"so you are awake."
"no."
"you literally answered me."
"didn't."
you laughed quietly.
"i need to get up."
"no, you don't."
"i do."
"you've got nowhere to be."
"i have to use the bathroom."
"…"
his grip tightened just a little.
"jason."
"five more minutes."
"you said that twenty minutes ago."
"i don't remember saying that."
"you were awake?"
"no."
you couldn't help laughing again.
"you are impossible."
"so i've been told."
finally, he cracked one eye open, meeting your amused expression.
his lips twitched. "there she is."
"good morning."
"mornin'."
his voice was rough from sleep, making it sound even deeper than usual.
he studied your face for a second before reaching up and brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
"what?"
"nothin'."
"you've been staring."
"i know."
"…why?"
"'cause you're pretty."
the words came so casually that your brain stopped working for a moment.
"…you can't just say things like that before coffee."
jason smirked.
"sure i can."
"you fight crime."
"i multitask."
you nudged him lightly with your shoulder.
"you are ridiculous."
"so are you."
you tried sitting up again.
his arms immediately pulled you back against him.
"…seriously?"
"i'm comfortable."
"i'm trapped."
"exactly."
"you've become a human weighted blanket."
"i'm hearing zero complaints."
"there are several complaints."
"liar."
you sighed dramatically, though the smile on your face betrayed you.
"…fine."
jason buried his face into your shoulder again with a satisfied hum.
"there it is."
"what?"
"acceptance."
"i accepted my fate."
"same thing."
silence settled over the room again.
it wasn't awkward.
just… peaceful.
outside, rain tapped gently against the apartment windows.
jason lazily traced circles against your side through one of his oversized hoodies you'd stolen weeks ago.
"you know," he muttered, "i was looking for this hoodie."
"no, you weren't."
"i absolutely was."
"you watched me steal it."
"i thought you'd give it back."
you looked over your shoulder.
"you've known me for how long?"
"…fair."
"i've claimed it."
"my hoodie."
"our hoodie."
he groaned dramatically.
"you've become a wayne."
"i'll start calling it 'our emotional support hoodie.'"
"i regret teaching you sarcasm."
"you practically invented it."
he laughed quietly, that alone made your heart melt. after another comfortable minute, he spoke again.
"…thanks."
you frowned.
"for what?"
"for staying."
the joking tone had disappeared.
his gaze was fixed somewhere on the blankets instead.
"you know… most mornings after patrol, i wake up expecting the apartment to be empty."
you turned around carefully until you were facing him.
his expression was softer than usual.
guarded, but honest.
you reached up and rested your hand against his cheek.
"i'm not going anywhere."
his eyes searched yours for a long moment.
"…promise?"
"i promise."
something in his shoulders finally relaxed.
he leaned into your touch almost instinctively.
then, with a tiny, almost embarrassed smile, he rested his forehead against yours.
"…good."
"you worry too much."
"i know."
"you know i like waking up with you..."
"i was hoping."
"i'm telling you."
another small smile.
"the apartment's a lot quieter when you're not here."
"so i'm loud?"
"you sing while making pancakes."
"i hum."
"you perform concerts."
"they're private concerts."
"they're not private if i can hear them from the bedroom."
you gasped dramatically.
"i've been exposed."
jason chuckled.
"i kinda like it."
"you do?"
"mhm."
"you'll never admit that in front of the others."
"absolutely not."
"good."
"dick would never let me live it down."
you both laughed.
the room felt warmer somehow.
jason reached over and pulled the blanket higher around both of you.
"one more minute?" he asked quietly.
you smiled.
"one more minute."
he nodded once, satisfied.
"…then coffee."
"and breakfast."
for just a little while longer, neither of you moved. the rain continued to patter softly against the windows, and wrapped up in blankets and each other, the rest of the world could wait.
you guys should totally give me more sfw ideas for this series 👀
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