Parade Coverage

by McPoodle

Chapter 1

Parade Coverage

Chapter 1

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“...For those of you just tuning in, welcome to the second hour of live coverage of the Tournament of Roses Parade on a bright and sunny New Year’s morning here in beautiful downtown Pasadena, California!”

The television host addressing the camera was a tanned and relaxed Southern California blond approaching retirement age, with an easy smile and a neighborly twinkle in his eyes. He was sitting in a swivel chair in a wide booth, with red velvet hung up behind him and a low table in front of him covered with models of parade floats and index cards. A pair of microphones sprouting from the table were there mostly for show, as the clipped-on variety the announcer wore was more than adequate to pick up his booming voice.

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Another thing about that voice was its tendency to get a little blue at times, which explained the fact that the broadcast was not exactly live, and why a man with the job of censor was sitting back at the station three blocks away. He was hunched over a desk and staring at the television with a pair of headphones on, his finger poised over the all-important bleep button.

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“I’m Robert Goodchild, and sharing hosting duties with me today is the lovely Amy Peters,” the newscaster continued, calling her a “war correspondent, investigative journalist and, for the past month, guest judge on America’s Got Talent, airing on this station Sundays at 8 pm. Say ‘hello’ to the folks in TV Land, Amy!”

“Hosting the parade with you is such a great honor,” Amy Peters said, between clenched teeth. She was a dark skinned woman with short-cropped black hair, but not so short as to fail to cover up the scar on the left side of her neck. She was smiling, but the smile didn’t reach any higher on her face than the lips.

Several uncomfortable seconds of absolutely nothing followed, until Peters realized that she was still supposed to be speaking.

“Err, we are currently waiting through a small delay, due to the withdrawal of the float sponsored by Natural Balance Pet Food. Tillman the Snowboarding Bulldog pulled a hamstring muscle, and seeing as he was the star of that float...” It looked like that last sentence was physically painful for her to say, and impossible for her to complete.

“Let me reassure the viewing public that Tillman is in no pain, and is being cared for by his thirty-member crew as we speak!” a worried Goodchild added quickly. “We’ve seen the City of South Pasadena float, and the Ohio University Marching 110. Now let’s go out to Edie Conday on the street with the latest update on what we’ll be seeing next.”

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“Let’s not forget the Western Haflingers, Robert,” chided Edie Conday, a perky blonde, from her position standing on the sidewalk in front of a bandstand of spectators. Somewhere at the top of that bandstand and out of sight of the camera was the broadcast booth. “They were something, weren’t they? The antecedents of the Haflinger breed of horse date back to the Middle Ages,” she tossed off effortlessly, “although the official foundation sire, 249 Folie, was only born in 1874 in the village of Hafling, located in the—”

“Yes, Edie, that’s quite fascinating,” interrupted Robert Goodchild’s voice in a tone that was somehow dismissive without sounding dismissive in the slightest. “I believe you had an update on the next float, yes?”

“Oh, yes!” exclaimed Edie. The camera followed her eyes as she peered down the street. “The substitute float is in position and rolling up towards us. Let me describe it to you in detail as it slowly approaches.”

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Seeing the light on the top of the camera turn off, Goodchild signaled to his producer to cut the microphone feeds and turned to his co-host. “You know, you could at least try to enjoy yourself,” he said.

“‘The Magic of Friendship’ is the theme of the float presented by the Humboldt University of Berlin, in commemoration of their half-century of partnership with Pasadena’s School of...” Miss Conday continued, her nose buried in the index card she had just been handed.

Ms. Peters reached up one hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. “I am in Hell,” she announced to no one in particular.

“...founded by Wilhelm von Humboldt as the University of Berlin in 1810,” said Miss Conday, as the card was brought closer and closer to her face. “Wilhelm was the brother of Alexander von Humboldt, the famous geographer and naturalist—didn’t he discover a penguin?”

Miss Conday was able to get all that in because the float’s motor had stalled and a team of technicians were now at work trying to restart it.

“Oh I find ‘Hell’ to be quite comfortable,” Goodchild said to Ms. Peters with a smile. “My fans nowadays are all retirees who just want somebody to tell them that, for the next hour at least, everything’s going to be fine. Your band of youthful ‘followers’, on the other hand, post attacks on your YouTube videos for not being sexy enough, and refuse to believe anything you report that contradicts the narrow-minded worldview of their chosen political party.”

“The teaching hospital of the university is the Charité campus of East Berlin, originally founded as a charity hospital for the poor in 1709 by King Freidrich I, grandfather of King Freidrich the Great of Prussia. Wait, is Prussia a real country?”

“Also,” added Goodchild, “you stress too much.”

“I’m trying to change the world!” Peters snapped back at him. “In case you didn’t notice, we’re in the news division. That used to mean something. While you were spinning prize wheels and announcing lotto numbers, I was exposing injustice and fraud!”

“...while in the center of the float is a reconstruction of the asylum cell where French philosopher Voltaire spent a night in 1751 to acquaint himself with the conditions that the insane and the poor had to deal with on a daily basis. The underpinning of the float contains splinters and paper fragments taken from the actual room, while the walls are covered with white orchid petals cleverly arranged to reproduce the padded walls of the cell.”

“Hmm...” Goodchild murmured with a patronizing nod. “And where did that get you?”

“How was I to know that the majority stockholder of that shoe company was the network president?! He should have known better than to invest in child labor, anyway.”

“...now here to sing the hit song ‘That’s What Friends Are For’, it’s...it’s...it’s...Robert, I think you need to see this.”

Goodchild quickly snapped back into position as the light on top of the camera lit up and the microphones became live again. His eyes scanned the street below him as he stalled for time. “Well, I guess we’ve run into another delay, folks. I’m sure that before long that—Jesus Christ on a Triscuit! What the [bleep] are those things?”

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Back at the studio, the censor congratulated himself on a job well done, before joining the small portion of the world that was watching the parade this morning—instead of recovering from a New Year’s Eve hangover—in trying to figure out what manner of horse-like creatures had just materialized atop the Humboldt University float in a burst of white light that looked like something right out of Star Trek.

Comments

[Fizzy Orange]

Voltaire's padded cell? Who in their right mind thought THAT was a good theme for a float?

[McPoodle]

2434112

Well, it is the backup float. For a snowboarding bulldog float. You've got to be pretty bad if they picked that over you.

[FashionablyHospitable]

"Follow-up to Best of All Possible Worlds"

BUCK YEAH.

[RaptorCalloftheShadows]

Jesus Christ on a Triscuit.

...

Best Phrase Evah.

[Shigawan]

I read the end of this chapter, slowly realizing what was about to unfold and repeating "oh god" to myself while trying not to smirk and facepalm simultaneously.

Also, hah, "Voltaire spent a night in 1751 to acquaint himself with the conditions that the insane and the poor had to deal with on a daily basis." Did Voltaire spread that jelly, or was it someone else's butterknife?

[madsamurai]

That was beautiful

[CrystalWaters]

...charity hospital for the poor.

...to acquaint himself with the conditions that the insane and the poor had to deal with on a daily basis...

Ahhh, history!