Hypable’s resident oddity Richard imagines what television would be like if he were a show writer.

I read a review of Dan Brown’s new book recently, Inferno, which basically lambasted the book along with the writer for being an inferior human being. I’ll certainly jump on the bandwagon along with the next person in dissing humanity just because it seems kind of, well you know, apt. However, there was a comment on the review that got me thinking. It essentially consisted of: “well, I’d like to see you do better.” Now, in terms of critical evaluation, this comment probably used something close to three different brain cells to construct, maybe even an axon or two. Not exactly thought-provoking stuff. Yet, it held some sort of resonance with me.

I criticise things all the time; things I never attempt to do myself. I just sort of naturally assume that I’ll be automatically better than the original and thus proving this is superfluous. That and it’s questionable on whether humanity should ever be subjected to my “art.”

Anyway, to give you an example, let’s focus on television. I don’t really watch much TV due to the fear that some shows are so terrible, I might somehow contract cephalitis by watching them. But, imagine if I WROTE a show. I’m not sure the world would be able to contain itself from such a high volume of undiluted awesome, yet let’s persevere with this thought a little further. What would my television show feature?

Vikings

Yes, vikings. And no, it would not be set in medieval times. These would be modern-day vikings. And they’d have horned helmets (which subsequently actual vikings did not), and would drink kegs of blood and beer and bone-marrow, then vomit it all up, then drink the vomit all over again. There would be no waste of good blood-soaked beer; these are environmentally friendly vikings after all. Every episode, the vikings would just storm across the screen and brutally behead one of the lead characters. That’s their only purpose; they exist with little-to-no explanation and quite simply end the careers of promising actors who are starting to get a little too famous for their own good.

Imagine the scene. Character A, who we’ll call Rory, speaks to his lover Character B, named Amy. There is a heartfelt speech about undying centurion love, eternal happiness, and some other nonsense that no one cares about, having followed a particularly exuberant adventure. Then all of a sudden, on march the vikings, send a quick spear to the cranium and boom. A brief excerpt of “Yachety Sax” is played while the vikings run off again (with one potentially slipping on a banana peel), and a stunned Rory just gapes at the camera in bemusement. The camera then rapidly zooms in on his face and up his nostril. Next scene.

A crime-solving duo, consisting of the President and Jack Bauer

That’s right, Obama and Bauer (dressed similarly to John Travolta and Samual L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction) will solve mysteries. With flame throwers. Mysteries such as why the Amy/Rory story arc was ever given this level of screen-time, but never the existence of the vikings. They forever remain un-investigated.

“Mr President.”

“Yes, Jack?”

“We need to go somewhere. I don’t have time to explain, you’re just going to have to trust me.”

“Where are we going?”

“Los Angeles, Mr President.”

“And what’s in L.A., Jack?”

“The studios of Two and Half Men. And don’t forget your flame thrower.”

And at the end of every fiery bit of arson and mystery-solving, President Obama will play us off with a song by Diana Ross and the Supremes.

A Mariachi band soundtrack

Whenever the President isn’t singing or the vikings aren’t pillaging, the background music is “La Cucaracha” on repeat. And each episode will have an actor hidden in the background dancing with two maracas in hand. Spotting him will be a regular quest for the audience.

The advertisement breaks will have voice-over commentary from the actor killed off in the previous week’s episode

This will be the final insult to their career. In the utmost serious of expressions, they will emphatically inform the viewer about the latest brand of nappies on the market which will reduce any rash your baby gets due to repeatedly shitting itself. Or perhaps the burger from McDonalds which is as good for your health as being treated by Dr Conrad Murray.

For particularly loathsome characters, we may create a ridiculous story arc which brings them back from the dead, only to be killed off again later just so we can enjoy the ritual humiliation of them reading out the commercials for a second time.

The showrunner (i.e. me) will have immunity from firings and prosecution

When I give birth to my voluptuous creation, no studio will be able to replace me. All too often, showrunners create something magical and the studio executives want to rope in any creative control the producer has. I’ll thoroughly protect myself from litigation and internal espionage. And much more importantly, no disgruntled actors will have any legal right to sue me having signed over their souls in the early contract negotiations.

And the villain..

Ahh, the greatest bit yet! The villain of the series will be none other than Lionel Richie who will play the part so brilliantly, so dastardly, that he will be once, twice, three times a cunt.

Conclusion

As you can see, this will without a doubt be the greatest thing ever put on television. What’s more, it will likely simultaneously kill off an entire catalogue of terrible TV shows due to script writers simply dying inside over their show being unable to match our level of intensity.

That, or I’ll end up in prison for war crimes.