Travis calls back, “I think the TV’s broken, man!”

“Really?” comes the reply, floating through the kitchen, bouncing off dirty metal appliances.

Watching the channels flip by, too quickly to discern their content, Travis absently hollers, “Yeah! There’s nothin’ but crap on!” He pauses momentarily to watch a news anchorman ramble on silently about a helicopter shot of a brown SUV. Travis rolls over a bit his hackles raised, even in the silence. The lack of a practiced, Midwestern-accented, lightly emotion-tinted voice narrating over the images, reduces their power, and leaves Travis amused. “Today,” Travis begins alone in a serious tone, “more crap happened. One individual lost his shit and ran away from myriad obligations at high speeds. Some other things fell apart due to a complete lack of foresight on the part of their leaders, and a number of people you’ve never heard of or met, died pointlessly.” Travis watches as the truck continues speeding down the road and then cuts back to the anchor. “My wife left me because of my toupee and I’m quite sad about that.”

Stumbling back into the room wearing the same jeans from the day before, John replies, “That’s right, Travis.” Holding his hand up to his ear pressing a nonexistent earpiece, John continues the on-location report. “After thirteen terror-stricken hours, rescue searchers are still finding corpses. Luckily for the American public, we’re here to jam our cameras in the rescue workers ass-cracks and catch a glimpse of the gore.” He slides a wrinkled white t-shirt over his torso.

“That’s amazing, John. Audience, stay tuned. More after this break for your local reality.”

Read the whole thread: Carousel Cowboy, Unthreaded