War for the White House : Rachel Ray Cooks up a New Candidate!

[Author's note: I originally wrote this article as part of an application a couple months ago to write for The Onion News Network. Needless to say, I did not get the job, so I now present the piece here as a shameless attempt to get whatever mileage I can by posting my efforts publicly. Enjoy!]

[Author's other note: The formatting here is not technically kosher as far as teleplays go, but, unless someone else feels like showing me how to make Blogger format the way I want to, this will have to suffice for now. And now, on with our show...]

FADE IN:

INT. ONN NEWSROOM—DAY

ANDREA BENNETT

Breaking news in the ongoing presidential race: in an election that by now seemed pretty much black and white, celebrity chef-turned-talk show host Rachel Ray has tossed a new ingredient into the mix, making for a political combination of delish proportions. Yesterday, on the aptly named Rachel Ray Show, the perky 30-Minute Meals creator invited a surprise guest onto the program and announced before a live audience that she was endorsing his bid for the presidency. With us now is political analyst Roger Gibbons, to offer us his view on a developing situation that has some political insiders complaining about too many cooks in the campaign kitchen. Hi Roger, thanks for being with us.

EXT. CAPITOL HILL

ROGER GIBBONS

Good to be here, Andrea.

INTERCUT – ONN NEWSROOM / EXT. CAPITOL HILL

ANDREA

Now, this new candidate, Dennis Ku- Kuci—?

ROGER

Kucinich. Congressman Dennis Kucinich of Ohio.

ANDREA

Right.

ROGER

Actually, the funny thing is he’s technically not a “new” candidate.

ANDREA

No? He’s run before, then?

ROGER

Yes, in the presidential election of ’04, and, well, this one.

ANDREA

Excuse me, Roger, did I hear you correctly? This congressman, Kuci- Kuci—

ROGER

Kucinich.

ANDREA

Right. He’s been a candidate all along? What is he, Independent? Socialist?

ROGER

Well, he was a candidate for the Democrat nomination, but he withdrew from the race in January. Basically, his problem was that he was running on a platform promoting peace, positive foreign relations, improvement of education, nuclear disarmament, and the environment. He was too controversial: he hadn’t cheated on his wife, been implicated in illegal campaign funding, lied about being under hostile fire during visits to war-torn countries, or even planned invading other countries, and possessed no noticeable contempt for the working classes. In essence, he was just too dull for the American public to seriously consider him for the presidency.

ANDREA

But that’s all changed now.

ROGER

Yes. Congressman Kucinich’s appearance yesterday on The Rachel Ray Show, and Ms. Ray’s comment, quote, “You seem like such a wonderful, caring guy, if you were still running, I’d vote for you,” seems to have completely turned around the public’s lack of perception of him. Polling results from late last night indicated a tremendous surge in support for Kucinich, and, as of this morning, his spokespeople have announced that he has re-entered his bid for the Democrat nomination.

ANDREA

Well, thank you, Roger. Let’s go now to our correspondent James Hickey, at Congressman Kuci- Kuci- at the candidate’s new headquarters. James, what’s happening there?

EXT. RACHEL RAY PRODUCTION OFFICES

JAMES HICKEY

I am standing outside Kucinich Campaign Headquarters, operating out of the production offices of The Rachel Ray Show. Neither the congressman nor Ms. Ray have been available for comment thus far, but as you can see behind me, there is a tremendous amount of activity taking place. The money and the volunteers are pouring in, and word has it that Rachel Ray has invented a new kind of cookie, which she is calling a “Kookinich,” in order to better promote what some people are now calling “her” candidate. I have with me one of Mr. Kucinich’s new, eager supporters here with me… ma’am, why have you decided to support this candidate?

SUPPORTER

Well, I don’t really know who this Kucinich guy is, but I love Rachel Ray. Her 30-Minute Meals are the best! If she thinks this guy has what it takes, that’s good enough for me. You know, I think we could be really good friends—me and Rachel, I mean.

JAMES

And your thoughts on the candidate himself?

SUPPORTER

He seems really, really polite.

JAMES

There you have it, the enthusiastic support for a powerful new political force.

INT. ONN NEWSROOM

ANDREA

Thanks, James. It turns out, not everyone is thrilled by the re-entry of Dennis Kucinich into the presidential race. Obviously, his fellow democrat Senator Obama cannot be pleased with the competition, but Republicans seem more concerned about the woman endorsing him, herself: Rachel Ray was recently embroiled in scandal when she appeared in a Dunkin’ Donuts ad sporting, what some critics are claiming to be, a keffiyeh, the traditional Arab scarf that many conservatives consider to be a symbol of Islamic jihad. Ms. Ray’s spokesperson insisted that she was wearing a simple paisley-patterned shawl, but this, combined with her recent foray into “extreme leftist politics” have some wondering whether she is a threat to national security. Joining us now is Marcus Lorin, spokesman for the group Culinary Graduates for Truth. Marcus, Welcome.

MARCUS LORIN

Thanks for having me.

ANDREA

Now yours is a bipartisan group, made up of graduates and staff of the—is this right? The CIA?

MARCUS

Yes, the Culinary Institute of America.

ANDREA

What is your stance in this matter of Rachel Ray endorsing Congressman Kucinich’s campaign?

MARCUS

Andrea, we are not a political organization. We simply want to set the record straight, and reverse some of the horrifying damage Rachel Ray has caused in the world of haute cuisine. This is a person—an untrained, uncertified chef, I might add—who has been degrading the art of cooking with her shoddy recipes, pre-prepared ingredients, and sloppy methods, not to mention her introduction of appalling words such as “Yum-o” and “Evoo” into the culinary vocabulary. Furthermore, in light of her recent actions in the political sphere, we now feel obliged to come forward and declare that Rachel Ray is unfit to endorse any candidate, based on her willful perversion of the practices of true chefs, and her withholding and distortion of material facts on how to go about preparing a dish. I mean, come on, 30-minute meals? First, the food is crap. Second, it takes way longer than 30 minutes to even prepare it! Rachel Ray’s deliberate misrepresentation of the nature and effectiveness of her cooking methods begs the question: what else might she be capable of in misleading the American public?

ANDREA

So your issue is not with the candidate, but rather the person endorsing him?

MARCUS

Our issue is with anyone who aligns themselves with this charlatan chef, and to question their methods and motives along with hers.

ANDREA

So you will be investigating Congressman Kucinich as well?

MARCUS

Oh, absolutely.

ANDREA

Now, will your group be conducting this search in collaboration with any federal agencies? The other CIA, perhaps?

MARCUS

No, we can see how that could be amusing, but we don’t want to be seen as overreacting to this situation. We will be limiting our cooperation to the FBI, Department of Homeland Security, NSA, and National Guard, in order to take down Rachel Ray and her Axis of Evoo.

ANDREA

Thank you, Marcus Lorin, of the Culinary Graduates for Truth. This just in, in a move to support fundraising efforts for Dennis Kucinich’s campaign, Rachel Ray has just created the “Kuciwich”, a sandwich that she is calling “the Sammie of Presidents.” Think sloppy joes… but less white trash. This will be sure to help garner some support in the… er, working class community. Now, after we come back, some real news: the plastic fruit diet fad that has been sweeping the nation… some doctors are suggesting it may have some negative effects on your digestive tract. Stay tuned.

FADE OUT.

What I Really Want to Do is Wait Tables.

Hello, sir, madam. How are you both this evening? Have you decided on anything yet? May I take your orders? Our specials today are—excuse me? No. No, I'm sorry, no. Yes, I get that all the time. Yes, I know i look a lot like him, but it's just a coincidence, I assure you. Anyway, our specials—what? No! Yes, I’m sure! Well, I think I would know, wouldn’t I? Ma’am, would you please keep your voice down? You’re disturbing the other diners. I—oh, Jesus. Fine. Look, yes, I’m him. Okay? Now will you please tell me what you’d like to—what am I doing here? What does it look like I’m doing here? I’m trying to do my job! No, I’m not joking. No, I’m not doing research. Ma’am would you please lower your voice? Sir, please put the camera phone away. You’re starting to make a scene. Look, I—shut UP!

Okay. Okay. I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. Can we just start over? Our chef this evening has prepared—will you just let it go already?! All right, if I tell you what I’m doing here, will you please stop harassing me and order the French onion soup? The grated cheese crust is a special touch this evening, the chives imported from—oh, right.

I never wanted to be famous. Okay, I did, but not like this. I never wanted to be an actor, a movie star. I wanted to be the best damn waiter in town. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, ever since Dad took me to Olive Garden for the first time, and I saw our waiter balancing five plates on one arm while reciting the entire menu by memory, without spilling a single bread stick or pausing to take a breath. From that night on, I had it all planned out. I started out doing all the right things: I didn’t go to college, began at the bottom rung, mopping floors at Burger King, paying my dues. And then I slipped up: I agreed to do the Burger King commercial when the camera crew showed up. Hey, it’s not my fault… I was young, I needed the money, and they promised me it was a one-time deal, no strings attached. How was I supposed to know that the commercial would get picked up and go national? Next thing I know, Law & Order is approaching me for a guest spot. I know, I should have said “no” and stuck to my craft, but it was so much money, and I figured I could afford a short break from my goals. Three years later, and boom: Oscar-nominated. You just never can see it coming until it’s too late.

It all happened so fast. When I finally woke up and realized what was going on, I tried to get out. But both my manager and my agent told me I was now locked in some stupid Emmy Award-winning series for two seasons, minimum. And then, one day, I’m eating lunch at Spago, and, get this, the guy serving me is a friend I did a couple episodes with on Lost last year! And now he’s here. At Spago. Lucky son of a bitch! I ask him what happened, and he mumbles something about having an attitude problem and getting canned. Get this: when I congratulate him on his big break, he actually spits in my goat cheese-infused, low-carb, seahorse salad. It just goes to show, when someone makes it they forget the little people. It didn’t matter, though, because I had finally figured out how I could get back to pursuing my dream: all I had to do was get fired!

After that, I started showing up stoned every day on the set, snorting lines of coke off of boom mikes, urinating on scripts and screaming profanities at the director and production assistants. Sure I felt bad about doing all this, but I had a plan, and I had to be ruthless in seeing it through. And you know what happened? Not only did I not get kicked off the show, I got a raise! A leading role, a larger trailer, and more free call girls than I knew what to do with! I ask my manager what the hell’s going on, and he says something about my growing reputation as a “troubled and tormented star” increasing my appeal. Then my agent calls, cooing, practically making out with me on his cell, and says the movie studios are taking an interest in me. I’m so hot right now, he says, so hot, that he can get me anything I want. Any job. I figure this is my shot, and I tell him point blank, I want to be an waiter. There’s silence on the other line for like half a minute, and then he says, Babes, you want it, you got it. I hang up, breathing in deep the sweet scent of long-delayed victory.

And that’s how I got cast in The Waiter, that stupid, gritty thriller that’s up for like twenty Academy Awards right now, even for animation. There wasn’t any animation in the entire goddamn film! Working on that movie was like methadone for a heroin addict: they let me research my role by taking lessons from some of the masters in the business. This one—I don't even have to say his name, he is one of THE preeminent artists in the world of waiting—he actually complimented me on my napkin folding formations. It was like… like they had switched the heroin back in for just one day. But it couldn’t last. After a few weeks, the studio told me not to go all “Brando” on them and get on to shooting the scenes. Several months and millions later, I got the Oscar nod. For a moment I felt redeemed, like my performance as a waiter had meant something. But as the weeks went by, and the box office numbers kept climbing, I knew, and all those real waiters in the packed megaplex audiences knew, that I was a fraud. You just cannot fake an art like that, and my imitation made a mockery of all my childhood dreams.

So I took off. I told my agent and my manager that I was going into rehab; my publicist, that I had a stalker and was lying low; my accountant, that I was exploring some real estate opportunities in Montana; and my mom, that I was hanging out with Jude Law for a few weeks. I dropped off the Hollywood radar, and now I'm just trying to get back in the game, play some catch-up. Anyway, I've explained to you why I'm here, and I've got about six or seven other tables right now, so have you guys figured out what you'd like? Uh, no, ma'am, my autograph is not on the menu. Yes, I get it, that's a good one. Yes, ha ha, very good. Now, about that French onion s— No, sir, you can't tell anyone I'm here! No, not even your brother. I don't care how big a fan he is! Sir, put the phone down! Great, now everyone's looking over here. No, I'm not him! I'm not! Don't listen to these people! No, you shut your hole! SHUT UP! Oh, God, I can't take this, I haven't got nearly enough Xanax on me to deal with this mess. Enrico, take over for me. NOW! Do you know who I am? Do you know who I am?! I don't need this! God DAMN it! I'll be in the kitchen!

Where Have All the Goblins Gone?

We are among you. In the shadows we bide our time, hidden, waiting... waiting for you to finally vaporize yourselves into nonexistence, for your cities, your grotesque raping of the Mother’s body, to decay and crumble, until, at last, when only a whisper remains to suggest that human beings once walked the earth, we shall reclaim our birthright.

In the old days, you had many names for us: fairies, elves, dwarves, gnomes, pixies, brownies, leprechauns, nymphs, imps, satyrs, and trolls… and, eventually, demons and devils, come from Hell to tempt and torment you. But we were always here, always the same: goblins. Elementals. The true children of the Great Mother, burst forth fully formed from her womb, not some tree-climbing, flea-infested mammal that developed the absurd gift of opposable thumbs. And we watched, as you squandered your blessings, unknowing, unappreciative, undeserving. We learned not to interfere, neither to guide nor try to help, for fear of being hunted and eaten like some other helpless mammal, or, later, being chained and forced to lead you to some legendary pot of gold or other meaningless treasure.

There were those who stayed, who chose to inhabit your towns and cities, changing to fit your changes, as we always had to fit the Mother’s. But yours were not natural, a perversion, and our fellows were perverted in kind. The gremlins are now no more than glorified cockroaches, with an eye toward mischief, and, more likely nowadays, malice.

When you see a shadow flicker in the sunlight, with no breeze to conveniently explain the occurrence, no fluttering paper bag, that is one of us. Count yourself blessed, mortal: you have been granted a privileged moment to witness a spark of the primordial beauty that still beats deep in the heart of this world.

Thos whom your “ancient” Greeks called muses? Again, us. Those of us who could not bear to stand by and watch the monkeys tear glorious Eden apart in their orgy of rampage. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” (That was mine. Okay, I wasn’t technically the one that whispered the line into that simian’s ear—some chum of mine stole it from me during a moonshine-infused debate on the meaning of being. No, not your moonshine. Actual filaments of moonlight. Bottled. Powerful stuff. And for the record, I wanted to call him Harold, not Horatio.) Nearly every object, every idea of pure beauty, that one of your kind created—your Aristotle, Leonardo, Mozart, and Elvis—he had an unacknowledged chaperone guiding him. You are not creators, composers, nor architects… you are vessels. And you should fall down on your knees, weeping in gratitude, for having been so used.

The time of man is drawing to a close. Even you, with your fatuous monkey brains, can sense this. And when the last skull of homo sapiens has crumbled to dust, we will again dance freely in the moonlight, scaring our young with delicious tales of the bogey-man, and rejoice in the restoration of a world once rotten. We are patient. What are a few centuries, but drops in the pool of eternity? We have time. You do not.