Chapter Text
Ezekiel
In a dusty, cluttered, cramped space with a mess meeting you at every corner, sat on top of an old, barely functional TV is the field of vision of a low budget, partially grainy camera. A greasy, pimpled hick with an awkward air about him scratches the back of his pencil neck insecurely before flashing a small closed smile.
“Yo, name’s Ezekiel, or like, Zeke, y’know? As you can probably tell, I’m kinda new to this whole celebrity thing, eh.” His smile fades and he looks around nervously. A few coughs can be heard in the background as he rubs his arm. “Anyway, Pa used to be the breadwinner but now he can’t work as hard no more. I’m gonna get on this show and bring home the bacon instead. I mean, without me, there’s no way I’m gonna be able to support Ma. I’m rambling, I know, y’know? Er, you know what to do.” His dopey grin ends off the video.
Two men, one tall and built and the other small but well put together are sitting and watching the following tapes. They glance at each other and shrug. “So.. what do you think?” Chef Hatchet, the larger man asks.
“I’d say the kid’ll be at least partially fun to make fun of. But people also love a good rags to riches story. I’m game! Next?” The smaller one, Chris McLean, beckons an intern to supply him with the next tape.
Eva
The first shot of the video is of a black haired, butch type woman doing pulls up at a close-up angle in a public gym. A few prettier, pinker girls walk behind her and mutter something as she finishes up her routine, grunting out the number of reps she’s done.
“57.. 58.. 59.. 60!”
She then hops down on her feet, solidly standing tall. She nearly lets her eyes linger towards the sound of the teenage girls giggling in the background she can so obviously hear, but refocuses on the camera, tightens her fists and talks to the hosts.
“You see that? I’m the only girl in my school who can do more than ten pull ups. So whatever you can throw at me, I can handle it.” She points at herself confidently, head held high and eyes closed. The girls in the background find a red dodgeball and aim it. “Bring it-” BOINK!
The ball collides with her temple, knocking her off balance. “HEY! You’re dead, you hear me?!” She barks as their fits of giggling turn to panicked gasps and screams. The footage cuts to static just as the girl rushes at the posse harassing her. It returns to an image of the angry teenage girl with blood on her fists, now outside of the gym on the sidewalk. Police sirens can be heard in the background.
“My name is Eva Chantrey. If you want a fierce, no holds barred competitor who is also a huge team player.. You’ll pick me.” She points a thumb in her chest. “Hey, you can edit this, right?" A whimpery teen behind the camera nods. "Good.”
Chris and Chef recover from chuckling as the footage cuts. “Man, talk about psycho!” Chris belts out.
“Ooh, I like her.” Chef muses.
“Of course you do. She’s in! Now, Who’s next?”
Noah
Sitting at a desk in the middle of a quiet library is a young man with a medium-dark skin tone. Despite the camera being focused on his face, he isn’t at all interested in it until he turns to the next page of the book he is currently trapped in. “Yo,” finally looking up from his book, he reveals his bored frown.
“Look, you’re probably going to get a dozen audition tapes from ‘musically talented' teens or dependent dorks who claim to be ‘intellectual prodigies’ so I’ll save you the time… Like you should save yourself from reading this cliche ridden novel.”
Taking the book from its face down position, Noah flaunts it to the camera with an annoyed expression plastered to his face. “The cover lures you in with a depiction of an epic story. Heroes, dragons, castles… What do I see? A thousand and one cliches on how NOT to write a fantasy novel. I haven’t watched any of the audition tapes on your website, which is so 2010 might I add, yet I can already guess that ninety-nine percent of your auditions are from rich kids or dumb jocks far too in over their own heads. With Noah? Nuh-uh. I’m the real deal, an actual schemer not some wannabe used car salesman. Put me on your show and it’ll be a domino effect of backstabs with me always staying a step or two ahead. In the school chess team? Grand master. Yeah, you can see what I’m getting at.” Noah pushes the book he was reading off to the side before looking at the camera one more time with a confident smile.
“See you on the show, big name Hollywood executives.” The footage fades, and Chef chuckles, his reflection cast into the black mirror of the monitor.
“Heheh, he’s right about the numerous trust fund kids we’ve gotten so far ain’t he Chris?”
Chris nods. “I think the irony of his tape is what gets me the most. Going into intense detail about all the scheming little yuppie kids he hates without the self awareness is HILARIOUS! Reminds me of how much you hate that hotshot chef on that one cooking show. What was it called? Cooking Up Drama? That guy is a total Hollywood sleaze!” Chef raises an eyebrow to Chris. “But hey, I feel an odd connection to the kid. Consider him in the show! Who do we have next, Chef?”
“Some girl who claims to be able to talk to ghosts or something! Oh, and another set of those damn BlickBlockers!”
“Kids, aren’t they the greatest?” Chris’ rhetorical question is followed by a devilish grin towards the camera.
Justin
The camera pans to show one of the most handsome men in the world with a frown on his face. He’s crouched up on a rock, hair wet (it looks sexy even when wet) underneath a rainy cloud and black skies, all hope lost. What tragedy could’ve befell this gorgeous man?!
He finally turns to the camera, forlorn in his stare. “Hi, I’m Justin… And once, I got lost at sea." The god-like arms of the man pulls a prop paper map out from behind him, expanding it horizontally. "Then I remembered: pretty men don’t need to read maps, they just need Dude Time for Men .” Justin tosses the map, and in the same breath, takes out a bottle of cologne before spraying himself with it. This parts away the clouds and sends the bad weather long off into the distance. In its place comes a herd of women, all of them eager to rip Justin’s shirt off to reveal his perfectly chiseled torso.
“Dude Time for Men is not responsible for any side effects that may occur such as constant attraction of females, an enhanced sense of confidence, a flock of women tearing your clothes off, or erectile dysfunction. If you experience testicle shrinkage please consult your doctor immediately and stop usage.” A speedy commercial voice ends off the advert. Chef raises an eyebrow while Chris claps his hands together.
“Classic Dude Time for Men! I did a commercial for them a year or two back. My agent told me I should probably demand they never show my clip again though, after that huge lawsuit they got into for those nasty side effects.”
Chef wrinkles his nose. “Plus that stuff smells nasty! Ain’t no real woman gonna want to smell some Dude Bro whatever the hell it is.”
To Chef’s cynicism, Chris shakes his head. “Just because you’re jealous of a product doesn’t mean you have to shame those of us who found success because of it, Chef.”
“Man, didn’t you just get divorced a year ago?! Face it, Dude Time don’t work…" Chef trails off, biting his bottom lip. "..That kid's a looker, though. Reminds me of my first gig. I worked at a modelin’ place, pretty boys like that all over.”
Chris folds his arms and looks up at Chef. “Soooo you’re saying you want him in? Meh, okay. He’ll get us ratings, he’s already a totally hot model. Just look at his gram! That’s a lot of followers bro.”
Katie and Sadie
A nauseatingly pink polka dotted room filled with childish plush toys and a big speaker is the backdrop of the next video. Two teenage girls, one chubby and Korean and the other brown and slim (both wearing the exact same outfit) are holding each other's hands while Glamorous by Fergie plays in the background.
“Oh my gosh, I cannot believe we’re doing this!” The larger one exclaims.
“So cannot believe we’re doing this!” Her friend replies.
“Okay, um.. Hi!” A fit of giggles erupt from them both. “Oh, I can’t lead, Katie you have to!”
“Okay, okay.. I’m Katie, and this is Sadie. We both want to apply for Total Drama because I mean,”
“Just look at us! We’re cute and we both have our own Blickblock account, KatiexSadie=, AND-”
“And we’re sooo close! We’re inseparable, which is like, so rare for small town girls like us.” Katie says. They hug each other, nuzzling one another’s cheeks.
“So, so rare! Ooh, Katie, let’s show them our dancing!”
“Oh, uh-” Katie’s grip on her friend loosens and she backs away.
Sadie turns up the volume incredibly loud, swinging her body to and fro wildly, flabby skin smacking against her body while she seductively glances at the camera. Katie blushes and gives a nervous smile.
“Ahaha.. Woohoo.. Go Sadie.” Her words are too quiet though.
“What?!” The camera falls from the vibrations of the music right onto the carpeted floor.
Katie picks it up and is joined by Sadie as they both shout, “Put us on!~” the clip cuts out.
Chris and Chef simply blink, then look at each other. “Blickblockers on my show? Chef, look up KatiexSadie+ultra whatever now!”
Chef glares. “I ain’t your personal assistant, fool.”
“Just do it, ya big baby.” He slaps him on his toned shoulder.
“Ugh,” Chef gets on the computer and looks up their username. “One hundred thous- well I’ll be..”
“One hundred WHAT NOW? What do their fans say?”
“Oh, they posted the audition. Let’s see..” Chef applies his reading glasses, scanning the comments. “‘Katie is so cute. Go Katie!’, by Pepefan24. ‘Katie needs an Onlyfans, sweat drop emoji.’ by Crimson Candy. ‘I want a Katie solo account (i love you Sadie too ooh woo.)’, by tearjerker.ggi.”
“Katie is the star, but they’re both annoying. Why not include ‘em both, for.. Brand recognition?”
“Mm, good idea.” Chef nods. “Next up: Tyler.”
Tyler
The video starts without a star in front of the camera. This quickly changes as we hear a boy curse as he sprints over to the front of it, just barely avoiding tripping over his own feet. “W-Woah! Sorry about that, I’m Tyler! A totally serious athlete who everyone says should be in the Olympics… Or was it the Paralympics? To tell you the truth I don’t really know the difference. Either way, check out this highlight reel from my time here at Bullworth Academy!”
The camera fades from Tyler to a clip of him giving a thumbs up to the camera before he jumps up to catch a football thrown to him. In a horrible miscalculation the ball actually comes down and smacks Tyler square in the face!
Another clip flashes by, this time Tyler gives another enthusiastic thumbs up as he goes to block a hockey puck via glove save. Yet another terrible stroke of luck causes the puck to go right past his hand and smack him dead in the face again!
The final clip shows Tyler in a stairwell at what looks to be a hospital. His head is all bandaged up and he’s missing a tooth, even still he gives a thumbs up and hops on his skateboard. He jumps on it and tries to ride down the rail. This results in him being launched off the board, flying into a hamper of towels! Despite the stunt being a failure, he smiles at the camera just happy to not have taken another shot to the head. However, the board comes back down right on top of his head, knocking him out one final time.
“Yeouch! That had to hurt!” Chris chuckles as he rewinds the tape to play some of the brutal injuries over again.
“Is that one of them Jack’s Ass boys?” Chef couldn’t lie, watching Tyler get hit over and over with various sporting goods was pretty entertaining.
“Oh MAN look at that hit right there! Duuuuude! HAHAHAHA!” Six rewinds later, the two hosts finally stop laughing.
Izzy
A black and white filter overlays the camera feed. A dark room is lit up by candles, emitting enough visual aid to showcase framed pictures of a blonde haired, fit surfer dude with a chiseled jawline and casual looks on his face. Several of these pictures show him smiling on the sidewalk, laughing inside of a restaurant, eating a messy sandwich and clocking in at the production studio for Fresh TV.. wearing a nametag that reads Graham.
Suddenly, the camera spins backwards to reveal a filter-less girl grinning ear to ear at the camera, orange, unkempt neck length hair and lipstick on her head. “Boo! HAHAHAHA! Gotcha, Graham-Graham! Surprised to see me?” She appears to be wearing a lab coat with goggles on her forehead. “Yeaaah, I had no idea you were working at Fresh TV now, I’m so jealous! That means you’re kinda sorta barely famous, Graham! Isn’t that wild?? Remember when you used to talk about owning a mansion and three dogs named Skip with me? Or settling down at a nice graveyard with both of our gravestones next to each other?? Oh man, great times! You were an awesome boyfriend before... ya know! That acting stuff isn't just a dream. I'm gonna be a star someday! In case you don’t see this, or remember, hey! I’m Izzy, and I’d be really good for the show Total Drama whutz it becauseeee I am multifaceted and very attentive! I swear I’ll leave your viewers laughing and my fellow castmates entertained! As for you, Graham?”
She finally takes a breath of air to jab a finger into the camera, zooming in on her green eyeball. “I miss you, baby~! Wait for me!”
Static fills up the last four seconds.
“..Batshit crazy, man.”
“Right on, brother. As if this show needs more insanity.” Chris grins, writing down her name anyways.
“Do.. Do we even know a Graham?”
“I think he’s a production assistant? I dunno, all the lackey’s kinda look the same.”
“True that. Soo..?”
“She’s in. I like her breed of insanity: dangerous, but quirky. Lesbians around the world will relate to her immensely.”
“I get the feeling she’s the type to enjoy my camp food.”
“No offense, bro, but I wouldn’t feed your cooking to a starving raccoon. I’d pay to see it.” His grin only becomes more cocky.
Chef growls, then stands up and yells. “Shut up! Next!” He sits back down cross armed for the next tape.
Cody
This audition tape takes place in the RGB colored room of who can only be identified as a tech-fetishist. Computers, consoles retro and new, even what seems to be a fridge with a screen on it. The brunette dork standing in front of the camera smiles wide at it. “Oh hey there, didn’t see ya. I’m Cody Emmet Jameson Anderson, the Codemeister is what all my friends online know me as. You may be caught up in all my cool gadgets, but don’t let that fool ya! I’m like Batman, cool gadgets and machines at night… Playboy also at night. I’m missing the rich part, which is one reason why I want to be on Total Drama!”
He giggles awkwardly, shoulders stiff. There's a pause where he looks as if he regrets everything he's ever done leading up to this moment. He pulls himself together and pulls in a keyboard from out of nowhere.
“L-Look! I’ve got music too!” He messes around with his keyboard, finally finding the space bar. Sub-par techno beats start playing from his speakers. “I-I can actually play that! I was just editing it, oh! This is the good part!” Cody throws up the rock and roll symbol with his left hand as he jams out to his solo, smiling up at the camera. “A man of many skills as you can see. Games, music, ladies… Did I mention my YouTube channel? Ohhhh it’s not too big or anything, just SEVEN-HUNDRED subs. Heh, I usually do film reviews, but lately I've been branching out to do commentary stuff too! Like all my heroes from 2016... see this is my latest video, I talked about some chicks from Blickblock.”
Cody’s channel is pulled up on his phone, the latest video, sure enough, a video on Sadie and Katie, right next to an assortment of suggested videos about films the geek's reviewing.
“Small world.” Chris remarks. “Girls won’t be able to get enough of him," Chris remarks sarcastically. "Maybe he's dorky enough for enough losers to find appeal in him, in a relatability sense? I mean making fun of Blickblockers on the internet? He’ll have his own... unique fanbase.”
“Either that or he’ll stir up enough drama tryna be a cool guy. Hehe, what’s your decision Chris?” Chef questions.
“Seen worse… Why not? If worse comes to worst, he does have seven-hundred subscribers. That’s at LEAST seven-hundred viewers.”
Beth
“Hey there! I’m Beff!” Spitting all over the camera is a gal with braces, glasses, and a lisp. “I’m here with my best friend in the whole wide world, Bertha! Say hi Bertha!” In her arms is a squealing pig. it doesn’t at all look happy to be held by the four-eyed teen. “W-Woah, don’t wiggle so much! I’ll-!”
As the pig desperately wiggles out of Beth’s grasp, the momentum of an animal almost half her size causes her to land forward onto her face right into some mud. Beth defeatedly pulls herself up to her knees again, face covered in mud and tearfully clenching her fist. ”I-I get it, I look like another pathetic nerd girl who can’t do anything right… Mark my words, if I get into your show? That’s all going to change! You’ll see, everyone from school will see, and doormat Beth will be NO more!”
“Nerd rage, eh? What do you think, Chef?”
“That girls got a look in her eye that none of these other kids have. Like something vengeful. I can relate to that, ya know? Getting bullied... that's one of the reasons I became the man I am today." Chef says quite seriously.
“When you say, 'vengeful'; vengeful 'good' or vengeful 'Chris enables an up and coming murderer'?” Chris questions his co-host.
“I doubt that girl could actually cause harm to anyone. Probably .”
“Alrighty then, Beth? You’re in!”
Courtney
In the center of a courtyard, a Latina-Asian girl with short chestnut hair and freckles is sitting in front of a camera, a table separating her from the camera man across from her. On the table are pamphlets that read, “Courtney for Student Council President”. Several students walk past her, scoffing or outright rolling their eyes at her from behind, all while she emphatically chants:
“Vote for Courtney! A vote for me is a vote for a well organized, better serviced and happier classroom. Vote for Courtney!” She glances at the camera before focusing her attention on it entirely.
“Oh, hello there! As you can see, I’m running for Student Council President. If I’m elected, I swear to make this school a better place. So, why do I, Courtney Barlow, wish to enter a drama reality TV show when it’s so obviously below me? Well, discounting the prize money, I think it’s best for any great leader to surround herself with commoners before she becomes a responsible ruler for the people. Essentially - I want to know what people are like outside of the bubble that is high school.”
“Hey, can we hurry this up? I gotta head to gym class.”
“In a minute, Tom! Ugh, you better edit that out.”
“Yeah, yeah, Court, I will.” Tom mumbles, sighing. She seems offended, mouth gaping.
“Don’t address me that way! Do you know how degrading nicknames are? How do you think most political campaigns end, Tom? Nicknames!” She claps her hands together thrice, scathing with gritted teeth and furrowed brows.
“Okay, okay, whatever, you crazy bitch, just finish up!” He yells back, probably for the first time ever. A few students freeze and look at the duo, then move on with their day.
Courtney glares daggers at the controller of the camera for a few seconds, then puts on a fake smile and flashes a peace sign. “Ahem.. Vote for Courtney!”
The recording ends with a subtitle:
Don’t vote for Courtney
Chris chuckles iconically. “Hehehe, damn.. Can we get Tom on the show? I mean, the back stabbiness, the character development unraveling as we watched in real time, the emotion necessary to freeze a room! Incredible!” He throws his arms into the air to exaggerate his point.
“Even A students watch TV, man. Need someone relatable for the preppy dorks of the world to latch onto.” Chef folds his arms, looking down at his partner with a stern, almost bored look.
“Is that Beth chick not enough? Fine. Courtney is in, if only so we can see more of her looney side. Next!”
Harold
This audition tape begins with yet another dork smiling at the camera. He's in what looks like a boy scout outfit. “13.2 seconds, that’s the time it would take for me to kill an elephant with my bare hands. Not that I would, they’re endangered. But I could, that’s my hunting hand to hand combat badge. HYAH!” From out of nowhere two yo-yo’s entered the field of view for the camera! “I call this the double-decker-loop-to-loop-wild-style-space-typhoon technique, something taught only to grand masters at Rolling Steve’s yo-yo and- AUGH! OUCH!”
One of the yo-yo’s hits Harold in the nose while the other wraps around him in a way that takes him to the floor! Luckily, or unluckily for him, he's still visible! “I can get out of this, don’t worry. I have a badge in escape arts, I could probably get out of this if it was chains and I was submerged in water with sharks or something…” Harold says nonchalantly.
After struggling for a moment, he manages to escape from the strings, dusting himself off as he stands up. “As you can see I possess some mad skills no one else has. I can nibble rope like a rat, I can hold my breath under water for seventy three seconds, I can even pick locks with my teeth if I need to… Probably.”
Chef rolls his eyes at the clip. “Well that was a whole lotta nothing from that string bean. NEEEE-”
“No, no, wait a minute! Chef…” Are those tears in Chris’ eyes?
“Oh… What’s up man? Cecilia taking more money aga–”
“NO CHEF, SHE IS NOT! Ahem , I used to use a yo-yo. Maybe you don’t know this, before settling on being a host I was in Toronto’s Next Yo-Yo Stars until… I tragically took one to the gonads. I-I had to make a career decision and focus on television.. at the ripe age of twelve!” Chris allows a few stray tears to fall.
Chef holds Chris close, hugging him against his chest as he cries. “It’s alright Chris, hey maybe we can take this kid then?”
“I had to settle and here I am… Divorced and hanging out with a disgruntled drill sergeant turned Chef!”
Chef’s empathetic expression quickly turns into one of annoyance as he let's go of Chris. “And here I am hanging out with a divorced PAST HIS PRIME Cali-Dude Bro!”
“Past his prime? Nonsense Chef! For Harold we’re in agreement he’s in, right?” That story about the yo-yo thing couldn’t be fact checked.
“Fine! String bean can be in the show! Can we just move on? And don’t tell any more LIES!”
“My bad Chef! It was the actor inside of me.”
Trent
Next up is a young man sitting at his computer desk. He holds a guitar in his hands and a microphone up to his mouth. “Hey there, whoever out there is watching this. I’m Trent Grohl. I'm a singer, song-writer, fighter and lover. Check this one song out, been working on it practically since I was in the womb.” Trent begins strumming his guitar, humming in melody with the instrument until his eyes open. He reads off of the top of his head, opening his mouth to sing.
“I–”
“TRENT!” His door swings open, and a man who looks like his father steps in the room with a red face and a business suit on his torso. “I thought you were studying for your SATs? Why are you playing 'pretend band' again?” Trent rolls his eyes before turning to face the man. He slouches in annoyance.
“Dad, I’m just taking a quick break. Trying to get onto that show I mentioned earlier, remember?”
“Is that show you’re trying to get onto comparable to Yale? How about Harvard? Even Princeton?”
“Maybe? There’s a cash prize for whoever wins. 100,000 dollars worth! What if life isn’t so cut and paste as you make it seem? What if I can venture off the road you've dug out for me and make my OWN future? Huh?” The door gets slammed as his father's response. His dad was always like this, never once could he support his son without making it about what he wanted. He finally turns back to the camera with a sigh as he starts strumming a new tune, this one a lot more somber than the last. “So you see… I really want to try and win that money so I can start my own band, or even just go to an art school. Anything but law school... so please, please consider me for your show?" His plead is seasoned with a strum of his guitar for added emotional effect.
Chris turns to Chef. “Hey Chef, we have daddy issues yet?”
Chef shakes his head.
Bridgette
Ah, the beach. Typically, a calm and serene despot for young teenagers to run about, get high or catch a wave. Today however, we see a large crowd of people surrounding a blonde haired, hourglass shaped swimsuit toting girl as she places a beached baby whale on her surfboard, gently as if it's made of porcelain lying it down on its front. The camera shakes and thrashes as if its holder is running. It stops to zoom into the savior’s face as she carefully pushes her board out, getting on her knees to usher the whale back to the open water.
The crowd around her cheers while she swims out to the water with the innocent baby whale. Once the whale is in sufficient water, the surfer gently ushers it back into the calm ocean, then swims back to shore. The cheering subsides some thirty seconds later, the beach goers dispersing back to their cliques to celebrate the saving of ocean life. The surfer chick looks surprised when she notices the camera is on her.
“What, we’re doing that now?”
“Bridge, chillax, girl. It’s been on! Just roll with it, okay?” A feminine voice with a heavy hippy accent says from behind the camera. The star rubs her bare arm, looking nervous.
“..Okay. Hi! I’m Bridgette. I’m sure you understand what I’m all about from.. All of that just now, so.. Let me explain my reasons for wanting to join,” Bridgette takes a deep breath, hands on her hips. “I know there will be plenty of people joining your show looking only for the pleasures of wealth, to satisfy their own selfish desires. But I think the cash you have, producers, could be put to real good use.”
She pauses, picking up her board to lean against it, making her appear smaller. “Foundations, charities, safer beaches, animal and people hospitals, PSA's raising awareness for these very big issues. I think with one hundred thousand dollars I could very well save lives and make Canada safer than it was before. If I do lose, I promise to exit with my head held high."
“That was it! Wasn’t so bad, was it, babe?” The girl asks, a smile obvious in her voice.
Bridgette nods. “Thank you for your consideration.” She finishes with a cute smile as the screen fades to black.
Chef, bored again, waves his hand with mediocrity. “Eh, too goodie-goodie. Pass.”
“Woah, Chef, hold on: did she say PSA's? Imagine how many lawsuits and-- and morality wars we could avoid with the producers and viewers if we have a few scenes of Bridgette telling us off, or rescuing wounded pigeons. Beaucoup bucks saved and made, man!” Chef rolls his eyes at his partner's ludicrous saving habits.
“I’d still rather bring on the guy with all the sexy weapons.”
“No way, that dude was a creep and not in a funny way."
“You mean creepy in your way?” Chef grins. Chris is not amused.
“I am not creepy. I am sexy. Anyways, she’s in and that's final."
“Whatever, man. Next.” Chef rolls his eyes.
Lindsay
A long haired blonde girl wearing tight, purposely ripped jeans that hug her figure like a bear on a cub and a red tank top without a bra speaks through gloss covered lips, smacking every word that comes out of her mouth as her cliché bulgy eyed chihuahua stares at the camera from under her breasts.
“Hi, my name’s Lindsay! The audition sheet says to list my best qualities, but I have so many.” She flutters her butterfly lashes, smiling adorably. She let’s go of her dog, who immediately sprints away upon being freed. She leans forward in criss-cross position. “I’m pretty, and smart and I get along with everyone, even ugly girls and dorky boys, mhm.” She nods with her eyes closed as if she’s somehow all knowing.
“Somehow, I was able to get offered twelve summer jobs just by walking down the street a mile from my house, but who has time to work all summer? If I’m gonna get money, I wanna do it by being me! Not Tina from behind the counter who has to watch other girls buy pretty clothes, although I’d totally love to help ugly girls get makeovers, or help pretty girls be prettier! If you couldn’t tell, I’m what my ex boyfriend calls a bimbo; really nice.” She rambles almost as long as her hips are wide.
“Oh, did I mention? For the American version, I’m bilingual: I speak fluent Canadian and American.” Her beautiful teeth shimmer as she smiles earnestly. Chris and Chef are floored.
“You know, I’m real happy there are no cameras in the room, otherwise uncle Chris might find himself on Twitter’s hitlist for saying this.”
“Saying what?” Chef cautiously asks.
“Man oh man I cannot wait to stare at that girl in 4k HD surround sound 1080p glory.” Sweat and drool coat Chris’s face as he speaks. Chef looks disturbed.
DJ
The audition opens with a stationary camera aiming at a tall Jamaican man with brick built arms and a picture of a middle aged black woman who looks a lot like him on display beside his bed. The setting is clearly his room, but the giant isn't just talking to his camera; he begins to jump and flutter in the air, holding a pink ribbon as he parades himself about his room wearing a white uniform for ribbon dancing. He finished his act with a split, never breaking eye contact or a smile away from the camera. Afterwards, the footage cuts to him sitting on his bed.
“Yo! My name’s Devon Joseph, or DJ! I think I’d be a perfect fit for Total Drama, cause I’m kind, and strong, and sensitive, and most of all, I was raised right.” DJ lifts up the picture of his stern but proud mother folding her arms and points at it. “Thanks, mom! Without you, none of this would be possible.” He lets his smile fade.
“My Momma ain’t gonna be able to provide for herself forever. That’s why, if I win Total Drama, I’m gonna get her the best housing I can get her, make sure she never has to work again. I’d also love to join to diversify my skills and make more buddies! Thank you for your consideration.” He finishes it all off with a wholesome smile and wave.
Chef seems emotional. Chris is laughing almost gut bustling at the kid’s impassioned speech, but Chef is weeping. “W-woah, C-Chef, buddy it is not that funny.”
The brolic cook grabs Chris by the shirt violently. “It’s not funny at all! Kids got heart, man. Don’t you have a momma? HUH?”
The host looks away, no longer smiling. “Well.. I mean, yeah-”
“Well, do you?!” He shakes Chris.
“Yes! Yes, I do, okay? Why?”
“Ain’t it exactly like us starting out?” Chef whispers, sniffling.
“I dunno what you mean, man. You're kinda freaking me out.”
“I started in showbiz to provide for my momma, to make it big, to prove to her that I was more than a cook! I am a professional, and she raised me right! Do you understand?!” Chef wheezes, barely holding back tears. Chris cringes and looks away.
“Yes, Chef! I understand! Just calm down!”
Geoff
“What more do you need brah? Party central here. Beaches, babes, and some gnarly burgers being cooked up by my buddy Brody. Life's a party and I’m always hostin’ dudes.” Geoff put his cowboy hat over his eyes. Another surfer walks past the camera, obscuring him from view.
“Geoff bro, Johnny got us hooked up with the other B!” A brown skinned, curly haired teen holding a greasy spatula yells.
“Brody! The other B…?”
“Some beer bro! His cousin Tony was up working at the shop and he swung in!”
“Oh heck yeah dude! Let’s go and do a buttchug or wait…” The two surfer dudes point at each other and nod.
“SHOTGUNNNNNN!” The two dude bros clapped a high five as they ran off to go find their fellow surfers. At this point Chris and Chef do some fast forwarding, as Geoff had left the camera rolling for a little over an hour. Eventually the surfer wanders back to the beach chair and plops down, as if he didn’t just leave the camera on for nearly an hour.
“Yup, average life of a party horse. Stressful? Not at all my dudes. Times like these are what we live for.”
As his cowboy hat covers his eyes a final time, Geoff falls asleep… And the video still has three hours left.
“He knew he was still talking to the camera and yet he still didn’t turn it off? Hehe, oh those were the days."
“Listen, Chef, I know you’re not invited to too many parties and the ones you are invited to you usually aren’t the life of, but please note there are some unspoken rules of partying. Rule one? Nothing but the party matters. Geoff lives to party! You can’t hate the guy.” Chef wants to hit Chris with a sassy remark back but.. Yeah, he couldn’t hate Geoff. The guy actually seemed pretty cool, unlike an actual fraternity “party animal”. He's in.
LeShawna
“Yo, yo, queen LeShawna coming to y’all ready for anything. Loud n’ proud, large and in charge, anything your TDI crew can throw at me, I can handle it. And on the dance floor? I am unmatched. Check it.” LeShawna turns on her phone's dance playlist, busting a move or two, shaking her arms, her head, and her hips like a very, very desperate peacock. “Let me promise y'all this too, there ain’t no party like a LeShawna victory party. Figuring I’ll be the one throwing it at the end and all. If you pick me, consider yourselves invited.” Continuing her spa-dancing, she bumps towards the camera doing a call me sign until it properly fades out.
“Short, sweet, and to the point. What do you think, Chef?”
“I think it’s prolly the opposite of her. A sister like that? Haha big, mean, and crazy, don’t let that party nonsense fool you. Woo-weeee.”
“He said it, not me. Easy to misinterpret quotes aside, is she fit for the show?”
“Her? Heh, she might be one tough nut to crack but that’ll just make it all the more fun when she does.”
Duncan
The visual quality of this one is grainy and barely comprehensible. The audio is very clear, thankfully. It almost looks like security camera footage. And, made out by the grainy footage, is a green mohawked teenager scaling a large building while the full moon provides mood lighting. Obviously, a criminal.
He’s scaling the building downward with a rope, cocky grin glued to his face as he glances between the ground below and the camera.
“Hey, Duncan here! Though I’m sure you know me considering I’m somewhat of a local celebrity around these parts.” He remarks with gusto.
“Yeah, photographers are taking my picture all the time. It’s because of my charm and good looks, which is also why I banged half of Davis High. That and because I live in a big house with tons of security cameras, guards and guard dogs to watch over me. Not to mention: no parents!”
“My best quality? Let’s just say, I’m stealthy, a real thinker. Tough, too. Yup, the whole cake package.”
He hops down, finally free from the wall. The rope drops and an alarm blares. A spotlight highlights him and the sound of ravenous guard dogs catches his attention. He breaks character for a second, eyes widening as he realizes what he has to do. He starts running, still looking into the camera. “Well, I’d love to stay and chat but I really gotta run. My parole officer will be in touch!”
The recording ends with static and muffled yelling. Chris and Chef nod at each other, raising their brows with interest.
“A convict? Very cool!” Chris exclaims, writing his name down.
“Finally, someone I can relate to.” Chef says, arms behind his head.
His co-host places a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t push it, man. You’re way better than some bratty delinquent.”
He smiles. “Thanks, man.”
Chris smiles back. “You’re welcome. Next!”
Heather
We hear the sound of a shower turning off and see a hand reaching for a towel sitting on the shower curtain. Walking into frame for the first time is Heather. She is easily identifiable by her sly ‘better than you’ grin. “Will I be nervous if I get picked to be on the show? As if. I’m incredibly comfortable being on television, it wouldn’t be my first rodeo you know.”
Heather reaches for another towel to put over her hair, rolling her eyes at just the thought of being embarrassed on TV.
“What would I have to be ashamed of? I’m PRETTY. While I’m sure the standards won’t be anything to brag about being higher than, I’m going to be a 12 entering an average of 4. If you get me on the show I’ll sell it myself if I have to.” She waves bye to the audience and walks off screen, throwing her two towels back at the camera.
Chris smiles. “Well Chef, I think I’ve seen all I need to see here. Ratings? Check.”
“Yeah, RATINGS huh? Face it Chris, you got a thing for trust fund white girls!”
“Actually, Chef it says here that she’s ASIAN. So maybe take your racial assumptions back to 1970?” Chef raises his brow in annoyance.
"What are you trying to say?"
"I'm saying... uh... next!"
Gwen
Sitting cross armed in a computer chair is a goth girl in midnight blue who looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here. “Soooo… Am I supposed to sit here and do a talent or something? Why? So my tape can be shown off to the world and I can get laughed at? Not a chance I’d humiliate myself before I even get onto the show.” She rolls her eyes.
“I’m Gwen. That’s all you trolls really need to know. I live with my mom and brother after my dear dad decided to leave us in the dirt for some floozy in Vermont. Yeah, Vermont , how desperate and deprived do you have to be?! Is it too hard to just... ugh.. So look… I want to be on the show so I can try and win the prize money. If I ever want to go to college and help support my family I’m going to have to make more money than eight dollars an hour working my butt off in a kitchen.”
“If you want someone there looking to win and not make friends, I’m your girl. If not… Whatever I guess.” That’s the last we see of the goth girl as the camera fades to black, leaving Chris and Chef to decide her fate.
“Sounds like girl’s got it rough. First person I’ve seen other than DJ a while back who wants to spend the money on family.”
“And you know what Chef? What’s more important than family? Sitting here with you, going through all these auditions… I think WE’RE family Chef. You get me, I get you. Same wavelength.” Tears start welling up in Chef’s eyes, did Chris really mean that?
“Maybe I judged you too harshly, McLean. You ain’t a corporate puppet after all.” Chef leans in and gives Chris a hug, embracing his co-host as if he truly is special.
“And you know what, Chef? Family really sells!”
The hug immediately ends and Chef pulls away in disgust. “Forget everything I just said! You are not my family!”
“What?! Don’t be jealous! I’ve got to think about the family business first ‘bro’!”
“Don’t call me bro McLean! Just get on with the next tape!” Chef is beyond offended! Just when he thought maybe he’d touched Chris’ icy heart.
Owen
A choir of church boys and girls are seen singing on a particular busy night. The camera recording all of this is clearly a smart phone propped up awkwardly where it won’t be seen, particularly zoomed in on a large blonde kid. The choir, including him, sing Hallelujah, with the blonde looking more and more red, anxious and suspicious by the second. At the finale of the song, when the kid slowly draws out the “Halleluuuujah..”, applause erupts and the choir bows. The fat boy tries to, but ends up hitting himself on his stomach instead. He then runs towards his phone, picks it up and speed walks away into what looks like a lounge.
The camera is positioned under his swollen chin until he places it against the counter wall, showing himself off as he opens the fridge and eats as much as he can, from donuts to fruits to an entire pie. Between bites he speaks.
“Hi.. I’m Owen! And I’m so psyched to be joining TD! Woohoo.” He whisper-yells the woohoo, continuing to eat as someone knocks on the door to the lounge.
“Owen, sweetie, you were amazing! Can we see you?” A sweet voice beckons.
“In a second, mom, hehe!” He smiles forcefully, though his chuckle is very cute, almost mascot worthy. “What? I eat when I’m stressed.. I wanna be on TD to party, but most importantly to find new, less judgemental people to be friends with. Don’t get me wrong, I adore my folks here at home, but they’re really not always so open to new concepts, if you get my meaning. Anyways, my best qualities are my iron stomach and endless sense of humor! I promise we’ll have a blast, bro’s! Catch you later!” He downs an entire peach cobbler, covering himself in crumbs, jam, chocolate and sugar.
“Owen? Who are you talking to?” A mature voice demands.
Owen bites his lip, leaving his phone to answer the door. “Sorry, dad, here I come!” The door opens and the choir, as well as their families collectively gasp. “...What?”
Chris and Chef watch as the monitor goes dark. “You know, the final piece of this puzzle is a mascot. This kid’s got likability, the cute factor and he seems two dimensional at least.”
“He better appreciate my damn food…” Chef snarls.
“A starving raccoon couldn’t appreciate your damn food, Chef. It’s alright, man.” Chris offers a hand to Chef’s shoulder. He slaps it, paining him greatly before digging a kitchen knife out of his pocket and brandishing it.
“I’ll kill you, McLean!”
Chris stands up as Chef bolts forward to chase him around their office. “H-hey, wait! Producers! Chef is fighting me again!” Chris knocks on the door desperately. “O-oh, and we got our cast! So get those signed copies of signatures and contracts ready!”
“You ain’t gonna have a head to host with, you bastard!”
“You wouldn’t dare touch a hair on my head- Chef, no!”
Oh, McLean will have a head to host with. Stay tuned: Total Drama Island premieres soon.