We Interrupt this Transition

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CHAPTER THREE: Central Casting

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UNTITLED REALITY TELEVISION PROGRAM

Are you, or someone you know, a man between the ages of 18-30 who wants to put their minds, bodies, and masculinity to the ultimate test?

Would you be willing to have a life-changing experience that would change you permanently, to challenge yourself, to push your limits, or simply just to win? 

Garden Alpha is now accepting applications for an untitled reality TV program. Fill out the form below👇and be prepared to film a three minute introductory video. Initial interviews will be held remotely via Skype or Zoom.

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Sheri, Sam, and Jimmy stared at the laptop in front of them, jaws dropped, gobsmacked.

“Sam? It’s gone silent over there, are you still on the line?” Daria’s voice on the speaker said. 

It took a moment for Sam to recompose herself. “Yeah, Daria, it’s… we’re still processing this.”

“Holy shit.” said Sheri. “You’re serious.”

“Who’s that?” asked Daria.

“Sorry, Daria,” said Jimmy. “We’re meeting with Sheri Winston, she’s a transgender support councilor, answering some questions we have about the project.” Jimmy turned to Sheri. “Sheri, this is Daria Bryant, director of unscripted programming at Garden Alpha.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Daria. 

“You’re crazy,” said Sheri. “You do know you’re crazy for even thinking about running with this, right?”

“Maybe. But there’s a method to my madness,” said Daria. “Though - I’m sorry - Sam, Jimmy, is Sheri on staff, or consulting or…?” 

“No,” said Sheri, before Sam or Jimmy had a chance to respond. “I’m just a councilor at the West Hollywood LGBT center.”

“Ah. What’s the rest of your day like?” said Daria. 

“The rest of my day?”

“Would you be willing to come down to the Garden Alpha offices? I could explain more about the project. We could even bring you in as a consultant, a paid consultant.” 

Sheri thought about that. 

“I’m saying, yes, I will talk with you,” said Sheri, finally, “if only to explain to you why this is a horrible idea, and prevent what may very well be reality television’s first televised war crime.”

“Wouldn’t be the first,” said Daria. “I’ll have legal set up a boilerplate contract for you, so you’re compensated for your time.”

“It’s in Culver City,” said Jimmy. “About a half hour drive from here, we could give you a ride if you want.” 

“Just give me the address,” said Sheri. “I’ll take my own car. Just in case I have to run screaming in horror.”

“Probably a good idea,” said Daria. 

“I ran to the ladies’ room in a panic the last time I was there,” shrugged Sam, “so there’s precedent.”

***

The four of them met up in Daria’s office, where Sheri did a double-take upon seeing the blue-pink-white trans pride flag on Daria’s desk. 

“That’s a trans pride flag,” said Sheri. “Ms. Bryant, you’re trans?”

“Is that what that is?” asked Jimmy. “I thought it was Espirito Santo.” 

Everyone looked at Jimmy. 

“Which Brazilian state has a blue, white, and pink flag?”

Everyone continued to look at Jimmy.

“Game show host, remember? I picked up a lot of trivia over the years. Must have been some sort of bonus round question that just stuck in my head.”

Daria just shook her head, and ignored Jimmy.

“Yes, I’m a trans woman,” said Daria, to Sheri. “That’s one of the reasons I’m really pushing for this idea to go forward. Maybe not quite as quickly as Chandra and Daryl want me to go… but quickly nonetheless.” 

“Then you have to know, it won’t work,” said Sheri. “You’d be inflicting dysphoria on innocent people. You’d be changing people – mutilating people – in ways they don’t want to be mutilated.” 

“We’d have them give their consent. We would allow the contestants to back out any time. And we’d keep a close eye on their health and well being.” 

“Ms. Bryant, you… you… give me a moment to gather my thoughts,” said Sheri. 

“Take your time. And please, call me Daria.” 

Sheri paced the room for a bit, then took a deep calming breath. 

“Okay. The issue is that you are introducing a perverse incentive here. If these contestants wanted to transition, that would be fine. But you’re talking about getting people who have no desire to transition, in fact, people who will be harmed by this process, through a contest. How can you have consent when money starts getting involved?” said Sheri. 

“Oh, I know. And it does bother me. But then I thought, how is this different from any other job?” said Daria. 

Sheri scoffed. “For one, when you sign up to be a Wal*Mart greeter, they don’t emasculate you.” 

Jimmy opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Sam elbowed him in the ribs.

“No. But they do tell you what to wear, where to stand, what to say. We all do things we don’t want to do for compensation. I mean, I like my job, but I wouldn’t be doing it for free, after all,” said Daria.

“You’re talking about permanently damaging people’s bodies. In ways they may never recover from,” Sheri countered.

“And that doesn’t stop the NFL, or would you like to see some concussion statistics?” Daria pointed out. “In truth, we’d be more humane about it, because NFL players are under contract and can’t just quit.” 

“Jesus,” said Sheri, sitting down on the couch, putting her head in her hands. 

“Look, is this a bad idea? Maybe. But if it’s a bad idea, it’s a bad idea that is quickly forgotten under the piles of bad reality TV out there. But what if… what if it could show people… what it was like, to… to be trans?” said Daria. “Look, I’m going to go out on a limb and I’m assuming you’re trans too, Ms. Winston?”

“Thank you for pretending you haven’t clocked me, but I know I’m a Balrog.” 

“Balrog?”

“You know. ‘YOU SHALL NOT PASS!’”

Sam found herself giggling at that, and immediately stifled it, wondering if laughing at that was rude. 

“Right. Look, Sheri, and I hope it’s okay I call you Sheri, I’ve got a mother who told me flat out that I couldn’t be trans because I always dated women. Like being trans was ‘postgraduate gay’. Like you have to earn your ‘confirmed Bachelor’s’ before they let you take the advanced classes. Most of all, she doesn’t understand why I can’t just… be a man. She’s still worried it’s some kind of mental illness.”

Sheri nodded. A lot of trans women, including herself, had similar stories. 

“I know this idea is out there. But what happens if we actually do this, and we show it on people’s screens? We show them three things,” said Daria, counting on her fingers. “First, that being trans is not a choice, not if these guys can’t choose to be trans women even when they’re being paid to. Second, we show them what we go through. Demystify the process. It’s getting better, but do you know how many people have never even heard of HRT? That they don’t know about electrolysis and how much it hurts… that they… god, I just want people to see that being trans is… is fucking normal. The way they see gay people now. That’s the third thing. That we’re normal.”

“Then do a documentary!” said Sheri. “My god.”

“Sheri, I hate to say this, but I’ve been in the television industry a long time, and… well…,” Jimmy hesitated. “People don’t watch documentaries.” 

Sam sat down on the couch next to Sheri. 

“Sheri, I’m with you on this. My idea was to pitch a standard game show, and I wasn’t expecting them to take this idea seriously. But… Daria has a point, too. Jimmy and I are so ignorant about trans people that we started our research at a drag bar.” 

“To be fair, the food was quite good,” said Jimmy. “Actually, can I be blunt?”

“Better than anyone I know,” said Sam.

“I think Garden Alpha is going to try to do something like this eventually, now that they’ve got the idea in their heads. Maybe not this exact idea, but something like it. And they’ll do it with or without us.”

“Jimmy, you think we would?” asked Daria. 

“Whose idea was it to put out the casting call? Not yours, right?” asked Jimmy.

Daria nodded in response. “No, Chandra just… went ahead with it.” 

“Look, maybe we’re the wrong people for the job. Maybe we’re ignorant and stupid and we’re going to make a hash of it, but I know Sam. And I think that if Sam is the show-runner and I’m directing, I know we’re at least going to try to treat this with sincerity and respect,” said Jimmy. “Or we can wipe our hands of it, walk away right now, and let a team with less scruples move forward with it.” 

Sheri sighed. “Well, it seems that you’ve already made up your mind. Don’t know why you needed to talk to me, then,” she said with a little venom in her voice. 

“Because we need you - or someone like you - on the team,” said Sam. “I didn’t realize it until just now, in this room, but it couldn’t be more obviously true. We need someone who actually cares about the contestants and the staff. Someone who can keep us from being… callous exploiters and actually help us come up with a way to do this that minimizes harm.” 

“Wait, what are you saying?”

“I think we’re offering you a job,” said Jimmy. “That is, conditional on getting the green light next week.” 

Daria looked over to her computer monitor. The number of applicants had jumped up to 673 while they were talking. 

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” said Daria.

***

Daria cleared her schedule and invited Sam, Jimmy, and Sheri back into the office the next day. All of the next day. Sometimes the only way to do that was to eliminate distractions, get into a meeting room, and start drawing on whiteboards and getting into screaming matches until a consensus is reached. 

Or at least, that’s always how it worked in software. 

Well, that’s how it sometimes worked in software. 

Daria was beginning to wonder if the lateral career shift to programming from… the other type of programming was such a good idea after all. But leaving nothing to chance, she got brand new dry erase markers, wiped down the whiteboards with solvent, made sure catering provided lunch, and prayed to god that nobody would end up killing anyone else. 

After everyone had gotten their respective coffee or tea, and booted up their laptops, signed into the Wifi network and Garden Alpha’s VPN, gotten their auth codes from IT, and all set up, Sheri was the first to speak up.

“Okay. So…” she addressed the room. “I’ve slept on this. And you’re right. I don’t know how ethical anyone else you get will be… so I’m in. But… anything unethical, and I walk. First sign. I know you’ll continue on without me, but I’m not going to be part of something I believe to be wrong.” 

Daria nodded. “That’s fair enough. Where do we start?”

“Well, Jimmy and I were brainstorming ideas. And Jimmy thought the best way to do this given the large number of applicants is perhaps start with a large number of contestants and slowly whittle them down, like One vs. One Hundred, or something like that.” said Sam.

“It’d be like a battle royale game,” said Jimmy. “At first a lot of people, not a lot of pressure. Just do these simple things. Go by a girl name. Wear a dress. Things like that.”

“But then people will drop out once things get more invasive,” said Sam. “Assuming we can get over the medical and legal hurdles–” 

“–and find doctors willing to do this crazy thing–” Sam said more softly.

“–then eventually you’ll hit a tipping point where instead of dropping out in clumps, people drop out one by one. That gives us time to focus on, say, the last ten or so contestants and really get to know them. Get to follow their progress.” 

“So long as they can drop out at any time,” said Shari. “And there’s no penalty for doing it, and they can talk to counselors on request - and we pay for it, but they’re not beholden to us. They also can’t be cut off from communicating with their friends, family, and loved ones… when people make life-changing decisions, they should be informed decisions.”

“Right,” said Daria. “I don’t see anything that prevents us from making sure that’s the case.”

“Nor do we,” said Jimmy. 

“Okay. Now the difficult part,” said Sam. “Turning transitioning into a game show. That means a game and prize structure.” 

“I was wondering when we were going to get around to this,” said Sheri. “I don’t like the idea of ‘voting someone off the island’ or whatever they call it. Always struck me as mean spirited. A popularity contest.” 

“We did consider it. But… this is framed as an endurance challenge,” said Sam. 

“So, we structure it like a poker tournament or similar. The people who drop out early get a consolation prize and a copy of our home game,” said Jimmy. 

“Dear God,” said Sam. “Please don’t let there be a home game.” 

“Worst game I’ve ever played,” said Daria. 

“But worth it, in the end,” added Sheri. 

“Too true,” Daria added. 

“So,” continued Jimmy. “Here’s what we’re considering. We bring in our top one hundred picks from the applicants into the studio in LA.” 

“And another 150 alternatives, not everyone who applies will show up,” added Sam.

“And alternates,” continued Jimmy. “We then tell them exactly what the challenge is. Starting with new names, ending with… vrmmrmprvr.” 

Jimmy trailed off in a mumble.

Sam, Daria, and Sheri looked at Jimmy. 

“Jimmy, are you having a stroke?” asked Sam. 

“No,” said Jimmy. “It’s just… weird that we’re talking about… you know…” 

A pause. 

“Vrmmrmprvr.” mumbled Jimmy, at barely a whisper. 

“You mean vaginoplasty?” said Daria. 

“Yes, Daria, thank you,” said Jimmy.

“Jesus, Jimmy, you can’t even say the word, why the hell did you think you could do this?” said Sheri. 

“Just… just give me time. I’ll get used to it.” 

“You better,” said Sam. “You got me into this mess.” 

“Wait, how did Jimmy get you into this, Sam?” asked Daria. “I thought this was your idea, not Jimmy’s.” 

“It is, technically, but Jimmy was the one who gave me the idea that I needed to have a throwaway pitch.” 

“Wait,” said Shari. “This was your throwaway pitch? Like the bad pitch you use to make the good one look good?”

Silence at the table. 

“Now I’m kind of curious what–”

“Social deduction trivia with play-at-home elements,” said Sam. “Let’s just get through the rest of this, okay? Jimmy, you were saying we’ve got one hundred players in the studio, and we’ve just told them everything. All the stages between them and the million dollars.” 

“Most are going to drop out right away. Maybe… fifty percent?”

“More,” said Sheri. “I’d bet good money on it. Maybe seventy five, once you tell them what the first medical steps are.” 

“Anti-androgens?” asked Daria. 

“We think so. We’d have to have the doctor - whoever we get - to actually come up with the course, but let’s say it’s chemical castration - an implant for a month or so,” said Jimmy.

“Completely reversible, but I think most won’t, and of those who do, they will probably hate the side effects,” said Sam. 

“You mean the effects. Side effects are things that you aren’t taking the medication for,” said Sheri. 

“Right. So we’ve whittled it down to, say, anywhere from twenty five to ten contestants. We sequester them, have them live together, you know, typical reality show format,” said Sam. 

“At this point, let’s say there’s ten players. We give them challenges each episode where they can win cash for themselves. Not like, big cash, but like, who can put together the best… Sam, you’re a woman, what’s something girly?” asked Jimmy. 

“Best scrapbook?”

“Right. So, maybe whoever wins that challenge gets a thousand bucks, second place gets five hundred, or something like that. But the thing is they have to keep playing to earn more challenge money,” explained Jimmy. “We also have a team challenge, each week like–” 

Jimmy looked to Sam.

“Plan a wedding?” Sam offered. 

“Right. And if they succeed, that money gets added to the jackpot. Which gets bigger as the series goes on.”

“Ugh,” said Sheri. “So what happens if they choose not to continue? Do they just… forfeit all the money?”

“We think that would be… a bit much. We want people to take the option of dropping out seriously. So, at any time, they can buy-out for half of the equal share of the current jackpot.” 

“So if there was, say, a hundred thousand in the jackpot, and ten players left, an equal share would be ten thousand per player. The tenth player to leave would walk away with five grand - half that. The jackpot would become ninety-five k, and if the ninth player left immediately before any more money was added to the jackpot, they’d get… ninety five… divided by nine, divided by two… hold on.” Jimmy fumbled for the calculator in his phone.

“Five thousand, two hundred and seventy seven,” said Sam, who already had the number ready. 

Jimmy raised an eyebrow and looked at Sam. 

“I made a spreadsheet, Jimmy,” said Sam, and gestured to her laptop.” 

“Right,” said Jimmy. 

Daria nodded. 

“God, I don’t know how I feel about this. You know how – and I realize I’m being reductive – how men are. We’re practically encouraging them to peer pressure themselves further than they’re willing to go, just so that they don’t look weak. Alpha male bullshit,” said Sheri. 

“I mean, that would…” Daria thought for a moment before continuing. “That’s kind of what I’d like to see. Would men still get all… testosteroney and competitive if you… actually took away the testosterone?”

“God, that’s a nature vs. nurture question if there ever was one,” said Sheri.

“But that’s just it. We’re not exactly writing for a scientific journal, but until scientists get off their asses and do some actual research into trans people like us, maybe we can get people curious about the question.” 

“While making tons of subscription money for Garden Alpha,” said Sheri, with contempt. 

“Admittedly, yes,” said Daria. “Well, Sam, Jimmy, it looks like you have a game. What else do we need before we’re ready to pitch?”

Sam read off from a list on her computer: “We need a shooting location that won’t arrest us for this mad science experiment, a doctor who is ethical enough to be able to give solid care to the contestants, but unethical enough to take part in this. We also need to put together a budget, which will include crew, catering, lodging, equipment rental or purchase and whatever talent we can find to act as host. Plus my showrunner fee, Jimmy’s directing fee, Sheri’s consulting fee, and miscellaneous.” 

“Still no idea for a host?” said Daria. “If we can’t find anyone else, what about you, Jimmy?”

Sam laughed, darkly. “Jimmy can’t even say the word ‘vaginoplasty’. And it really should be a trans woman host anyway. Don’t worry, I have calls into CAA, WME, UTA, Paradigm, and Gersh already. I’ll see who’s available.” 

Daria nodded. 

“Right. So, now that we have the overview, let’s start making a rough draft of a shooting schedule,” said Daria. 

And they continued hashing out details until the end of the business day.  

***

***

JACOB SPADER & JUDE "GOOCH" GUTHRIE

Jacob Spader just got back from the gym, and mixed up a protein shake in the blender. He poured a big glass, and then sat down in front of the TV, putting on the Broncos game. 

His phone rang, and he picked up. 

“Hey, bro!” It was Gooch. 

The fact that Gooch’s name was Gooch was all you really needed to know in order to truly understand who Gooch was, at his core. 

Philosophers have spent millenia trying to understand what makes humans human. It would take eons for anyone to understand what made Gooch Gooch. But ultimately, such an effort would be pointless. The one truth that sums up humanity, the universal field theory of existence, is this: 

Everybody, everywhere, throughout all of time, knows a Gooch.

“Gooch! God, what’s up man?”

“Nothing much. Say, you remember that reality show you wanted to be on? Ultimate American Warrior Beast?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“I think they’re casting again. Or something like it. I already applied. I’ll send you the link.”

“Bro, that would be awesome!”

***

VICTOR RUBIN

Victor Rubin sat in front of the computer screen, spending every Saturday how he usually spent it - applying for TV roles. He hadn’t booked so much as a commercial in over a year, and bussing tables wasn’t getting any easier. 

“Survivor Detroit… applied,” he said to himself. 

He clicked to the next listing.

“Is It Guacamole… applied”

He clicked to the next listing.

“Who Wants To Survive a Japanese Game Show… applied”

He clicked to the next listing. 

“Untitled Reality Television Program… applied.”

He clicked to the next listing.

“The Circle of Fish… Jesus, who comes up with these… applied.” 

***

LEONARD HARRISON

“So,” said Leonard Harrison, “I saw this like, stupid Macho Man reality show thing online. Right. So I applied.”

“Lenny,” said Maisy, who was hosting the open mic that night at the Gaslamp Comedy Club, “why’d you do that?”

“Get this - I go in, I basically take a go-pro and a field recorder with me and I basically do the Jordan Klepper thing where I just talk to idiots, put that up on YouTube, use it to promote the club and my act.” 

“I mean, that might work, but you do realize that you are likely going to be making fun of people who are twice your size and have impulse control issues, right?” 

“Yeah, but if I do get my ass beat by a meathead, that’s also good publicity, right?” 

***

RAFAEL ESPINAR

Rafael Espinar was poring through his social networks in his bedroom when he came across a posting on his Mastodon feed: 

> “Ugh. Another stupid TV show about stupid toxic masculinity and patriarchal heteronormativity. Why do they keep making this shit?” - [email protected]

He looked at the screen and clicked the link. He was certainly a man between the ages of 18-30. And he already was familiar with challenging himself to change himself permanently. In fact, he could think of nothing but, lately. 

“Renata!” called Rafael’s mother from downstairs. “Come down and get dinner. It’s your favorite - stew!” 

Rafael rolled his eyes, sighed, stretched out - god the binder was starting to hurt his chest and back - adjusted his packer, and headed downstairs. He’d fill out the rest of the form later.

***

ETHAN MacDONALD

“Oh my god,” said Kayla MacDonald, poring through casting calls on her phone. “This posting!”

“What?” said her best friend, Hannah. “What about it? Not another makeover show?”

Hannah and Kayla were always interested in Reality TV postings. They had each tried out for Survivor, and as a team, for the Amazing Race, and finding and applying for open roles was a thrill for them.  

“Nah, it’s like, one of those macho-men shows,” said Kayla. “World’s Toughest Lunkhead or something like that.”

“There’s one of those every other week,” said Hannah. “Besides, we’re not in the demographic they’re looking for. See, they’re looking for men.”

“Yeah, but I was just thinking… it says ‘you or someone you know.’”

“So?”

“What if I put Ethan’s name down?” 

Hannah stopped and raised an eyebrow. Ethan MacDonald, Kayla’s older brother by two years, was not a macho man by any stretch. Honestly, he was kind of pathetic, preferring to spend most of his time outside of his classes at UCSD either studying or on the Internet, playing tabletop RPGs via Zoom. 

“Kayla, why would you put your brother’s name down?”

“Because he ate the last of the banana chips. And I want some revenge.”

Hannah shrugged. “Fair enough.”

***

CHASE CASTLE

“Bro, I just found this application for a macho man reality TV show online. Can you imagine if I got picked? Podcast would go viral for sure!" Chase Castle looked straight into his ring light and the little podcaster camera, and continued shooting his video for the week. 

“So I’m gonna apply. Maybe ya boy ends up on TV or something. Anyway, I just got back from Vegas, and brought back something special for ya. I picked up this babe here on my trip, and let me tell you, she is deadly.”

Chase reached into a plexiglass box with his hand, and roughly yanked out a large rattlesnake. 

“This is a Mojave Rattlesnake, and it’s one of the deadliest snakes in North America. It’s got more venom than the tiger rattlesnake, and can kill a man in two hours,” said Chase to the camera. 

“Of course, a lot of so-called snake ‘experts’” - and here Chase used his free hand to make finger quotes - “will tell you that you gotta use a hook on a snake like this. And I’m like, shut the fuck up! You can’t handle a snake without a hook? Well, what are you going to do when the snake climbs up the hook, retard? You panic, and that’s when they die and their pussy family blames us!”

Chase rolled his eyes for emphasis.

“No, you see, a real man, you can’t be afraid of anything if you’re gonna be dealing with snakes. If you’re one of those pusses who treats snakes like it’s one of your hoity-toity yeast infected art collections, shut your gay ass the fuck up.” 

Chase gesticulated wildly with both hands, including the one that was holding the Crotalus scutulatus, whose already irritated demeanor turned positively towards perturbation. 

Not that Chase noticed. 

“There’s so many people out there calling themselves ‘educators’ or ‘conservationists’ who are just blah blah blah, spouting advice about testosterone through estrogen filled pussy lips. They can’t do what we can do, right? And we can do what you can. And if you don’t agree with that, well, you have no business raising exotic deadly animals, or for that matter, in America! Land of the free and the brave, cunttards.” 

Chase used his free hand to wipe fake tears out of his eyes. 

“Because if you’re not brave, you ain’t free, and if you ain’t a man, then you’re just getting fucked up the ass, hoping that some day your gramma-ma will die and leave you her favorite dress so you can jack off to the dead raccoon that your grandpappy gave you for your middle school graduation from menstrual college. In the meantime, suck my fucking dick!”

Chase pointed to said dick with both hands. This presented a rare opportunity for the rattlesnake, who lunged and came short only about a quarter inch. 

“Right, so let’s pop this bad boy back in the tank,” said Chase. True to his word, the snake was “popped” - perhaps rather roughly - back into the tank. The snake lunged at Chase, fangs bared.

Unfortunately, the snake was, perhaps not unsurprisingly, unfamiliar with the concept of plexiglass, and banged its head roughly on the clear barrier.

Chase then turned his attention to the camera, picking up a sack of coffee. 

“That brings us to our sponsor, 45 Caliber Coffee. Not only is this coffee good shit, it’s also made entirely by American Marine Veterans, as opposed to Starbucks, which is made entirely in Mexico by illegal aliens…” 

***

JETT TIMBRELL & BRADLEY EWART

“So, you’re applying to this reality show listing?” said Jett Timbrell, perched upon his boyfriend Bradley Ewart’s lap. 

“Yeah,” said Bradley, stroking his beard, “I mean, it couldn’t hurt, I can always say no, and you know, I kinda fit the type. Big guy with a beard. Hell, put me in a flannel shirt and I look like a lumberjack.”

“That’s because you’re Canadian,” said Jett, grabbing Bradley’s beard and giving it a playful tug. “All Canadians are assigned Lumberjack at birth. I don’t make the rules.” 

“Not Saskatchewanians or Albertans. Not many trees out on the plains.”

“You’re from Vancouver, honey. You were telling me that ESPN 2 used to film LumberSports twenty minutes from your house.” 

“So I like spectator sport! That doesn’t automatically make me a lumberjack!”

“I don’t make the rules!” repeated Jett, readjusting his dress (as an excuse to wiggle his little butt on Bradley’s lap.) “Anything above the 48th parallel means you were born wearing a toque and know how to play hockey.” 

“I can’t even skate!” said Bradley. “I played soccer! Anyway, would you mind taking a look over my application? You’re a better writer than I am.” 

“Honey, don’t I know it. You’re lucky you’re so pretty, if I actually read the profiles on Grindr, we never would have met up.” 

Jett smiled. Bradley frowned, feeling a little bit… well, ‘negged’ by that comment. But that was just Jett, Bradley thought. Blunt. To a fault. But god, that femboy twunk was cute as hell…

“So, let me see,” said Jett, reaching for the laptop.” 

Bradley played a little bit of keep-away with it, before letting Jett have it. 

When Jett looked over at the listing, wheels started spinning in his head. 

“Hmm…” he said, to no one in particular. 

“Hmm what?” said Bradley.

“This listing, doesn’t something seem off to you?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Bradley, you're cute but sometimes I think there's nothing upstairs,” said Jett. “It’s reality TV. There’s going to be a twist. And look at the language in it. ‘Minds, bodies, and masculinity?’ ‘Life-changing experience?’ This isn’t a macho man contest, it’s probably like, a rip off of Drag Race, or like, a quilting bee or something. Something genderfucky.” 

“You think everything’s genderfucky.” 

“Not true. Daylight Savings Time isn’t genderfucky.”

“But that’s the only exception?”

“Of several, but that’s not important right now. You know, I think I’m going to apply to this thing too. I mean, let’s face it, let’s say that it’s like, ‘be macho in a maid uniform!’ or ‘be macho as a crossplayer!’ I’m already there, I’d be a ringer.” 

“Right, so, what do you think of my entry?”

Jett skimmed it. Bradley wrote about his struggles with coming out, with moving to another country, with developing relationships in college despite being naturally shy, and how he was able to find friends in the gyms and pick-up basketball games in the area until he was able to find his feet and meet his boyfriend, and how they share a apartment.” 

“Ugh,” said Jett. “You’re just too nice. It’s boring.”

Bradley sighed. “I know.” 

“You’re lucky to have me,” said Jett. “Most boys would have gotten bored by now. But… as I said, you are pretty.” 

***

OSCAR KANE

“So, why are you applying for this show again?” asked Reg, from the passenger seat. 

“Glad you asked Reg,” said Oscar Kane, behind the wheel of a Ford F-150 covered in Trump bumper stickers and flying a Blue Lives Matter flag out the window. “Think about it. First off, this country needs more people like us out there. You know. Real Americans. You ever notice how these reality shows like, cast for DEI. There’s always like, a gay guy, a lesbian, a tran, and like, a token black guy. That’s replacement theory for you - they don’t want normal people to even apply for these shows, so fuck ‘em.” 

“Yeah,” said Henry, from the back seat. “Fuck ‘em.” 

“Once people see what we’re really like - they’ll understand why MAGA supporters are the backbone of America. I mean, I get on this show, and I can really wake people up. They need to hear the truth about what’s going on in this country. I mean if they can steal one election, what’s to stop them from just locking everyone up in jail, like they wanna do to Trump? It’s not much, but it’s a voice, yeah?” 

“Yeah, Reg, but if they are into DEI hires, won’t they shut you out?”

“Nah, they always cast a white guy to be the ‘villain’ of these things. But that’s my in. I can’t wait to shut down some of these snowflakes and their ridiculous opinions on a major streaming service.”

“Makes sense. When are you going to apply?” asked Reg. 

“After the rally. Y’all got your guns ready? Lord knows we can’t trust the police or secret service to keep Trump safe.” 

“Locked and loaded,” said Henry. 

“Yeah,” said Oscar. “I mean, everyone thinks they know who we are, but they’ve got it all wrong. We’re patriots. We’re willing to put ourselves on the line for what we believe in. I’ll be the one to show the real side of us.”

“Amen,” said Reg. 

“Plus,” admitted Oscar, “it could be the first step to something bigger. I mean, Trump did reality TV, and the next thing you know, he’s President. Once people see what I can do, who knows where this could take me?”