Destructive Fiction | The Jake Alberts Show

Fade to Black

2007-11-25T16:56:00.000-05:00

The sound of raindrops hitting the dark city sidewalk resembles the thunderous applause of a studio audience.

Jake sits slumped on the curb, clutching his bleeding stomach with one hand, and a beat-up Colt revolver in the other. He manages a sheepish smile that looks more pathetic than sinister, as he raises the revolver to his forehead. He pulls the trigger, and flinches as the hammer clicks.

Jake lowers the gun, then tosses it into the empty street. He manages a dejected laugh as he shakes and lowers his head.

Two black shoes enter his field of vision. Jake raises his head to see a man shrouded in shadow looking down at him. Jake wipes the blood from his chin as he begins to speak: “You can tell Thorne…” He coughs. “You can tell Thorne that that debt I owed him… has been paid.” Jake lowers his head in defeat. “I set the stage.”

The man standing over Jake produces an identical Colt revolver from his coat and aims it at Jake’s head. The sound of the gun shot is lost in the downpour. As the man lowers his gun to his side, the screen flickers and cuts to the set of The Jake Alberts Show.

Jake bows to his cheering audience. “Goodnight everybody. Stay classy, or something pretty fucking close.” He winks at the camera.

Fade to black.

INTERMISSION

Antisocial Personality

2007-08-30T13:27:00.000-04:00

Jake smiles as the bloody man on the ground tries to crawl away. “Doctors like to think they have the answers for everything. They think they can explain every little piece of this world.” He chuckles to himself, pointing to his temple with a cigarette butt tucked between the two fingers used. “Even this.

“The doctors tell me I have something called ‘Antisocial Personality Disorder.’ Now, at first, I thought that meant that I was supposed to be a shut-in. Ha.” He crouches down next to the man. “But you know what that really means? It means I just don’t like people.”

Dry Stand-Up

2007-08-30T13:21:00.000-04:00

Jake takes a part in the fanfare. “Yeah!” he shouts to the crowd. He blows kisses to the audience, and then puts his hands in his pockets, beginning to look embarrassed.

“Welcome! Welcome welcome, ladies and gentlemen. Y--” The crowd won’t stop. Jake waves his hand, trying to calm them down. “Alright, people, we have a lot of show to do and not a lot of time. Ooo, I sound like a high school teacher, don’t I?” The crowd laughs as the noise finally dies down.

“Mmm. Not many jobs make you feel this appreciated, let me tell you. Who am I kidding? You should be telling me. But anyway… it’s great to see you all tonight. I wore my special shoes just for you.” The camera focuses on his feet, wearing tattered black Asics. “It’s my philosophy that you should always be comfortable in the workplace.” He loosens his tie as he spits a huge gob of snot into his jacket. “I’ll save that one for later.” Laughter. “But I’m comfy. I’m feeling good tonight. How’re you folks doin?” Everybody cheers. Someone shouts, “I love you, Jake!” Jake looks into the crowd. “Jen, is that you?” Laughter.

“Yeah, she said we were taking a break, but ah… Looks like she caved.” More laughter. “So what does that mean, anyway? Taking a break? Guys, you ever hear this: ‘We need to take a break from the relationship’? What is that? Is it like some bell rings and you each go into the corner to slosh yer mouth out before going back in to beat the BEEP out of each other again?” Laughter. “It’s hard work, keeping a relationship together. Really. Mine always end when I run out of money.” Laughter. “Of course, I prefer the high priced prostitutes.” More laughter. “Whoop, I went too far. That always sucks. You ever been at a party, and some drunk asshole just goes way too far, and gets really offensive to everyone? Starts making all the weird sexual jokes about people’s mothers? No? I guess I should get out more.” Laughter.

“So I was talking to myself the other day…” He pauses and thinks for a second as the audience chuckles. “Not something to admit, right? Because people who talk to themselves are crazy. And we all know I’m not. Or so I like to claim.” Laughter. “But anyway--” He stops himself again. “Did you ever notice how comedians always deviate from what they’re trying to say? Like, by saying something like ‘did you ever notice?’” He allows himself a chuckle, but the audience’s laughter is smaller than his own. “I’m glad we’re all on the same page here.” Laughter. “At any rate, I was talking to myself, something lonely bastards like myself are inclined to do, and I thought, well jeeze, Valentine’s Day is coming up.” Some cheers. “Now now, calm yourselves, calm down.” He waves his hands as the audience quiets itself. “I was thinking, I’ve only had one really good Valentine’s Day. I had a nice girl, a nice dinner, and nice lay before I passed out drunk.” Laughter. “Yeah, we don’t like to admit that BEEP, do we? Ha ha!” More laughter, mixed with reserved chuckles. “But then I thought, well, at least I had one good Valentine’s Day, once upon a time. I mean, that’s something to hang my hat on, right?” A mild applause. “Of course, I thought, (and this was an involved conversation) that’s a pretty screwed up way of thinking. And I responded, ‘that’s optimism.’” The punch line was a long time coming, and the laughter is milder than anticipated. “Don’t worry, we’ll layer a laugh track on top of that in post.” Laughter.

“So, current events… every talk show host has to touch upon the news. It’s our job. ‘Cause I know none of you slackers are gonna watch the news, eh? I’m the next best thing to Dan Rather. Umm… current events… let’s see. Gas prices are up, economy sucks, everyone hates the president, and everybody, and I mean the whole BEEPing world, hates America. Does that cover it?” Laughter. “Nothing changes, I tell ya. But we have a great show for you all tonight. Umm, and if it isn’t, then blame it on my band leader.” Laughter. “But seriously, we have a serious actor, a young hottie, and a trendy band. How can you beat that?” Laughter. “But before we get into all that, you all get to enjoy my shenanigans, and hopefully I won’t get arrested for it like last time.” Laughter. “So stick around, and I’ll catch you on the flipside of these BEEPty commercials. Johnny, take us out.” The band plays as the camera moves out. Fade to black.

Britney Spears

2007-08-22T14:29:00.001-04:00

The following article was written by Jake Alberts on Saturday, January 14, 2006.

"Britney Spears burst onto the pop scene in 1998 with her debut LP '…Baby One More Time,' and first hit single of the same name. Her initial commercial success was due in no small part to a lascivious music video that featured her as the fetishized 'school girl.' As a result, most people casually dismissed her as an under-age sex symbol, catering to teenage girls and pedophiles. The suggestive lyrics embodied in '…Baby One More Time' typified not only her initial image, but characterize the whole of her career. Her entire appeal, or at least, the largest aspect of it, is that she is a sexual being who denies it. This song, as with the whole of the album, is light-hearted and coy, rife with the plausible deniability of sexual innuendo that Spears embodies so perfectly.

"Even though this album is artistically paralyzed by the commercialism that produced it, it is enjoyable nonetheless. Spears’s vocals are nothing spectacular, but her meekness and eagerness to please her lover echo throughout the album and instill one with the sense that this young girl is exactly what every good boy needs, or what any bad boy could corrupt. 'Born to Make You Happy,' and 'I Will be There' are the most obvious instances of this steadfast devotion that makes it difficult not to appreciate Spears, or at least what she represents. Submissiveness never really goes out of style, and just as much as women seem to love being cared for, men love to be depended upon.

"Perhaps the most appealing aspect to this album is that it is lighthearted, and in a world that turns people into black-hearted cynics, upbeat music is crucial for the pessimists with a gun to their temple. How can the first bars of 'Soda Pop' not buck someone up? Even 'Thinkin’ About You' has just the right mix of up-tempo beats and affirmative lyrics that not only force a subtle adoration for the type of girl Spears presents herself as, but the song roots out any latent anger that a spurned lover could and probably feels in the wake of devastation, and lessens feelings of misogyny quite efficiently.

"Though the album ends with the awkward 'The Beat Goes On,' this does not detract from the overall pleasantry that preceded it. Indeed, '…Baby One More Time' reeks with an innocence and simplicity that is lost in her later albums, and the act of listening to the original is an act of nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake, remembering simpler incarnations of romance, and a simpler Spears, less concerned with being taken seriously, and more concerned with pleasing the audience and consumers.

"Spears’s second album represented maturity in her image, and in her overall sound. The difference from the first album was relatively mild, when compared with later efforts, but the divergence from simplicity was palpable. 'Oops!… I Did it Again' perfectly captures the sense that Spears was able to repeat her initial success, while at the same time acknowledging her sex symbol status and denying it all at once. She was a tease, but she did it well, and audiences loved her for it. Mothers became increasingly nervous as the formerly subdued sexuality slowly made its way to the fore, but this unrest only served to fuel Spears’s success. After all, as she matured, so did her teenage audience. And teenagers love upsetting their parents.

"In terms of lyrically craftsmanship, and sheer songwriting, this album hits a new peak of professionalism. 'Oops!… I Did it Again' captures Spears at her prime, and in my opinion, is her greatest work to date. The songs were more powerful, rife with a creative energy and artistic talent that balanced perfectly with its artificial 'pop music' construction. By selling over 1.3 million copies in its first week in the US, it became the fastest-selling album by a female in history.

"The feminine devotion that typified '…Baby One More Time' disappeared in the new album, replaced by a sense of inner-strength and autonomy. 'Don’t Go Knocking At My Door' exemplifies this, wherein she clearly points out that she is 'better off without you.' These songs were the work of a female who let go of her fairytale ideals and accepted that while the world is harsh, it doesn’t have to be bleak.

"One of her more perplexing songs is the single 'Lucky,' wherein Spears tells a thinly-veiled story of her own fame, confiding in the listener that although she has all the fame she could have hoped for, she is inherently lonely and isolated. The song reeks of self-expression, which would definitely take center stage in her later career, despite the fact that the song was written by producers Max Martin and Rami.

"The third single of 'Oops!' was 'Stronger,' which really pushed the notion of self-subsistence, and its accompanying video re-shaped the Britney Spears image from lonely, lost high school sweetheart to a powerful woman who knew exactly what she wanted. Interestingly, the lyrics 'my loneliness ain’t killing me no more' echoes her first hit, wherein 'my loneliness is killing me.' Although the album begins as a powerhouse, with the title track and 'Stronger' back-to-back, it ends with a sweetness that harkens back to the original Spears, culminating with the subtle 'Dear Diary.' The song is simple and straightforward, and definitely captures the sense of feminine fragility that made '…Baby One More Time' so appealing to begin with. No fans were alienated in this album. Unfortunately, its staggering success, both commercially and artistically spelled doom for any subsequent releases, regardless of their quality.

"In 2001, Spears released her third album, simply titled 'Britney,' and the lack of focus and imagination that went into the title unfortunately bled its way into the tracks of her album. Her first single 'I’m a Slave 4 U' threw off all the subtlety that made her so attractive to begin with, and the video’s obvious reference to orgy sex cements this perspective. The lyrics contradict everything that characterized the preceding album, and transformed what was once a wholesome though sexual girl, and later a stronger woman who would hint at sex, she was now a whore who was contented with being a sex slave and being fucked from multiple angles from multiple partners. Her attempts to advance her image self-destructed, as she lost touch with what made her so attractive in the first place.

"The remaining songs on the album are largely forgettable, and are too ingrained with techno-beats to have any kind of melodic distinction. This album only succeeded to make its predecessors more attractive by comparison. Spears’s increasingly complex personal and professional life did not compliment her musical development, and you can hear it.

"The 2003 release of 'In the Zone' delved further into the realms of techno and hip-hop, with producers RedZone, Moby, and R. Kelly, among others. The LP’s commercial success was due in no small part to her performance at the MTV Video Music Awards three months prior to the album’s release, in which she and Madonna shared a kiss on stage. Though the album was wildly different from anything she had done before, it had more of a focus and a hardedge than 'Britney,' and translated well into video form, both in 'Me Against the Music,' and 'Toxic.' The former, a duet with Madonna, cemented the notion that this album was most certainly a dance mix that would fit right in to the play lists of nightclubs and strip clubs. The song itself is shite, and has no hook. The beat alone is what defines this, and most of the tracks on the album. In fact, some songs, such as '(I Got That) Boom Boom' are so far divorced from Spears’s initial style, and so thoroughly diluted with additional vocals, that Spears’s contribution seems like an afterthought.

"Spears’s musical persona becomes difficult to pinpoint in this album, a notion that can be extended to her career as whole. She certainly changed with every album, but what did she change into? While 'Toxic' presents Spears as a girl in love with danger, it leaves some ambiguity as to who is toxic, she or her love interests.

"The raw truth of Britney Spears is that her fame rests not on her music, but upon her image. From a good-natured virgin to a promiscuous cock-tease, she succeeds in sparking controversy for the furtherance of her career. Though her music is not spectacular, it exemplifies the development of a teenage mind to adulthood, and even more so, the development of commercialization that permeates consumer culture from the ground up.

"Britney Spears is a sweetheart, the type of girl that every man wishes he knew in high school for varying reasons of psychological and sexual gratification. The manner in which she evolved, or more appropriately, devolved from subtle teasing to blatant sexuality represents the developing female, that we long for what we can’t have, and that we criticize what we do have. Spears is the slut that we wish we could’ve fucked when she was a little girl, old enough to be sexy, but young enough to be forbidden. We love to fuck what we can’t have and my mind is disintegrating to the point at which love blossoms aren’t even real anymore. I hate you for what you’ve made me inside, and I wish I could reclaim that sense that everything will work out for me, but I know damn well it won’t. Spears’s attractiveness is based on lies. She isn’t attractive in any real way; she’s an illusion that only recently has been revealed for what it is. She’s white trash, a Southern girl who would fuck her brother if it suited her like that you son of a bitch when I kill everyone you love, you’ll see what a farce the whole damn thing is. I hate my reflection and I vow to kill myself when my time has come. I am everything you hate, all rolled into one and for some damn reason I put some disproportionate amount of importance on the impact and image of Britney Spears."

Baseball Fan

2007-08-22T14:22:00.000-04:00

Jake stands in the pouring rain at night. Smoke pours from the cig in his mouth. He stands to the left of his black truck. The headlights are trained on the pulped man in the road. Jake is holding his bloodstained Louisville Slugger between clenched fists. He abruptly shatters the left headlight.

“You like baseball, Tony? I tell ya, the crack of the bat on a ball is one of those all-American sounds. Reminds me of apple pie on the Fourth of July. Not like that aluminum tink that kids use nowadays. I live for the sound of it. That crack that sends everyone into action. It’s fucking orgasmic. What? Football? Fuck football. That’s no pastime. You like football, Tony?”

“W-what?”

“Do you like football? Tell me you do. Tell me you love that shit. Tell me that baseball is a pussy sport and that football is the sport of beer-drinking pieces of shit that sit at home and beat their wives while they yell at the screen like it means something. Tell me you eat that shit up, because that would just make my day.”

“…”

“What? You tell me to fuck myself?”

“No! I didn’t say anything!”

“Oh, so now I’m a lying piece of bird shit like you? Your saying I’m a faggot who takes it up the ass?! YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”

Jake beats the man until blood turns the puddles red.

Pointless Violence

2007-08-22T14:18:00.000-04:00

“HEY! Yeah, I’m talking to you, fuck face. You want to beat me down? Why don’t we play for keeps? Only one of us leaves here. No weapons. Just you and me." Jake wipes his face. "You either get to leave as a murderer… or not at all.”

The chubby man sneers with pleasure. He pulls out a knife and tosses it to Jake. “It’ll even things up a little.”

Jake throws down the knife. “No weapons.”

The fat man charges Jake, who punches him right in the sternum. The man falls to the ground with the wind knocked out of him. He gasps for air as Jake wails on him. The mob of sluts and pimps watches in silent awe. Jake drags the fat man over to a bench and glances at a mini-baseball bat. He uses his fist instead.

“I want you to describe the sound that your spine makes when I snap it over this bench.” A look of panic crosses the man’s face as Jake stands above him.

Some Secrets are Worth Keeping

2007-08-22T14:15:00.000-04:00

Another lightning bolt crackles across the sky. The rain pours even harder. Jake’s face is filled with rage. He is soaked; his black hair is plastered to his forehead, and his black clothes are dripping. His wounds are washed clean.

Jake raises the gun. Water drips from the barrel. His battered enemy lies against the brick alley wall.

“This ends now,” Jake says through his gritted teeth.

Public Face

2007-07-28T22:57:00.000-04:00

"Even though Jake Alberts masturbated violently every day, he wasn't a particularly bad person.

"Of course he had his vices. The only time he wasn't drunk was when he was hung over. And the only time he didn't have a cigarette in his mouth was when it was in his hand.

"But on the plus side, he had a kind of charisma that cameras and audiences loved. With the face of a poor-man's Johnny Knoxville, and wearing his signature black and white suit, he walked out on that stage and was a god for an hour every weeknight. Parents and politicians hated him, but audiences loved him.

"He was the marginal that became mainstream. And all it took was a lot of booze, a lot of hookers, and absolutely no moral standing."

Jake, wearing his black suit, sits alone in his dressing room. The sound of a roaring audience trickles in through the cracked door. He stares vacantly through his blood-shot eyes at a jizz-stained picture of a young Britney Spears. The smoking filter of a Blanchard cigarette rests in his left hand.

Jake stands, observing himself in the mirror. His fly is partially unzipped, his shirt partially untucked. His tie is loose, his collar wrinkled with a trace of blood on it. His stubble is on the verge of becoming a beard, and his hair is flattened on one side.

"Two minutes, Mr. Alberts," says a voice to Jake's right. He grunts in response, as he straightens his tie and winks at himself in the mirror.

“Hey everybody! What’s up?” Jake stand before his massive studio audience, with a small army of video cameras shifting and sliding to keep the host in the frame. The audience cheers. “Thanks for stopping by. How we all doing tonight?” More cheers. “You don’t have to lie.” Laughter. “It’s just me.

"You get some people, they say ‘Hi, how are you, did you have a good day? Funny thing happened to me today…’ BullBEEP. Nothing funny happened to me today. I had to get up at seven, got in around 6:45, so I’m fighting for those fifteen minutes on unconsciousness.” Laughter.

“My girlfriend… well, not really my girlfriend. More like this girl who I pay for her company and the occasional hand job.” Laughter. “But I guess if it’s a recurring situation, I can call her my girlfriend. So my girlfriend comes bouncing in, saying ‘Honey, it’s so nice out. Let’s go out and play.’ ‘Cause she likes that kinda thing. She’s young, she’s fifteen.” Laughter. “Well, she will be in a couple of months.” Laughter.

“But I’m not the kind of person that wakes up in the morning thinking that life is gonna be great. Because it’s not. Life is BEEP. It’s either BEEPing you over or BEEPing you up, and believe me, it’s never fun to be BEEPed. Just ask my girlfriend.” Laughter. “As I said to a buddy of mine before the show, ‘Life is like dating a girl: it sucks, except for the occasional orgasm.’” Laughter.

Things Got a Little... Messy

2007-07-28T01:04:00.000-04:00

Jake gags on the blood in his throat. It gurgles and spills out of his mouth. His eyes are glazed over with the malaise of weariness… a weariness too great for words. It is dusk. Jake lies in the middle of a courtyard, surrounded by skyscraping buildings. His face is covered in his own blood. The flesh of his knuckles is worn and bleeding.

Jake's mind circles and reels. He flashes between moments. The word 'boyfriend' comes to mind. He hears his own voice: “You’re the boyfriend, eh?” A gap in time. “…save us both some time…hit me…I deserve it.” What an unusual request.

Mr. Late Night

2007-07-24T00:48:00.000-04:00

In darkness, we can hear the sound of rain hitting wet pavement. Fading up, we see a man sitting on a curb on a dark city street. His black hair is plastered against his face. He is a thin man, somewhere in his late thirties, and the scrapes and scratches that cover his face are washed clean in the downpour. And even though we have no evidence of it, the man’s name is Jake Alberts.

His black clothes and light spring jacket do little to keep him dry, but he has a look on his face that suggests he doesn’t care. Jake’s face is angular, and mildly emaciated. His eyes are blackened pits, and his five o’clock shadow looks like a ten o’clock shadow. His left arm sits limply at his side, made obvious as he struggles to reach a box of cigarettes stashed in his left coat pocket with his right arm. He winces in pain as he finally pulls out the box. He flicks the top open to see a half dozen soggy cigarettes. He plucks one out with his teeth and tosses the box into the gutter. He coughs softly as he looks to the sky, not fully noticing the small spatter of blood that drips down his chin. His right hand pats his jacket and his pants, but a lighter is not found. Jake sighs as a quiet rage builds within him that isn’t quite verbalized. He spits the cigarette into the gutter and watches it wash away in the rain.

His eyes fall to the Colt revolver in his numb left hand and wonders if he should speed things up. Jake leans forward, wincing in pain as he grasps his stomach. When he pulls his hand away, it is now covered in blood. Jake coughs again, and a mixture of blood and saliva drip off of his lower lip. He reaches for the revolver, plucking it from his dead hand. He checks the chamber with his good eye, and pulls back the hammer.

There is a moment here that even though is only a matter of seconds, it feels like a lifetime for this man known as Jake. His memories aren’t pleasant. For a man who believes in God, and Jake does, his life shows no evidence of it. He remembers beatings, he remembers deaths. He remembers screams for mercy, and the sounds of agony. He remembers odd conclusions about life, he remembers acts of depravity that make him sick. He remembers all these things, all these horrible acts of violence, and he musters a quiet chuckle. Because he caused them all. And, for this brief moment, he thinks, Hell can’t be much worse.

Suddenly, Jake raises the revolver to his head. He smiles and blood oozes out from in-between his yellow teeth.

ONE YEAR EARLIER

The sound of rain increases as our view shifts from this lonely city street to flat-cell animation of the same, albeit in a stylized, almost art deco design. The patter of raindrops morphs into the thunderous applause of a studio audience, coupled with the rising sounds of a big band orchestra.

The animation shows a cartoon equivalent of Jake in a black suit, running around the city committing random acts of violence and vandalism. The animated police, whom he evades at every turn, chase him. The flawless voice of a television announcer cuts in from off-screen:

“From the late night studio in Burbank, California… it’s the Jake Alberts Show!” The applause rises as the title card comes up:

The Jake Alberts Show

The announcer continues. “…with Jake’s special guests: Rodney Williams!” A caricature of Rodney Williams comes up on screen. “And Carrie Harperson!” A caricature of Carrie Harperson. “Featuring the talents of Trickledown!” A caricature of the band.

The animation cuts out as the camera swoops above a studio audience, with a band adjacent, and stage at the center of the fanfare, with a desk and fake city backdrop. “And now, here’s your host: JAKE ALBERTS!”

The cheers spike as Jake runs out on stage, wearing a black suit, white shirt, and loosened black tie. He waves at the audience and bows to the band. The music drum rolls as Jake sprints the length of the audience, slapping hands with the entire front row. The band plays a crashing finale as Jake makes the appropriate hand gestures, coupled with a few that aren’t so appropriate. The music cuts out, but the audience continues to applaud. Jake starts laughing, and points charismatically at a big-breasted woman in the front row. He makes a phone gesture with his right hand as he looks at her. He looks at the audience, taking in the full scope of the artificial appreciation, and puts his hands in his pockets. He allows himself a chuckle, and then makes a “cut it out” gesture with his hand.

“ALL RIGHT! Yeah!” He smiles broadly as the applause tapers off. “Are we having fun yet?” The applause lingers, and Jake looks at his left wrist. “All right, all right, I have somewhere to be after this.” A light chuckle from the audience allows the applause to finally expire. As Jake looks out on the audience, he has a brief image of the most revolting thing he’s ever done, and a smile that is as sinister as it is jovial crosses his face. He looks directly into the camera. “We have one hell of a show for you tonight.”