My dear friends, whom I gather and steal ideas from, thank you.  Now on to a short ROUGH story.  The grammar isn’t fixed, nor is the story flushed out all the way.  But eh.  Here is a tribute to my favourite news cast (read sarcasm please.)

News at NOON (formerly, First Event)
by JC Sayer

The alarm buzzed annoyingly, waking me up.  I open one eye to glare at the offending machine.  After blinking a few times to try help focus on the ruby red digital numbers, I frowned.  It read 11:47am.  Why did I set the alarm so bloody early?

A roll over and rub the sleep out of my eyes, ignoring the buzzing from the alarm.  When I rolled back over to turn it off, I noticed a yellow stick note on the snooze button.  NEWS@NOON.  I instantly remember why I wanted to be up early. 

Today was my big debut.

I turn off the alarm, rummage around for my glasses and stretch as I roll out of bed.  I hated getting up before 3.  The sun always shone in the window until about mid-afternoon and I am general a night owl by trade as well as nature, so this pained my eyes.

My cat stares at me as I zombie shuffle into the kitchen.  She watches as a roam around my kitchen assembling breakfast.  I believe she thinks I’ve gone nuts because I’m never up at this time.  I yawn and scratch her head.  “Morning Strips.  Don’t worry, this doesn’t mean you get food earlier.”

POP.  The toast up and the jam on it in less the 14 seconds.  Still zombie shuffling I head to my chair and flick on the television.  The magic black box springs to life with a sparkling sizzle of static on the glass.   

FLICK.  FLICK.  God, I love remotes!  Finally I turn it to the right channel and growl with annoyance as Bob Baker’s smiling face pops on.  It was 11:57am.  I am waiting patiently for the news and for my event to show up. 

As I sit back trying to relax to the drone of the latest gang deaths and amazing heroic fire rescue Strips jumps up and keeps me company.  Lately all the news seems to be depressing crimes, ever increasing sports section and then the typical weather.  Sad fact is that people that tune into the news just want the weather report.  Another sad fact is that the weather report is hardly ever accurate. 

“We’ll be right back with Matty Gunner’s weather report after this commercial break,” Sonnie Taylor informed me and the rest of the viewing public. 

Again I yawned and smile.  My well-planned event was just a chocolate bar and soda drink commercial away.  Strips leaned into my hand demanding attention.  If the cat said jump, I’m a well trained owner and I jump.  She meow a certain way, which says loud and clear, “FOOD!  Now!”  I obey and give her can cat food. 

“Welcome back.  Now off to Matty Gunner at the Golf Course, who’s working on that swing,” Sonnie turns and a smaller box with a much tanned mid-50s male appears.  “Hi Matty!  All play and no work turns you into sun-dried fruit.”  She jokingly poked fun at his red Hawaii shirt. 

He forcefully laughs and smiles a very wide toothy smile.  “Don’t mock the shirt.  I just got it last month on vacation.  Picked out by my little daughter.”  I snort and heard Sonnie do the same.  The comment was to rub in the fact he goes on vacation every three months or so.  And in the community it was a known fact that his daughter is a 25 year old lawyer, that does not have time to spend with daddy on vacation. 

Sonnie force a small chuckle for politeness sake.  It seemed they’ve been having a silent feud on the airwaves for the last couple of years.  “Explains why you fashion sense has improve recently,” Matty smile falters slightly and Sonnie continues before he could get a word in.  “So Matty, the public is dying to know why you are at the Golf Course with those greying skies.” 

His wide, bright smile returns.  “Well Sonnie, today at 3, some of the biggest names in amateur golf are teeing off for my favourite charity.  AND yours truly here will be playing with them.” 

The camera zooms out slowly revealing another aging man standing few feet apart.  “This here is Coach Parker.  He is going to show me and the viewers at home some tips on perfecting your swing.” 

Sonnie nods her head, forcing herself to be interested in what Matty is telling her.  “Aren’t you afraid of those darkening clouds?” 

Matty smiles widely. “Don’t worry, no thunder showers today.  Now Coach if I can get you to stand here and hold the mic.  And I’ll go over to the tee and be your dutiful student.” 

The Coach smiles and does as Matty suggests.  And into the mic he starts to explain the simple method of fixing those wild and ugly swings.  Matty plays to the camera, nods his head as he listens to the coach and picks out some dirt from his golfing shoes.  They look very similar to football shoes but they had metal shiny nail like spokes. 

“Alright.  I think I know what you mean,” Matty smiles and walks two steps the tee and prepares for his prefect swing. 

I was holding my breath.  My big debut was here.   

Matty pulled back with the club holding it vaguely over his head and then let gravity help bring it down.  He smashed the ball as hard as he could with the follow through and ending the swing with the club again high above his head.  The screen flickered with looked like interference only for a moment. 

The good cameraman follows the balls arch and it lands less then a foot from the hole.  “WOW.  Congrats Matty,” the coach said, please that the ego-manic actually listened to his advice.  (General knowledge in the community is that Matty Gunner was the worse golfer alive.) 

“Blind luck much like blind justice is rarely accurate,” I muttered to Strips.  “Now pan back!  Come on!  Back on Matty.”  I urge at the television hoping the Jedi Mind trick would work for once. 

The camera panned back as predicted.  “Matty?  Matt?”   The coach looked worry and finally the camera got on the weather man.  Matty was frozen in the end pose of the swing.  Looking very statue like.  No blinking.  No moving.  One would think his blood had stopped.  I smirk happily. 

“Ok Matty, we get it.  You are an awesome golfer.  Now quit goofing around and stop the posing,” Sonnie prompted him.  He didn’t move.  “Matt?” 

On screen the statue-like Matty slowly toppled over and then all hell broke lose.  Sonnie looked worried.  I turned off the television, yawn and decided to head back to bed.  My show was over, and it was as satisfying as Sex.  Next time, it will be bigger.  That was what I told Strips who purred at me with content as I put him on my shoulder and head back to my bed. 

“The pressure plate I installed worked like a charm.  The afro turf line with aluminium wiring, thin about a millimetre thick if that was the prefect conductor and with that much electricity running through it, it likely melted the evidence away,” I chatted with Strips as I laid back in my cozy bed.  “Oh, but how did I rig the shoes to be conductible?  Simple.  I didn’t.  Matty uses the same shoes every year.  Old things from dinosaur era that has no rubber built in but uber duber good luck charm supposedly.  Simple wear and tear.  And Matty doesn’t have good socks.  His wife left him three years ago.  No male ever tosses out socks.   Or matches them up.  Or fixes the holes in them.  Unless he lives with his mother or has a understand wife.”  I giggled and Strips closed her eyes content listening to her owner prattle.  “That bugger had out lived his life expectance by a few years.  I just helped nature along.  And put him out of everyone’s misery and his so accurate weather forecasts that it where compared to playing darts, you would have missed the board and somehow hit the guys behind you.” 

MEOW.  “Right.  Enjoy ego stoking.  Nap time.” 

With that I closed my eyes, snuggled in and smiled as I fell asleep hoping to dream my next big event.   Perhaps this time it’ll be a politician.  Never did like those buggers.