[SILENCE. A WELL-TREATED PODCAST STUDIO]

[CLOSING NOTES OF A JINGLE] [PAPERS RUSTLING]

PODCASTER:
Our thanks to Tasteables for sponsoring that last segment. “Tasteables: Our Cheese Isn’t Moldy—It’s Not Real Cheese! So shut up and eat your crackers. Tasteables.” For today’s final topic—and this is a big one, Peep-Squad, so stick around—we’re finally going there. Yes, that’s right: Second. Generation. Plastic. Surgery. Let’s discuss which celebrity nepobabies have gotten nose jobs to better resemble their famous parents.

Uh, hold on. Pause?

[HE KNOCKS ON A GLASS WINDOW]

PODCASTER:
Emily? Em-n-Em, can we chat? Thanks.

[A DOOR OPENS] [EMILY WALKS INTO THE STUDIO]

EMILY THE INTERN:
Stop calling me Em-n-Em.

PODCASTER:
No. This segment is stupid.

EMILY THE INTERN:
This one? As opposed to…every other one?

PODCASTER:
Ha-ha. There’s that flat, formulaic Gen Z humor I cannot stand. I’m just, isn’t there anything more substantial to talk about this week? More than nepo-noses? Not tryna be a needy dickhead, but you’ve been giving me literally nothing to work with for months now.

EMILY THE INTERN:
…‘Kay. Well, first: the nepo hate train is still going strong, still very relevant, so don’t pretend I’m giving you old news.

PODCASTER:
I’m—

EMILY THE INTERN:
Like, all my love to Margaret Qualley and Jack Quaid and those strange, strange SNL boys, but the others? Boo-hoo. Go to med school if you can’t take the heat. And second? You need listeners. Got it? List-en-ers. Not substance.

PODCASTER:
I see. You’re phoning it in because you want a raise.

EMILY THE INTERN:
Dude, I’m getting paid in class credit.

PODCASTER:
Do you want…another credit?

EMILY THE INTERN:
Not how it works.

[EMILY WALKS TOWARDS THE DOOR]

PODCASTER:
Then what do you—

EMILY THE INTERN:
If you don’t like the segment, that’s fine, but I do not have the spiritual fortitude to make another one, so like, on you to replace it. Also just pointing out we’re like, super overtime ‘cause you took forever trying to get the cashier at Cava to give you extra pita bread, and I have class in twenty minutes downtown. So, I gotta go.

PODCASTER:
You’re joking.

EMILY THE INTERN:
Am I? Listen, it’s cool you’re suddenly like, in it for the love of the art-form, but this is a celebrity gossip pod, not the New Yorker.

The nepo-noses are there to use if you want ‘em. I spent like, two hours doing research on some incredibly troubling subreddits, so I’d prefer they didn’t go to waste. But that’s up to you. I’m out.

PODCASTER:
Emily—

[EMILY WALKS OUT AND SLAMS THE STUDIO DOOR]

PODCASTER:
Crap. Crap, crap, crap.

[PAPERS RUSTLING]

PODCASTER:
Our final topic is…Second generation plastic surgery! Let’s discuss which celebrity nepobabies have gotten nose jobs to match their oh my God this is so bad this is so awful I hate this I hate this I want to bash my head in with a rock and then find the world’s best neurosurgeon to reconstruct the brittle fragments of my skull in a never-before-seen miracle surgery just so I can bash it in again.

[PAPERS RUSTLING]

PODCASTER:
Our final topic is…y’know what? Here’s my final topic: I’ve been in entertainment journalism for, damn, twenty-four years now? Thirty if you count the list I kept of who was hooking up with who in high school. Used to sell that thing bi-monthly for three bucks a pop. And honestly? Honestly it was so much better, so much more relevant and real than this…this shit show! Nepo. Baby. Nose jobs. We’re barely talking about real celebrities anymore. This is, like, celebrity circumjacent. You want an interesting topic? Here you go: how’d we get here? Why do we care about this? I’m sitting in a studio I rent for 2K a month, pushing some evil twenty-dumb-year-old’s moldy sandwiches to kids who probably don’t know why Britney shaved her head and I, I can’t stop asking that question. Like, really, does anyone know? What it was like? Before Celebrities? Was there even a Before Celebrities? I’d sell a kidney to go to Before Celebrities so I could fight the bastard who created them for ruining my life!

[HE SLAMS A FIST DOWN ON THE TABLE] [A DRINK SHAKES, SPILLS] [STATIC FEEDBACK] [HE SCREAMS]

PODCASTER:
My matcha! MotherfuuuUUUUU—

[MAGICAL WHIRRING NOISE] [METAL CLANGING THROUGH TIME AND SPACE] [ [HIS BODY SLAMS] [HIS PODCAST EQUIPMENT CLANGS AGAINST METAL FLOORS]

[CHURCH BELLS] [LUTE MUSIC] [CLOMPING HOOVES]

PURITAN PRIEST (from outside):
Repent, brothers and sisters, I say repent! Shun the hedonistic ways of this libertine demon, “King” Charles the Second. For the Almighty Father I love and fear would never put such a twisted beast on the throne. Look at what he’s wrought us. Infidelity. Gluttony. Fallen women. THEATRE!

PODCASTER:
What the…where am…

PEPYS (from outside):
Go sew your lips shut with a rusty needle, you wicked Puritan! Sob about theatre’s return on your traitor-lord Cromwell’s grave—oh wait. He doesn’t have one. BECAUSE WE FLAYEEED HIIIM!

PURITAN PRIEST (from outside):
Silence, Samuel Pepys! You wicked fop. Begone.

PEPYS (from outside):
Begone yourself!

PODCASTER:
Didn’t I tell those nerds across the hall no LARP-ing before ten am…?

[A DOOR OPENS] [JANE BIRCH ENTERS] [JANE SCREAMS] [SO DOES HE]

JANE:
WHO ARE YOU!

PODCASTER:
WHO ARE—WHY ARE YOU IN MY HOUSE!

JANE:
YOUR HOUSE? THIS IS NOT YOUR HOUSE—

PODCASTER:
WHY ARE YOU DRESSED LIKE THE CRUCIBLE?

JANE:
THE WHAAAT?! WHY ARE YOU DRESSED LIKE—LIKE—Actually. What are you dressed like? It’s ghastly.

PODCASTER:
Ghast—? This is Valentino, head-to-toe. Clock it.

JANE:
Valen…ah! An Italian! I understand your strangeness now—are you a friend of Master Pepys?

PODCASTER:
Pepys? Pepys, sure. P-dawg and I go waaay back.

JANE:
Dog? Where? Is it rabid?!

PODCASTER:
Lady. Imma level with you, alright? I don’t know how I got here, or where here is. Best guess? I crashed out at the club ‘cause I took too much of my assistant’s Special K, got kidnapped—again—and whoever nabbed me dropped me at this…what is it, a Renaissance Faire? Gross. But I’d just love to get home and resume my attempts to not kill myself, so while I deeply appreciate your commitment to your work? hobby? whatever—plese drop the act and point me in the best direction to order a car to.

JANE:
Renaissance?

PODCASTER:
That is what Ren Faire is short for, yeah? Renaissance?

JANE:
What is Renaissance?

PODCASTER:
Okaaay I guess if you’re working here you probably didn’t go to Stanford: the Ren-ai-ssance. Da Vinci? The Sistine Chapel? Shakespeare, I think?

JANE
Shakespeare? Why do you speak of that old hack?

PODCASTER:
Hack.

JANE:
Has Master Pepys never complained of him to you?

[THE FRONT DOOR OPENS]

JANE:
That must be him! I’ll fetch him—what was your name again?

PODCASTER:
Uh…

JANE: Valentino! Of course, scusa mi.

[JANE LEAVES THE ROOM]

PODCASTER:
Okaaaay…this is, like, very elaborate for a prank.

[HE PATS HIS POCKETS]

PODCASTER:
My phone…where is my…

[HE PACES THE ROOM]

PODCASTER:
Rewind. I woke up. I got my Cava. I went to the studio, crashed out to Emily, spilled my matcha, and then…then I…I don’t remember. How do I not…

[HE OPENS A WINDOW] [SOUNDS OF A BUSY LONDON STREET IN THE 1660S] [A HORSE WHINNIES]

PODCASTER:
Whatthehellisthat. Is that—HORSE? HORSE…S?! WHAT IS—I—Am I—is this actually—no. No way. That’s dumb. This isn’t—

[A GOAT BLEATS]

PODCASTER:
That is a goat. A goat clomping on a dirt road. That is definitely—

[PEPYS AND JANE REENTER THE ROOM]

PEPYS:
Ciao! Good Sir Valentino?

PODCASTER:
AAH!

PEPYS:
Good Sir Valentino?

PODCASTER:
I mean—yes. That’s me…Valentino. Your friend. Val-en-tin-o.

PEPYS:
You are not my friend.

PODCASTER:
Okay, ouch.

PEPYS:
Are you injured?

PODCASTER:
Only in my heart. Actually falling on my ass kinda hurt, what was…I fell on my mic! …Why do I have my mic?

PEPYS:
Sir Valentino, apologies for my bluntness, but what business have you in my home?

PODCASTER:
You tell me, Quaker Oats. Why am I here?

PEPYS:
You speak strangely. Are you perhaps from a foreign land, and have come searching for work? What is your trade?

PODCASTER:
I run the…uh, Peek-a-Boo Podcast? You know it, don’t stare at me like I have three heads—sure, it’s not as popular as it used to be, but c’mon. Don’t be a dick. It’s an entertainment journalism show? Fine, okay, it’s a celebrity gossip podcast, but it’s very famous, so—

PEPYS:
I fear I am unfamiliar.

PODCASTER:
I got that. Thanks.

PEPYS:
Also, what is celebrity?

PODCASTER:
Huh? What do you mean?

PEPYS:
That word. Ce-le-bri-ty? Is that the correct pronunciation?

PODCASTER:
You need me to define celebrity?

PEPYS:
That would be most helpful.

PODCASTER:
Sorry, is this still part of the act? Or are you stupid?

PEPYS:
JANE!

[THE DOOR OPENS] [JANE WALKS IN]

JANE:
Yes, Sir?

PEPYS:
Have you ever heard of a “ce-le-bri-ty?”

JANE:
Horrid vegetable. Stringy. Flavorless. Sinister.

PODCASTER:
Sinister??

PEPYS:
Not celery, you simple fool. Ce-le-bri-ty.

JANE:
Can’t say I have, sir.

PEPYS:
Thank you. You may take your leave.

[JANE LEAVES THE ROOM]

PEPYS:
Now, Jane may be uneducated, (and a woman), but she knows a great deal of uncommon words in spite of this. If she does not know what a celebrity is, neither do I. Which is all to say: fuck off.

PODCASTER:
…What?

PEPYS:
If you shan’t explain, then you shall fuck off.

PODCASTER:
Celebrity!! Famous person.

PEPYS:
Such as the King?

PODCASTER:
Sort of. But—

PEPYS:
Or perhaps you mean like Jesus Christ?

PODCASTER:
Closer but no.

PEPYS:
How about Jack the Joiner? Everyone knows Jack the Joiner. Of course, he isn’t really a joiner—he isn’t really anything. I suppose he must have been a joiner at some point in his life, but then again, he is blind. And missing one hand. And all his teeth. Which shouldn’t affect one’s joining abilities, but it’s difficult to attract business when each time you speak the festering pink mass of your gums is all the eye can see. But, he never aims to talk about joining. Mostly stews— oh, Jack the Joiner, he loves a stew. All he eats, all he can eat. Every tavern in London has gotten a visit from Jack, regardless if they sell stew. He’ll beg them to whip something up. The kinder of the lot often will, but most send him back out onto the street, where he limps and wails, “Stew! Stew! STEEEEW!” Quite a sight, I assure you, which is why all who have been present for one of Jack the Joiner’s Stew Barrages remember it for life. It really is something—ah, did I mention he’s also from Leeds? How he made his way down here, I’ll never know. Someone like that?

PODCASTER:
Um…somehow, that is the closest example so far, but not quite. I’m talking like, actors! Musicians. Comedians.

PEPYS:
Comedians?

PODCASTER:
Ugh, I mean…jesters?

PEPYS:
Yuck. I am no lover of their “jokes.” But, actors? Where you come from they are…celebrity?

PODCASTER:
Uh, yes?

PEPYS:
So…they are respected?

PODCASTER:
Depends on who you ask. I’d say we generally see them as special.

[PEPYS LAUGHS]

PEPYS:
What a jape! Ohh, I’ll have to write that down—actors! Respected! Special! PAH! What a fantastical, ridiculous concept.

[PEPYS WALKS TO HIS JOURNAL] [HE WRITES IN IT]

PODCASTER:
What’s that?

PEPYS:
My diary. Beginning the first of January, 1660, I resolved to start recording my daily life.

PODCASTER:
Uh-huh. Your New Year’s Resolution? For…1660…

PEPYS:
New Year’s Resolution! An apt descriptor—yes, Valentino! Exactly!

PODCASTER:
What do you write about? In…1660…which is where—when—we are.

PEPYS:
My opinions on the theatre, liaisons between actors, dramatic secrets. You can imagine why I keep them to myself. There’s nary a soul alive who would be interested in such trivial things. About actors, no less!

PODCASTER:
Oh buddy, you were born in the wrong century.

PEPYS:
However do you mean?

PODCASTER:
Someday, the world will kill to read—well, listen to—this kinda stuff.

PEPYS:
There’s a thought. Unlikely. I fear these journals, and my dreams, will die with me. Here we have no “celebrities,” so what you speak of is not achievable for me.

PODCASTER:
No celebrities…yet. A time…Before Celebrities. Just what I—That’s it! That must be why I’m here—assuming this is not drug-induced psychosis, maybe like, God wants me to get to the roots of all this so I can RIP THEM OUT!

PEPYS:
A-HA, at last! Your trade: you are a farmer!

PODCASTER:
No, Pepys-o Bismol, I am not! I am a celebrity gossip podcaster, and you are too—even if you don’t know it.

PEPYS:
Please stop using these words, they frighten me—

PODCASTER:
Don’t care! This must be it, this must be like, divine intervention. I asked to find something substantial to talk about. And here it is!

PEPYS:
Please explain.

PODCASTER:
How badly would you like your diaries to be remembered—no, not even that—revered, by millions of people?

PEPYS:
My good man, I highly doubt there are a million people on Earth. And moreover, how would I reach them all? Most are illiterate.

PODCASTER:
Don’t worry—it’s like that where I’m from, too. Which is why I use—

[THE PODCASTER THROWS HIS EQUIPMENT ON THE TABLE]

PODCASTER:
All of this!

PEPYS:
A bunch of rocks?

PODCASTER:
Don’t ask me to explain the mechanics of podcasting equipment, I have no clue, I can’t be that guy for you. Here, speak into this part.

[PEPYS JOINS THE STRANGER]

PEPYS:
Whatever shall I say?

PODCASTER:
Perfect! Let’s just hit the playback…

PEPYS:
(on recording) “Whatever shall I say?”

PODCASTER:
Well?

PEPYS:
Well what?

PODCASTER:
Shouldn’t you accuse me of being a witch now?

PEPYS:
Why would I?

PODCASTER:
Because I just showed you a magic sound box that captures voices?

PEPYS:
Hmm…yes, I suppose that would be appropriate. But the Puritans aren’t in charge any more, are they?

PODCASTER:
Are they?

PEPYS:
Nope! As a matter of fact, the King is executing one of the radicals who assassinated his father this very eve. Would you like to come?

PODCASTER:
I’m gonna pass, but—what do you think?

PEPYS:
Of the magic box? It is unnatural and certainly a work of the Devil. I am intrigued.

PODCASTER:
My man!

PEPYS:
What is it you want in return for me…speaking my diaries into it?

PODCASTER:
Let me stay here. And while I do, I want you to teach me. About your celeb—about your actors, about your theatre, all of it. I want to know how it all started, so when I go back to…where I’m from…I’ll know how to stop it—I mean, explain it—to the people from…my world.

[PEPYS YAWNS]

PEPYS:
Apologies. I fear I’ve heard this story before.

PODCASTER:
You catty bitch! You would’ve killed on TMZ.

PEPYS:
TMZ?

PODCASTER:
It’s not a groundbreaking plot, no, but that’s how I know it’ll work! It’s the classic time-travel narrative arc: I have to learn something to get back home.

PEPYS:
Learn something? Surely a boat would be less taxing?

PODCASTER:
A boat?

PEPYS:
To Italy? Where you…are from?

PODCASTER:
Ah, no boats for me, thanks. Unless there’s a piña colada in one hand and a bottle of Xanax in the other, I don’t do water travel.

PEPYS:
You are a strange man. As am I. I accept your deal, Italian Devilman!

PODCASTER:
Sweet! Up-top!

[HE HIGH-FIVES HIMSELF]

PODCASTER:
That is called a high-five.

PEPYS:
A high…oh! Because there are five fingers! Toodaloo!

[HE GOES TO THE DOOR]

PODCASTER:
Pepys-eroni! Where are you going? I have everything set up to record!

PEPYS:
I told you, the execution. Everyone in London will be there. I have to arrive early if I have any hope of seeing the traitor’s head roll.

PODCASTER:
Fine, but…can we try recording an intro first? To, uh, seal the deal?

PEPYS:
Intro?

PODCASTER:
Like, explain what the podcast is gonna be about?

PEPYS:
You poor Italian fool, the word is prologue.

PODCASTER:
Whatever. Come here.

[FOOTSTEPS] [THE PODCASTER HITS RECORD]

PODCASTER:
Hello there, listeners new-and-old, this is…this is Valentino. And I’m here with—say your name—

PEPYS:
—Samuel Pepys—

PODCASTER:
—Samuel Pepys, the premiere celebrity gossip podcaster of 1660. And we’re here with our new show…the…uh…

PEPYS:
The Peek!

PODCASTER:
Good one! Definitely not stolen from mine at all. The Peek…with Samuel Pepys. We’re going to investigate how celebrities came to be (whispered) and how to stop it all from going wrong.

PEPYS:
What was that last part?

PODCASTER:
So stay tuned!

[HE CLICKS OFF THE RECORDING]

PEPYS:
You truly earn wages for this?

PODCASTER:
How ‘bout that execution?

PEPYS:
Didn’t you say you were uninterested in attending?

PODCASTER:
Did I? Sounds fake. I’ve never seen one before, but—when in Rome!

PEPYS:
London.

[THE MEN LEAVE THE ROOM] [A DOOR SLAMS] [A STRANGE, MAGICAL WHIRRING NOISE] [A PHONE NOTIFICATION] [A PHONE VIBRATING] [A DOOR OPENS] [EMILY TAKES TWO STEPS INSIDE]

EMILY THE INTERN: Hey man, class got cancelled, so I figured I’d come back in…

[ANOTHER STEP]

EMILY THE INTERN: Hello? …Hello?

[A FEW MORE STEPS]

EMILY THE INTERN: Where did you—

[RUSTLING UNDER A TABLE] [A ROOSTER COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOOS IN HER FACE]

EMILY THE INTERN: WHATTHEFUCKISACHICKENDOINGHERE. You’re not…you’re not him, are you?

[AN OFFENDED CLUCK]

END OF EPISODE.