D-Listers

D-Listers

“Hey Raphie, do mind if Nick and I talk about what our favourite thing to do today was?”

“Why sure Sean,” Raphie replied, “it sure would be a fun way to end our day.”

“Well I learned that sharing can make things more fun for everybody.” Nick was right on cue.

“And I learned that you should always ask before sharing with somebody, or else they might think you are being a bully.”

“Oh be carefully with that 'b' word.” said Raphie, “We don't want for Pushy Pete to come back. Well that's it boys and girls. We have to go, but we'll be back next week for more fun.”

“And... cut.” That was Nathan the director. “Great job guys. So that's the last shot for this season. I guess we'll all see each other next spring. You can go pick up your pay checks from Delia in the office.”

Another season of 'Raphie's Playtime Hour' had come to a close. Jack and Marshall couldn't be happier. Well, maybe they could be if the BBC paid better, but not much else could be improved. Raphie was a guy in a Beaver suit, and they were the two high school aged actors who played Raphie's best friends. The only way they could stand to film the shows was if they were high, and the public appearances were torture. But of course, their agents had signed them on for a 4 year deal, so they had to stick it out for one more season before going after real roles.

Delia was very much like Grace, the secretary from Ferris Beuller's Day Off. Short, pudgy, in her early 60's, and far too cheerful for her own good.

“Oh boys!” She said with a beaming smile, “Here for your pay checks? Off to spend them on movies and candies then?”

“Yeah,” said Marshall, “just finished filming for the season. Ready for our pay checks. Then we're outta here for a while.”

“Oh don't you just love being on television with Raphie. My grandson just loves you two. I hope this new season is as good as the last. Well, here's your checks. 17,055.29 each. Just be careful you don't spend it all in one place.” Then the boys forced laughter at the same joke that Delia made every time she gave them their pay checks. At least, Marshall and Jack were pretty sure that it was a joke.

“Oh we won't Delia.” said Jack, “Just make sure you don't either.”

The headed for the doorway, but just before leaving, Marshall chimed in, “Of course with your McJob, that might be a bit of a challenge.”

Delia didn't know what a McJob was, but she assumed they were making some sort of a joke. She told it to her husband later that night. But, he didn't know what a McJob was either, so he just pretended he did and laughed at Delia's joke.

The boys weren't going to spend all of their money in one place, but there were off to the pub, where they would be able to buy all of their friends a few rounds each. It was quickly becoming a better day for the two boys.

After going to the bank to cash their pay checks, they texted their posse. Naturally, they would have preferred to email, but they were the only people they knew under the age of 22 with Blackberrys. Alexandra, Jeremy, Patti, Kenny, Foley, and Rose were all on their way to meet them at their favourite, though extremely decrepit, pub.

The pub was called The Sea Turtle, and it was in a part of Islington where nobody really bothered to id. Everybody but Jack had ids, but none of them had quite passed the stage where they had ids, but were far to afraid to use them. Jack, being of typical stock for show business, had grown a bit of a stubble, and began to claim that he could use this stubble as his id because it was a stubble which made him appear much older than he was. The reality was, of course, that Jack just wanted people to stare in amazement at his potential, at barely sixteen years old, to grow such a full beard.

Foley was waiting for Jack and Marshall outside of the pub. In an attempt to

look “hip” and “relaxed”, he was leaning against a nearby brick wall. Unfortunately, he had not noticed the large urine stain against said wall, and the puddle which he

was just centimetres from standing in.

“Oi!” Shouted Marshall as they approached him, “Get off the fucking piss wall then Foley! They aren't going to let you in if you already seem so drunk.”

Just Foley's luck, he stepped in the puddle of urine at his feet as he jumped back from the wall.

Although Foley had been standing outside the pub for Marshall and Jack, everyone else was already inside.

“So guys. How was filming? I bet it was wicked. So cool that you're gonna be in HD this year. Did you see any of the episodes yet? Do they just look so amazing? I can't believe the BBC can afford those new cameras for just a children's show. Well not that 'Raphie's Playtime Hour' is a children's show. Just that you know, mostly it is made for kids to watch. And those cameras aren't cheap. But you deserve them. You both really do a great job. Gonna...”

“Shut up Foley.” said Jack.

“Yeah. Let's just go inside and get pissed. I don't understand half the stuff

you are saying, and the other half sounds retarded. Let's make that perfectly okay.”

“Oh. Okay. Sorry guys. You know I just get carried away sometimes. Let's go wet our whistles then.”

Jack and Marshall sighed to each other, and as they walked into the pub, Jack asked Marshall, “Didn't I tell him to shut up?”

Nobody but Foley remembers much after that since he was the only one who had less that ten shots (he didn't make it past four). What Jack and Marshall were able to piece together amounted them entering the pub together around 4:30, buying shots of tequila and rounds of Guinness for the entire bar until about 9:30, leaving for the tube to go find a club because Rose had a hunch that there was a famous dj playing at a club in Primrose Hill of which she did not know the name, and waking up on Jack's lawn at exactly 7:47 the next morning when Jack's mother left house for her morning jog and shouted, “Get up off the lawn! It is 7:47 in the morning. Marshall, go home for Christ's sake your mother is worried sick!” She continued to shout to them, but they were barely conscious, and she was already around the corner, so her words were lost in the sound of cars on the nearby high street.

She had a point. Marshall's mother did have a tendency to worry that her son had been knifed if he was not home when she was up in the morning. For his mother's fear, Marshall absolutely hated the Daily Mail and had refused to be interviewed by them for their children's education supplement the previous year.

With the sun up it, it became difficult for Jack and Marshall to fall back asleep, So after another good half an hour rolling about in a purposefully listless manner on Jack's lawn, Marshall got up. He immediately fell back down to the lawn and decided it would just be best to text his mother, so he did.

“Do you wanna get high?” asked Jack.

“Fine. But can we watch some tv and maybe eat some breakfast too?”

“Yeah, we'll bring some corn flakes up to my room and smoke up there. I just

got The Wall on dvd. We should watch that while we light up.”

“What's The Wall? Some skate video. I hate your skate videos.”

“No. Pink Floyd. Are you daft? The Wall is like the most famous Pink Floyd

thing ever. Bob Geldof is in it or something.”

“Oh yeah. THE Wall. Of course. I know that. Don't test me on classic rock this early in the day.”

So the two eventually got up and went to Jack's room to eat and get high. Partway through The Wall, right at the part where kids are getting pushed out through meat grinders, both of them get an email at the same time. It was their agent Gary Yossif. The emails just said: “Call ASAP.”, so they finished their movie and Marshall called Gary.

“Hey Gary man. This is Marshall.”

“And Jack. You're on speaker. Oh dude, I just got that. Cause his voice is being played on a big speaker in the phone. Speakerphone.”

“Shit Jack, you're so right. I can't believe I never knew that.”

“Oh shut up you two. Are you high right now? You're high right now aren't

you? I can tell. Well sober up and go online. Lead story of the entertainment section on The Daily Mail's site. What the fuck were you two doing last night in

Kensington?”

“Dude. Jack here. We weren't in Kensington last night. We were in Primrose Hill. Right Marshall?”

“If you weren't in Kensington, then I suppose that means that I won't be able to tell you what you are wearing right now. Marshall, you have on bright red pants and a grey shirt. Jack, you are wearing jeans and a shirt from FCUK.”

“Gary. You're like a mind reader of clothing. My shirt does say FCUK. And Marshall does have red pants on.”

“No Jack, I just saw the pictures on The Daily Mail's website of you and Marshall pissing in mailboxes. And you'll be in tomorrow's edition.”

“Aww fuck. We didn't. Did we?”

“You did. And I'm dropping you two as clients. Call your lawyers and get them to set up a meeting with me to sort out the details.”

“You can't do that though man. Jack and me, we've got that contract with you that we signed. You've got to get a acting gigs. That's your job.”

“No, it was my job. Now I'm using an out in the contract to drop you for your behaviour. I've got to go now boys. Bye.”

The boys sat in Jack's room for a few minutes before deciding on a plan. They would get new agents. Marshall went home to tell his parents about his plan. He had to walk because he was out of money, and about half way home, he realized that he was not going to find a new agent good enough to get him any jobs.

On his way, Marshall was recognized in the street by a fan. This little girl in her frilly pink dress, no more than 3 years old, came up to Marshall and gave him a hug. Of course, she was small, so she hugged his leg and said “Sean! I'm Julia. Raphie is my favourite.”

“Do you read the Daily Mail? Of course you don't you're tiny. The truth is, I'm FCUK'ed right now, and Raphie is an ass. But remember, don't ever turn off your tv, and always watch Raphie's show. That way I can get more money for weed. I know I shouldn't be saying that, but I'm probably about to be fired, so unless ratings go through the roof because little girls like you make a habit of losing the remote while watching Raphie, I'm out of a job.”

“I watch you every day. Want my balloon?”

The girl held out a purple balloon that she had been carrying. Marshall had always liked the colour purple. He took the balloon, made a detour for the nearest park, and sat on the grass staring at the girl's balloon until he wasn't high any more. Then he let go of the balloon, went to a bank, and withdrew some savings. It was about 3 in afternoon, and now with money in his wallet, he called Jack.

“Well so long as we're already in trouble, shall we go out and get pissed? I'd

like to try and make it into The Sun as well before we hit the 'Where Are They Now? File'”

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Thanks for reading, I know this isn't the best story ever, but I really like the premise, and I am open to changing the story, a lot, while maintaining the basic premise. Again, thanks for reading.