“Okay, so, this is my audition for that Total Drama Island show. I guess. Okay to be honest I actually don't really care about whether or not you pick me, I don't even want to be on this show. I'm only doing this because my stupid brother decided to make a bet with me. Basically, pick me if you want, I don't care. I'm sure the only type of girls you want are the spoiled, annoying, rich, big breasted bimbos who have a combination of fake tans, fake hair and probably fake butts. So yeah. Bye.” - Gwen
“Testing, Testing, One-Two-Three! Haha. Hi, I'm Owen, and I think I'd be good for Total Drama Island because....because.....oh darn it, forgot what I was going to – BURP – Oh, sorry about that, had a real big lunch before filming. Mmmm, and it was a pretty good lunch too, let me tell you! In fact, I'm kind of getting hungry just thinking about it.” - Owen
Chris Mclean, one of the most handsome men that ever lived – or at least that's his personal theory, finally was able to lean back in his office chair and let out a deep sigh as his black, perpetually wind blown hair ever slightly moved with the wind of his ceiling fan.
That was the last of them. The final audition that the television presenter had to deal with.Next to him, in a rather massive pile, lay not tens, not hundreds, but thousands of other discs and tapes each containing a unique audition for but one single show. Never in his life would Chris have expected so many teenagers to so easily be willing to throw their lives away for a show like Total Drama Island, but then again the producers told him they would.
However, what he'd just done had been but the easy part. The hard part, had just now reared it's head directly at him.
And of course, so did the large man known as Chef Hatchet. Albeit, in the form of coming into Chris' office rather abruptly:
“So, you made a decision yet, Chris?”
“Dude, we got like, a thousand auditions and I just now finished the last of them, I'm gonna need a little bit of time to think this over!”
“Didn't you have like several months to make a decision about the casting?”
“No, the producers did! But then apparently they decided to book themselves a cruise and leave me with the casting decision making duty, thingie, whatever!”
“C'mon, all you gotta do is pick twenty-two of 'em.”
“Yes but there is a secret formula to this, Chef! The twenty-two I pick could either make or break this show! The producers are counting on me to pick a cast that will guarantee high ratings! If they don't get high ratings, it's done-so!”
“Well then how about this, take note of their stereotypes, and just pick one of each.”
“Chef, buddy, you have no freakin' clue how many of these kids are like carbon copies of each other. I swear most of these were basically some type of variation of either Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, that mean girl from Mean Girls, or somewhere in-between that.”
“Why in the hell would girls like that wanna win just one hundred grand?”
“I don't freakin' know, track 'em down and ask them!”
“Well, there's gotta be at least a few good ones. Or at least decent ones.”
“Well, the last twenty-two I watched were pretty good, but I dunno. The twenty-two from before that were pretty good too. It was literally all the ones before that were the stupid rich kids.”
“So, you're between one set of twenty-two and the other set of twenty-two?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Well then just try a coin flip.”
“You know what?” Chris perked up, a grin on his face as from his pocket he pulled out but a single Canadian Quarter, “That's the best idea I've heard all day, thanks Chef.”
“No problem Chris” the large black man smiled and nodded back, “So what's gonna be heads and what's gonna be tails?”
“Tails is gonna be the last twenty-two I just watched, and heads is gonna be the twenty-two from before that!”
“A'ight. Flip the coin and let fate do the talkin'.”
“In three....two....one!”, and with the flick of his thumb, the coin was sent from Chris' hand into the air, flipping at wickedly fast speed as both Chris and Chef watched it ascend with nail biting anticipation for what it would land on. In their vision, it almost seemed as though time slowed down just so that this same decision would take as long as humanly possible to complete. Of course though, that was undoubtedly an illusion as in actuality the coin had hit the carpeted floor of the room a few mere seconds after Chris flipped it.
The two bent over with widened, curious eyes to see what fate had decreed would be their set of initial contestants.
As fate would have it....
“Yo! We're coming at you live from Camp Wawanakwa, somewhere in Muskoka, Ontario. I'm your host, Chris Mclean. Dropping season one of the hottest new reality show on television, right now! Here's the deal, 22 campers have signed up to spend eight weeks right here at this crummy old summer camp. They'll compete in challenges against each other. Then have to face the judgement of their fellow campers. Every three days, one team will either win a reward, or watch one of their team member's walk down the dock of shame. Take a ride on the loser boat an leave Total Drama Island, for good!” - Chris McLean
“Man, I thought you'd be a shoe-in, Gwen!”
“Oh shut up, you're just saying that to try and get back on my good side.”
“You're just mad 'cuz you lost.”
“No. I didn't even want to be on that stupid show. Look, all the people they did pick are basically the most stereotypical vapid people you could even think of.”
“Or you're only sayin' that cuz jelly.”
“Why would I be jealous of people that want to waste their lives on some reality show?”
“Hey I'm just saying. Besides, I do agree with you. The people they picked are pretty damn fake.”
“Ugh” the pale skinned goth girl known to friends and enemies alike as Gwen groaned in sarcastic agreement with her younger brother, nodding before offering only one remark, “The fakest.”
“Oh look!” her younger, less pale brother excitedly pointed at the screen, “I'm callin' out, that's gonna be the show's resident 'Queen Bee'!”
“That” Gwen smirked, “Or another one of the sluts. Not there's a difference, of course.”
“Oh look” Gwen said as she observed one of the male contestants arriving on the show, “Yet another dude who's probably going to peak in the high school football team and then never have anything more interesting for the rest of his entire life.”
“Probably going to die due to an alcohol addiction.”
“Ya know, sis” the early teenager said, “Maybe you had a point about you not being cut out for this show. I don't think you could've lasted longer than the first episode.”
“Yeah, I'm just saying, I don't think you'd have had what it takes to be 'friends' with these guys.”
“Oh please. I'd rather kill myself than deal with people like them.”
“I don't think that summer camp would even have the budget to let you do that.”
“Evidently no, the way those bed posts are tied together at least half of this cast is probably going to die because the top bunk decided to crush them one particular night.”
And the two shared another round of laughter, at the mental imagery they were imagining. They couldn't help but find the show Gwen had been rejected for to be at least ironically entertaining and at the same time intriguing – perhaps it was the trap of watching other people make a complete fool out of themselves. Most of the contestants themselves weren't really much to write home about – nearly all of them being essentially archetypes seen all the time in both film and television. Both brother and sister doubted most of them even needed the prize money – most of them likely were only there for the sake of television fame. What little of it they could get.
The two didn't give the 'geeks' and 'nerds' much in the way of ridicule, if only out of respect for the fact that they likely got enough of such treatment at the schools they went to – let alone on the show they signed up for. They did, however, give the more beautiful and likely wealthy contestants very little in the way of mercy:
“Okay, now that they're on the cliff and in better light I think you're right about that one girl” Gwen remarked, “There is no way that girl is sixteen.”
“How old you think she is?”
“Probably thirty something.”
“Really? I was gonna go with forty.”
“God this show really is like watching a bad high school movie.”
The two would continue to heckle at the show's expense for the duration of it's first two episodes – which aired back-to-back with each other, enjoying it rather ironically before taking the completion of it's first elimination ceremony as a sign to get back to their real lives. After all, there was a lot more going on in Ontario than one single reality show.
Gwen would never have even the faintest idea about what her life could have been had she actually been picked for this show, nor the fact that it was only by a mere fluke that she didn't get selected. However, it was a fluke that for her simply meant her life would go on as it had been going on before.
This would be the case for most, but not all, of the would-have-been contestants. Case in point, events that at that very hour were unfolding within the province of Alberta, or at least, what events were about to unfold.
These events did not actually begin in Alberta or even in Canada, but instead within the city of wealthy privilege itself; the Californian city that is the heartland of the rich and famous, Los Angeles. Sitting before a computer screen, one Hollywood manager's glasses were lit not by the lamp sitting on the side of his desk but instead by the social media videos his eyes and consciousness were consuming. Searching for potential clientele was ever a tedious duty, even if it was work that his middle aged man with a lengthy work history under his belt could do while remaining in his pajamas, complete with pink bunny slippers.
Most of those that he looked at, in fact virtually of them, lacked any actual talent. Some of them even lacked good looks as well, for that matter. Case in point being that side ponytail wearing girl from Alberta who's singing had been interrupted by her father. There was no doubt that she was a sweet girl and would make a loyal fan to any pop singer he could raise to fame, but she simply didn't have either the looks or the talent for elevation in his eyes.
Of course, that being said his value of looks was based on whether he could improve his client's appearance or if they were simply 'beyond helping'.
The only thing worse than her was that boy scout character, tall, redheaded and nerdy: reminding him of his cousins back in Nova Scotia in a rather odd kind of way. His voice alone was so typically 'dweebish' that this tall and pasty boy was rejected before even a single second passed on the video timer.
Of his highest considerations there were two whom were of most interest to him, both of them being young males - though both of them happened to also be Canadians. Then again, he was lucky to have Canadian citizenship.
One of them was Trent Smith of Ontario, who had honest genuine talent and just as genuine good looks with raven black hair, emerald green eyes, and a physique that was healthy and fit, the type of body that wasn't supermodel gorgeous but attractive enough for it to be easy for fan-girls to swoon. His video had his string break in the middle of his traditional guitar performance, but he appeared to be performing within an actual recording studio. The manager would have signed on to him in a heartbeat, had he not learned that his father was a lawyer - and a rather distinguished one at that. He had found this fact out by simply looking at a picture of the father in question: Trent was his spitting image.
That left him with his second interest: Cody Anderson, also from Canada though from Vancouver. From what the manager had seen from his video, he didn't have much in the way of musical talent, nor was he as instantly good looking as Trent. However, he was youthful - his skin was smooth, his brown hair could use styling but looked at least decent as it was, and he did at least attempt to make his collared shirts, vests and baggy pants look decent though he definitely would need an upgrade in fashion sense. In addition, his voice was not particular grating to the imagination of this crooked man and with the right audio equipment could be improved within the field of the musical arts. Whatever the fans don't know won't hurt them, after all.
In a normal world, Cody's failed audition for Total Drama Island would have been outright rejected by any manager with sense, he attempted a love song via electronic keyboard, and was also interrupted by his father in doing so, before then bragging about one day managing to be a star. It was nothing special and was honestly embarrassing. However, his thin yet youthful appearance that was far from the realm of being 'beyond assistance' coupled with the fact his parents did not appear to be in the field of law was enough for the neutral face of the manager to turn into a wicked, ear to ear grin.
It was as if he'd hit the jackpot.
The Andersons had been spending their Saturday as they usually did. Phillip Anderson, the resident father, valued the time off from his duties as a mathematics professor at the local university - in fact he was enjoying it by watching the news on his family's prized flat screen television. His wife, Sofia, was not home however, as her job as a psychologist being far more demanding than that of one's regular educator. As for Cody himself, he was up in his room and keeping to himself having learned his lesson about being too loud from the scolding he received during his audition.
Neither of the two males at home had the faintest idea about what fate had in store for them.
After all, Cody was humbly playing his PlayStation 3 dressed only in cream colored silk pajamas, having the more difficult portions of his brain turned off so that he could completely focus on putting a stop to the wicked plans of the Reapers as he had been for the past few hours. He had absolutely no idea how far or lack thereof into the galactic heroism that he was, but he was too immersed in the game to actually care. Of course, he was also rather focused on his progress with his chosen romantic interest - a cheeky smile appearing on his face as he took mental notes of the words being said.
This was in despite of the fact that none of the action his eyes were treated to during these scenes was far from anything 'explicit'.
In short, it was a day of sunshine, peace and quiet. Until Phillip was disturbed by the sound of his doorbell ringing. Sighing due to having his lovely middle of the day disturbed, the father stood up and walked to the door so he could receive whomever it was on the other side, and it was of course the manager who had been watching his son earlier: now completely in the natural light of the son. Not that it revealed much, besides his short, corporately cut ginger hair itself being hidden by a fedora hat which complimented the equally corporate business suit being worn below it. Those glasses still glistened in the glare of the sun's light.
Phillip waited for a response before curiously speaking up:
“Hello sir, this is the Anderson residence, correct?”
“Yes, who's asking?”
“I'm William O'brien!”the manager introduced himself with a small bow and a hand to the chest, 鄭nd I'm a talent manager straight from Hollywood, here to see your son!”
“Oh really?”Phillip scoffed at the idea, “So what you gonna do to him? Offer him some 'miracle lake water'?”
“Oh sir no!”William laughed, “I'm here to sign him up with a record label. You see, I watched a video of his online and I thought he was simply the perfect fit for a career in the musical arts.
“Look Will, I know my son is a talented boy, in fact I'm where he gets it from in case you can't tell from my looks, but the thing is that I have learned from experience that someone who literally comes to your door to say they'll make all your problems go away are usually full of bull. That, and my son already has a future of well paid for college education ahead of him so please go bug somebody else!”
Phillip would have closed the door, but William was persistent, he stuck his foot out and was able to take said door to said foot.
“Sir, please. I have the paperwork proving who I am, and I know the record company perfectly well! Heck I have family working for it AND owning it!” he said this while holding out his personal identification card, hoping that Mr. Anderson would see it.
Evidently he did, seeing as how the door was opened more.
“Okay so you are some kinda talent manager”, Phillip folded his arms in conceded defeat, “But I still don't see why you wanna take my son away from college and an actual future to make him some kinda music star. Those guys are usually bums!”
“Oh sir” William shook his head, still chuckling almost a bit too enthusiastically as he continued on, “I don't want to make him a rock music star! I want to make him into a POP music star!”
“What's the difference?”
“The difference is actually quite large, sir.”
“Explain to me how.”
“Sir, my only response is that it's the twenty-first century. Plus, I assure you I will personally see to it that he will have enough money and time to attend classes so that his education is not just put on hold over this.”
“Alright, but just one more question.”
“What exactly is he gonna be doing? Like-
“I just need him to sign one simple multi page contract and then he will quite literally be whisked away to a life of fame and fortune!”
“And college education.”
“Yes, and college education too! So can you just get your son already?”
“Alright fine, but I better not see a Nigerian crown on you when I get back down here!”
As Phillip left upstairs to get Cody, William couldn't help but raise a confused brow at such a comment.
He did not have much time to contemplate however, as he could overhear just a bit of what Phillip was telling to Cody upstairs before the sound of their footsteps heading back to where William himself followed. These, of course, were followed by a smiling, if not grinning, William finally meeting Cody face to face in the flesh.
With his parted-both-ways haircut, and fair yet somehow perfectly youthful skin William was happy with what he was seeing: in the sense that it was exactly like in the video. There was of course plenty of work that would need to be done, but that is after all what stylists are for. Cody himself, with one brow raised, was ever the confused lad as he had no idea what it was that William wanted. The first thing he said to him was:
“So, you're some kind of talent agent?”
“Yep, I sure am!” William's smile was honestly not the most trustable thing in the world, “Here to turn you from a simple suburban boy to a pop music sensation! All you have to do is sign this contract here and we'll be on our way to Hollywood!”
Saying that, William held out to Cody a surprisingly thin set of papers, white with a long series of obligated legal jargon written them. Pulling out a pen from one of his pockets, Cody was ready to sign, though being a rather smart boy he did at least begin to read what was written. After all, as a private school student he was actually capable of reading it while also understanding a substantial amount of the words. However, William had been anticipating this – after waiting to judge the body language of Phillip, his next tactic was to speak rather manipulatively:
“It's alright, Cody, take your time.” he started with, before soon branching off, “I would just like to point out that a life of fame and fortune, the life that could very well be awaiting you after signing, will pertain not only potential millions of dollars coming in to your ownership regularly but also the hearts and minds of young ladies throughout the entire-”
“Done!” - and just like that, Cody's signature was on the bottom of the paper, in perfect cursive aswell as perfectly black ink.
William, for his part, gave a just barely sinister grin as all he said was but one word:
With everything having been said, done and signed, William proceeded to escort a now rather excited Cody off to the rather exquisite jet black limousine parked outside. Phillip and Cody exchanged waves of goodbye to each other, though the former couldn't but still be completely confused about what was happening – yet at the same time the idea that he should join his son and his agent did not even cross his mind. Instead, he merely stood by his door and waved until the two were well on their way down the road – which was also his cue to close the door and return to his day of casual television viewing.
The rest of the world had no idea what was in store for the not-so-distant future.