Tim Keller opened the door to KING Cable TV studios with his back, carrying a box of brand new XLR cable he picked up from the post office, a Zagnut bar hanging from his mouth.
As the door closed behind him, he heard a heated argument coming from Pittwhile’s office.
The old station manager was a placid as a frozen lake, and Tim was shocked to the point of fright.
On a folding chair outside the office was Bertrand Willis. Tim was pretty sure that Bertrand didn’t chew tobacco or gum, so he must have been chewing the inside of his own cheek.
On his lap, laid flat on his back, as though one might display a corpse in a casket, was Commander Poikel.
The puppet was an odd mix of both army dress uniform and jungle camo, a creation of Bertrand’s late wife Esmeralda.
As far as Tim knew the Commander Poikel show was the longest-running cable access show on Oklahoma cable, pre-dating Tim’s arrival in life by at least a few years.
The voices coming from the office, Tim realized, was really only one voice, scatting and dancing and cutting back on itself.
“Howdy, Mr. Willis,” Tim said.
“Hullo, Tim,” Bertrand answered, as though it took effort.
“Mr. Pittwhile got a problem in there?”
Bertrand looked up. He inhaled like he had been waiting, aching to tell someone, anyone, anything.
“Corrine Anderson is doing her darndest to get Commander Poikel taken off the air.”
Keller put the remainder of the Zagnut in his breast pocket.
He had seen Miss Anderson at the SnakMart recently, complaining about the price of incontinence garments.
“Off the air, Mr. Willis? Not sure I understand.”
“She told Pittwhile that the Commander here is anti-semitic.”
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