Well, hey there, y 'all. Welcome back to another
educationally questionable episode of Cold Reads
Hot Takes, brought to you by our fine folks over
at the Voice Support Community, where the writers
write, the actors act, the sound designers do
that black magic with reverb and squeaky doors,
and the composers, well, well, I don't know how
y 'all make a violin sound like a heartbreak
in a can, but bless you for it. Now, if I sound
a little busy right now, that's because I'm doing
this intro for my tow truck. Yep. Got called
in because old bus 42 done broke down right outside
the waffle bar. And since nobody else was available,
George truly is hauling 27 sugar -fueled 8th
graders to school. They're all just sitting in
the back. Not one of them riding up front with
me. Why, you ask? Well, apparently I smell like
pickled eggs. And also someone said riding up
front with me is like sitting shotgun with a
possum that knows how to drive but chooses not
to. Now look, I admit, I had a few too many hard
boils for breakfast, and yeah, I do like talking
to my gear ship like it's my cousin Daryl. But
that's no reason to shame a man. Anyway, all
that's to say this episode's called Schooled.
And no, it ain't about me trying to pass my ZED.
Again. It's a whole lineup of stories about learning
life's lessons the hard way. And sometimes, the
hilarious way. We got actors, writers, sound
wizards, and some truly brilliant stories that'll
teach us something. Even if it's just not to
trust a mime with a secret. So, tighten them
backpack straps, sharpen your emotional pencils,
and get ready for episode three. Schooled. Now,
if you'll excuse me. I gotta explain to a group
of middle schoolers why I once got banned from
the library for falling asleep on a beanbag chair
in the non -fiction section. My, what a glorious
afternoon. Indeed, the precipitation of the morning
has only added to the anticipation of this recess.
From the monotony that is Mrs. Baker's first
grade classroom. The sun has broken through the
clouds and the puddles reflect its brilliance.
Showing that all of life can have beauty after
the tumult of a storm. My, the very thought of...
Out of the way, David. Ew, Jonathan. Don't push.
I'll tell the duty. Nuh -uh. It's Mr. Warner
and I'm his favorite. He won't believe you. Fie
on that boy. He is correct, of course, in that
Mr. Warner has always had a soft spot for toe
-headed nincompoops. I've long hypothesized that
he was once one of them, though his hair has
long since abandoned him, as did his sense of
decorum around Ms. Davidson. It is obvious to
any casual observer that his heart moves into
his throat whenever they serve together in their
lunchroom. I myself do not understand the appeal.
Though I've heard tell that as I mature, that
will change. Oh, the wonders of puberty, they
tell me. My being a mere six years of age shows
that I still have much to learn when it comes
to the art of romance. I called a flight! You
got it yesterday! No fear! Too bad, David. I'm
getting there first. Oh, the nerve of this child.
He knows that my chronic asthma will ensure his
victory in a race. Damn my lousy genes! Ha! I
won! Now I'm king of the castle! Everyone else
is just stupid! Jonathan! You can't just stay
at the top! Teacher said we have to take turns!
That rule is just for kids who aren't king! Dumb
kids like you! So, my foe has chosen war. So
be it. I will raise this playground to ashes
before I allow a tyrant to assert dominance over
the disadvantaged! Stop being a meanie, jerkface!
Yes, that is right. Now to watch as my perfectly
timed verbal jab cuts him to his very core! I
know you are, but what am I? A meanie! I know
you are, but what am I? Damn it all! He has caught
me in a paradox! For any strike I throw his way
will end in immediate backlash. Shut up! Ooh,
you said a bad word. I'm telling Mr. Warner.
Mr. Warner! No! No, don't! Please! Then call
me King Jonathan. Oh, now you've done it. I shall
never bow down. Do it, David. In five... How
dare he! ...four... The doomsday clock. I shan't
give in. Three. No, no, no, no. Don't allow him
to push you, David. Two. Think of your stoic
heroes. They would never give in. Batman, Wolverine,
Shrek. One. Oh, Mr. Warner. Damn. Okay, okay,
okay. You're right. You are the king. I have
fallen short of my aspirations yet again. I have
failed all of my fellow first graders. I have
become the shame of Orchard Elementary School.
I shall never recover from this. I will become
a pariah, forced to wander on the outskirts of
the school ground, never again to touch a swing.
I... I have... David? Are you okay? Didn't mean
to make you cry. I was just playing. That was
so mean. Hey, I'm sorry. You can run the flight
if you want. I can't. You're the king. Well,
you know what? There's one thing that every king
needs. What? Is there perchance a light at the
end of this dark tunnel? A king needs a knight.
Someone to protect the castle from dragons. Oh?
Dragons aren't real. Yes, they are. Look, there's
one over there. A big green one with a funny
nose. Yes, yes, I see it in my mind's eye. A
foul creature straight from the legends. It creeps
ever closer with a gleam of hatred in its eyes
and ill intent on its putrid fire breath. Hawk,
it comes for my king. Hurry, protect me. You
are now my knight. I dub thee Sir Awesome! My
liege has given me power! I feel it surging through
me! I am indeed Sir Awesome! I shall slay this
monster and restore order to the kingdom! I'm
gonna beat you up, dragon! Oh man, I wanted to
see you fight the dragon! We can fight it tomorrow!
Sir Awesome is always ready. And thus we see
the magic of recess. As the clouds and storm
turned into sunshine and birdsong, my greatest
foe turned into a tyrant, and then my king, and
finally, my friend. Well, shoot. Wasn't that
something? Recess. Recess never changes. Written
by Brady Flanagan, who, near as I can tell, either
had a rough childhood or just spent a lot of
time losing tetherball tournaments and taking
notes. Either way, real talented fella. Now,
the actors. Oh, look, uh, I know they got real
names and they sound way different in real life,
but, uh, honestly, I'm hauling a whole busload
of kids right now and I got a cooler full of
pickled eggs in the front seat that cracked open
somewhere around mile marker 12. So my brain's
marinating in vinegar fumes and regret. I'll
shout them out proper in the credits if I don't
pass out. Hey, hey, Randy, Randy. It's Eliza
Reynolds and Chris Fossil. Okay, well, you heard
it from Clive. I guess it's that Chris fellow
and Eliza something or other. I don't know. I
don't know. Whoever it is, I'll just say this.
Them actors, they made those kids feel real.
Like, I'm gonna cry until my lunchable's real.
Brought back a lot of feelings. Mostly of me
and the weird kid who traded his fruit snacks
for pocket lint and a slap bracelet. Anyway,
that was a good one. And, just like recess, it
ended too soon. Now let me finish dropping these
kids off before something causes error. Up next?
Well, they say things are about to take a turn
for the dramatic. Y 'all hang tight. I'll be
back as soon as I hose this bus down and find
some air freshener that can fight off the smell
of disappointment and egg brine. I have been
thinking of every question someone could have
for me. The most obvious, of course, was, are
you crazy or dumb or both? I know you're not
dumb, at least. Maybe misguided, though you did
at least advertise the meetup in recognized neutral
ground. Precisely. I had a clear mind when I
conceived the idea. Love the anonymity helpers,
by the way, Ken. Glad I didn't go with Barbie.
Sure. The masks and name tags fit right in with
our larger culture. I'm beginning to see your
train of thought. I hoped you would. It's why
I invited you first. See, in the old days, noble
children would be fostered and raised by other
families. Sometimes it was treated like a hostage
situation. But most of the time, it would be
very educational and helpful to both families.
And since our culture is one of self -policing,
why not take the next step and be self -educating?
After all, we all want mundanes to suffer as
little as possible while we go about learning
how to use our gifts and make our way in the
night. I heard a rumor that your mother was one
of us. Yes... and she refused to mentor me. By
our reckoning, I'm a veteran now. But you are
more experienced than me, so I welcome any insights.
It sounded insane at first. Do -gooders being
mentored by villains? And vice versa. We make
each other better, and everyone benefits. If
masks are less sloppy, more knowledgeable, there's
less collateral damage. Less interference in
the lives of our city's mundane citizens. I remember
when you teamed up with one of those teens you
had been mentoring to take out that alien. It
all fits together. You want to take those lessons
and spread them far and wide, but what do you
really get out of it? It's not for me. It's not
about me. It's for the youngsters. I don't want
to see any more stories of young masks found
dead. Mask life is dangerous, and I'm very aware
I could have been one of those bodies washed
up by the harbor, picked apart by crabs. I understand
that. I'm lucky. I had a mentor. But still, you're
a criminal. You use your gifts to steal. What's
in it for you? I promise. That's really all there
is to it. I still care about our city. And I
care about our community. Please, will you help
me? Will you mentor young masks? Even if they
are on the wrong side of the law. Teach them
everything you wish you had learned. Teach them
everything you wish your enemies had been taught.
You're a persuasive mask, Ken. You have a reputation
for being a clean dealer. Even if you are a thief.
I have my principles. Some of them I intend to
pass on. Only rob from the big guys. Not the
little guys. Do homework. Only hit the corpos
with insurance. My personal favorite is to sell
the goods back to them after they collect on
their insurance. It's win -win. I can almost
admire you. That means a lot, Barb. I certainly
admire you. You're the real deal. I saw you in
the group giving food and water to the homeless
encampment after that bad storm. Don't think
I didn't see you handing out parkas and tarps.
I care about our city. Okay, you've convinced
me. I won't make promises for anyone else, but
I'll endorse your mentorship program. It's great
to have you aboard! I'm Brandy. Yes, that Brandy.
Cousin to Randy. Who usually hosts his little
copycat of chaos. And before you ask, no. I have
no earthly idea where he is right now. Probably
up to his elbows in motor oil. Or ferreting out
another jar of pickled eggs from whatever unholy
place he keeps them. Now you just heard a story
called Masks Helping Masks. Written by... Well,
someone. I'd tell you who the actors were, but
apparently Randy didn't think I needed those
notes. So instead, you'll just have to imagine
two very talented people who sound nothing alike,
because I assume that's what happened. As for
what it was about, your guess is as good as mine.
I think there were masks, possibly helping each
other. Or maybe they were metaphorical masks.
I don't know. I got here late and there was no
recap. Anyway, I've been told, and by told, I
mean handed a post -it note with a coffee ring
on it, that the next story is called Wingman,
written by Matt Rockstar. What's it about? No
clue. Is it funny? Dramatic? Romantic? Horror?
Couldn't tell ya. But we'll all find out together,
won't we? So buckle on up, because apparently
that's how we do things around here. Unprepared,
under -reformed, and somehow still entertaining.
Honestly, I should have just stayed home and
alphabetized my spice rack. Alright, here it
is. Wingman by Matt Rockstar. Whatever that is.
Will, are you in there? I finished your homework.
Brian, my main man, thanks for doing my homework.
Yeah, no problem. Honestly, it was easy. I even
wrote with my left hand, so it looks more like
your handwriting. You're the best, dude. Miss
Johnson won't even know the difference. Coach
is on my case about failing her class. Yeah,
are we still on to play D &D after the game?
Because Josh and Fred are super excited to check
the final boss, and they'll need their paladin
if they hope to defeat it. Hey, will you keep
your mouth shut? I don't mean to be a jerk, but
I got Stacy Keebler and Jessica Walters over,
and I don't want them thinking I'm a nerd or
something. Those airheads? Really, Will? You're
better than that. What is your damage? I'll have
you know that those two are very smart and kind
souls. Yeah, I'll believe that when pigs fly.
You said that same thing heading into WrestleMania
3, when Hogan fought Andre the Giant. Do you
remember what you said? Why are you always going
to bring that up? That happened last year. Can
you just drop it already? No, no, no. Hear me
out. What did you say? I said that Hogan couldn't
beat Andre, and I'd believe he could pick him
up when pinks fly. And what happened? He power
slammed him. Exactly. Which means that you need
to get your chin up and start looking at these
women as more than airheads. Yeah, you're right,
Will. I'm sorry. It's just that I... Yeah? Never
mind. It's stupid. I'm stupid. No, no, no. Come
on. You can tell me. The ladies can wait a moment.
Well, uh... I still don't have a date to the
winter formal, and I don't know how to get one.
Nancy, she shot me down. Again? Man, that chick
doesn't know what she's missing. You really think
so? I know so. You're a good kid, Brian. You
just need some guidance. Yeah, you're right.
Wait, I have an idea. Spill. What if you... Taught
me how to pick up chicks. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,
whoa, whoa. Listen, I'm good. But I'm no miracle
worker. Being a wingman for the nerdiest kid
in school is gonna be rough for me. Oh, come
on, Will. You're amazing with the ladies. You're
the captain of the football team. You're like
the coolest guy in school. And you're generally
a nice guy. Look, I appreciate the compliments,
but I don't think I can... I'll do your homework
for the rest of the year. Left -handed and all.
Well, you might not know how to get chicks, but
you do know how to strike a deal. So that means
you'll do it? I will. We start on Monday. Yes!
This is so amazing! Oh my god! Yeah, yeah, yeah,
yeah, yeah. Now, Scram, I have some, uh, company.
Oh, man. What have you gotten yourself into?
My dad always was right when he said girls were
a problem. And that was Wingman, written by Matt
Rockstar. and performed beautifully by Dennis
Dietrich and Luke Terminesi. At least, I think
it was beautifully. Honestly, I wasn't given
the show notes, so if it was secretly a tragic
interpretive dance over the radio, I can only
apologize. Randy was supposed to fill me in,
but the last time I saw him... He was headed
to the school parking lot, muttering something
about saving the next generation from subpar
suspension systems. And, well, here's how that
went. Mr. Randall T. Bubblestein? Oh, yeah, that's
me. Though most folks just, you know, call me
Randy or, Hey, you! Get off that roof! We need
to discuss your conduct during the emergency
bus tow this morning. The school board is very
clear about authorized personnel and child transportation
protocol. Uh, conduct? Sir, I was the only thing
standing between those kids and a four -mile
hike in 89 -degree heat. You try hurting 24 gremlin
children hopped up on sugar and spot. You had
them riding in the bed of your tow truck with
a cooler full of off -brand grape soda and two
barking chihuahuas. First off, those chihuahuas
are emotional support animals. And second, I
made sure they all had seatbelts. Or, you know,
bungee cords. And I told them, if you fly out,
just flap your arms. Birds do it all the time.
You led a sing -along of Wrecking Ball on a bullhorn
and then told little Katie to hold on to the
exhaust pipe like it's a county fair ride. That
girl's got grip strength like a crab in a bar
fight. She was fine. You're not authorized to
operate school transport. You are not authorized
to question roadside heroism, Duggan. I got a
medal once. Ranted, I made it myself. But it
sparkled. You parked on the playground. Only
because the kid said it was more cinematic. I'm
writing you up. Good. Make it cursive. I hang
them up on my fridge. And that, dear listeners,
is the man my parents insisted I look after.
The man who thinks Osha is the guy he went to
high school with. Our next story is The Cost
Just to Be, written by Daniel Huras. A title
that frankly might be a subtle nod to the emotional
and financial damages my cousin has racked up
in a single morning. Okay, you can do this. Hello?
Who are you? My name is Jenny Mason. I was told
that you can fix things, fix people. I want to
be fixed. Fix things? Fix you? You are misinformed.
I do not fix. I restore for a price. What's the
difference? To fix a thing is to put the broken
parts back together. together. To restore is
to know a thing and make it whole and new. I
want that. Please restore me. Step closer and
gaze upon my I can't. Then I cannot help you.
And you will remain shattered as you are. No.
Okay. I'll do it. I... I don't know. I don't
know. Everyone I know is happy. But I'm not.
It seems so easy for them when I try to ask them
how they do it. They just look at me weird. So
I pretend. And now I'm tired of pretending. I
see it now. Distill it. I want to be happy without
having to try. And what would you give in exchange
for this happiness? What wouldn't I give? Anything?
Everything? I just can't live like this any longer.
I can see it in you. You know what you can offer.
I... I don't know the words to say it. Yes, you
do. But you are afraid of them. My name. I offer
my name. Take who I am. Take Jenny Mason. Arise
the girl who was Jenny Mason but is no longer.
but you are born have one of those days where
you're just trying to eat lunch in peace, and
suddenly the school calls you like you're on
speed dial for disasters? Yeah, that was me today.
Anyway, that last story had J .R. Snyder and
Fiona as the actors, and Brady Flanagan doing
the sound design. What a day. First off, big
thanks to my cousin Brandy for stepping in, trying
to hold this together while I was... Let's just
say... occupied. Now, I know she likes to pretend
she's above my brand of creative problem solving,
but she kept the lights on and the mics hot.
And that's more than I can say for the cafeteria's
deep fryer right now, if you know what I mean.
And second, I'm real sorry about the... the events.
You know, the lizard, the ladder, the alleged
yelling match in the hallway, and whatever else
made it into the rumor mill before lunch. It
wasn't exactly the smooth and polished episode
I had in mind. Next episode, I promise, cross
my heart, hope to not set off the fire alarm
again. We're going to keep it structured. Like,
actually planned out, on paper, structured. No
surprise wildlife. No ductwork disasters. No...
Okay. Maybe a little chaos. But, you know, the
manageable kind. So, thanks for sticking around.
Thanks for listening. And, uh... Sorry again,
Brandy. I owe you a coffee. Or ten. Now, folks,
I just wanted to take a minute here for a public
service announcement. About kids. Now, kids are
like... Well, they're like brand new pickup trucks.
They got shiny paint, lots of energy, and a tendency
to run into things they shouldn't. You gotta
keep them fueled, keep them pointed in the right
direction, and for the love of all that's holy,
don't leave them unattended with permanent markers.
And kids, they smart too. Sneaky smart. One minute
they're asking you how to tie their shoes, Next
minute, they've dismantled the TV remote and
turned it into a walkie -talkie that somehow
orders 30 pieces to your neighbor's house. So,
treat kids right. Feed them. Teach them. And
make sure they know not to lick a frozen flagpole
in January. That's some important life wisdom
right there. And remember, if you're not going
to raise them with care, somebody else might.
And that somebody might be me. And trust me,
no one is ready for a laugh. All right, all right.
Keep those kids safe. This has been Randy, keeping
it educational. Yeah, sort of. Make sure to tune
in to the next episode. And if you could, leave
me a review. I don't think the school is going
to leave me one that's positive.