Dr. Ned Reform and the Case of the Secluded Celebration

Thursday, November 24, 2022
11:14am

A small, nondescript apartment. Modern looking, clean, neat.

On a television plays The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. The TV is muted and a giant Snoopy balloon still dances across its glowing screen.

The only sound? A faint clock on the wall.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

At a tiny dining room table sits Ned Reform. He dons a pair of freshly pressed khakis, a blue button up shirt, and a blue turtle neck. His chair faces the television. In each hand he holds a fork and knife and in front of him is what appears to be a traditional Thanksgiving dinner… in a black microwave television dinner box.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

His countenance is devoid of any emotion as his eyes stare, seemingly out of pure habit, at the Thanksgiving parade. He reaches down for a glass of black soda drink, the ice cubes clinking against the sides as he raises it to take a sip. 

A thud as he returns the glass to the tabletop.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

He cuts a small bite of the turkey, releasing that pelt of steam that can only come from a freshly microwaved piece of poultry. He chews. Dabs his mouth with a white napkin.

The Good Doctor seems to consider something. He pushes the chair out and stands, walking toward the small kitchen area. Out of a cabinet comes a can of jellied cranberry sauce. Ocean Spray, naturally. 

The sound of the can opener as Reform twists the handle. The top pops off.

The plop of the cranberry onto a small plate. The scrape of a fork on glass as he cuts himself a piece, plopping it down onto his gravy-covered turkey. Another forkful of Thanksgiving delight into his mouth.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Ned eyes his cell phone – it sits on the table not far from his microwaved dinner. He grabs it, clicking a few buttons.

While some high school marching band plays its heart out on television, Dr. Reform opens up PRIME’s social media platform, Jabber.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Reform clears his throat. Appears to be weighing something back and forth in his mind. His tongue comes out as he begins to type. Briefly considers whether or not to send. But fortune favors the bold, yes?

Send.

@GoodDoctor: I believe it a useful practice to reflect on one’s true values today. As such, I would like to express that I am extremely grateful for each and every one of you.

Reform exits the app and abruptly sets the phone back onto the table screen-side down. He roughly gathers a helping of mashed potatoes and shoves it into his face.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Moments go by. Reform taps the container with a fork. Finally, he reaches for the phone. Opens Jabber.

Nothing.

He sets the phone back down.

A few more moments. The phone again finds itself in his hand, but this time he travels to another app: DEFIANCE’s own version of jabber, DEFcommentaor. 

@GoodDoctor: I believe it a useful practice to reflect on one’s true values today. As such, I would like to express that I am extremely grateful for each and every one of you.

Send.

Phone back down.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick

Reform swirls the ice cubes in his glass. Taps his foot. Studies the lines in his popcorned ceiling. Begins to hum a song to himself, but it trails off.

Suddenly and eagerly, he snatches the phone back up.

Opens both apps. No response on either.

The Good Doctor sighs. His educated eyebrows narrow. A flash of anger boiling beneath the surface. The tongue of concentration comes back out, and this time as he types, he does so with a little more… force.

@GoodDoctor: without you all, my life would lack purpose. What is an educator without the ignorant? Life is about contrast, children, and without you I must admit there would be no me. So thank you for your role in my story! I look forward to helping to better each and every one of you into 2023 and beyond!

The phone gets SLAMMED down onto the table.

The television dinner gets immediately tossed into the trash.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

_______________________________________________________________________________________ 

This is something I feel utterly compelled to make clear.

I have, unwittingly and due to my naturally genial and humble state of being, given PRIME the impression that it is acceptable to disrespect me.

I know that so many of you resent me. You think me rude. Uncaring. You believe me to spend my hours ruminating on the best ways to insult and demean you.

Absolute nonsense.

PRIME is in a rut. You all trip over yourselves to pat each other on the back – to build one another up with positive affirmations – to invite each other to friendly outings and lend a cheerful ear in each other’s hours of need. I understand this is a necessary component of community building. I do! I see the value! These actions draw you all closer to each other on a social level and ensure that PRIME is not simply a workplace and/or a place of athletic competition, but a realm where bonds run deep and your commitment to each other ensures that you obtain maximum enjoyment out of your time here.

It’s great. No – truly, it is.

But per usual, most of you fail to understand the big picture.

Because a community needs more than a series of mutual admiration vomits erupting violently in every which direction. This isn’t high school, children – this is professional wrestling. What I do is not cruel, but it IS direct. I say the unspoken truth that makes everyone uncomfortable. I possess the bravery to shine a light on the innumerable instances of hypocrisy. I am not afraid to point out the flaws in others, even when they are unwilling to unable to hear it. I am able to do this because I see beyond a need for “belonging” and I selflessly do this for the good of the group.  I do this not to hurt your fragile little feelings and send you weeping like a child into the arms of the first slack-jawed PRIMEate willing to give you a shoulder to cry your pathetic tears on… no. I do this because without me this will become nothing but a circle jerk. And as far as I can tell, PRIME is not in the pornography business. At least not yet.

So it is my fate to be the outcast. Fair enough. I am not in this industry to make friends, so I do not dwell on that. You do not have to like me.

But you must respect me.

And you currently do not.

But guess what? It’s my own fault, children! See, disrespect festers because disrespect is allowed. Whether it is on that cesspool of intellectual thought you call Jabber, or belched out by PRIME’s hapless announce team, or even in the very center of the ring itself… I have tolerated disrespect. I fear that toleration has been seen as a tact endorsement. 

And so this ends.

Alex Steel has disrespected me. Weeks ago, I extended an oil branch. A hand. I wanted Alex to be my first official protegee here in PRIME. Not everyone is invited to rest under the shade of the Dr. Ned Reform learning tree, and yet I was willing to save you a… pardon the pun… prime spot. And what did you do?

You attacked me. You tried to embarrass me. And most of all… you disrespected me.

And what did I do?

Nothing.

NOTHING.

Dear God, what was I thinking? I see now how that was the beginning of it all. I should have struck you down with a furious vengeance. I should have wiped that smug look off your dingo-loving blooming onion. I should have sent a message to all about what happens when you do not show Dr. Ned Reform his due kindness. 

Luckily, that is an error that can be easily rectified. 

At ReVival 20, the trained monkeys that book this promotion have actually struck gold. I’m sure it was purely an accident (blind squirrels and stopped clocks and all that), but it was a serendipitous mistake all the same. PRIME has given me… what’s the correct colloquialism? Ah yes… a “do over.”

When we step in the ring together, I am going to systematically take you apart. I am going to embarrass you, Ms. Steel. Humiliate you in ways you did not ever fathom possible. I am going to offer you up as a clear and present warning to those who would callously and casually disrespect The Sage on the Stage.

I’m even toying with the notion of allowing you to reconsider your answer to becoming my student… but I sincerely doubt there will be enough of you left to continue on in PRIME.

Just remember: this is going to hurt me far, far, far greater than it will hurt you.

 

…alright. That simply isn’t true. It’s going to cause you immense pain, and I will likely be unharmed.

See you in a weeks time, Ms. Steel.

___________________________________________________________________________________

From the desk of Benedict R. Reform, PhD:

My dearest Melinda,

I do not enjoy this time of year.

Regards,

Dr. Ned Reform.