Utopia PR by Adam Bender

Author:Adam Bender
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Indie Author Project
Published: 2020-12-30T22:14:27+00:00

Our Leader looked a shade greener than usual as he lurched onto the stage five minutes late. The room exploded with applause, which was a very good thing since it looked as if the President was having some trouble catching his breath.

The President leaned into the mike as the hooting and hollering subsided. “I’m very glad, though not surprised, to see you all here at my glorious New Year’s gala.” His voice sounded a little hoarse, but I hoped people would blame it on the sound system. “I throw the best parties. You’re welcome.”

Another cheer erupted from the crown. I checked the cameras in the back and saw several sustained red lights, indicating that this was live on Triple N and other TV networks. I spotted Joe Steele holding a phone aloft to livestream the performance on Woozler.

“I’ve got a little—” A tiny gag cut off his sentence.

Uh-oh.

The President gazed down at his feet and held up one finger to say he needed a second. “Excuse me. I’ve got a little number for you about this special—” he gulped “—special day, which I think some of the fan base might recognize.”

The President guzzled a neon-green soda, then pointed the bottle sharply at the deejay. “OK, hit it!”

A recording of Our Leader’s hit song, “Workin’ for the New Year” played over the speakers. Everyone knew this one. The chorus goes: “Work, work, work, work! Been workin’ for the New Year!” About a thousand times.

Our Leader was never a graceful dancer, but he seemed especially off the beat tonight. It almost looked as if he was drunk. At least his lip-syncing was on-point. And, looking around, the crowd seemed to be into it. Of course, we had plied them with plenty of wine ahead of the performance. We could only hope the people watching this at home had been doing the same.

Standing by my side, Victoria whispered, “Are you sure this was a good idea?”

“The song is only four minutes,” I replied, brushing her off.

“What are we at now?”

I bit my lip. “I don’t know, maybe one minute?”

Yes, I was starting to worry, too.

The song reached the part where the background music drops out and Our Leader is supposed to operatically solo one long sustained “Oh!” Just about halfway through the note, the President grasped his stomach and projectile-vomited straight into the audience.

Most of the lemon-lime slime hit the cream dress of Education Secretary Karima Wonkers. As she squealed, it hit me that we had done exactly the thing that I had feared. From a minor problem, we had generated a crisis. And I had walked us right into it.

I saw Victoria on stage trying to help Our Leader as the song continued without him.

“Turn off the music and the stage lights!” I screamed to a nearby technician. Then, running to the still-filming television cameras, I shouted, “Show’s over! Shut it down!”

Somewhere along the way, I tripped over Scott—who I learned afterward had fainted—and went sailing into a buffet table.

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