We Need Breasts

[...]
MIKE: It's not all bad. Maybe she'll be... you know, really hot.
TOM: So alluring that we don't notice the problems with the scripts?
MIKE: I guess that's the idea.
CROW: Nothing ensures success in SFTV like gorgeous women. Remember how much the fans loved "Favorite Son," and "He Who Is Without Sin," and the second season of SeaQuest?
TOM: And the replacement of John Rhys-Davies with Kari Wuhrer really helped Sliders's popularity. Face it, Mike, they could cast Joan Chen, Jamie Lee Curtis, Nicole Kidman and the Creepy Girl; Voyager would still be lame.
MIKE: I guess you're right... but it's kind of depressing. Yeah, TOS had lots of skimpy costumes, but they didn't rely on them to keep the viewers watching.
CROW: I really wonder how they decided to pile on the T&A. You think they had a meeting about it?
MIKE: Probably. I wonder what it was like...
TOM: I think I know.
MIKE: Start us off, then.
TOM: Okay. Just a second.

Tom exits. He re-enters immediately in suit and tie.

TOM: Ahem. Mesdames et messieurs, ladies and gentlemen, and producers -- it is with the deepest urgency that I assemble you tonight, to discuss a matter of great importance to us all: how to inflate our sagging ratings.

[ Suddenly music, namely "Be Our Guest" from Disney's _Beauty and the Beast_, swells. Cambot zooms in on Tom, who begins to sing:]

TOM: We... need... breasts, we need breasts
to allure and to impress;
to be bouncing in an epic -- dare I say it? -- jiggle-fest!
Our stories -- they're not gripping;
so our fan base has been slipping
and the suits are growing frantic, 'cause they need the demographic
males eighteen to thirty-four -- they're not watching? Let's show more!
Start an endless cavalcade of female flesh.
They'll tune in every night if the costumes are tight
to see some breasts, see some breasts, see some breasts.

[ Cambot pulls back, revealing Crow and Mike -- both clad in suits and ties. Crow is bobbing his head in time, and then begins to sing.]

CROW: Skimpy clothes, negligees,
push-up bras and bustiers;
bosoms bare will swell our share and make our Neilsen ratings raise;
Bosoms big, bosoms small, but huge breasts are best of all
Our show will be better rated if the cast is well-inflated!
Push 'em up, push 'em out --
What's the fans' big fuss about?
Don't they want the show to be a big success?
So the script's sub-par -- hey, it's got Pon Farr!
If you're stressed, you're repressed
and you don't like heaving chests;
but we love breasts; we need breasts; show some breasts.

TOM: [mournfully]
Our ratings should be bitchin', but we can't beat the competition;
though we used to lead the Neilsens with aplomb.
TNG once was king of syndication;
on UPN, Star Trek's almost a bomb.
DS9 is going; to keep the cash cow's green milk flowing
we have to boost the new show's ratings some damn way.
And from on high there came the revelation:
[peppy again]
if you want the Neilsen rank up, put Kate Mulgrew in a tank top!

MIKE: Lots of breasts, lots of breasts
-- heck, why bother with the rest?
just appeal with fervent zeal to the old infantile complex.
We need tits, we need ass
write good scripts? -- nah, that won't pass!
To increase the Neilsen talley, shoot on location: Silicone Valley.
Screw the fans; they're too snide -- just buy space in TV Guide;
turn the show into a titillation-fest.
Publicize that, too (five covers ought to do)
and show some breasts, lots of breasts, heaving breasts.

[Cambot zooms in on Tom again; Mike and Crow vanish from our POV.]

TOM: Here's to breasts, here's to breasts
may they lead us to success
Because our jobs are on the line and we're becoming mighty stressed.
So each day we tell our chiders
this stuff really worked for Sliders
as we cater to the fevered lust for breasts un-cantilevered...

[ Cambot pulls back, revealing Mike and Crow wearing padded bras. They make feeble attempts to high kick in unison. It isn't pretty.]

TOM: Tit by tit, bun by bun
'till we're back to number one
But until then with the ratings we're obsessed.
If things get more unglued...
why, then we'll just film nude!
Come on, breasts; save us, breasts; here's to breasts!
Oh, please, see our breasts!

[ Streamers fall from the ceiling. Crow gives one last attempt at a high kick and falls over. Mike's falsies spill out onto the countertop.]

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