And the Beat Goes On

Yesterday, Dilva took off. It was the show's final season. She took off just like that - a snapping of twigs. She'd had enough. The coffee was flat, the computer wouldn't work, all her co-workers spoke in whispers - she kept daydreaming of Johnny, lost in the Nevada desert, lost on purpose because it was required of him for Jackass. She cornered an executive producer from MTV who was visiting Toronto; he told her where to find him. Audiences were low, ratings were dropping, and advertisers were flying off to better soil. She knew that the Johnny Knoxville cult was almost dead. Only she could save him.

Rewind the tape. Season 3. Dilva and Mike lay in bed, a skateboard between them. The sun hit a corner of the room where piles of burnt CDs grew. The camera was hooked to the computer; the computer delved with the web's netherworld. A tiny voice crackled: "Action!" Dilva and Mike were naked. They looked at each other, excited.

( Read more... )