And there was Pop on this huge TV screen, looking hungover and whimpering, "I guess what I want for Christmas is to get my son and my ex-wife back. I been a bum of a dad and a husband. I'd really like to make amendments."
Then they showed some Armani-suited, square-glasses producer, the guy who'd come up with the fight idea. He said it was an intern who thought up the tell-your-son-you're-dying routine, and that they'd come up with the phony reality-show thing just so they could justify all the cameras. They'd edited that footage down to the first 45 minutes of the show before they went live.
"What d'ya think of that, Tommybug?" Seacrest oozed.
I looked at Cheryl Sue. "How about her?" I said. "Was she lyin' too?"
Cheryl Sue had a tear rolling down her cheek. I braced for the answer. "No, Baby. I never slept with your dad," she said. "That was Publicity's idea. See, they offered me a whole lot of money to...."
"O.K.!" Seacrest interrupted. "Can't give away all our secrets! Or should I say, 'Seacrests!'"
My head felt like it was hosting the Kettle Drum Nationals inside it.
"But I am pregnant," she said quietly.
Seacrest jumped up like he was wearing a 120-volt thong. "Did you hear that, folks? Cheryl Sue is pregnant!"
By this time Doggy was helping me back into the ring. That's about when I realized somebody had replaced my legs with string cheese. They practically had to carry me to my stool. Cheryl Sue was kissing my ringing ears. There was a cameraman up my left nostril.