by J. E. Bright
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Cyborg rushed into the modern living room of Titans Tower to find his teammates, Robin, Raven, Beast Boy, and Starfire, strewn all over the couch.
“Oh, yeah!” Cyborg cheered, holding up a few metallic fingers. “I’ve got three letters for you tonight.”
“BLT?” guessed Robin. He’d been craving the sandwich all day.
Beast Boy perked up. “VIP?” he asked.
“UFO?” suggested Starfire.
“LOL,” said Raven. She didn’t smile.
“No, no, no, and no,” replied Cyborg. “They are…” He counted the letters on his fingers. “V. H. And S.” He showed them a box filled with antique videotapes. “That’s right. I got VHSes for days!”
Cyborg grinned when he saw the other Titans’ eyes shine with excitement.
“Can we watch The Silver Sisters?” asked Raven. “I love those sassy old broads.”
Starfire floated off the couch. “I would like to watch the Pudding Half Hour Show of Sweaters.”
“Let’s watch Furry Alien Thing again,” Robin growled. “I love Furry Alien Thing.” Robin’s expression became blank and distant. “Yes,” he whispered to the alien in his imagination. “Eat that cat, Furry Alien Thing. Eat him. He’s hiding in the kitchen drawer, Furry Alien Thing. But be patient. Savor the hunt, you beast…”
Cyborg shook his half-metal head. “Those are all great shows, but tonight we are watching… The B-Squad!”
“B is the second highest of letters,” said Starfire. “It must be good!”
Cyborg’s mechanical eye glowed as he hugged The B-Squad VHS tape. “It’s about four cool dudes who ride in a van… with a stripe!”
“I love stripes,” said Robin. “Is it red?”
“You know it’s red,” replied Cyborg. “And they protect the innocent from bad guys!”
“Oh,” said Raven. She blinked once. “Kind of like us.”
“Except they aren’t lame,” said Cyborg while plugging the VCR into the Titans’ huge TV. “They make cool weapons out of junk, like oil drums and pieces of discarded metal.”
Transforming into a green panther, Beast Boy flipped onto his back over the couch arm and lay limply as if on a tree limb. “That sounds so awesome!”
“It is,” agreed Cyborg. He pushed The B-Squad tape into the VCR. “Now let’s get this party started!”
He stared at the snarled mess of electronics, wires, gadgets, and gizmos under the TV.
“Uh…” he said. “Where’s the remote?”
Cyborg’s teammates shrugged on the couch.
“I don’t know,” said Robin.
Starfire’s bright green eyes peered around. “I have not seen the remote control,” she said.
“Beats me,” said Beast Boy.
Raven made a noise to indicate that she didn’t know and didn’t quite care.
Cyborg swallowed his worried feelings. “It’s probably just in the couch cushions,” he said. He pushed between the other Titans and dug into the space in the corner of the cushions, jamming his hand within the crevice.
As he burrowed, he pulled out lots of lost items. He grabbed handfuls of coins, which he tossed over his shoulder.
Beast Boy turned into a sea lion and dove after the change, collecting each coin and spinning them on his nose.
Then Cyborg discovered an old chicken leg, an apple core, a slice of old pizza with a big bite in the side… and some gross goo that nobody could identify.
“Ew,” said Raven.
With no sign of the remote control, Cyborg tunneled deeper into the couch, his mechanical arms searching so quickly they started to blur. Bits of gunk and fluff and junk flew out like confetti. Cyborg kicked his feet in the air as his head and body disappeared into the world beneath the couch cushions.
Then Cyborg suddenly sat up, his robot eye flashing in alarm, his human eye wide with concern. “It’s not here,” he breathed. His voice rose sharply. “The remote is not here!”
Robin patted his teammate on his metal shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay, Cyborg,” he said. “We can just use the buttons on the TV.”
“The buttons?” said Cyborg. His expression calmed, and he smiled brightly. “The buttons! You’re right. The TV’s got all sorts of buttons for things.”
The whole team rushed over to the TV, tilting their heads at its controls.
There were hundreds of buttons on the TV’s lower panel, in all shapes and sizes and colors, along with switches and connectors and pins and a bewildering array of tiny doohickeys and doodads. It looked more complicated than the controls of an intergalactic spaceship.
Cyborg waggled his finger over the various buttons. There didn’t seem to be any labels for the controls, or if there were, they might have been in an alien language or some kind of code.
With a cry of defeat, Cyborg gave up trying to figure out the buttons. He collapsed in a heap on the floor in front of the TV. His shoulders shuddered with sobs.
“Would you relax?” scolded Raven. She hovered a few inches off the ground by Cyborg’s head. “The remote will turn up eventually. We’ll watch The B-Squad some other time.”
Cyborg sat back on his heels. “This is not about The B-Squad,” he wailed. “Or Chuckie Says or Merriam or Little Girl Robot or Wooden Spoons or Mustache, Private Detective or Cousin from Unknown Island or Jolly Hours—”
“Cyborg,” Raven replied, “gimme a break.”
“Without TV,” Cyborg whispered, tears streaming down his face, “I don’t know what to do with myself.”
Robin tapped his knuckles against his friend’s steel skull. “It’s just TV, Cyborg,” he said.
“Just TV?” cried Cyborg. “The best moments of my life have been sitting in front of that guy. TV has taught me life lessons, made me laugh, and filled lots of empty time.”
“Wow,” Robin said, rubbing his chin. “You sound like a crazy person. I think we should use this opportunity to take a break from TV.”
In unison, Cyborg, Raven, Starfire, and Beast Boy gasped in horror.
“What?” shouted Cyborg. “Why would we want to do that?”
Robin crossed his arms and scowled. “Because concerned parents have theorized for decades that TV rots the brain.”
Cyborg crossed his arms, too. “Well, that’s obviously ridiculous,” he said. “TV keeps your brain active, healthy, and strong!”
Poking his head up between the two as a concerned-looking antelope, Beast Boy told Cyborg, “I don’t know, dude. If a parent said it, it has to be true.”
Robin nodded. “Then instead of watching TV,” he decided, “we’re going to spend our time hanging out with one another.”
“Yay!” cried Starfire, Beast Boy, and Raven. Starfire threw her hands in the air in celebration.
Cyborg didn’t look too sure about the idea at all.
The next hour was the slowest of the Teen Titans’ entire lives.
They gathered around the kitchen table and sat there stupefied with boredom, staring at a big clock on the wall. Its hands seemed frozen still.
“Without TV,” muttered Raven, “you really notice how long every second is.”
Everybody kept watching the clock. The second hand wiggled tensely, struggling to move,
then finally ticked.
“Are you serious?” hollered Cyborg. “How many more of those are there before we go to sleep?”
“Approximately thirty-two thousand,” replied Starfire.
“I am not doing this thirty-two thousand more times!” yelled Cyborg.
Robin stood and put his hands flat on the table. “All right,” he said. “We need an activity to occupy our time. Let’s engage in some meaningful conversation.”
Beast Boy turned into a sea turtle and tilted his head at Robin. “How do you meaningfully conversate, bro?”
“We just express our thoughts and feelings with words,” Robin explained.
“Thoughts,” said Beast Boy, nodding his head.
Raven said, “Hmmm.”
“Feelings,” said Starfire. She scratched the side of her arm. “Yes, all right.”
“Great,” said Robin. “I’ll start. Um…” He stared at the center of the table, concentrating. “Good afternoon,” he said awkwardly. “This is a nice day. For things.”
Nobody knew how to reply to that, so they all shifted in their chairs, staying quiet for too long.
“Hi,” said Beast Boy, finally breaking the silence. “I’m a person.”
Cyborg nodded thoughtfully. “I know when I do things.”
“One time,” said Starfire, “I saw…”
Raven slumped her head down onto the table. “Eeehhhhh,” she moaned.
“You guys remember,” Robin prompted, “things…”
Cyborg shook his finger in the air. “So fun when we… Right?”
All five Titans laughed heartily, as if remembering fantastic adventures in the past. Then their laughter trailed off into nervous, awkward giggles and fizzled out altogether into dismayed quiet.
Cyborg stood and let out a shriek. “We have to find the remote and watch TV!” he screamed. “Now!”
“Don’t panic, Titans,” Robin said, staring at each of his teammates through his mask. “We just have to do whatever people did for fun before TV.”
The five teenagers pondered that. Starfire raised her hand, as though she had an idea, but then she lowered it again.
Beast Boy turned into an owl, and then back into his green human form. “Like…” he suggested, “a parade?”
His friends nodded slowly, not quite sure.
“Oh,” said Raven, “I’ve heard of those.”
Before any of the Titans even had time to think about it, they found a parade and watched marchers and floats from the crowded sidelines behind a wooden police barrier. Streamers wriggled down from the sky and cheers erupted all around.
None of the Titans looked impressed.
Cyborg pointed at the marching in the street. “This is a parade?” he complained.
“It’s just people walking,” growled Robin.
“And why are the automobiles traveling so slowly?” asked Starfire. “Is it deliberate to make it the boring?”
When they heard the sounds of tubas, trombones, and trumpets, Beast Boy covered his ears. “Don’t tell me that’s another marching band!” he whined, cringing. “It’s just marching band after marching band after marching band!”
Then a muscular male cheerleader appeared, twirling a silver baton. He spun the glittery stick into the air and caught it with a flourish.
Raven smiled. “Whoa,” she said. “Look at him spin that baton.” She watched for another split second. “Okay, I’m over it.”
All together, the Teen Titans cupped their hands around their mouths and bellowed, “Booooo!”
Back in the kitchen of Titans Tower, the teammates sat around the table feeling even more dejected than they had before the parade.
“I can’t,” moaned Cyborg. “I can’t take any more parades or terrible conversations. Let’s just find the remote and watch Crime, He Said.”
“That’s going to rot your brain, Cyborg,” argued Robin. “Instead, let’s use these new seconds we have to pursue fulfilling activities that enrich our lives.” He nudged Beast Boy. “Haven’t you always wanted to learn how to play the keyboard?”
“Don’t have the time, bro,” said Beast Boy.
“Now you do,” replied Robin. “And Raven, haven’t you always wanted to be a bodybuilder?”
“No,” said Raven.
“Now you can!” continued Robin. He smiled at Starfire. “Star, you’ve always wanted to do volunteer work for the poor but didn’t want to miss your favorite shows.”
Starfire rubbed her fingers, worrying. “There are so many of the poor people but even more of the shows to watch.”
Robin stood up and opened his arms wide. “Now we can all follow our passions, because without TV we have nothing better to do,” he declared. He held up a fist. “Titans, go!”
In a rush, the Teen Titans got busy.
Beast Boy practiced playing a big electronic keyboard.
Raven pumped iron.
Cooking a complicated omelet, Cyborg made a mess in the kitchen.
Teaching himself to build furniture, Robin hammered legs onto a chair.
Ladling out food to hungry people, Starfire volunteered at a soup kitchen.
Then the teammates gathered outside the Tower. Together, they hopped on a long bicycle built for five and pedaled happily around their Tower, cheering their newfound leisure time.
In the afternoon, Starfire and Raven lounged around the living room, resting on the comfortable furniture Robin had built. In the background, Beast Boy had turned into an octopus to play a complicated piece on his keyboard.
Wearing a chef’s hat, Cyborg entered, carrying a tray of small plates of food. He placed it down on the coffee table. “Who wants tapas?” he asked.
Starfire tasted a morsel of food. “Mmm,” she said. “My friends at the kitchen of soup would love this recipe!”
Raven chewed a bite of Cyborg’s dish. “Great source of protein,” she said.
Beast Boy turned into a green tiger. “You said it,” he agreed.
Robin smiled proudly at his friends. “Look at us, Titans,” he said, getting emotional. “We did it. We filled time!”
“So many seconds went by!” cheered Beast Boy.
Everybody fell silent as they stared down at the food. Their hands and shoulders twitched.
Raven shook her head sadly. “So why do we feel so empty inside?” she asked.
Cyborg bowed his head and clasped his hands together. “Maybe we feel empty inside because…” He peered up at Beast Boy. “Because learning to play the keyboard did not teach you about friendship.” He waved at Starfire. “And volunteering did not make you a better person.” Cyborg frowned at Raven. “And there’s nothing funny about bodybuilding.”
Raven flexed an overly developed bicep. “You can say that again,” she said, her voice disturbingly deep.
The other Titans nodded their heads, agreeing with Cyborg.
“Only TV can give us those things,” Cyborg concluded. “Life without TV is meaningless. The Teen Titans are supposed to be heroes, but the real hero is television. Can I get a ‘turn it on?’”
“Turn it on!” the Titans chanted.
Beast Boy transformed into a beagle. He raised his green snout and took a big sniff. “Hey,” he said, “what’s that smell?”
The other Titans inhaled. They sniffed the air, too.
Cyborg pinched his nostrils shut. “Oh, that’s not right,” he groaned.
“Ew,” said Raven.
“Yeah,” Robin agreed.
Starfire stifled a gag. “I do not understand,” she moaned.
“No, no, no!” Cyborg cried in alarm. He grabbed Robin’s head in both metal hands and took a big whiff of the Boy Wonder’s skull. “This is bad.” Cyborg pushed Robin out of the way and smelled Starfire’s head. He shuddered. “Your brains,” he said, his human eye wide and his robot eye flashing. “They’re rotting!”
“But we haven’t been watching TV,” argued Raven.
“Exactly,” Cyborg replied. “Just as I suspected, TV ke
eps your brain from rotting by feeding it information and good times.”
Beast Boy, still a beagle, sniffed Cyborg’s partially metal skull. “But your brain doesn’t stink.”
Cyborg smiled. “It’s because I’ve watched so much quality programming my brain is stronger than yours.”
Robin stood in a heroic pose, one fist raised. “Then the rest of us need to get in front of a TV before our brains rot away completely!”
“But,” said Starfire, “the device that controls remotely is still missing.”
Cyborg put his hands on his hips. “Then we improvise,” he said. “Just like the B-Squad.”
Moments later, Cyborg blasted inspiring music in the work shed of Titans Tower while he rolled an empty oil drum over to his tool bench. He tightened a nut on the drum with a wrench. Then he flipped a safety visor down over his human eye and welded a seam with a fiery torch. He grinned as glowing bits of molten metal sprayed around the work shed.
When he was finished, he carried his creation upstairs to show it off. “I love when a plan comes together,” he bragged to his teammates.
Out of the oil drum, Cyborg had fashioned a large, empty television frame.
Robin and the other Titans stared skeptically. “What plan?” Robin asked. “That’s not a TV.”
“Just look,” replied Cyborg. He picked up the empty TV frame, and held it in front of a straggly potted begonia that needed watering. “It’s a show about plants.”
The other Titans smiled as they got the idea.
“This is just as good as anything on TV,” said Robin.
“Oooh,” said Beast Boy, “can we change the channel?” He turned into a fat warthog, and then quickly into an elegant border collie. “I want to watch something else.”
“No problem!” replied Cyborg. He carried the TV frame over to a dusty corner of the room, where three bugs scuttled into the shadows. “How about The Cockroach Show?”
Raven stuck out her tongue, grossed out. “I want to watch the show about Wall,” she said.
“Which one are you talking about, Rave?” Cyborg asked, confused.
