My First Attempt at Fanfiction Drew Grant | Bio

Gretchen Carlson anxiously smoothed down her creaseless pencil-lined skirt for the umpteenth time.

"Don't be nervous," a voice purred in her ear, while a hand came from behind her and caressed her shoulders. Gretchen shuddered in delight, but reluctantly wrenched herself around and stared her co-host in the eye.

"Shut it, Doocy," she said coldly, trying to ignore the warm, not unpleasant sensation that Steve's grazing touch had brought between her thighs.

Steve Doocy smirked and took a step back, allowing Gretchen to take a good look at the outfit he had chosen for the day on Fox and Friends--a Brooks Brothers suit with a Ferragamo tie in a Windsor knot. Gretchen didn't even have to look down to know the Dooce was wearing his signature vintage Nikes, the one piece of apparel the producers allowed on the show that betrayed the man's incorrigible free spirit. God, she hated him...but yet...

"Come ON people, we don't have all day! Rosie O'Donnell won't hate herself, you know!" A sing-song voice cut through Gretchen's thoughts like the hurricane in Alabama was currently cutting through tractor-trailer homes along the Bible Belt.

"Goddammit!" Doocy roared, his voice husky with masculinity, "who turned on the Brianbot before air-time?! You know once you get this thing going he is impossible to shut off!"

"Sorry, suh!" a young P.A. ran to the prone figure of Kilmeade 3.0, which was currently propped against one of the faux-walls of the set. Brianbot's feral eyes blinked rapidly, and his mouth remained grotesquely slack even as the genetically engineered android tried to form words that would rile a nation. It reminded Gretchen of the way her jaw had locked that night she had taken three hits of Molly at a rave hosted by the Wall Street Journal. The night she and Doocy had finally been consumed by the heat that had been growing between them ever since he had transfered over from his own rogue syndication, House Party with Steve Doocy.

The P.A. continued to grovel, his face dirty with soot from long days in the basement of the Fox Empire, "We're just checking him for malfunctions! Last week the Bill O'Reilly-bot had a glitch on air and began talking about how America should standardize healthcare! If we have another snafu like that, Mr. Murdoch will have us working for those trolls over at MySpace before you can say, well, 'MySpace!!'"

Gretchen rubbed her eyes in fatigue and frustration. She had forgotten her happy pills at home, too--what a bummer. It was hard to plaster a smile on your face at 6 in the goddamn A.M., and maintain it while one of your co-anchors short circuits and the other one is discreetly rubbing his vintage Air Jordans into your crotch under the coffee table where the monitors can't pick it up.

Not for nothing, the crew seemed to have fixed Brianbot, as the machine was now clunking toward Carlson at a rapid pace and soon overpowered her hand in his own for an inhumanely firm and moist handshake.

"Gretchen! Hey, how are you?"

Kilmeade was almost a perfect human replica, but to look in his eyes, as Gretchen was often forced to do to create a realistic dynamic between the trio, was to look into death itself. Poor Brian, unaware that he was not only a robot, but a programmed homosexual as well. "Man, I must have gotten plastered last night, I don't remember a THING since we called for a martini shot last night! Maybe I had too many martini shots myself, ahahaHA." Brian's laugh was cut short and sparks flew out of his mouth.

"Ugh, clean up!" Gretchen yelled, trying in frustration to loosen Brian's terminator-like grip on his digits, "I think his joke-generator is broken again!" In disengaging herself from the now immobile Kilmeade, Gretchen became entangled in the man-bot, and they both went tumbling to the floor, where Gretchen felt something in Brian's pocket that was definitely not malfunctioning...

To be continued

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