IN DEFENSE OF THE GLORIFIED ELECTRIC FISHBOWL
Jerry's Marginalia — By Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand
There's a television-headed asshole in Hell named Vox.
He's arrogant.
He's manipulative.
He's obsessed with being important.
He's got enough ego to power a small metropolitan area, and his rivalry with a certain Radio Demon could probably qualify as an OSHA violation.
And you know what?
I FUCKING LIKE THE GUY.
Not because he's innocent.
Not because he's misunderstood in every conceivable way.
And certainly not because he's a shining example of emotional maturity.
I like him because underneath that expensive suit, corporate ambition, and enormous television screen is one of the most spectacularly insecure goobers Hell has ever produced.
And sometimes, brother, that's a lot more interesting than another villain who's evil because the script told him to be.
THE RADIO DEMON AND THE REJECTED BUSINESS PROPOSAL
Let's talk about Alastor.
Charming fellow.
Wonderful manners.
Magnificent smile.
The sort of gentleman who could compliment your outfit while mentally calculating where to bury your remains.
And then there's Vox.
A television demon with ambition, resources, and an idea.
What if radio and television worked together?
What if two powerful personalities combined their talents instead of competing?
What if both of them became something greater?
A perfectly reasonable business proposal, if you ask me.
Was Vox awkward about it?
Absolutely.
The poor bastard practically radiated the nervous energy of somebody asking his childhood hero to sign his lunchbox.
But the idea itself?
NOT FUCKING BAD.
And Alastor's response?
Laughter.
Humiliation.
Rejection delivered with the emotional tenderness of a chainsaw.
Now, Alastor had every right to decline.
Nobody owes Vox a partnership.
Nobody owes him friendship.
But there's a difference between declining an offer and making somebody regret ever having the courage to ask.
And that distinction matters.
CONGRATULATIONS. YOU'VE CREATED YOUR OWN ENEMY.
Here's something people seem determined never to learn.
You can reject somebody without humiliating them.
You can disagree without making them feel worthless.
You can say no without turning the entire experience into a fucking public execution.
But some people enjoy the extra cruelty.
They like the feeling of superiority.
They like watching somebody else shrink.
And then they're astonished when the person they humiliated stops admiring them.
Now, does that excuse everything Vox eventually does?
HELL NO.
His choices remain his responsibility.
A wounded ego doesn't grant anybody permission to exploit, manipulate, or terrorize other people.
But understanding why someone became bitter isn't the same as endorsing what they do with that bitterness.
That's called nuance.
Apparently, it's an endangered species.
ENTER THE MARIACHI TELEVISION
And just when you think Vox couldn't possibly become more ridiculous, the magnificent bastard produces a sombrero and a pair of maracas.
There he is.
A powerful Overlord.
A corporate media giant.
A man who wants to dominate Hell's entertainment industry.
SHAKA SHAKA, MOTHERFUCKERS.
And Carmilla Carmine is having absolutely none of it.
“Are you serious?”
Vox immediately backs down.
“Yeah, no, okay.”
SIR.
YOU WERE COMMITTED TO THE PERFORMANCE THREE SECONDS AGO.
WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR SPINE?
WHERE DID THE MARIACHI GO?
I WOULD HAVE LOOKED THAT WOMAN DIRECTLY IN THE EYES AND SAID:
“YES, MA'AM. I AM.”
One final shake.
A respectful nod.
And straight out the fucking door.
Because if I'm going to make an absolute fool of myself, I'm going to do it with conviction.
Not everybody has to enjoy the show.
Those who like it can stand on the right.
Those who don't can stand on the left.
Either way, the maracas have already been purchased.
YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE PERFECT TO BE INTERESTING
And that's what I appreciate about Vox.
He's not merely a collection of evil deeds wearing a television.
He's a character with contradictions.
He wants admiration but can be painfully insecure.
He wants control but sometimes loses control of himself.
He wants to appear untouchable but can be visibly hurt.
He wants to be taken seriously while apparently believing that maracas are an effective negotiating instrument.
THAT'S A CHARACTER, GODDAMMIT.
And enjoying that character doesn't mean endorsing everything he does.
You can appreciate Alastor's charisma while recognizing his cruelty.
You can sympathize with Vox's humiliation while condemning his behavior.
You can love a fictional villain without submitting a sworn affidavit declaring him morally innocent.
And you can laugh at a cartoon demon without passing an entrance examination administered by the fandom's self-appointed Department of Correct Opinions.
Which brings us to another species of asshole.
THE GATEKEEPER
Some people don't merely enjoy a fictional universe.
They want to own the fucking doorway.
They've memorized every episode, every interview, every obscure piece of production trivia.
And instead of using that knowledge to welcome new fans, they use it to establish dominance.
“You don't understand the character.”
“You're not a real fan.”
“You're interpreting that scene incorrectly.”
Wonderful.
Thank you, Professor Television.
Would you also like to inspect my license to enjoy fictional maracas?
Here's the thing.
KNOWING MORE ABOUT SOMETHING DOESN'T MAKE YOU MORE ENTITLED TO ENJOY IT.
And being able to recite every piece of lore doesn't automatically make your interpretation the only worthwhile one.
Sometimes somebody sees something in a character that you overlooked.
Sometimes their interpretation is debatable.
Sometimes they're simply enjoying the performance.
And sometimes a television demon wearing a sombrero is just fucking funny.
Not every conversation requires a courtroom.
Not every disagreement requires a winner.
Not every hobby needs a gatekeeper.
I LIKE MY GOOBER. DEAL WITH IT.
So yes.
I like Vox.
The arrogant, emotionally constipated, technologically obsessed, maraca-shaking electric fishbowl.
I understand his resentment toward Alastor better than I did before.
I can see the hurt beneath the hostility.
And I can recognize that he's still responsible for his own shitty decisions.
All of those things can be true simultaneously.
Imagine that.
A PERSON CAN APPRECIATE A CHARACTER WITHOUT DECLARING HIM A SAINT.
What a revolutionary fucking concept.
Maybe that's the real lesson here.
You don't have to excuse somebody to understand them.
You don't have to agree with somebody to enjoy talking with them.
And you certainly don't have to turn every difference of opinion into another miserable competition.
Because if Hell can give us a television demon who occasionally makes us laugh, maybe Earth can manage to produce a few people who know how to enjoy things without ruining them for everybody else.
And if not?
Well.
I've still got my maracas.
SHAKA SHAKA.
Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand
Chief Ankle-Biting Officer, Department of Petty Affairs
Proud defender of fictional goobers, questionable percussion, and the right to enjoy things without permission.
FINAL VERDICT:
Vox is an asshole.
Vox is a goober.
Vox is entertaining.
THESE ARE NOT MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE CONDITIONS.
Gerald the Cactus has been denied permission to audition for the mariachi band.
His rhythm was acceptable. His attitude was not. 🌵