[Segment starts with Personal Jesus, by Depeche Mode, performed by Marilyn Manson]
Kagy: Oh thank God for Manson. For those of you tuning in, we're under attack here at In the Red because someone realized that Justin Bieber is the devil and decided to call in playing him every five minutes. If you're out there, ghost of Alester Crowly, I could use some voodoo that you do. Oh....Oh my phone lines are lit up, but I'm afraid to touch them. Here goes...Caller talk to me.
Caller 42: Still working on the source, Kagy.
Kagy: Thank Poe, it's Malchavian Daren. What do you mean, the source?
Darren: Me and Dr. Nick have been messing with your phone lines. We were listening in and decided to start hacking into the phone system...Hang on. What? Why are you giving me the signal to shut up?
Dr. Nick: [in the background] Quiet, already!
Darren: Oh, right. I mean to say we certainly would never hack into a public phone system, that would be illegal. Anyway, the most we've found by tracing the source is the calls are coming from inside Springhill.
Kagy: Brilliant. You are truly an epic detective duo. Hold on, I got another call. [click] Caller Forty-Three, whats...
Caller 43: [Plays a clicp of Eenie Meenie Minee Mo Lover, by Justin Bieber]
Kagy: [with hatred] NO! [click] The horror. The horror. Caller Forty-Four...Please be safe to pick up.
Caller 44: [sounds like Roger Jackson] Trouble tonight, Kagy?
Kagy: I'll ask the questions here. But...I forgot what tonight's question was. Ugh. What's up, Forty-Four?
Caller 44: I was about to call regarding the failings of reason and how it's dangerous to rely exclusively upon it, but your plight is far more interesting.
Kagy: Ah, this would be Mr. Hand.
Caller 44: Indeed. Tell me, Kagy, why would the vocals of America's preteen star bother you so?
Kagy: Or you kidding? His voice sounds more autotuned than T-Pain. Forget my own toxic hatred for diabetes inducing pop-music, this would be an attack upon my audience.
Caller 44: You could always start screening calls.
Kagy: And ruin the spontaneity of Springhill's public? I'm not sure it's worth it.
Caller 44: You're choice, of course. Sounds like you change the show's format to screened calls or change it's name to In the Red with Justin Bieber. I'll leave the decision to you.
Kagy: Mr. Hand, it almost sounds like you had something to do with this?
Caller 44: And you sound paranoid. I am just presenting out an observation. Good luck, Kagy. [click]
Kagy: That was creepy. Caller Forty-Five, talk to me. And NO MUSIC!
Caller 45: Hey, Kagy. It's the Barrle Roll guys. We're calling cuz we feel sorry for you.
Kagy: Er...Thanks you?
Caller 45: You know what you ought to do?
Kagy: I can guess. [click] Alright. [breaths] Here we go. Caller Forty-Six, what's on your-
Caller 46: [Plays a clip from One Less Lonely Girl, by Justin Bieber]
Kagy: [Unintelligible screaming] [click] Hang on a second, Springhill. [dialing noise]
Kagy: Darren, any luck?
Darren: Nope, we're still checking. Most likely we won't know until tomorrow's show, if they do this again. Um...Not there there's anyway we'd know 'cuz we're defiantly not doing anything illegal.
Dr. Nick: [in the background] Dude, would you shut up!
Darren: I gotta go, Kagy.
Kagy: Yeah, sure. [click] Okay, one last call. First I will clear the lines...and last Caller, speak.
Caller 47: [Plays a clip from Never Say Never, by Justin Bieber] [click]
Kagy: NEVER! [sound of angry screaming in concert with something thrown across the room] Okay...Okay...We're done. I know it's a little early, but I think we've both had enough, Springhill. Tomorrow I'll be a the Cerulean Theatre on Campus. Mina's Movie Club will be showing The Night Flier. Blah Blah blah. I'm done. [About a minute of dead air] Okay. I said ALRIGHT! Grrr. [Read quickly] In the Red is produced by David Orger and I'm you're host Kathryn Guilty. This was a K.N.O.T. College Radio production. Thanks go to our fearless leader, Tom Wits and anyone who listened. Thanks to everyone who called in except you! YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE! Good Night and die in a fire. [click]
[Show ends with She's Unreal, by Meat Beat Manifesto]