The Jeremy Kyle Show: Witherfield Edition

The following takes place following: Tough Talk with Travers

It was the night of the Jeremy Kyle Live Live event, and it was the talk of the town. As Travers had predicted, it was indeed taking place across town in Witherfield — at the Wala Bingo Hall, and was being broadcast live on WTV.

Master Devlin had arranged a small watch party in Travers' office, inviting Kaz Miller, who brought along some Chemical Burgers. Frakes also invited himself. However, being too fat to take the lift, he hired a couple of sherpas to drag him up to the fifth floor. They propped him up in the corner of the office, and Frakes paid them with a handful of beans before sending them on their way. Upon their departure, Ed quietly had them deported back to their homeland and kept the beans for himself.

Travers sat with his feet up on the desk, puffing on a cigar.

Travers: "Kyle! Drink, please..."

Brian sighed, got up, and poured a glass of Goblin Brand bourbon. He placed it in front of Travers.

Travers: "Thank you, Kyle..."

Brian: "It's Brian, sir. Not Kyle."

Travers: "Don't speak out of turn, Kyle... Alright, quiet everyone! It's starting."

He grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. Everyone settled down as the TV showed a wide shot of a bingo hall packed with Witherfieldians.

Travers: "Haha! Ed damn, look at that thing..."

Frakes let out an acidic burp that sizzled in the air, then grunted and took another massive bite of his burger. The stench hit the room like a chemical weapon. Eyes watered. Brian quietly gagged into a napkin.

The camera moved to the front of the hall, where a simple talk show stage had been put together.

Announcer: "Please give a big, warm welcome back to Jeremy Kyle!"

The crowd clapped and cheered as Jeremy stepped out from behind a blue partition and waved at the audience.

Jeremy: “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen — and welcome! It’s great to be back. We are live tonight from the legendary Witherfield Bingo Hall for what promises to be a truly unforgettable show.”

“We’ve got a packed audience, a lot of big opinions, and — as always — absolutely no filter.”

“Now, tonight’s guests come from right here in Witherfield and the wider Widdicombe area — and they’ve got a lot to say.”

“Our first guest this evening is a Witherfield local. She’s currently expecting her 21st child — yes, twenty-first — and claims she became pregnant after performing oral sex on a man. That’s what she says. We’ll find out the truth — because tonight, the questions are real, the stories are raw, and the DNA tests are ready.”

“Please welcome to the stage… Sarah!”

A heavily pregnant Sarah-Louise Platt waddled onto the stage, waving to the cheering audience. Jeremy offered a quick nod as she took her seat across from him.

Back in the office, Travers suddenly sat up straight, snapping his claws and pointing at the screen.

Travers: "There she is!"

Jeremy: “Thanks for coming on the show, Sarah. So, you’ve lived here in Witherfield for quite a few years now?”

Sarah: “That’s right. I went away for a bit, then came back, then left again, then came back.”

Jeremy: “Right. And you had your first child when you were about 11 or 12?”

Sarah: “Yeah. The father was a boy from school. He hasn’t been involved since Bethany was born.”

Jeremy: “And now you’re expecting your 21st child. That’s… well, that’s something. Why so many?”

Sarah: “I don’t know. It just keeps happening.”

Jeremy: “Don’t you ever use contraception?”

Sarah: “Yeah and no. But no matter what, it always seems to happen. I’m pretty productive.”

Jeremy: “And how do you manage? Does your family help out?”

Sarah: “They used to, but my brother died a few months ago, and my mum’s in a coma.”

Jeremy: “My condolences. And your dad?”

Sarah: “My dad died when I was a baby. My stepdad’s gone too — ran off with another sixteen-year-old. But my oldest daughter Bethany helps out a bit.”

Jeremy: “So the reason you’re here today… is because you want the father of this baby to take responsibility?”

Sarah: “Yes, that’s right.”

Jeremy: “I see. Can you tell us a bit more about it?”

Sarah: “Well... he’s quite an important man. I gave him an oil change, and then I ended up pregnant. I wanted some support, but his chief of staff refuses to let him take responsibility...”

Jeremy: “Right... Can you just clarify what you mean when you say you… ‘changed his oil’?”

Sarah: “Well, it’s basically a blo— um... oral sex...”

Jeremy: “I see. So you’re claiming that you performed oral sex on an important man, which has resulted in your pregnancy? And he’s refusing to take responsibility, is that right?”

Sarah: “Yes, that’s correct.”

Jeremy: “Did you have sexual intercourse with this man at all?”

Sarah: “No, it was just the oil change. Mr. Trav… the man won’t have it any other way. He’s got a mouth-only policy for ‘Travers Junior.’”

Jeremy: “Right... oh dear me... umm… now, Sarah... did you miss out on sex education as a young woman? Because, with respect, at your age you should really understand that women can’t get pregnant that way.”

Sarah: “I thought that too, but Mr. Tra… the man said he’s got super sperm or something, and his swimmers can penetrate my organs!”

Travers nods eagerly at the screen.

Travers: “Damn right! It’s fact! Tell ’em, Frakes!”

Frakes grunts, struggling for air. Then he lets out a harsh, acidic burp and takes another big bite of his burger. The smell fills the room. Everyone’s eyes water. Brian quietly gags into a napkin.

Jeremy looks out at the audience, a baffled expression on his face. He turns back to Sarah.

Jeremy: “No, Miss Platt, I’m not sure why he’d make such an outrageous claim, but that man has played you for a fool. I don’t know what his angle is. Frankly he sounds like a con artist working some kind of scam. Either way, I can assure you — he’s talking absolute nonsense.”

The Master chuckles quietly to himself and glances over to see Travers’ reaction. But Travers isn’t there. His chair is empty, slowly spinning.

Sarah: “Well… I probably should’ve mentioned... he’s a goblin.”

The audience gasps.

Jeremy: “A goblin, eh? My my, this just keeps getting better. Alright, folks — we’re going to take a quick break to hear from our sponsors. Don’t go anywhere. When we come back, we’ll be digging deeper into this goblin ‘father’ with the so-called super sperm. Be right back.”

A few minutes later, the show returns.

Across the bottom of the screen, a bold caption appears in blocky white text over a blue banner:

“I Swallowed His Load and Now I’m Pregnant!”

The audience murmurs, some laughing, others shaking their heads. Jeremy straightens his cards and looks directly into the camera, ready to dive back in.

Jeremy: “Welcome back. Before the break, we were talking with Sarah Platt, who claims she was impregnated by an important goblin — not through intercourse, but via oral sex. Now, during the break, we checked in with our medical team, and they’ve confirmed — unsurprisingly — that this is biologically impossible. In fact, they were quite firm on that point. It sounds very much like you’ve been misled..."

A voice fills the bingo hall: "Nooo Mr Kyle, you are speaking out of turn!"

Travers comes waltzing onto the stage, puffing on a cigar with a big, disgusting grin stretched across his face. He’s carrying some flowers.

Sarah: “That… that’s him! That’s the father of me baby!”

The audience all boo at Travers.

Travers takes a seat.

Jeremy scratches his head, taken aback by the sight of the little goblin now sitting across from him.

Travers: “Hellooo Mr Kyle, it is me — Harris Travers. Attorney at law, national treasure, and now editor-in-chief of the new and improved Waldopolis Chronicle! And of course, yes…”

He pauses, stopping to stare at Sarah’s huge, swollen belly.

Travers: “Gooood lord... Ahem. I mean… yes, it’s true. I am the father of this unborn child.”

Back at the newspaper office, Frakes has passed out while the Master and the others watch the TV in disbelief.

Jeremy: "Right. Well... thank you, Mr Travers, for coming on the show. So tell us — why do you think this child is yours?"

Travers: "I’m glad you asked me that, Jeremy. It’s quite simple, really. I am a goblin man of heightened sexual drive and vigour. The fact of the matter is — I have supercharged sperm. Travers' boys always hit their mark. No matter the entry point."

Jeremy: "… Are you telling me you have the ability to impregnate anyone?"

Travers: "In short? Yes. Absolutely. Hell, I could impregnate you right here and now if I wanted to. Of course I won’t. Don’t worry... I’m not a knobgoblin."

Jeremy: "I… umm… This goes against everything we know about human science."

Travers: "I’m a goblin, Jerry. We don’t conform to your mere human laws."

Jeremy: "Tell me, Sarah, what is your opinion of Mr Travers’ lifestyle?"

Sarah: "I don't really pay attention to the news. All I know is he's addicted to oil changes. I'd visit him at his office, but when I’d leave, there'd be a queue of women lined up outside his door. He's probably got hundreds of women pregnant..."

Travers nods with a proud smirk.

Jeremy: "Alright... wow... Okay, how about a couple of questions from our audience? Yes, you, sir?"

Audience Man: "Yeah, uh. I don’t think it’s right for her to be talking smack about this guy’s lifestyle. She’s known around here as the town bike. She’s a single mum with 20 kids, yeah, livin’ on benefits that the rest of us have to pay for. Her brother started that super AIDS flu epidemic… Her mum’s an addict and a basket case… the whole family’s an embarrassment… give Witherfield a bad name, the lot of ’em."

A large portion of the audience claps.

Jeremy: "Alright, thank you, sir… Strong stuff."

Audience Man: "People that live in glass houses shouldn’t be throwing stones… All I’m saying, yeah…"

Jeremy: "Yes, sir, we hear you. Now, another question…"

A distressed-looking young woman waves her hand.

Jeremy: "Yes, young lady in the corner there?"

Audience Girl: "Hi… um… I gave me boyfriend a blow… I mean, I performed an oil change on him recently and I swallowed it… Do I need to get like an abortion or summit?"

Jeremy: "…"

Suddenly, an irate red-haired middle-aged man stands up.

Les: "Oi, you, Travers! Tell your pal Devlin to stay away from our Janice or I’m gonna come over to that poncy borough of ’is and have ’im!"

Ken: "Yes! And tell him to leave my Deirdre alone too! He’s not welcome here."

Roy: "Ye-ye-yes, and I’d like him to s-tay away from my wife Hayley as well… thank you…"

Les: "He means Harold!"

The audience lets out a mix of awkward chuckles and groans.

Les: "What? That was his name! Don’t pretend like it’s not true…"

Jeremy: "Alright, alright… I don’t know who this Devlin character is but let’s get back on topic. Firstly, young lady, I don’t think you need to worry about being pregnant… probably…"

Kaz looks at the Master and raises an eyebrow over his sunglasses.

Master Devlin: "Don’t give me that look, Kaz. The people of Witherfield just don’t like me. The editor made sure of this."

Revised Scene with minor tightening, consistent tone, and smooth flow:

Jeremy: "Now, Sarah. How many of these 'oil changes' did you give to Mr Travers? Was it just the one time?"

Sarah: "No, I’ve been givin’ him loads."

Jeremy: "And did they result in previous pregnancies?"

Sarah: "No. At least I don’t think so."

Jeremy: "So what makes you both so sure this time?"

Travers: "It just feels right this time... Besides, I quite like the idea of having a little Travers running around. Helping me run my media and legal empire. We’ll call it Travers & Son..."

Jeremy: "Well, be that as it may, I’m still having a very hard time believing you're the father, based on what you’ve told me."

Voice (off-stage): "You’d be right there! That’s because the child is mine!"

A man in a full furry fox costume, dressed in a velvet purple suit, dances his way across the stage. He hands Sarah a bouquet of flowers, kisses her hand, and takes a seat beside her.

Travers: 😡

The audience erupts with cheers — especially the women.

Jeremy: "Well, hello you sly fellow! How about you introduce yourself?"

Foxy: "Mr. Fox. Official mascot of Foxy Bingo — sponsor of your old television show, I might add... But you can call me Foxy."

Travers: "This is outrageous!"

Jeremy: "Why is it outrageous?"

Travers: "This fox is speaking out of turn. What claim could he possibly have to my baby?"

Foxy: "Ms. Platt and I had a romantic weekend of northern passion. About eight and a half months ago. And I can tell ya — it went well beyond a simple oil change. In fact, we had intercourse about a dozen times in a single weekend. Then I left Witherfield to tour the UK. But when I heard she was pregnant, I came back as soon as I could. And now it’s my intention to make an honest woman of her..."

Sarah gasps. The audience goes wild as Foxy gets down on one knee and presents a sparkling diamond ring.

Travers: "Mr. Fox, you are proposing out of turn!! I challenge you to a duel!"

Foxy: "Name the time and place."

Travers: "Right here and now... To the death! I demand satisfaction, sir!"

Foxy: "Fine by me, little man."

Jeremy: "Not so fast. I can’t allow a duel to the death on this show... But I can offer a DNA test—if all parties consent."

All three nod in agreement.

Jeremy: "Excellent. Well then, join us after the break, when we’ll reveal the results... and find out once and for all who the father of Sarah’s child is. See you soon."

As the Jeremy Kyle live event takes a break to give messages from sponsors, the Witherfieldian audience become increasingly impatient, waiting eagerly to hear the results of the DNA test that would reveal the father of Sarah-Lou’s child. Split evenly between Team Travers and Team Foxy Bingo, bickering and personal squabbling begins to erupt.

Jeremy: "Alright, alright, just settle down! We just need to hear a bit from our sponsors. You'll get your answer!"

The audience grumbles but settles, their eyes fixed on the stage.

Suddenly, a small green fellow with pointy ears, a large bushy beard, and a cap strides onto the stage. He’s dressed in full fishing attire, carrying a walking stick. He smacks the stick against the ground with a loud CRACK, instantly commanding attention.

Goblin: "My fellow Witherfieldians... hear me!"

The hall falls silent as he speaks, his voice thick with a Witherfieldian accent. Meanwhile, the TV broadcast returns to the show, allowing Devlin and others to see what's happening.

Mr, Goblinhouse: "Many of you know me... For those who don't... my name is Mr. Goblinhouse, and I have lived int' Witherfield since 1973!"

Sarah: "Are you Mr. Travers’ dad? You look like 'im."

Mr, Goblinhouse: "No, me dear, no relation... Anyroad... Point is, I've lived int' this neighbourhood fer a long time, an' sadly, this kind o' infighting o'er petty nonsense is all too familiar..."

"Fact o' the matter is... you don't really care who the father o' this dirty little strumpet's baby is... it's all just a distraction... A distraction from the fact that yer lives suck... An' it sucks 'cause you live int' Witherfield!"

The audience grumbles louder, murmuring amongst themselves. Some members shift uncomfortably in their seats.

Mr, Goblinhouse: "Ah know, ah know... you want t' get angry at me for sayin' that... but deep down, you know I'm right. You know 'cause you live here... you know it's shite as well as I do."

The audience reluctantly starts nodding along.

But 'ave you ever asked yerselves, why is it shite? Well, I'll tell ye summit. It's not 'cause o' the people o' Witherfield. I can tell ye that fer free.

Mr, Goblinhouse: "Witherfieldians are a decent, 'ardworkin' people. A shinin' northern star o’Widdlington! Unfortunately, the system doesn't reward such value o' character. The guvernment leaves you all t' rot while funnelling all our taxes into makin' swanky places like Waldobury even swankier!"

"An' who's t' blame for all this? It's not our beloved Empress. She's just a pretty face. A figurehead! The real power is int' claws o' them Masta Bastards!"

"Did you know that only 1.3% o' Waldonians are Masters... yet they control 70% o' our institutions? They possess 96% o' the total wealth o' Widdlington... While you're queuin' at food banks, they're rollin' around int' gold an' jewels... An' due to special arrangements wi' the WRS, they don't 'ave t' pay a penny int' taxes!"

"Bastards like Masta Devlin, takin' yer women an' trannywomen right under yer noses. The time fer retribution has come!"

The audience's anger grows, murmurs turning to shouts of agreement.

Jeremy: Alright, that's enough, Mr. Globanhaus... I will not have you inciting a violent mob on my show!

Mr, Goblinhouse: "Fook off, ya bastard! Sling yer hook back t' London or wherever ye came from before we string you up like a piñata an' beat ye black an' blue. We don't need the likes o' you turnin' our people against each other!"

He turns back to the crowd, gesturing with his walking stick.

Mr, Goblinhouse: "That's right, my fellow Witherfieldians! We must stand together! Stop fightin' each other an' instead take the fight t' the real enemy! Now, I'm headin' over t' the Masters' Council grounds in Waldobury t' make my dissatisfaction known. Who's comin' with me?"

The audience erupts into cheers and streams out after him, their anger turning to action.

Jeremy Kyle is stunned at what's just transpired.

Still watching the TV, the Master sighs.

Master Devlin: "Waldo... you motherfucker..."

The Waldoverse continues in The Battle of Waldomere