Fallout 4 Mod - Atomic Radio Audition 4
Project Overview
Audition #4 for the Fallout 4 radio mod, Atomic Radio.
This mod features sketches, commercials, and PSAs in the Fallout universe and references Fallout products, locations, etcetera. Currently 4+ hours of content and growing.
The aim is to create a radio mod that is part of the Fallout lore and universe as opposed to real life radio shows that feel out of place or whose length is not designed for use in a game.
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All right. Let me throw another name at you. Johnny Scars. Ever heard of him? Yeah, you know who I'm talking about. The serial killer. The one that sliced up all those people and turned them into art. One sick bastard, that one. He died here too, you know. The judge gave him the chair, right in this very prison. But what you don't know is, when the doc strapped him in, he got the voltage wrong. But it wasn't long before we all figured it out. In fact, I was standing right over there when the flames started to melt his skin.
Risk is a part of life, doctor. You take a risk when you eat your Sugar Bombs in the morning, when you drive your Corvega, and when you cheat on your husband. Every second is a dice roll. The only saving grace is that you have some semblance of control.
Fred: Wow...it says here he killed six women, all redheads in their twenties.
Mary: That's right.
Fred: Say. You're a redhead. And you're about twenty-five right?
Mary: Twenty-two.
Fred: Now I see why you're worried.
Phil: Then do something! Talk to the state! Get them to grant me a pardon!
Daniel: I'll try Phil, but I don't think it'll happen, not until the public outcry subsides. So in the meantime, I've brought you something else that I think might help with the loneliness. In fact, she's standing right over there.
Phil: Oh my god! You've brought me a woman! Someone to talk to, play games with, be my friend!
(Lying to Phil, thinks he's nutty to think a robot is a woman)
Daniel: Sure...that's what she is, a woman. Now do me a favor and don't switch her on until I've left. This is strictly off the books and I don't want anyone on the ship to see it.
Every morning, we at Pinelli's Bakery wake up at the break of dawn, bright and early. In fact, we open our doors before most customers open their eyes. We're heating the ovens, kneading the dough, making sure that every muffin, pastry, and loaf of bread is warm and fresh by the time you arrive. Most people don't think twice about it. They've just come to expect that we'll be there, with a smile on our face, no matter how many times you angrily berate us.
And that's okay. Because in the food service industry, we understand there's no room for basic human decency. At Pinelli's Bakery, we're here to serve you.
Sketch is a parody of a 1950s suburban woman who's prone to hysterics and easily frightened. So in that vein.
Mary: I don't want you to leave Rick.
Rick: Honey, I'm a bartender. You know as well as I do that means I have to work nights.
Mary: But you heard the news reports! They're calling him the Boston Butcher, and he's already killed a half dozen women all over Lexington!
Rick: We don't know that for sure. The Bugle's just trying to stir things up to sell papers.
Mary: Oh please, Rick, stay with me. It'll just be for tonight.
Rick: That's what you said last night, and the night before. I've already used up all my sick days. At this rate they'll fire me, and then what?
Mary: All right. But promise you'll come home as soon as your shift is over.
Waking up is never fun. You're tired and groggy. You hate your job, your marriage is in shambles, and you have a sneaking suspicion your children are drug addicts. Why would anyone in your position want to get up and play out such a miserable existence?
Fortunately for you, the Wakemaster Alarm Clock is so loud, so infuriatingly noisy, that you'll have no choice but to get of bed and run three miles - just to get the ringing out of your ears. With its password encrypted snooze button, this precise, state of the art atomic clock will never fail to wake you up, saving you and your family from your own existential dread.
The Wakemaster Alarm Clock. Now in three colors. Platinum, Yellow, and Lime Green.
On this day in 1959, two years after the Russians sent a dog into orbit, the United States of America demonstrated their own aeronautical ingenuity by making "Mr. Pebbles" the first cat in space.
600 miles up our intrepid feline joined the meteors in orbit, traveling at speeds of 18,000 miles an hour. A shocked Russian community could only look on in awe as America once again flexed its extraordinary might.
So, you wanna hear a story? Well, I got one I can tell ya. Whole thing started two nights ago. I got taken downtown by a couple of coppers. They caught me trying to stick up a Red Rocket, one of them fancy new ones they got for those atomic cars. Just walked right up and told the guy to empty the register. Problem is, I had this bad cold I couldn't shake, and when I started coughing, that gave the clerk a chance to reach for his piece. An hour later and the cops had me in cuffs.
Prisoner: What do you plan on doing with me?
Copper: Me? I don't plan on doing anything. See, you asked me earlier if we let Lenny alone to rot. Well, we left him in that cell. But he sure as hell wasn't alone.
Prisoner: No, wait, come back here! Let me out of here you filthy coppers! Let me out of here!
Richards: You watch baseball, doctor?
Dr. Hall: Of course. Who in Boston doesn't watch baseball?
Richards: Well, do you ever watch the games and feel like you have control over the outcome?
Dr. Hall: I'd say that's fairly common. Superstition and sports go hand in hand.
Yeah, but at the end of day, you know. You realize that whatever you do, it doesn't really matter. But I can't stop thinking...what if I'm wrong? What if I really have the power to change things?
Dr. Hall: Is that why you're not wearing any clothes?
Richards: Yeah Doc. The more clothes I wear, the harder it is for us to score. I put on a sock, and the bombers hit a double. I take it off, and we strike out the side.
Dr. Hall: But it's got to be less than thirty degrees outside. You'll die of hypothermia.
Dr. Jones, I'd like to think, in the twenty years we've been working together, I've given you a lot. I've given you my time, my sweat, and my expertise. I even gave you my secret recipe for banana bread, not that you'd know how to use it. But the one thing I won't give you is my enthusiasm. Not when you choose to risk your life for this experiment.
President: All right, Dr. Jones. You have my attention. What is this urgent message you wish to relay?
Jones: Mr. President, I want you to take your finger off the button.
President: I'm sorry, but what button?
Jones: You know which one. The one you use in the event of an invasion. The button that fires the nukes.
President: Dr. Jones, you do realize there isn't an actual button, right?
Jones: What do you mean?
President: There's no big red button to fire our nuclear arsenal. The generals make a recommendation, and then I give the authorization to launch.
Jones: You're wrong, Mr. President. I'm positive there's a button somewhere, and with the way things are going, it's only a matter of time before you push it. I know these things because, well...go ahead, ask me how I know.
President: All right. How do you know?
Jones: Because...I'm a time traveler.
President: Dr. Jones, that is quite frankly the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.
Jones:And yet it's the truth. Listen to me, Mr. President, do not press the button!
President: I think I've heard quite enough. I'm going to have to ask you to leave.
Mary: I don't want you to leave Rick.
Rick:Look Mary, I'm a bartender. You know damn well that means I have to work nights.
Mary: But you heard the news reports! They're calling him the Boston Butcher, and he's already killed a half dozen women all over Lexington!
Rick: We don't know that for sure. The Bugle's just trying to stir things up to sell papers. And the way you're acting, I'd say it's working.
Mary: Oh please, Rick, stay with me. It'll just be for tonight.
Rick: That's what you said last night, and the night before. I've already used up all my sick days. Do you want me to lose my job too?
Mary: All right. But promise you'll come home as soon as your shift is over.
Rick: Jesus Mary, I'll be home when the work's done. Not a moment sooner.
Foreign accent, German preferred
Well, we believe the independence displayed by the domestic cat made it a far greater candidate for space travel. We've all seen what happens when dogs are without their master.
I think it's safe to say that poor Russian canine went insane from the claustrophobia alone. Mr. Pebbles, in contrast, will feel more at home the further he gets away from it.
Based on the following ad
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Ztu1ZYQPi4
In the afternoon…when things slow down…when you’re wondering what to do…
Let’s go! Go bowling!
Whether you’re a boy or a girl, a novice or a seasoned pro, nothing beats the excitement of Back Alley Bowling. For the low, low price of five thousand dollars a game, you and your friends can enjoy America’s new pastime.
(gutter ball sound)
Don’t worry Bobby, that ball may be destined for the gutter, but your social life is anywhere but, now that you’ve discovered Back Alley Bowling!
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