FSW: Reaction Edition

The gauntlet was thrown down and I tripped over it, but never picked it up. It’s been a long week and I thought I was being good by getting this sketch written the other day. I just couldn’t shift gears to the 4th mode fast enough. Maybe next week.

However, if you want to read about our zombie forefathers, Richard’s got you covered.

If you want to read about the tragic consequences of choosing the wrong lip gloss, I’m all over that this week.

Enjoy. And Happy Birthday Nation o’ mine.
Pants on Fire

AT RISE: In total darkness we hear giggling and keys rattling. A door opens and we see the silhouettes of Sarah and Mark stumble through in mid make out. They might fall or stumble over some furniture.

MARK: (Laughing) Let me turn on a light.

SARAH: No. Not yet.

(Things get quiet. We hear a Zipper going down.)

MARK: (Taking a breath) Oh wow. Sarah…

SARAH: Shhhh. Just enjoy the ride.

(We hear the sounds of pleasure coming from both of them. More from Mark. Mark’s moans of pleasure start to turn to moans of discomfort.)

MARK: Ow. Ow! Sarah wait.

SARAH: Are you all right?

MARK: Something’s not right.

SARAH: Too much teeth?

(Mark fumbles for the lamp. The lights come on and we see that they are both dressed nicely, for a night out. Mark is zipping up his pants. His pain and her panic will increase throughout the following.)

MARK: No, my face. It feels like it’s on fire. And itching.

(He is scratching.)

SARAH: Oh yeah, it looks like you’ve got some red blotches on your neck.

MARK: Oh no.

SARAH: What? What is it?

MARK: I think I’m having an allergic reaction.

SARAH: To what? To me?

MARK: Maybe. Maybe something I ate.

SARAH: Is this bad? Do you need to go to the hospital?

MARK: Depends on what it isth. Oh sthit. My tongue’s stharting to swell.

SARAH: All right. What do I need to do?

(Mark is now beginning to feel it in his crotch.)

MARK: Oh! Oh wow. Thisth can’t be good.

SARAH: What now?

(Mark turns his back and unzips his pants.)

MARK: I think it’s swelling.

SARAH: Well, couldn’t that be because I was…

MARK: Not that kind of swelling. Oh no! More red blotches! Did you useth hand crème today?

SARAH: Yeah. Earlier.

MARK: What kind?

SARAH: Ponds.

MARK: Was it sthented with anything? Vanilla? Peacheth?

SARAH: No. No, I always use the unscented kind.

MARK: Your lip gloss.

SARAH: What about it?

MARK: What kind?

SARAH: Lip Venom.

MARK: What’s it made of?

SARAH: It’s cinnamon and ginger spices…

MARK: Thinnamon! It’s the thinnamon! I’m fucking allergic to thinnamon!

SARAH: How was I supposed to know? This is only our third date! I don’t even know what your favorite movie is or if you had any pets when you were a kid.

(Mark’s is having trouble breathing.)

MARK: I think my throat is closthing up.

SARAH: I’m calling 911.

MARK: I can’t go to the hosthpital becausth of swelling in my dick.

SARAH: But if you’re going to die…

MARK: I justht need sthome benedryll.

SARAH: Do you have a bee sting kit?

MARK: I’m not allergic to beesth!

SARAH: Well, do you have a…cinnamon…sting kit?

MARK: What?

SARAH: What do you normally do when you have an allergic reaction to cinnamon?

MARK: It’th never been this bad before.

(She goes into the kitchen and comes back out with a wet dish towel.)

MARK: You can’t justht wash it off.

SARAH: I don’t know what else to do.

(His breathing is becoming more labored.)

MARK: I justht need to sthit down for a minute.

(He sits on the couch, wheezing.)

SARAH: I think we need to get you to a hospital.

MARK: (Getting woozy)No, no, no. No hosthpitalsth. Maybe thisth will passth.

(With that he passes out.)

SARAH: Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

(She lightly taps his face, trying to rouse him.)

SARAH: Mark! Wake up! Please!

(She freezes.)

SARAH: What if dies? Killed by a blow job. I’ll never live it down.

(She begins to frantically shake him, slapping him harder on the face.)

SARAH: Wake up! Wake up, you allergenic pussy!

(She crams the wet towel onto his face, pushing into his mouth.)

SARAH: I am not a murderess!!!

(The thrashing rolls them off onto the floor. The jolt brings Sarah to her senses.)

SARAH: Oh, God. I’m sorry.

(She cradles his head and wipes him with the towel. Mark starts to come around.)

SARAH: Yeah, that’s it. Come back to me. Come back.

MARK: (Weakly) Stharah? Isth that you?

SARAH: I’m right here, Mark.

MARK: I think I’m stharting to feel sthlightly better. Maybe the towel wasth the way to go.

SARAH:You’re alive. I’m so happy you’re alive!

(Sarah, in her excitement, bends over and kisses Mark on the lips.)

MARK: Noooo!


FSW: The Loan’s the Thing Edition

Hey, hey! It’s still daylight out and I’m posting my sketch! Huzzah.

Richard is already in the mix and should probably watch out for stray bolts of lightening this weekend.

No word from Dave yet, but keep your eyes peeled because he could strike at any moment.

Here’s my attempt to get back into the swing of things. A little dark, but, well, sometimes I enjoy that. I hope you do as well.

And, as always, feel free to join in on the action. Just post your link in the comments section.

A Bank office. Jane Gorman is sitting behind her desk looking over papers. Marty Bellows is seated across from her.

JANE: Well, Mr. Bellows, everything looks in order here.

MARTY: Oh, wow. This is fantastic. I can’t tell you how excited I am.

JANE: Do you know what you’re going to do with the place?

MARTY: It’s been a dream of mine to buy a building and open up a little sandwich shop.

JANE: Well, Marty, the people here are American National like to think we’re in the making-dreams-come-true business.

MARTY: Thank you, so much. And any time you need lunch, stop in and it’s on the house.

JANE: You’ll never get the loan paid off that way.

(They share a laugh. The phone rings.)

JANE: Look these over and start initialing by the X’s.

(She hands Marty the papers and answers the phone.)

JANE: Jane Gorman, talk to me.

(Marty is reading an initially. Jane is listening on the phone her face growing more concerned.)

JANE: (On phone) I see. Thank you for calling. (She hangs up.)

MARTY: Do you need me to sign all three pages here? Or just this one?

JANE: Let me see.

(Marty hands her the papers and she tears them up.)

MARTY: What are you doing?

JANE: I’m sorry Mr. Bellows, but I’m afraid the loan has been rejected.

MARTY: What? Why?

JANE: I’d rather not say.

MARTY: But I was signing the papers. We were talking about dreams coming true. (beat) Who was on the phone?

JANE: No one.

MARTY: Before the phone call I was signing papers. Afterwards you were tearing them up. Ms. Gorman, please.

JANE: Mr. Bellows. Marty. (beat) You’re dying.

MARTY: What?

JANE: I’m sorry you have to find out this way.

(He stands up and looks around.)

MARTY: Am I on one of those hidden camera shows? Okay. You got me. Very funny.

JANE: That was your doctor. The results just came back from your colonoscopy.

MARTY: And he called you?

JANE: We have a mutual back scratching policy between banks and hospitals. We let them know if a patient can pay their bills and they inform us when…well, a loan applicant is a bad bet. I’m sorry.

(He sits.)

MARTY: I’m going to die?

JANE: Well, you should probably consult with your doctor, but he said he’d be hesitant to okay you for a five year loan.

MARTY: There is so much I still want to do.

JANE: (Looking over papers) Judging from your portfolio here, I’d say you could take a nice trip to Europe. Maybe even a cruise around the world. Of course, that isn’t taking into account the medical bills you’re sure to accumulate or the ever weakening dollar.

(Marty stands and begins to leave, dejected.)

MARTY: Uh. Thanks. I guess.

JANE: Good luck, Mr. Bellows. And if you need anything, well…I hope you have some close friends.

(Marty exits. Jane sits on the edge of her desk and looks at the audience.)

JANE: What’s your dream? You living it or still planning? Better get cracking. You never know when your loan will get rejected.

(She moves back to her chair as angelic, orchestral music begins.)

DEEP BOOMING VOICE OVER: American National. Reminding you that life is short, but loans are forever.


FSW: Short & Sweet Edition

Dave was out of the gate early today rewriting classic movies.

Richard is up and at ’em having some trouble with the law.
I’m still on Pacific time, which is why mine seems late, but really isn’t. 
It’s also why mine doesn’t seem funny, but really is.
(Paul sits in a kayak, bobbing in the water. He is staring off into the distance, a serene smile on his face. A moment later Derek paddles up to him.)
Derek: Hey.
(Paul nods in acknowledgement) 
Derek: The sunset is amazing out here, huh?
(Paul nods again.)
Derek: Sometimes, if you’re really lucky, you’ll see a minke whale or some dolphins swim by. Just takes your breath away.
(Paul nods again.)
Derek: I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out here before. You on vacation?
Paul: Honeymoon.
Derek: The new Mrs. didn’t want to venture out on the water?
Paul: She loves outdoor activities.
(Derek looks around.)
Derek: The currents can get pretty strong out here. Which way was she paddling?
Paul: Oh, she wasn’t in a kayak.
Derek: She must be a pretty strong swimmer to make it out this far.
(Paul nods.)
Derek: And back. I don’t know too many people who could do that.
Paul: I don’t know anyone who could do it.
Derek: Wait. Did she swim out here or not?
Paul: She did.
Derek: And you let her…I mean, I don’t see anyone out here. Look, buddy, I don’t know what your deal is, but…
(The cover flips back on Paul’s kayak and Marissa pokes her head out.)
Marissa: Hey, Chatty-Charlie, why don’t you move along? You’re sorta breaking his concentration here and there’s only so much oxygen in here once this cover is closed.
Derek: Oh. I thought…I mean, it seemed like…
Marissa: Move it Nanook before I cram this oar up your b-hole.
Derek: Sorry.
(Derek paddles off.)
Marissa: It had better be this biggest goddamn diamond…
(Paul puts his hand on Marissa’s head and nudges her back down into the kayak.)
Paul: Shhh. My concentration, remember?
(She disappears out of site. Paul returns the cover of the kayak. He smiles serenely.)

FSW: Office Edition

Richard’s playing doctor this week.

Dave is quiet at the moment. Perhaps his still dreaming about his dream job.

Your sketch is probably really funny. But since you won’t let us read it we’ll never know.

I really wanted to have a Memorial Day themed sketch today. But that just seemed like too much work. So here’s my entry this week.


The Day Job

(An office cubicle. Jarred sits at his desk entering data. He is having a hard time staying awake. Colleen enters and stands behind his chair, watching him work.)

COLLEEN: Man, I love the way you tear into a spreadsheet.

JARRED: (Not taking his eyes off the screen.) Hey, Colleen.

COLLEEN: Seriously, it’s like watching Michelangelo paint the Sistine Chapel or something.


COLLEEN: If I didn’t have my own work to do, I could just stand here, watching you do this all day long.

JARRED: Thanks.

(She pats him on the back.)

COLLEEN: Well keep up the awesome, awe-inspiring work.

JARRED: Will do.

(Colleen exits. Barry pops his head over Jarred’s cube wall.)

BARRY: Man, Colleen’s going a little overboard with this new positive reinforcement initiative, don’t you think?

JARRED: Seriously. Does she really think going around to everyone and comparing their data entry to master painters is going to make us work harder?

BARRY: She compared you to a painter?

JARRED: Michelangelo.

BARRY: She didn’t say anything like that to me.


BARRY: All I got was a blowjob.

(Jarred stops typing.)

BARRY: Well, better get back to it.

(Barry disappears back to his cube. Jarred sighs and starts typing again.)


FSW: Small Store Edition

Richard is the early bird this week with a hilarious sketch about a little pillow talk.

I know Dave was headed to a Cubs game today, so he could be busy putting on his parka and snow boots before heading to the stadium. It’s like March here today.

Here’s my sketch for what it’s worth. After seeing Campaign Supernova the other night, I really wanted to blast one out of the park. But I’ll settle for a single. As long as I don’t strand the runner on base.

(A small, country grocery store. JIM stands behind the counter as JERRY finishes unloading his basket. Jim is ringing up items on the cash register, no barcode scanner here, through their conversation.)

JIM: You are going to love these strawberries. Meredith just picked them yesterday.

JERRY: Your produce is always so good.

JIM: Well, it helps when our orchard is only ten miles away. We can pick it and sell it the same day.

JERRY: It certainly makes a difference.

JIM: You can almost taste the love.

JERRY: Is that where that extra sweetness comes from?

(They laugh. Jim has finished tallying up the order.)

JIM: All righty. That’s going to be $27.50.

(He reaches under the counter and pulls out a plastic bag.)

JERRY: Don’t worry about the bag, Jim, I brought my own.

JIM: Well, look at you. Janet’s finally got you paying attention to the environment.

JERRY: She told me that if I brought home another plastic bag from the store she’d smother me with it.

(They laugh.)

JIM: Well, I’m glad to see you’re doing your part. Here, let me bag it up for you.

JERRY: You don’t have to-

JIM: No, no. Come on.

(Jim takes the bag and freezes. His mood shifts.)

JIM: What the hell is this?

JERRY: What?

JIM: This?

(Jim points to the logo on the bag.)

JERRY: It’s a reusable bag, Jim.

JIM: From Wal-Mart, Jerry. Why do you have a bag from Wal-Mart?

JERRY: I…I…I don’t know. I just have one.

JIM: All these years, Jerry. All these years you’ve been buying your groceries here. I thought we had something special.

JERRY: We do, Jim. You know I love your store.

JIM: Yet here you stand with a Wal-Mart bag. In my store, Jerry! In my store!

JERRY: Calm down.

JIM: How many times?

JERRY: What?

JIM: How many times have you shopped…(chocking back tears) at Wal-Mart?

JERRY: Oh, come on. Don’t do this. It didn’t mean anything. I swear.

JIM: It means something to me, Jerry.

JERRY: Jim, listen, would you rather I shopped in your store with this bag or shop there with…well you don’t even sell reusable bags.

JIM: I am aware of my shortcomings, Jerry! You don’t have to slap me in the face with it. (beat) Did you like it?

JERRY: I don’t know…

JIM: Come on, tell me, what was it like?

JERRY: Jim, please, don’t do this to yourself.

JIM: I have to know, Jerry! Were their honeydew as juicy as mine? Did they have 97 varieties of apples?

JERRY: No. God no. I didn’t even look at his melons. I swear. You know your produce is the tops.

JIM: Then what? Why did you do it?

JERRY: I was weak…

JIM: Just tell me.

JERRY: I don’t-

JIM: Tell me!

JERRY: There are just so many more options! All right? Is that what you wanted to hear? And they sell giant, family size boxes of cereal.

(Jim gasps and nearly faints.)

JERRY: You only sell the smaller ones.

JIM: I don’t have the shelf space and you know it.

JERRY: I know. I’m sorry. But, sometimes it’s just easier to buy the bigger box.

JIM: You could always buy two smaller boxes.

JERRY: But the bigger box costs less. Look, I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I’ll just get my things and go.

(Jerry begins bagging his groceries. He finishes and heads for the door.)

JIM: Wait.

(Jerry stops and turns. Jim takes a small container of raspberries over to Jerry and puts them in his bag.)

JIM: Just a little something to remember me by.

JERRY: Thank you.

JIM: Do you think you’ll ever come back?

JERRY: Would you have me?

JIM: I guess we’ll have to cross that bridge when we get to it.

JERRY: Yeah. (beat) Yeah.

(Jerry exits. Jim watches him go, the grief washing back over him, he begins to sob and slowly slides down the door to the floor.)


FSW: Meta-Bistro Edition

I’m gonna second what Richard said about his post this week.

Not quite firing on all cylinders. I’m really looking forward to the weekend. And not doing a damn thing if I can help it.

No word from Dave yet, but he could be busy putting razor-wire around his apartment.

(A small table in a stylish bistro. A man and woman are chatting about a book at one table. At another, Craig sits looking at the menu. A waiter approaches.)

WAITER: Could I get you something to drink while you’re looking over the menu?

CRAIG: I’ll just have a bottle of Evian.

WAITER: I’m sorry sir, but bottled water has been banned in the city.

CRAIG: Really?

WAITER: I’m afraid so. We just have tap water.

CRAIG: Oh, then, Aquafina I guess.

WAITER: That’s bottled water, sir.

CRAIG: Really? I read something on Slate.com about it being just tap water.

WAITER: It may be, but they still put it in a bottle and ship it out.

CRAIG: Where does your water come from?

WAITER: The lake, I suppose.

CRAIG: No aquifer or mountain stream?

WAITER: There are no mountains in Chicago.

CRAIG: Wow. This is tough. I really had a taste of water when I came in here.

WAITER: I can bring you a glass of water, if that’s what you want.

CRAIG: Why didn’t you just say so? I’ll have an Evian.

WAITER: But. It will be a glass that I hold under the tap in the kitchen sink. Because there is no bottled water.

CRAIG: Ew. Sink water? I thought this was a Zagat’s rated restaurant.

WAITER: The food is very good sir.

CRAIG: But the water’s from the toilet.

(Craig takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and pulls one out. He takes out a lighter.)

WAITER: Excuse me, sir.

CRAIG: What now?

WAITER: There’s no smoking in the restaurant.

CRAIG: (Sighing heavily) You didn’t ask me if I wanted smoking or non-smoking. I would have told you I wanted smoking.

WAITER: No smoking in the entire restaurant.

CRAIG: Fine. I’ll sit at the bar then.

WAITER: The entire restaurant. Including the bar.

CRAIG: You know I should just take my money and find another restaurant.


CRAIG: But nothing. Just bring me your foie gras appetizer. Unless you banned geese as well.

WAITER: Geese no. Foie gras yes.

CRAIG: Oh, come on!

(The lights come up on another table, at which Richard and Dave are sitting, drinking cocktails.)

RICHARD: The third one should have been funny.

DAVE: Foie gras is pretty funny, when you think about it.

RICHARD: It should have been something outlandish, though. Something extreme.

DAVE: Force feeding geese to make their livers swell isn’t outlandish or extreme?

RICHARD: Oh, shut up.

DAVE: I’m just saying.

(The lights go down on their table and come back up on Craig and the Waiter.)

CRAIG: Who are they?

WAITER: I don’t know, but they’ve been in here all morning commenting on everything anyone says.

CRAIG: Weird.

WAITER: I know. So, have you decided?

CRAIG: I’ll just have the grasshopper gonad soup. And a glass of your iced Deported Immigrant Tears.

WAITER: Venti or Grande?

CRAIG: Grande, of course.

(The waiter and Craig freeze mid laugh. The lights come up on David and Richard’s table. The look at one another and roll their eyes.)

DAVID: (Calling towards the bar, holding up his glass.) Yeah, I’m gonna need another one of these.

RICHARD: (Holding up his glass) Make that two.


FSW: Great Outdoors Edition

Another week come and gone. I would have had this up sooner, but I’ve been hiding under my desk in case another aftershock rolls through here. Earthquakes are only supposed to happen in Third World Countries and California. Not the Midwest.

Anyhow, Richard came out, guns a-blazing, with a funny party planning idea.

No word from Dave yet, but I’m sure he’s brewing up something. Unless he’s busy putting up drywall.

And I haven’t heard from Red in a week. Maybe the folks at her church didn’t find her sketch last week all that amusing.

Here’s my offering for the week. Enjoy. And as always, feel free to play along. We’d love to read some more sketches.

The Great Outdoors

(Somewhere in the forest. MAGGIE and HARRY stumble in. They are dressed for hiking, both with backpacks. They look pretty beat-up and disheveled.)

MAGGIE: (Out of breath) That’s it. I’m done.

(She sits on a rock and takes off her pack.)

HARRY: (Also out of breath) No. Come on. We have to keep moving.

MAGGIE: I can’t take another step.

(She takes out a canteen and opens it. She up-ends it and a couple of drops fall into her mouth. She throws the canteen over her shoulder.)

MAGGIE: That was the last of the water. Harry, let’s face it, we’re done for.

HARRY: We can’t give up. What does Survivorman say? 90% of the battle is keeping your spirits up.

MAGGIE: Fuck Survivorman and fuck your happy spirit. We’re going to die out here and our bodies will probably be eaten by wolves.

HARRY: Honey, we’ve only been out here a day.

MAGGIE: There’s so much I wanted to do with my life. I can’t believe it’s over.

HARRY: That’s no way to talk. We’re going to get through this.

MAGGIE: Listen, Harry, there are some things you should know. Some things I need to get off my chest before I die.

HARRY: Um…okay.

MAGGIE: I’ve had a few affairs.


MAGGIE: All right. All right. I’ve had a lot of affairs.

HARRY: Maggie, why?

MAGGIE: Because you’re crap in bed, Harry. And because I need lots and lots of sex.

HARRY: Was it with anyone I know?

MAGGIE: Pretty much everyone you know.

HARRY: If the sex is so bad, then why did you marry me?

MAGGIE: Are you serious? Harry, you’re filthy rich. I haven’t had to work a day in the last seven years. I just went shopping and went to spas and had sex every day. I felt like a goddess.

HARRY: You only married me for my money?

MAGGIE: Heavens no. You are also friends with some of the hottest actors in Hollywood.

HARRY: You slept with George?

MAGGIE: George, Brad, I slept with all of them. Sometimes two or three at a time.

(Harry sits down on rock.)

MAGGIE: Wow. This feels great. I’ve been holding all of this in for so long. You should give it a try. Is there anything that you’ve kept secret that’s been weighing heavily on your soul?

HARRY: No. My life is an open book. I share everything with you.

MAGGIE: Okay, so it’s just me then. It’s a shame too, because this really feels great. Um, what else?

HARRY: There’s more?

MAGGIE: Oh! You remember that housekeeper who I thought stole my earrings?

HARRY: Ruth? Who’d been with my family since I was a boy? Who practically raised me?

MAGGIE: That’s the one. Well, I didn’t fire her. I killed her.

HARRY: What?!

MAGGIE: We got into an argument about the jewelry. One thing let to another and I brained her with your humanitarian award. Funny thing was, I found the earrings at Billy’s apartment the next morning. I felt so stupid.

HARRY: Billy? My brother?

MAGGIE: And father of your “son”. Are you all right? You don’t look so good.

HARRY: I…my life…I thought you…

(Maggie puts her arm around him.)

MAGGIE: There, there. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve never felt closer to you than I do right now.

HARRY: You’re only saying that because you think you’re about to die.

MAGGIE: But doesn’t it make you feel a little better?


MAGGIE: All right then.

(There is a rustling in the woods. They both jump up to see what’s coming. EARL stumbles out of the bushes, twirling a toilet paper roll on his finger.)

EARL: Whoa! Hey, sorry. I didn’t realize there was anyone over here. I was just looking for a place to do a little logging. If you know what I mean?

MAGGIE: Where did you come from?

EARL: That campsite over there. Listen, I’d love to stay and chat, but natures getting ready to kick down my back door. If you know what I mean?

(Earl exits.)

MAGGIE: Did you know where we were this whole time?

HARRY: Pretty much.

MAGGIE: But why? I mean, we were just…I thought that…I don’t understand.

HARRY: I wanted to create a lasting memory for our anniversary.

MAGGIE: Our wha-? Is that this month?

HARRY: Today.

MAGGIE: Oh, honey! Happy Anniversary!

(Maggie goes to hug him, but he stops her.)

HARRY: You don’t have to pretend anymore. Why don’t you go over to the campsite and get something to eat. I’ll call the helicopter and we’ll go home. Then we’ll discuss what happened here today.

MAGGIE: Okay. But know that I’d do anything. Anything. To not be divorced from you.

HARRY: Good to know.

(Maggie heads off toward the camp. Harry takes a deep breath and look around. After a moment, Earl pops out from behind some bushes.)

EARL: Listen, I couldn’t help but overhear. If you want, me and some buddies can make sure she never leaves these woods.

HARRY: Thanks for the offer, but I can’t kill her off, she’s my bread and butter.

EARL: I beg your pardon?

HARRY: I’ve been filming her while she has sex with my friends, then selling the videos online. I’ve made more money in the last seven years than I’ve ever seen before. No, I’m going to make this marriage work. (Beat) But maybe you can help me.

EARL: How’s that?

HARRY: I think a nice outdoor film could be a real big seller.

EARL: If it’ll help you out, I’d love to bang your wife.

HARRY: I’d be much obliged.

(Harry puts his a
rm around Earl’s shoulder and they walk off toward the camp.)


FSW: Fantasy Dream Edition

It’s time for another round of Friday Sketch War.

Richard was first out of the gate today, with a cautionary tale about television doctors.

Nothing from Dave yet, but if it’s anything like last week, he’ll toss something out that will 

blow us all away.

Update: Dave is up and, er, swimming. And we have a new battler in our midst. Red has joined the fray. Please make her feel welcome.

Here’s my attempt at the funny. I think I need to cut it down some, but I like the premise a lot.

And, as always, if you’d like to play along, simply post your sketch and send us a link.


Dream Date Night Dream

(We are in the small, studio apartment of PAUL. It is decorated as any geek, fanboy might. Lots of horror movie posters, action figures on shelves, an authentic lightsaber in a glass case, Star Wars bed sheets, etc. Paul sits in bed, wearing a headset, playing an online game on his computer. Through the wall we hear the unmistakable sound of enthusiastic lovemaking.)

PAUL: (On headset) Jesus, my neighbor’s at it again. I swear that guy gets more tail than Aragon. (Beat) Oh, way more than Solo. (Beat) Well that’s your opinion.

(The lovemaking gets louder and louder, then suddenly, there is a short scream of shock followed by a loud THUD!)

PAUL: (On headset) Hang on, Slayer 9, I think I’ve got a situation here.

(Paul leans back against the wall, trying to hear what’s going on. We hear a woman’s voice saying “Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.” Over and over again.)

PAUL: (On headset) Dude, I’m gonna have to log off. (Beat) I know, I know, but you’ve got enough Hit Power to take the ogres should they attack. (Beat) Would you calm down, that wizard is long gone. I’m sure I’ll return before he does.

(There is a knock on his door.)

PAUL: (On headset) Holy shit, I think the chick he was banging is knocking at my door. (Beat) No, I’m not going to take a picture.

(More knocking.)

JAMIE: (Off) Hello? Is anyone home? Hello?

PAUL: Just a second! (On headset.) All right, all right. But only because you saved my ass on the Isle of Gygax. After this we’re even.

(More knocking.)

PAUL: Coming!

(He quickly removes his headset and positions the laptop so it’s pointing toward the door. He takes a tiny webcam and attaches it to the top of the computer. He crosses to the door and opens is. JAMIE, drop-dead gorgeous, enters, wearing a man’s t-shirt and nothing else.)

JAMIE: Oh, thank god you’re home. I think my boyfriend needs a doctor.

(Paul is frozen momentarily in the tractor-beam of her beauty.)

JAMIE: Hello? You speak English?

PAUL: Uh. Yeah. And Elven. A little Klingon, too. Enough to get by anyhow.

JAMIE: Can you help me?

PAUL: Sure. Uh. (Beat) What do you want me to do?

JAMIE: Check on my boyfriend.

PAUL: Right. Okay. Yeah.

(Paul starts to leave, followed by Jamie. There is a BEEP from his computer and he turns to look at it.)

PAUL: Uh. You know. You should. Wait here. Yeah. In case. You know.

JAMIE: Okay. Thanks. I’m a little freaked out right now.

(She goes to sit down on a beanbag chair near the wall. Another BEEP from the computer. Paul grabs her and stops her.)

PAUL: Actually. Just stay right here.

(He positions her so she’s in front of the camera. Another BEEP. Paul looks at the computer. He moves her slightly to the left and turns her sideways.)

PAUL: Right here. I’ll be right back.

(Paul takes another look at her and then quickly runs out of the apartment. Jamie stays where she was placed. A rapid series of BEEPS emanates from the computer. She looks for the sound and sees the computer. Through the wall we hear Paul.)

PAUL: (Off) Dude! Dude! Wake up. Dude!

(Paul runs back in. Jamie turns to him.)

JAMIE: Why does your computer keep repeating “thank you”?

PAUL: It’s a, uh, gratitude program I just installed.

JAMIE: Oh. How is he?

PAUL: Um, okay, I think. I think maybe he’s just unconscious.

JAMIE: Do you think he’ll be all right?

PAUL: I’m not a doctor but…

(BEEP from the computer. Paul steps closer to read the screen.)

PAUL: But, I think you should stay here until he comes to. He probably just needs a little air. Uh.

(BEEP from the computer.)

PAUL: Would you like something to drink?

JAMIE: I could really use a shot of whiskey right now.

PAUL: Oh. Well. I only have water and Diet Cherry Fanta.

JAMIE: Water’s fine.

(Paul heads over to the kitchen.)

PAUL: I’m Paul, by the way.

JAMIE: Jamie. Thanks for being here, Paul. I’m such a nutcase when it comes to emergencies.

(Paul comes back with a glass of water.)

PAUL: Oh, sure, I’m always home.

(BEEP from the computer.)

PAUL: Because I’m Rick.

JAMIE: What?


PAUL: Rich. Because I’m so rich. I never need to leave.

(Jamie begins to take in her surroundings.)

JAMIE: Wow, you really like movies, huh?

PAUL: Oh yeah.

JAMIE: Is that a real light saber?

PAUL: Darth Vadar’s. From A New Hope.

JAMIE: No shit.

PAUL: You like Star Wars?

JAMIE: Love it. I was Princess Leia for Halloween this year. You know the outfit she wore as Jabba’s slave girl?

(Paul has a physical reaction to this image. Another series of BEEPS from the computer. Jamie looks at it and seems to be a little shocked.)

JAMIE: I don’t think your gratitude program is working very well. Now it’s just repeating “Take off your shirt” over and over again

(PAUL leaps over and slams the laptop closed. A series of BEEPS. He yanks out the headset and the camera. He stuffs the laptop under the blankets.)

JAMIE: You know, I should probably check on Jarrod.

PAUL: Who? Oh yeah! No! Let me go. I don’t want you to get freaked out again or anything.

JAMIE: Okay. Thanks.

(Paul runs out again.)

PAUL: (Off) Oh hey, dude. You’re up. Uh, no I haven’t seen her. What’s that over there?

(There is a dull thud, followed by the sound of something heavy falling. Paul comes running back in.)

PAUL: He had a relapse.

JAMIE: Oh no.

PAUL: But I think he’s going to be fine. You can hang out here until he’s better.

JAMIE: Oh. Sure. Okay.

PAUL: So…You wanna see the Steampunk action figures I’ve modded?

JAMIE: You do Steampunk? Cool!

PAUL: (In complete awe) Mela en’ coiamin

JAMIE: What?

PAUL: Nothing. Just an Elven blessing.

JAMIE: That’s neat.

PAUL: I could teach you, if you like.

JAMIE: That would be nice. (Beat) What’s on your shirt? Are you bleeding?

PAUL: What? Oh! No. (He wipes it away.) It must have been some sauce from my Spaghetti O’s.

(They share a laugh. Jamie sits down on the bed. We hear faint moaning through the walls. Paul turns on his stereo.)

PAUL: I hope you like Evanescence.

(Paul sits on the bed next to Jamie.)

JAMIE: They’re my favorite band.

(An annoying BEEPING noise begins.)

JAMIE: What’s that?

PAUL: I don’t know.

JAMIE: Listen, why don’t you check it out, while I slip into something a little more comfortable.

PAUL: What’s more comfortable than just a t-shirt?

JAMIE: You’ll see.

(She exits into the bathroom. Excited, Paul takes off his shirt and pants. The BEEPING is getting louder, so he begins searching for it. He looks all over and eventually winds up looking under the blankets of his bed. He is completely covered. The lights change very subtly. He comes out from under the blankets, stretching and yawning.)

PAUL: Wait. What? No no no no no no.

(He runs to the bathroom and knocks on the door.)

PAUL: Jamie? Hello?

(He opens the door.)

PAUL: NOOOO! Dammit!

(Something is still BEEPING. He makes it back to his bed where he digs out his computer. He opens it up and the beeping stops. He puts on his headset. The sound of enthusiastic lovemaking begins next door. Paul sighs.)

PAUL: (On headset) He, Slayer 9, what’s up? (Beat) Nothing, just listening to my neighbor get his baloney pony ridden. Again. Dude gets more tail than Apollo’s killed Cylons. (Beat) You’d be certifiable if you didn’t do Starbuck.

(The door opens and Jamie comes in, dressed, with donuts and orange juice.)

JAMIE: Good morning, sleepy head.

PAUL: (On headset) Dude, I gotta get back to you. I think I’m still dreaming.

(He pulls off the headset.)

PAUL: You’re…you’re real.

JAMIE: What? Last night wasn’t enough to convince you? Oh, I hope you don’t mind, but I borrowed some of your clothes.

(Paul is just standing, staring, flabbergasted.)

JAMIE: Listen, I thought maybe we could take a shower together and then watch LORT. All three movies, director’s cut of course, straight through.

(Paul falls to his knees and begins to weep.)

JAMIE: Paul, are you all right?

PAUL: I’m happier than a Ranchor in shit.

JAMIE: Cormamin lindua ele lle.

PAUL: It does, indeed.

(Paul stands up and goes to hug Jamie. He steps on one of his action figures that is on the floor.)


(He begins hopping around, loses his balance and falls behind the bed. There is a sickly sounding, WET CRACK.)

JAMIE: What are the odds?

(She looks around. Shrugs. Takes the donuts and leaves.)


Friday Sketch War: Fantasy Edition

Haven’t heard anything from Dave yet. But Richard’s already posted, even though he’s not feeling well. And it seems as though Red isn’t joining us this week either.

Update: Dave has posted and it is super fly! Check it.

Here’s my entry, for what it’s worth. Probably reveals a bit too much about my current work situation. But then, that’s why I’m sending out resumes. Right?

The Break Room

(Office break room. Marge and Peggy, two middle-aged, over weight secretaries are eating donuts and talking.)

MARGE: So I says to him, “Carl” I says “I know for a fact that Jim’s not keeping up with his work”.

PEGGY: (Mouthful of donut) He’s such a slacker.

MARGE: Right. We all know it. But Carl doesn’t see it. He goes “And what makes you think this?” And I almost laugh in his face. As if I have to make up stories about Jim.

PEGGY: (Mouthful of donut) Not likely.

MARGE: Right. So I says, “Carl, I was looking at his email inbox and there’s a whole list of file requests he hasn’t completed yet.” And Carl has the gall to get upset at me. “You can’t do that,” he says. “It’s an invasion of his privacy”, he says. Like that’s going to mean anything when we’re all out of jobs because Jim’s poor work ethic causes this whole company to fold.

PEGGY: (Mouthful of donut) Seriously.

MARGE: But Carl says he’ll look into it. He says he’ll say something to Jim.

PEGGY: (Mouthful of donut) Good for you.

MARGE: I’m just looking out for the company. I mean, Carl thinks he’s such a fantastic Office Manager, but we all know that I should have been the one to get that job. The only reason they hired him was because we needed more men in the office to fill a quota of some sort.

PEGGY: (Mouthful of donut) Damn ACLU.

MARGE: Exactly. The hippies ruined it for everyone. But I’ve already sent several emails to the CEO about Carl and his lack of caring about this company. I plan on getting him…

(Carl enters the break room and goes to the fridge)

MARGE: Oh hey Carl! How’s your day going?

CARL: All right. Thank God it’s Friday, you know.

MARGE: Amen to that. So, how’d it go with Jim? Is he going to straighten up and fly right?

CARL: Marge, I already told you once, this really isn’t any of your business. Jim’s only been back a week since his wife died. He’s taking things slow.

MARGE: Glacial, if you ask me.

CARL: I didn’t, Marge. No one did. And I hope you’ll stop sending me emails about him.

MARGE: He’s costing this company millions of dollars.

(Carl sighs and shakes his head. He exits.)

MARGE: Have a blessed day!

PEGGY: (Mouthful of donut): Yeah.


(Marge and Peggy share a laugh. Peggy nearly chokes on her donut.)

MARGE: As you can see, the man clearly has no regard for this company.

(Marge takes out a notepad and begins writing on it.)

MARGE: This is going in his file.

PEGGY: (Mouthful of donut) His file?

MARGE: I keep a file on everyone in the office. That way, if they ever do anything really wrong, or something that I don’t think befits an employee of this company, I can take it to the CEO and have them fired. Carl’s file is almost as big as Jim’s.

PEGGY: (Mouthful of donut) Do I have a file?

MARGE: Only because you’re my best friend here do I tell you this. Yes. You do. It’s the smoke breaks. You take a ten minute break every hour. That adds up.

(Peggy just stares at her. Jim enters the break room.)

MARGE: Hey, Jim. How are you doing? Again, we’re so sorry about your loss.

JIM: Thanks.

MARGE: But don’t you think using your wife’s death as an excuse to slack off at work only degrades her memory?

JIM: Excuse me?

MARGE: I couldn’t help but notice, as I read your emails, that you’re really far behind on…

(Jim punches Marge in the face, toppling her over in her chair. He gets a soda out of the fridge and exits.)

PEGGY: (Mouthful of donut) And have a blessed day.


Friday Sketch War: Holiday Edition

My week off didn’t necessarily inspire any great writing this week. But the blowing snow that I woke up to did. For whatever twisted reason, my brain has had “Deck the Halls” on constant repeat in my head.

It looks like Richard took some time away from praying to the Basketball and Porcelain Gods to drive to the hoop.

And Dave is summing up how we all feel when that dark day arrives.

As always, feel free to play along. Honestly, we call it a “war”, but we’re really lovers at heart.

(AT RISE: Max is slouching in a chair. He holds a glass of whiskey, the almost empty bottle sits on the table in front of him. He downs the rest of his drink and puts the glass down. With a heavy sigh he reaches for a gun. A .38 pistol. He looks at the gun for a moment and then puts the barrel to his temple. He closes his eyes. Will appears behind him.)

WILL: That’s really going to hurt you know.

(Max jumps, startled and drops the gun.)

WILL: Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.

MAX: How did you get in here?

WILL: You’re pointing a gun to your head about to take your own life and you’re worried about how secure your back door is?

MAX: Good point. Take whatever you want.

(Max picks up the gun and points it to his head.)

WILL: I didn’t come here to rob you.

MAX: Look, pal-

WILL: Will.

MAX: Whatever. This isn’t as easy as it looks okay? So I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop distracting me.

WILL: Made up your mind? Really going to go through with it?

MAX: Yes.

WILL: Huh.

(Max lowers the gun)

MAX: What?

WILL: What?

MAX: What’s “huh” supposed to mean?

WILLL: Well, it’s just that you’ve never completed anything you’ve started. Never seen anything through to the end in your whole life. I’m just a little surprised that this is the project you’ve decided to actually finish.

MAX: Who are you?

WILL: I’m Will.

MAX: What do you want from me?

WILL: That’s a really good question, Max.

MAX: Well, Will?

WILL: I’m here to show you how you’re life touches other people. To show you what will happen to them if you kill yourself.

MAX: Isn’t there a movie about this?

WILL: Yes. That’s where we got the idea. This time of year is full of suicides and a bunch of us were all sitting around watching “It’s a Wonderful Life” when someone said “Hey would should just do that.” So here I am.

(Max puts down the gun)

MAX: All right. Let’s see it.

WILL: We’ll start with your wife.

MAX: Ex-wife.

WILL: Right.

(A panel shifts to the side to reveal a couple making passionate love.)

WIFE: Yes! Yes! Yes! Don’t stop! You’re so much better than Max!

(The panel shifts back into place.)

WILL: Perhaps we should start with your mother.

MAX: My mother is dead.

WILL: Your brother?
(Max shakes his head “no”)
(Max shakes his head “no”)
Best friend?
Right, your best friend then.

(A panel shift to reveal the same couple making passionate love.)

BEST FRIEND: Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh baby you are so hot! Max was an idiot to ever let you go!

(The panel shifts back into place.)

WILL: How about someone you haven’t seen in a while?

MAX: There’s my Uncle Lou. I haven’t seen him in years.

(The panel slides back to reveal the couple still going at it. Uncle Lou enters)

UNCLE LOU: Little Maxie, are you here? It’s your old Uncle…
(He sees them going at it.)
Great day in the morning.
Say son, how’s about you move over a give an old pro a chance?

BEST FRIEND/WIFE: Sure, come on in!

(The panel slides back into place)

MAX: Are you finished? Or does someone else get to bang my wife?

WILL: Ex-wife.

(Max picks up the gun)

MAX: Excuse me.

WILL: No, wait. There has to be someone whose life will be altered if you kill yourself.

MAX: I don’t think I’m going to kill myself anymore.

WILL: Oh. That’s good. My work is done here.

(Max crosses over and pulls back the panel where the three of them are going at it. He shoots them all. He pulls the panel back into place.)

WILL: Oh my.

MAX: Do angels die if you shoot them?

WILL: Oh, I’m not an angel, I live next doo-

(Max shoots Will. Max walks back over to his seat and pours himself another drink and starts singing “Deck the Halls”)