Sketch War

Author: mbrownlee

  • 365 Sketches in 365 Days

    Howdy Fellow Warriors, Michael here.

    Long time no sketch. From me, at least. I’m hoping to change that this week.

    But before I return to crush all of you into a fine sketcherific powder I wanted to point out an impressive undertaking by a fellow sketch writer.

    Sketch Field Marshall Joe Janes has challenged himself to write a sketch a day for the next year. Joe’s a teacher at Second City and Columbia College here in Chicago, as well as a performer and all around swell guy. Just reading his pieces will be like getting a free class in the art of writing sketch comedy. I know I’ll be tuning in every day.

  • FSW: Best Friends Edition

    I have returned from my sojourn into the cold, internetless world and I can only say one thing; Man did I get a lot of work done!

    I’ll post more about it later, but today is Friday and that means Sketch War.

    No word from Richard or Ken or Dave yet this week, but I’m sure they’re out there lurking somewhere.

    This week’s theme, brought to us by Richard, is “Best Friends”.

    I’ve been noodling around with a sitcom idea based on a couple of ne’er do well friends and I figured this would be a good excuse to actually do a little writing about them.

    Full Disclosure: The germ of this scene was created during a writing exercise with another creative cat. I’m hoping that they won’t be too offended that I’ve run off with it.

    I don’t have a title for it at the moment, but the file name I’ve been saving it under is “Jerks”.

    Oh, and next week’s theme is Mad Scientist.

    INT. BANK — MORNING

    JULIAN, bookish, 30s, stands in line at a teller window, check in his hand. Ani, sexy-nerdish, 30s, messenger bag slung on her shoulder, sneaks up behind him and jams her
    fingers into his ribs. He lets out an embarrassingly girlish giggle then immediately whips around to face Ani.

    JULIAN
    Why! Do you insist on doing that?!

    ANI
    God help me, I love that sound.

    JULIAN
    What are you doing here?

    ANI
    It’s the fifteenth. We always have lunch together on the fifteenth.

    JULIAN
    I know that, but this isn’t the Under the Tracks Grill.

    ANI
    Well, today being a special day and all, I thought maybe you’d want an extra ten minutes of me. Plus, I couldn’t wait to show you what I got you.

    JULIAN
    If you pull out a giant, black dildo, I swear to Christ-

    ANI
    Relax, Sister Mary Soggy Diaper, it’s nothing like that.

    She reaches into her bag and pulls out a latex, prairie dog mask and puts it on.

    ANI (CONT’D)
    Pretty sweet, huh?

    JULIAN
    Yeah, except I can still hear your voice.

    A Bank Guard notices them and begins walking in their direction.

    ANI
    I figured you could wear this in that cubicle farm of an office you work in.

    She starts to do a little dance. Julian notices the Guard heading their way.

    JULIAN
    Oh crap. You gotta take that off in here.

    ANI
    (Baby voiced)
    Aw, wassa matter, Julian? Am I embarrwassing you again?

    Her dancing becomes more frantic. Julian reaches for the mask but gets a handful of her hair instead.

    ANI (CONT’D)
    Ow! Douche.

    Ani pulls Julian’s hair and he emits a high-pitched, girlish scream.

    JULIAN
    Ani, stop fucking around.

    They begin to wrestle.

    GUARD
    Hey!

    In their struggling they bump into a little, old lady who was standing ahead of Julian and knock her over. A teller looks up at the commotion, sees the masked Ani, panics and hits the alarm. The Guard draws his taser.

    GUARD (CONT’D)
    Don’t move!

    Ani and Julian freeze in mid grapple.

    ANI
    Do you think he’s talking to us?

    The little, old lady has righted herself and thunks Julian over the head with her purse which causes him to bump into Ani, who spins towards the Guard. From the Guard’s point of view it looks like a giant prairie dog is about to attack him. He panics and fires the taser, but Ani has spun out of the way and onto the floor and the barbs attached to the electrodes embed themselves into the little, old lady who jolts a couple of times, her false teeth falling out, and collapses to the floor. As Julian is helping Ani up, they take all this in.

    JULIAN
    Maybe we should…

    Outside we hear the wail of sirens.

    ANI
    Definitely.

    They bolt for the door.

    EXT. BANK — DAY

    A small crowd is starting to gather as the bell can clearly be heard on the street. Julian and Ani, still wearing the prairie dog mask, come running out the door. People give them a wide berth as they race around the corner and into an alley.

    Police cars screech to a halt in front of the bank. The Guard comes through the bank doors, wheezing. Onlookers point police in the direction of the alley and they take off on foot while a couple of cars peel rubber to head around the block.

    EXT. ALLEY — DAY
    Julian and Ani are running for their lives. Ani is ahead of Julian.

    JULIAN
    You couldn’t have waited for me at the restaurant!

    ANI
    You’re kidding me, right? I couldn’t have planned a better birthday present for you if I tried!

    JULIAN
    How’s about next year you just bake me a cake?

    ANI
    What do I look like? Your mom?

    JULIAN
    Nah, you’re ass is too big.

    She stops dead in her tracks and whips off the mask. Julian runs a couple of steps past her then stops.

    JULIAN (CONT’D)
    What are you doing? They’re right behind us.

    ANI
    You think I have a fat ass?

    She smacks him with the mask, which he then grabs off of her.

    JULIAN
    I was kidding. Come on!

    ANI
    There’s 25% truth in every joke, you know.

    JULIAN
    You’ve met my mom. She’s built like a table leg.

    Ani thinks about this for a moment.

    JULIAN (CONT’D)
    I have a bigger ass than my mom.

    ANI
    I suppose.

    JULIAN
    Can we go now?

    ANI
    Yeah. Sorry. It’s just I’ve been trying to watch what I eat more and-

    OFFICER 1
    There he is!

    Officer 1 dives through the air and tackles Julian. Officer 2 joins the pile as they wrestle handcuffs onto him.

    ANI
    Um, Officers.

    OFFICER 2
    Stand back, ma’am.

    They drag Julian to his feet. He’s glaring at Ani.

    OFFICER 1
    Let’s go, Squirrel-Boy.

    ANI
    It’s a prairie dog actually.
    (To Julian)
    Do you want me to come bail you out?

    JULIAN
    Maybe you should just leave me alone for the rest of the day?

    ANI
    Really? Weird.

    JULIAN
    Oh, and you do have a fat ass.

    ANI
    I know you don’t mean that.

    They walk Julian to an awaiting squad car. They put him in the back.

    ANI (CONT’D)
    I’ll bring you some lunch.
    (beat)
    Protect your stink star!
    (beat)
    Happy birthday!

    They drive off. Ani pulls a large, black dildo out of her bag.

    ANI (CONT’D)
    Maybe I should have given him this first.

    She shrugs and heads to the Under the Tracks Grill.

    FADE OUT:

  • FSW: Apocalypse Edition

    I appear to be the first one out of the gate this morning. But since Richard and Ken are in later time zones, I suppose they could still be waking up. Or perhaps trying to shake off all the folksy charm that was slung at us last night. Especially Richard, who was live blogging the debate on his new site.

    At any rate, even though the politcos have been screaming that the sky is falling, it appears to be firmly in place. Nonetheless, the theme was Apocalypse, so that’s what I bring you.

    Enjoy.

    The Dream Scenario OR How Dick Never Stopped Loving the Bomb

    (A secret, underground bunker somewhere in the Midwest. Uniformed men sit at consoles and radar displays pushing buttons and looking very official. Suddenly an alarm goes off; a red light begins to flash. Commander Marcus and Captain Briggs rush into the room.)

    Marcus: Corporal, report!

    Corp: It’s the President, sir, he’s dead.

    Briggs: My God.

    Marcus: Prepare launch coordinates Alpha-Zulu-Foxtrot.

    Briggs: Commander, we don’t know even know how he was killed, how can we launch an attack?

    Marcus: Captain, I have my orders.

    Briggs: Corporal, what’s the status of the President’s death?

    Corp: They’re saying it was a heart attack, sir.

    Briggs: A heart attack?

    Marcus: Prepare launch sequence on my mark, Corporal.

    Briggs: Commander, he died of natural causes. There’s no need for a strike.

    Marcus: Mark!

    Briggs: Commander, wait, we’re about to start a war for no reason…

    Corporal: Launch sequence initiated, sir.

    Marcus: Captain, either you let me do my job or I’ll have you thrown in the brig for treason.

    Briggs: But what’s the target? Who are we bombing?

    (A secret door opens and Dick Cheney, dressed like Patton, strides into the room.)

    Cheney: Washington, D.C.

    Briggs: But –

    Cheney: President McCain is dead and it’s our duty to protect this country from its enemies.

    Briggs: By bombing the Capitol? Surely, Vice President Palin can…

    Cheney: What? Skin us a moose? No, son, we’re going to finish what we started eight years ago. Only this time we’re going to do it right.

    Briggs: But a nuclear bomb detonating over D.C. will kill hundreds of thousands of people.

    Cheney: And when the American people find out it was the Iranians who launched it. Well. (He chuckles to himself.)

    Briggs: This is a coup. I can’t let you do this.

    Cheney: If you aren’t with us, Captain, then you must be with them. Commander.

    Marcus: Captain, you are relieved of duty. Guards, take him to the brig.

    Corporal: Ten seconds to launch, sir.

    (The Guards grab the Captain.)

    Briggs: But this could lead to World War III.

    Cheney: God willing.

    (They begin to drag him away.)

    Briggs: You can’t do this! This is murder!

    (They drag him from the room. In the distance a great rumbling sound is heard.)

    Corporal: The bird’s away, sir.

    Cheney: Remind me to send those boys at Diebold a fruit basket. They made their country proud last November. Knew McCain’s ticker wouldn’t last the year.

    Marcus: Yes, sir. And might I say, it’s good to have you back, sir.

    (Cheney stares at him through squinted eyes.)

    Cheney: I will not tolerate faggots in my military!

    Marcus: No, sir, I was merely saying…

    Cheney: “Merely”? “Merely”? Who uses that word?

    (Cheney pulls out a .45 and shoots Commander Marcus in the face.)

    Cheney: Somebody clean up this mess.

    (He hunches over the Corporal.)

    Cheney: Let’s get two more of those rockets ready.

    Corporal: Targets, sir?

    Cheney: Point one at New York City and the other at Los Angeles. Might as well do a little of the Lord’s work while we’re here. This country will be much stronger without its Sodom and Gomorrah.

    Corporal: Yes, sir.

    (The secret door opens and George W. Bush skips in.)

    George: Hey, Dick, you ready for me yet? Oh wow! Look at all these buttons!

    (George leaps toward the control panel and starts flipping switches and pressing buttons. Cheney grabs him.)

    Cheney: Dammit! I thought I told you to wait until I came for you.

    George: I know, but the Veggie Tales video was over and I couldn’t find where you hid the juice boxes.

    Cheney: Go back to your room. I’ll get you another juice box in a minute.

    George: But I’m thirsty now, Dick.

    Cheney: Do you want a time out?

    George: No. You never let me have any fun.

    (George leaves. More rumblings.)

    Corporal: Uh, sir. We just launched three more rockets.

    Cheney: Where are they headed?

    Corporal: I got the coordinates in for New York and L.A.

    Cheney: What about the third one?

    Corporal: Looks like it’s on course to strike Israel.

    Cheney: That’s a lucky break. Just goes to show you that God is on our side. All right, Corporal, you’re in command here now. I’ve got to prepare Corky in there for his address to the nation.

    Corporal: Yes, sir.

    Cheney: Man, I love this job!

    (Cheney exits whistling “Hail to the Chief”.)

    END

  • FSW: Job Hunting Edition

    What a timely theme, as thousands of brokers, bankers and theives are looking for work. And oddly enough, Ken, Richard and I as seem to playing in the same ballpark with our sketches. I wonder why?

    Richard’s recruiters have the right man for the job.

    Ken’s rolling out a new talk show hosted by everyone’s favorite moose hunter.

    Next week’s theme, if there is a next week, is Apocalypse.

    Here’s my sketch. I wrote it last night watching the news. Enjoy.

    Curious George Visits the Farm

    (June 23, 2009. We are in the kitchen of the Bush Ranch House in Crawford, Texas. Laura is trying to make breakfast. George is constantly getting in her way.)

    Laura: George, for cryin’ out loud. I thought you said you were gonna to help.

    George: I am helpin’.

    Laura: What’s this?

    (She holds up a skillet with a dozen eggs smashed into it, shells and all.)

    George: Well, you just said eggs and I wasn’t sure which part or how many you wanted so I put the whole thing in there.

    Laura: (Sighs) When are you going to get a job and get out of my hair?

    George: Laura, I’ve been looking for a job since December. With the economy in the crapper, there’s just nobody hiring. I’ve called almost every business, baseball team and college in the country and none of them need a new commander in chief.

    Laura: Did you call that recruiter and ask about the travelling lecturer position?

    George: Yeah, but I think that fella was having some sort of break down. I’d no more than said my name and he just started laughing hysterically and didn’t stop.

    Laura: Well, you’ve gotta do something before I go out of my mind. Why don’t you head over to Jasper’s farm. I heard Maebell say they were looking for some help.

    George: Aw, honey, can’t I just stay here and clear brush?

    Laura: George, there’s not a lick of brush left on this ranch. You’ve cut, hacked and weed-whacked every piece of vegetation in a three mile radius. Go to Jasper’s. Tell him I sent ya.

    George: But honey…

    Laura: Go on! Get!

    (We jump to Jasper’s Farm. Jasper is working on a tractor. George kicks one of the tires.)

    George: So anyways, Laura thought maybe I could be of some assistance to you.

    Jasper: I don’t really see how George.

    George: I’ve got some ideas.

    Jasper: Do you now?

    George: I was thinking maybe we could invade Hamilton’s farm, take over their crop as well. That way you’d have twice as much corn to bring to market.

    Jasper: Ah, George, it doesn’t quite work like that.

    George: Well, we could always just torch it all. Make it so he has nothing to sell, thus increasing the worth of your crop.

    Jasper: You know, George, I’m afraid I can’t help you.

    George: Please, Jasper. Laura said if I came back without a job she was gonna put me in a time out.

    (Jasper scratches his head, thinking.)

    Jasper: Well, I do have a problem that maybe you could help me with.

    George: I’m your man, Jasper.

    (We jump to the middle of Jasper’s corn field. George is wearing overalls and has bells and shiny pieces of metal tied to his arms. He is standing on a small perch, with his arms tied straight out to a cross beam, as if he’s been crucified. A Secret Service Agent stands on the ground at his side.)

    George: Can you believe this? All I gotta do is stand out here and watch over the corn.

    Agent: Yes, sir.

    George: I bet Clinton will be jealous when he finds out.

    Agent: Yes, sir.

    (A crow lands on George’s arm.)

    George: Would you look at that. I think he likes me.

    (The crow begins pecking at George’s eyes.)

    George: Ow! Hey, bird, stop that. Ow! I don’t think he likes me no more. Ow!

    (More crows join in and soon George is covered with the black birds. His cries are drowned out by the cawing of the happy, feasting birds. The Secret Service Agent, out of reflex, takes a step towards George, but then stops himself, looks around, and heads back to the farm house.)

    And the world lived happily ever after….

  • FSW: Sports Edition

    Richard’s up with a basketball story that seems strangely familiar.

    Ken, the theme originator, brings us three fans who just want to believe in something.

    Dave’s been absent the last couple of weeks, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t writing. He’s just not writing silly sketches.

    In honor of Richard’s recent good news, next week’s theme is Job Hunting.

    Here’s my stab at this week’s theme.


    American Dreamer

    (An elegant restaurant. Barry and Jill Hamilton are dressed for a night out.)

    Barry: Thanks for arranging this evening, honey. I can’t remember the last time we got dressed up for a date.

    Jill: Well, I know you’ve been working so hard, studying for your certification test. And since Barry, Jr. is old enough for a sitter, I thought we could use a night out.

    Barry: Can we afford this place?

    Jill: It’s all taken care of.

    Maitre d’: (With a wink to Jill) Right this way please.

    (He leads them to a back room, closed off from the rest of the restaurant by a curtain.)

    Barry: Our own, private room? How romantic.

    Maitre d’: Enjoy.

    (The Maitre d’ pulls back the curtain to reveal Earl and Edith Hamilton, Barry’s parents. Helen and Gary Whiteman, Jill’s parents. They are all seated in a circle. There is no table.)

    Edith: Surprise!

    Earl: Goddamn it, Edith, it isn’t his birthday.

    Barry: What’s all this?

    (Jill sits leaving one chair for Barry.)

    Earl: Son, we need to talk to you. And you need to listen. Please, sit down.

    (Barry reluctantly does so.)

    Barry: Honey, what’s going on?

    Gary: What’s going on is, we’re not going to let you ruin your life any longer.

    Helen: Easy, Gary. We’re here as ambassadors of love and support, Barry.

    Gary: Jesus Christ.

    Helen: What? That’s what Dr. Phil says when he presides over an intervention.

    Barry: This is an intervention? For me? For what? I’m not a drug user. I’m not having an affair. I don’t gamble. Why does my life need intervening?

    Earl: It’s about your future, son. Your career choice.

    Barry: What about it?

    Edith: Well, we just think, and it’s not because we’re not proud of you, we are, but we think you need to take a good look at what your goals are in this life and realize that you’re never going to achieve them.

    Barry: I’m going to be a teacher, mom. My goals are to help educate the leaders of tomorrow.

    Edith: (To the Whitemans) We thought it was a phase.

    Barry: I’m sorry you don’t approve of my career path, but I have a chance to make a difference in this world. The United States ranks 18th out of 24 nations in education. Over 50% of students can’t even find Iraq on a map. And don’t even get me started on spelling and grammar.

    Helen: You’re never going to be able to raise a family on a teacher’s salary.

    Edith: And what happens if a student shoots you?

    Gary: Hell, it’s fine if you’re a spinster or a homo or someone who’s never going to have kids, but you’ve got responsibilities now.

    Barry: Gary, I’m not going to argue with you there. I would do anything for Jill and Barry, Jr., but material wealth isn’t very high on our priority list.

    Helen: Oh really?

    (Helen nudges Jill with her elbow.)

    Jill: Look, honey, I have needs. And some of those needs have to be met with Gucci and Prada and Gap.

    Helen: And that’s just for the baby.

    Barry: But, you told me you didn’t care about those things. You said we could live in a tent under a bridge as long as we were together.

    Jill: I’d just had four orgasms, Barry. You could have told me that we were going to live on an Amish farm and I would have gone along with it.

    Helen: Four? Really?

    Gary: Well she’s not with him because he’s a provider, that’s for sure.

    Earl: Look, son, we’re here today because we’ve enrolled you as a walk on at Cubs spring training.

    Barry: You what?

    Edith: Honey, base salary for professional baseball players is close to $400,000 a year.

    Gary: And that’s just for the ones that suck.

    Edith: The average is closer to $2.5 million.

    Gary: You could ride the pine all year and still make a great salary.

    Barry: But I haven’t played baseball since high school.

    Earl: That’s why Gary and I have agreed to help get you in shape.

    (He pulls out a baseball mitt and ball.)

    Gary: It’s the American Dream, Barry.

    Barry: Because American’s are lazy and would rather play a stupid game than roll up their sleeves and work.

    Gary: Cool your jets there, comrade. I didn’t spend three years of my life burying land mines along the MeKong so you could bad mouth patriots.

    Barry: Actually…

    Edith: Honey, we just want you to give it a try. A couple of years is all we’re asking.

    Helen: Heck, the average career span is only something like five years anyhow.

    Earl: You could be back in the classroom before your 30th birthday.

    Gary: And with a sizable nest egg to boot.

    Jill: Don’t you think Barry, Jr. would be so proud to have a father who was a real, live, major league, baseball player?

    Barry: Well, I suppose it would be cool to be part of the American Pastime. To play in some of the same stadiums as Ruth and DiMaggio.

    Gary: They’ve torn most of the old parks…

    Earl: (Waving Gary off) Ah-ah-ah. (To Barry) That’s the spirit, son.

    Barry: And we’d get to travel. See the country.

    Jill: Think of all the history we could soak up when we play Philadelphia.

    Earl: Or the Senators.

    Gary: You could give your students firsthand accounts of all the major cities’ finest museums.

    Barry: Okay. I’ll do it!

    (Everyone cheers and hugs one another.)

    Earl: I’m proud of you son.

    Helen: (To Jill) Oh, honey, I’m so happy for you. Your son will have a nanny.

    Barry: I just…

    Edith: What is it, dear?

    Barry: Well, what if I don’t make the team?

    Earl: We’ve already planned for that.

    Helen: You’re going to be a reality TV star.

    Jill: A camera crew is going to follow you all through spring training.

    Gary: “Major League Dreamer”.

    Edith: We’ve also already sold the movie rights to your story.

    Earl: Edith! I thought we were going to save that for Christmas.

    Barry: Wow. You guys have thought of everything. When do we start?

    Jill: We already have.

    (She points to a large two-way mirror on the wall.)

    Barry: Sweet. Well, dad, what do you say we have a catch?

    Earl: I’d love to son.

    (Earl throws the ball at Barry, who misses it and it hits him in the face. A man steps out from behind a curtain.)

    Director: Hold it. Stop tape. Earl, throw the ball again, but this time at his nads. Barry, let it hit you. Roll tape!

    (He ducks behind the curtain. Earl looks at Barry and shrugs.)

    Barry: Wait, can’t we talk about-

    (Earl beans Barry in the beans. He doubles over. The Director pops out.)

    Director: Perfect! We’re minting gold here, people, gold. Moving on!

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: Change Edition

    So far, Richard is the only combatant on the field with his funny, Wonder Twins sketch.

    This week’s theme was “Change”. Been a lot of it happening around me lately. It seems like my world has been build on a fault line and the Earth is beginning to shift and move like a bowl of Jell-O in great-grandma’s hands. But change is good, right? Lord I hope so.

    So here’s today’s offering. When I tossed out the theme I was thinking of writing a more political-centric sketch. But the Muse had other ideas. And there’s no arguing with her, either. It’s her way or the highway.

    Enjoy

    Be The Change

    MONTAGE: We see a series of shots of Brendan Johnson walking around the city doing good deeds. Someone tossing a cup at a trashcan and it misses, Brendan picks it up. Brendan is collecting pages of newspaper that blow in the wind and takes them to a recycling can. Brendan is carrying a little, old ladies groceries for her as they cross a busy street. Brendan is taking soup to a sick friend. Brendan is in the park with a pooper scooper. Brendan is scraping gum off the sidewalk.

    Cut to:

    INT. COFFEE SHOP – DAY

    Brendan is sitting at a small table, sipping a steaming cup of tea while reading the Tao Te Ching. The bell rings over the door and Han Kerin enters looking down trodden. As the door closes, he slings his heavy book-bag over his shoulder and it slams into a woman reading notices on a corkboard.

    WOMAN: Hey!

    Han is oblivious and walks to the counter. After ordering he reaches into his pocket to pull out money and a fistful of coins scatter all over the counter and floor. In an frantic effort to try and catch some, he manages to knock over the display of CDs that were on the counter and spill two different people’s coffees. People mutter “asshole” and “jerk” as they try to avoid this walking disaster. As Han is on his hands and knees picking up his lost change, Brendan joins him and hands him a bunch of coins he’s picked up.

    BRENDAN: Rough morning?

    HAN: Aren’t they all?

    BRENDAN: Each day starts with a clean slate, full of potential and possibility.

    HAN: Yeah. Potential for more shit to go wrong.

    BRENDAN: If you only look for the negative that’s all you’re ever going to find.

    HAN: It’s better than constantly having your hopes dashed.

    BRENDAN: If you want good things to happen, you have to make them happen. Be the change you want to see in the world.

    HAN: Are you high or something?

    BRENDAN: On life, my friend. On life.

    HAN: Okay, well, it makes you sound like a crazy person.

    BRENDAN: And what if I’m the only sane one here?

    HAN: Then you’re delusional as well.

    BRENDAN: What are you doing right now?

    HAN: Well, I’m supposed to go to the unemployment office to see if…

    BRENDAN: You should come with me to the park.

    HAN: So you can murder me?

    Brendan laughs and pats Han on the back.

    BRENDAN: Just for an hour. I want to open your eyes to the possibilities that this world has to offer you.

    HAN: In the park?

    BRENDAN: Come on. When was the last time you really took a chance? Huh? The journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step.

    HAN: Well, I suppose it can’t hurt.

    They are standing. Brendan has put his arm around Han.

    BRENDAN: The world is a beautiful, serene place. It’s us and our attitudes about it that make it ugly.

    Han is getting a little chocked up.

    HAN: You know, you’re the first person who’s actually said anything to me other than “Watch it, asshole.” or “How’s about a shower, fuckface.” in a long time.

    BRENDAN: Let’s go generate some positivity for you, my friend.

    HAN: All right. Let’s do it.

    Brendan grabs his things and they head for the door. Han is smiling.

    HAN: I can’t remember the last time I felt this…light. This excited about something.

    BRENDAN: Once you open the door to positive energy it’s hard to keep it out.

    Brendan begins to cross the street.

    HAN: Hey, what’s your name?

    Brendan stops and looks back. He opens his mouth to speak just as a city bus blows past running him over. Han shakes his head. While Han is standing there, looking at the carnage, a shady fellow gently pulls Han’s laptop out of his bag and walks off with it. He turns to leaves and stops as he has stepped in something. He picks up his shoe to reveal a long, sticky string of bubble gum and dog crap.

    HAN: That’s more like it.

    He walks away.

    FADE TO BLACK

  • FSW: Funeral Edition

    “Funeral” was Richard’s theme and he’s already up and running with a clever sketch.

    Nothing from Ken yet, so we’ll have to wait and see what he comes up with.

    Dave still has that just washed glow so I’m not sure if he’s joining us this week or not.

    As for next week’s theme, since it’s a word I haven’t heard enough the last couple of weeks, let’s go with Change.

    I’ll Be Back

    (A funeral home. Everyone is dressed in black. A closed casket sits at the center of the aisle. Julia stands and addresses the crowd.)

    JULIA: Friends. Family. People who just showed up for the free food. It’s so good to see you all here today. I’m sure Henry is looking down on all of us and smiling. Smiling because so many of his friends have come to pay their respects. Smiling because he died doing what he loves, helping little, old ladies cross the street. Smiling, because he died owing large sums of money to all of you. If you’ve come looking to collect I’m afraid I have bad news. We don’t even have the funds to give him a proper burial. And the suggestion that we hack his corpse into tiny pieces and let dogs eat then shit him out, while colorful, isn’t really in keeping with the spirit of the day.

    (A number of people rise, grumbling and exit the room.)

    Julia: We’re here to remember the kindness and love that he shared with us.

    Steve: He borrowed my books and never returned them.

    Kate: He told me I had a fat ass.

    Greg: He always ate my lunch whenever I brought it to work.

    Voice From the Back of the Room: Come on. We can do better than that can’t we?

    Julia: Henry? Is that you?

    (Henry stands in the back. Everyone gasps.)

    Julia: You’re alive!

    Greg: I knew it was too good to be true.

    Henry: No, no, I’m dead. I just wanted to come back and check out my funeral. It’s not going as well as I had hoped.

    Julia: Well, it appears that you weren’t the best guy to know.

    Henry: Me? Come on. We all have quirks that we’re ashamed of.

    (Looking at those gathered. He points to a woman in the front row.)

    Henry: Like Jenny here. She steals money from her senile grandmother. Or Max over there. I took his pedophilia secret to the grave with me. And Jeremy.

    (He looks around the room.)

    Henry: Where’s Jeremy?

    (A hand raises toward the back corner.)

    Henry: Jeremy here is the one that pushed me in front of that train.

    (A gasp from the crowd.)

    Henry: Right, huh? That’s shittier than eating someone’s peanut butter sandwich every day. Right?

    Greg: Well…

    Henry: But don’t worry, Jeremy. I didn’t come back to haunt you. I came back to forgive you.

    Jeremy: Uh…Thanks.

    Henry: That and I wanted to deliver the good news myself.

    Jeremy: Good news?

    Henry: I’m going to be reincarnated as your son!

    (Henry hugs Jeremy.)

    Jeremy: That’s going to be tough seeing as I don’t have a girlfriend I have no plans to settle down.

    Henry: I know, right. But that high school girl you’ve been diddling is about to call you and tell you she missed her period.

    Jeremy: But we always use a…

    (Jeremy’s cell phone rings)

    Jeremy: (Into phone) Hello?….Hey, babe, can I call you right…What?…Aw shit!…Are you sure?…

    Julia: You get to choose who you want to come back as?

    Henry: Only in certain cases. I wasn’t supposed to die for another forty-seven years, so since I got short changed with that life, I get to pick how I want my next life to go.

    Julia: The whole thing?

    Henry: Pretty much. It’s going to be rough for a while. Being the child of a high school senior is never easy. But it helps build character. Besides, my grandparents are loaded. And I grow up to be the most powerful man in the world.

    Julia: You’re going to be The President of the United States?

    Henry: No. CEO of ExxonMobile.

    Jeremy: (Hangs up the phone) Well, smart guy. Stephanie and I are going to meet to discuss our options.

    Henry: What options are those? Dad.

    Jeremy: Well, I think the only smart thing to do is abort you.

    Henry: (Gasps) You’d kill me twice?

    Jeremy: What’s to kill. You’re a zygote at this point. A teeny-tiny blob of jelly.

    Henry: Haven’t you heard? Life begins at the moment of conception. What about the soul?

    Jeremy: Well, the way I look at it. If you’re supposed to be the baby, but you’re still here, then that means there isn’t a soul to worry about.

    Henry: You’re an evil, liberal bastard.

    Jeremy: Evil? You’re the one that decided to seek revenge by planting yourself in Stephanie’s uterine wall.

    Henry: You haven’t seen the last of me. There’s still time to come back as a mountain lion or a crocodile or grizzly bear. You better be careful where you vacation because you never know where I’ll be lurking.

    Jeremy: Yeah, but with the increase in global warming and more and more park land used for drilling and mining, most of the top food chain predators will be extinct soon.

    Henry: Yeah, well, you better hope I don’t come back as a…a…spider or something. I’ll lay eggs up your nose and then you’ll be sorry.

    Jeremy: I’ll keep plenty of Raid handy just in case.

    Henry: Balls!

    (Henry storms off.)

    Julia: Are you really going to talk her into having an abortion?

    Jeremy: Why not? Neither one of us wants to be a parent. Besides, she’d be six months pregnant when cheerleading try-outs roll around. Some things are just more important.

    Julia: True.

    Blackout

  • FSW: Gathering Edition

    Another Friday, another sketch. Let the games begin.

    Richard is up and ready with a sketch that might be my favorite to date. I’m sure it has nothing to do with my own tendencies to write about high school crushes and the voices that guide us.

    Ken has a tale of witches that think green.

    Dave is still recovering from his tragic loss, so nothing from his camp yet.

    It was Ken that pitched out this week’s theme, Gatherings

    I don’t know if it’s because great minds think alike or what, but I was going to post a funeral scene when I noticed that Richard suggested that for next week’s theme. I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself having a whole week to polish a scene.

    Not wanting to disturb the dark clouds that are swirling in my bean this week, I figured I wouldn’t stray too far from the funeral home. You might want to put down the slice of pizza before you start. You’ve been warned.

    American Male

    (City sidewalk. Early afternoon. A large crowd is gathered around one another looking at something on the ground. Gary, a well dressed man in his 30s, sees his friend Al, also well dressed and 30s, among the gawkers. Al is finishing his lunch, a hotdog. Gary has a large coffee.)

    Gary: Hey, Al. Long time no see. How’s tricks?

    Al: Gary! Buddy! Doing all right, thanks.

    (They shake hands, doing the awkward chest bump “guy hug” thing.)

    Gary: What’s with the crowd?

    Al: Jumper.

    Gary: No shit.

    (They both look up at the building.)

    Gary: What floor?

    Al: Not sure. But it must have been up there pretty far. All that’s left is a suit full of pulp.

    Gary: Damn.

    Al: I know.

    Gary: Did he land on anyone?

    Al: Doesn’t look like it. Though that woman over there got a nice helping of splatter.

    (They look over at a woman, covered in blood and brain matter, sitting at a bus stop staring off into space.)

    Gary: Nice. Well, I guess she gets the rest of the day off, huh?

    Al: Seriously. Lucky duck. Oh, hey, you gotta check this out.

    (They push their way through the crowd to get a better look.)

    Gary: Oh my God!

    Al: I know, right? That’s got to be a $1000 suit.

    Gary: What a waste.

    Al: At least take the coat off before you jump.

    Gary: Seriously.

    (Gary squats to look closer.)

    Gary: Dude, that’s a fucking Skagen. Completely smashed.

    Al: Some people just don’t have a clue. (With a mouthful of hotdog.) Oh, hey, watch your shoes there, buddy.

    (Gary looks down and realizes he’s inches away from stepping on something red and squishy. He stands.)

    Gary: Thanks man. If I mucked up these Guccis, I’d fucking kill myself.

    (There is the briefest of pauses as they look at one another, then burst out laughing.)

    Al: Hey, you going to that meet and greet over at Sidley Friday night?

    Gary: Standing around with a bunch of vultures in cheap suits trying to blow smoke up my stink star? No thanks. I think I’m going to take Nikki over to that new sushi place on Randolph.

    Al: Dude, you gotta spring for the babe buffet. They lay out all this crap on a hot, naked Asian chick. A-mazing. Dipping pan-joon in her poon is not an option, sadly.

    (Paramedics arrive on the scene with a stretcher and one of them bumps into Al.)

    Al: Hey, Jack, where’s the fire?

    Gary: Some people.

    Al: Not an ounce of fucking respect in this city anymore.

    Gary: Seriously.

    Al: Hey, we should do golf or wine or something some time, yeah?

    Gary: Totally. Text me.

    Al: Will do. Well, I should be getting back to the slave quarters.

    Gary: Yeah, time flies when you’re having fun.

    Al: It must be like you’re living in a time machine, right?

    (They share a laugh. They start to walk away. Gary points at Al’s shirt.)

    Gary: Dude, I think you got some mustard on your shirt.

    (Al looks down, trying to see.)

    Al: Are you fucking kidding me? Goddamn it! That’s going to ruin my whole fucking day.

    Gary: Seriously.

    (They walk off. The crowd continues to stare at the scene. One of the paramedics is talking to the splattered woman.)

    BLACKOUT

  • Friday Sketch War – Back to School Edition

    Wow. A week’s gone by. I guess you gotta be careful when you start looking for change. Cause then things change.

    Anyhow, it’s Friday. I’m very exicted to announce we have a new battler in our midst.

    Ken has been spying on us from San Francisco and decided to join the fight this week. Be sure to give him a nice Sketch War welcome.

    Richard is raiding his father’s wardrobe for today’s sketch.

    Dave is silently stalking us as always. I’m sure we’ll hear his battle cry soon enough.

    “Back to School” was my suggestion and I’ve had fun working on it. Enjoy!

    In Country with Young Men

    (A rubble-strewn city street. Burned out cars and demolished storefronts. A group of well armed, heavily armored people appear around the corner. Crouching, they hurry to a position behind an abandoned car.)

    Johnson: (Into radio) Strongarm, Strongarm, be advised, we are in position, have visual of the target.

    (The radio squawks with static.)

    Strongarm: (Over radio) Roger that. Proceed to objective.

    (Johnson turns to the rest of the group.)

    Johnson: All right, this is it. Everyone stay close and keep your eyes peeled.

    Tank: There’s a lot of open ground between here and there.

    Johnson: You’re not going soft on me now, are you Tank?

    Tank: Just sayin’. We got some cherries with us never been this close to the heat.

    Johnson: Kansas! Up front.

    (A young man with thick glasses awkwardly makes his way to the front of the group. He is sweating profusely and looks like he might throw up at any moment.)

    Johnson: You ready for this?

    Kansas: I…I…I’m not sure. I’ve never…I mean, I don’t even know…

    Johnson: Listen up you limp dick. We’re headed into that building across the street and we need everyone to pull their own weight. You lag behind or stop to catch your breath and you’re toast. Got it? If I think, even for a second, you’re in danger of jeopardizing this operation I’ll drop you myself. Understood?

    (Kansas swallows hard and pushes up his glasses. He readjusts this backpack and grips his rifle.)

    Kansas: Yes sir.

    Johnson: The rest of you pack of do-nuthins. You know the drill. You can do this shit in your sleep. I want a clean entry. We move on my mark.

    (Everyone nods and readies themselves. Some people cross themselves. Others kiss their guns. Kansas looks nervously around. Mags, a young woman with a shock of red hair sticking out from under her helmet, slides up next to him.)

    Mags: Don’t worry about Johnson. He’s always rough on the new kids. He’ll get you there in one piece though.

    Kansas: I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.

    Mags: What? You didn’t have to go to school in Wichita?

    Kansas: We did. But we took the bus.

    (Johnson stands, rifle at the ready.)

    Johnson: Go! Go! Go!

    (They begin to move across the street. Shots ring out. Johnson and Tank lay down cover fire.)

    Mags: (To Kansas) Stick close and shoot anything that moves!

    (She fires her rifles and begins running. Kansas runs behind her.)

    Mags: Oh, and welcome to Detroit!

    (More shots. An explosion rains debris down on the them. They make their way across the street and into a building marked “Henry Ford Public High School” as another explosion sends them diving through the doors. As the dust settles we hear the bell ring.)

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: Payroll Edition

    This week’s theme was “payroll”.

    Richard said he had trouble with it, but turned in a fine sketch none the less.

    No word from the theme originator yet.

    Here’s my effort this week. Not crazy about the ending. But it’ll do for now.

    Next week’s theme is “Back to School“.

    And, as always, if you’d like join us, simply write a sketch and let us know where to read it.

    The Meeting

    (The backroom of a warehouse. A table sits in the middle of an empty room. A single, bare bulb swings from the ceiling. Eight of the roughest, meanest looking thugs sit at the table. Jimmy “The Clam” Garbosi stands at the head of the table. He has a briefcase and a large shopping bag.)
    Jimmy: As you’s fellas know, it’s been a rough year for The Family. Peoples ain’t been able to pay as much for protection and whatnot.

    (He takes a stack of stapled papers out of his briefcase. There is a colorful pie chart on the front page. He hands the stack to Ernie “The Node” Farconni.)

    Jimmy: Take one and pass it around.

    (They do.)

    Jimmy: As you’s can see from the chart here-

    Ernie: You do this?

    Jimmy: So what if I did?

    Ernie: It’s nice work.

    Jimmy: Grazie. As I was sayin’. Our income is down 32% from this time last year.

    Barry: Is that the yellow chunk?

    Jimmy: (sigh) Yes, Barry, it’s the yellow chunk. Now, what this means, unfortunately, is that we’re going to have to let some of you go.

    (Everyone tenses up. Some of them reach for the inside of their jackets. Everyone watches everyone.)

    Jimmy: Whoa, whoa, whoa. It ain’t gonna be like that. Hands on the table guys. Come on.

    (Everyone slowly pulls their hands out of their coats and puts them on the table.)

    Jimmy: The Family understands that you’s gotta feed your own and if that means you gotta find work with another family, that’s the way the meatball bounces. But. Know this. If you choose this option and I see you out on the street, I’ll shoot your fuckin’ face off. (beat) Questions?

    (Harry “The Limp” Barollo is flipping through the hand-out. He raises his hand.)

    Jimmy: Harry.

    Harry: It don’t say nuthin’ in here ‘bout our benefits.

    Jimmy: Right. Good question. We will continue your benefits package for six months after your termination.

    (Everyone tenses. A couple people reach for their coats.)

    Jimmy: Tah, tah, tah. Relax.

    (Everyone does.)

    Jimmy: So you can still get free lunches at Gordo’s on 63rd and the fish fry Fridays is free at Sal’s, but only during Lent. The backroom at Mac’s is available to for parties, but you’re gonna have to pay for your own booze.

    Ernie: No dames?

    Jimmy: No dames, Ernie. You’re gonna have to settle for your wife like the rest of us.

    (Everyone chuckles.)

    Ernie: You disrespectin’ my wife?

    Harry: No, he’s disrespectin’ you, ya mook.

    Ernie: Who you callin’ a “mook”, ya hose?

    Jimmy: Fellas, fellas. Please. Could we not live up to the stereotype for one stinkin’ meetin’?

    Barry: So who’s goin’?

    (Everyone nods and looks at Jimmy. He pulls out a sheet of paper.)

    Jimmy: Before I read off these names I want you to know that this wasn’t an easy decision. We looked through your past performance records, took into account the number of years you’ve been workin’ with –

    (Harry shoves himself back from the table, reaches into his coat, pulls out his gun and shoot’s the man across from him, dead.)

    Jimmy: Wait!

    (Immediately everyone is on their feet. Shots ring out. Goombahs dies. When the dust settles, Jimmy is still at the head of the table. Harry, Barry and Ernie are the only three left standing. Jimmy looks down at the piece of paper in his hands and shakes his head.)

    Jimmy: What are the odds? Right. Get this mess cleaned up. There’s work to be done.

    (Harry and Barry begin dragging bodies off.)

    Ernie: Hey, Jimmy. What’s in the bag?

    Jimmy: It was PSPs and iPods for the fellas that was gonna get axed.

    Ernie: Can I have one?

    Jimmy: You’re still here, Ernie.

    Ernie: Yeah, but I’d like an iPod.

    Jimmy: Well, you shoulda thought of that before you got all trigger happy. Now help these guys out before I get sore at ya.

    (Jimmy walks off. Ernie is using one of the hand-outs to scoop up someone’s splattered brains.)

    Jimmy: (To himself) Middle management sucks.

    BLACKOUT