Sketch War

Author: mbrownlee

  • 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.

    Enjoy.

    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.

    JARRED: M-hm.

    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.

    JARRED: No?

    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.)

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: Cop Out Edition

    So I’ve been a little busy lately. And more than a little unfocused. So the sketch I was working on for today didn’t really come together. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to leave you empty handed. I have this play I’ve been working on forever. A comedy, of course. About a poor fellow who goes out on a date with a woman who may or may not be murdering the men she goes out with. At the moment it’s titled The Blind Date Black Widow. This is a scene from early in the first act. Our hero, Mitch, has just had a little verbal confrontation with a nosy neighborlady and now his best friend, Stew, has come over. It’s set in Mitch’s tiny, one bedroom apartment. Please feel free to leave any feedback you may have.

    For those playing by the rules this week, Richard’s flown the coop and Dave has too.

    The Blind Date Bandit

    (The door begins to open but the chain catches it. There is a thud.)

    STEW: (Off) Ouch! Mitch, open up!

    MITCH: Hang on Stew.
    (He opens the door)
    Sorry about that.

    (Stewart, 30’s and husky, enters. He is wearing his police uniform.)

    STEW: Why are you using the chain?

    MITCH: Why don’t you knock like a normal person?

    STEW: Because you gave me a key.

    MITCH: I gave you that in case I lock myself out. Not so you could let yourself in here whenever you want. What if I was with someone?

    (Stewart makes himself at home. Getting a beer from the fridge, eating whatever food might be lying around.)

    STEW: Like who?

    MITCH: What if I had a date?

    STEW: I think I know you better than that.

    MITCH: What do you want, Stew?

    STEW: What do you mean?

    MITCH: What brings you by?

    STEW: Nothing. My shift ended early today so I thought I’d stop by and shoot the shit with you.
    (Beat) That’s an odd turn of phrase, isn’t it? Do you suppose people in olden times used to sit around and actually shoot shit?

    (Mitch just looks at him)

    STEW: What? The entomology of words and phrases has always fascinated me.

    MITCH: Don’t you mean etymology?

    STEW: Isn’t that the study of birds or something?

    MITCH: No, that’s ornithology.

    STEW: I thought that was teeth.

    MITCH: Maybe you should look into another hobby.

    STEW: Eh. So what are you cooking? It smells good.

    MITCH: Dinner for my date. Tonight. I hate to rush you out of here, but I still have to get ready.

    STEW: Is this one of the girls Alison set you up with?

    MITCH: No, Stewart, your wife had nothing to do with this date. Thank God.

    STEW: What’s that supposed to mean?

    MITCH: Alison’s a terrible matchmaker.

    STEW: Mitch, she runs her own dating service. I think she knows what she’s doing.

    MITCH: She’s set me up three times and every one was a complete disaster.

    STEW: You ever think that maybe that has more to do with the matchee than the matcher? I mean, they don’t just throw people together willy-nilly. There’s a science to it, Mitch.

    MITCH: Like physics and biology?

    STEW: Did you lie on your form? I bet you lied on your form. Trying to make yourself look better so you could rate a better class of woman.

    MITCH: I didn’t lie on my form.

    STEW: What did you put down as your occupation?

    MITCH: I don’t remember.

    STEW: Did you put down temp?

    MITCH: I told you, I don’t remember.

    STEW: No, you put down writer.

    MITCH: Just because I’ve never had anything published doesn’t mean I’m not a…hey, how did you know I put down writer? Does Alison let you look at the forms?

    STEW: Sometimes.

    MITCH: What about the confidentiality agreement?

    STEW: Mitch, I’m your best friend. I know more about you than what you put on a stupid dating service form. (Beat) And if you’re only 160 pounds, I’m Liza Minelli.

    MITCH: I had just gotten over the flu when I filled out that form. And the women she set me up with were all nuts.

    STEW: She screens her clients very well.

    MITCH: Stew, the last one was covered in tattoos.

    STEW: Tattoos are very sexy.

    MITCH: She had over a dozen Elvises on her ass.

    STEW: You got to see her ass? That sounds like a pretty good date to me.

    MITCH: Some of them had real hair for sideburns.

    (Alison bursts through the door. She is worked up. She heads straight for Stew.)

    ALISON: I thought I’d find you here.

    STEW: Honey, I was just on my way home. What’s up?

    ALISON: I’m ovulating.

    STEW: Now?

    ALISON: No, whenever it’s convenient for you, yes now!

    STEW: Okay, take it easy. Let’s go.

    (Alison begins undressing.)

    ALISON: There’s not enough time.

    MITCH: What’s going on here?

    STEW: We’re trying to have a baby.

    ALISON: Less talking, more undressing.
    (To Mitch)
    Stew’s sperm is a little sluggish.

    STEW: The doctor gave her these hormone pills that make her a little agitated sometimes.

    ALISON: Stewart, I swear to Christ, if we aren’t having sex in the next 38 seconds I will cut off Mr. Tinkle and feed him to the dog. Move!

    (She begins to drag Stew towards the bedroom. Mitch blocks them.)

    MITCH: Wait, I have a date tonight. You guys can’t do this here.

    ALISON: Mitch, once we get started it’s going to take all of seven minutes. Four if Speedy here would take off his pants already!

    (She reaches for Stew’s belt and begins taking off his pants.)

    STEW: We don’t want to mess up his sheets honey.

    ALISON: Fine!

    (She pulls Stew down behind the couch.)

    MITCH: Oh…I…uh…I think…wow…I’m going to check on my dinner.

    (Mitch exits into the kitchen. Stew and Alison are concealed behind the couch.)

    ALISON: You have to tilt it more!

    STEW: I’m tilting it as far as it’ll go.

    (The phone rings. Mitch enters and sees them and exits back into the kitchen.)

    ALISON: Farther!

    STEW: Ow! It doesn’t bend like that.

    (The phone rings.)

    ALISON: Answer the damn phone, Mitch!

    STEW: Honey, getting stressed like this isn’t helping.

    ALISON: PUT A BABY IN ME!

  • 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.)

    BLACKOUT

  • 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.

    WAITER: But?

    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.

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: Silence is Golden Edition

    Happy Friday to us, every one!

    Here’s the news that’s fit to print. Richard is dressed as Rachel Ray. Dave is building the casino of his dreams in Vegas. There’s no word, yet, from Red.

    So I’ve been trying to work on brevity. My last couple of sketches have felt a little long. I’ve also been experimenting with using no dialogue in a scene. Trying to get the gist of the scene across with body language. Certainly, a lot of this would depend upon the actors playing these roles, but I think I’ve got enough descprition here to get the point across. Let me know what you think. Oh, and you’ll notice that I’ve been watching a lot of old Bugs Bunny cartoons on YouTube.

    Consent is Silent

    A kitchen in a nice apartment. Jack is sitting at the table reading the paper. We hear the slam of a door offstage. Jack doesn’t look up.

    Gail storms in and slams down an envelope on the table. She folds her arms, glaring at Jack.

    Jack continues to read his newspaper.

    Gail begins tapping her foot.

    Jack lets a corner of the paper fold down and glances at Gail.

    She raises her eyebrows and tilts her head towards the envelope on the table.

    Jack straightens up his newspaper and begins reading again.

    Gail tears the newspaper out of his hands and grabs his head, pointing it at the piece of paper on the table.

    Jack slowly slides it towards him.

    Gail gives him a “Well?” look.

    Jack shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head.

    Gail studies him for a moment, then smiles. She straightens out his newspaper and hands it back to him.

    Jack smiles up at her.

    Gail kisses him on the head and exits.

    Jack waits til Gail’s gone then picks up the envelope and smells it. He smiles fondly at it, folds it and begins to slip it into his shirt pocket.

    As he does this…

    Gail enters with a frying pan and hits Jack in the back of the head with it, knocking him unconscious.

    BLACK OUT

  • 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.

    HARRY: Oh?

    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?

    HARRY: Yes.

    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.)

    BLACKOUT

  • 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.

    Enjoy!

    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?

    (BEEP.)

    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.)

    PAUL: Ow!

    (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.)

    BLACKOUT

  • 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: Not.

    (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.

    BLACKOUT

  • 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”)
    Sister?
    (Max shakes his head “no”)
    Best friend?
    (Beat)
    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.
    (Beat)
    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”)

    BLACKOUT

  • Friday Sketch War: New Job Edition

    What time is it, kids? That’s right! It’s Sketch War time!

    You say you want to get in on the action? Great! Just write a sketch and post a link. It’s just that easy.

    I thought I’d be the first one out of the gate this morning, but Richard’s the early bird today. Bastard.

    Update: Dave’s chimed in with this horrifying look at the future.

    The New Job

    (A conference room. Martin sits at a table. He is clean-cut, wearing a nice suit and tie. James, also in suit and tie is manning a slide projector, which Martin has been watching. James turns it off.)

    JAMES: I think that’s everything.

    (Martin sits dumbfounded. James begins packing up the equipment.)

    JAMES: Sir? Are you all right?

    MARTIN: Is this some kind of joke?

    JAMES: I’m afraid not.

    MARTIN: Everything you just told me is true?

    JAMES: All of it.

    MARTIN: I don’t know what to say.

    JAMES: It takes a little while to let it all sink in.

    MARTIN: We have to tell people about all this.

    JAMES: I’m afraid we can’t.

    MARTIN: I don’t understand.

    JAMES: Can you image the sense of outrage? Of panic? People would never believe us again if they found out the truth behind any one of these stories, let alone all of them. No, you’ve been briefed because you have to maintain the stories as they have been reported.

    MARTIN: But it’s all been lies.

    JAMES: It’s for their own good.

    MARTIN: I believed those lies once too.

    JAMES: Yes, sir, at the time you were not allowed to know the real stories.

    MARTIN: I don’t think I can do this.

    JAMES: There’s no turning back now, sir.

    MARTIN: But I can’t go out there and face them, day after day, knowing all this and lying to them.

    JAMES: It has to be this way to make things run smoothly.

    MARTIN: The people will believe me. They trust me.

    JAMES: That’s the general idea.

    MARTIN: Who else knows about this?

    JAMES: There are only twelve of us. Thirteen including yourself now.

    MARTIN: The people deserve to know this information.

    JAMES: I understand your indignation. Everyone who views this information for the first time feels the same way. But I assure you, that this has all be kept secret out of absolute necessity and will remain that way.

    MARTIN: Some people are already spreading this information.

    JAMES: They’re lucky guessers. Theorists. And they’ve all been discredited as crackpots and tinfoil hat wearing lunatics.

    MARTIN: I just can’t wrap my mind around it. All the lives that have been lost.

    JAMES: Patriots, all.

    MARTIN: It all seems so senseless.

    JAMES: Not when you’re thinking about the greater good, sir. Which you have to do from here on out.

    MARTIN: Greater good?

    JAMES: Yes, sir. There is an agenda here that is bigger than all of us and we cannot let the thought of a few hundred thousand deaths stop us from the work that must be done.

    MARTIN: What happens if I decide to tell people about this?

    JAMES: You’ll be replaced.

    MARTIN: But you just can’t replace one of the most recognized people in the world without a few questions being raised.

    JAMES: We can and we have. More than likely you’d be lost at sea. Tragic plane crash returning home from some diplomatic gathering.

    MARTIN: But then the next person who watched this would know what happened to me.

    JAMES: Yes, sir. And hopefully they would more fully understand the importance of these secrets and choose to keep them as such.

    MARTIN: So, basically, to put it bluntly, if I don’t keep my mouth shut, you’ll shut it for me?

    JAMES: Yes, sir.

    (Kelly, a well dressed woman, pokes her head in the door.)

    KELLY: (To Martin) They’re ready for you, sir.

    MARTIN: I just need a moment.

    (Kelly and James exchange a look.)

    JAMES: (To Kelly) He’s fine.

    (Kelly exits. James has put away all the gear and produces a suit bag which he lays on the table.)

    JAMES: Show time.

    (Martin just stares at the bag.)

    JAMES: What’s it going to be?

    (Martin rises and crosses to the suit bag.)

    MARTIN: What choice do I have? I’m in.

    JAMES: Glad to hear it, sir. I’ll let you get changed. And let me be the first to welcome you to the family. “Ronald”.

    MARTIN: Thanks. (Beat) I’m loving it.

    JAMES: That’s the spirit.

    (They shake hands and James leaves. Martin opens the suit bag and pulls out a bright red wig and a white and yellow clown suit. He begins applying white makeup to his face. As James opens the door we hear a crowd of children cheering.)

    BLACKOUT