Sketch War

Category: Sketches

Sketch Entries from the warriors

  • 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: Death of a Henchmen

    So last week, TheWife suggested I write my sketch on gatherings about a funeral. I already had an idea in mind which I liked, so I decided against it. But when it came time to pick this week’s topic, I was happy to burden the other guys with funerals! This way, we ALL get to put the fun back in funeral.

    I’m moderately happy with this one, though I realized as I was wrapping it up that I had no ending for it. That kinda sucks. Thankfully, I had Victor.

    Death of a Henchman
    (A bright living room: neatly decorated with feminine touches throughout. Several tables are laid out with casseroles and bowls of food. A large wreath dominates one corner. Many people mill about in black. The widow, MARJORIE STEVENSON, is talking with BILL JENSEN.)

    MARJORIE
    I still can’t believe Walt’s gone. It’s just like him though. He promised he’d clean out the gutters this weekend. Now he’ll never…
    (Sobbing)
    …he’ll never make up another excuse to get out of helping around the house.

    (Bill puts his arm around Marjorie.)

    BILL
    I know. He was good at that. Used to get out of cleanup at work, too. Not that anyone cared. He was worth ten of us. We were happy to do his share around the hideout.

    MARJORIE
    Thanks, Bill.

    BILL
    Quite a turnout. I’ll bet every henchman in town is here.

    (Sargent O’Herlihy walks over. A stout Irish man raised on beef and Irish stout, his nose looks like a potato left in a drawer too long.)

    O’HERLIHY
    Bill. Marjorie. I’m sorry for your loss. Walt was a black-hearted bastard, but he was always the first to buy a round at the pub. When he wasn’t in the clink, that is.

    MARJORIE
    He always liked you, Clancy. Said you were the only clean cop he could stand.

    O’HERLIHY
    I liked that he never kicked me in me nether regions.

    (O’Herlihy takes out a hip flask, toasts the air, and swigs. He walks away as HARLEY QUINN comes up with a covered platter.)

    HARLEY
    Marjorie, Mr. J. couldn’t make it, but he sends his regards. And this dish he cooked himself.

    (Harley pulls back the cover, exposing a very large Joker Fish. Marjorie is stone faced.)

    MARJORIE
    Thank you, Harley dear. Why don’t you put that on the table. Leave it covered; we don’t want it to…get cold.

    HARLEY
    It’s a dish best served cold.

    MARJORIE
    Than hot. Wouldn’t want it to get hot.

    (Harley walks away with her platter of scary fishiness. STAN HOOPER comes to pay his respects. He’s young, but using a walker.)

    STAN
    Marjorie. I don’t know if you remember me. I was the Gay Blade’s wheelman back in ’02.

    MARJORIE
    Oh, right. You were the one who put the solid fuel rocket on the Blade’s Kia.

    STAN
    (Blushing) Yeah.

    BILL
    How’ve you been? It’s Stan, right?

    STAN
    Yeah. Stan. Uh, I’ve been okay. Got out of traction last month. Doc figures six, seven months of therapy and I should be back in business, God willing. You know anyone looking for a driver?

    BILL
    No, no. Sorry.

    MARJORIE
    Well thank you very much for coming by, Stan. It means a lot.

    STAN
    I was just wondering…I…I don’t want I should be rude, but…how did it happen? You hear all sorts of rumors…

    MARJORIE
    He was setting up a giant boxing glove on the roof of the Fremont Tower. Some crazy scheme of The Marsupial. Something about jets or missiles–

    BILL
    –Captain Awesome. It was part of a trap for Captain Awesome. Missiles to box him in and the glove to finish him off.

    MARJORIE
    (Getting tight-chested) Right. That’s it. But the springs were second rate – everything The Marsupial does is second rate – and the whole thing collapsed on…

    (Marjorie trails off and starts to cry some more.)

    STAN
    Geez, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean I should–

    BILL
    –It’s a difficult time for us all.

    (Stan backs away respectfully. Victor Von Doom strolls over carrying a plate of food.)

    VON DOOM
    Marjorie, Bill, darlings! You know I feel strange asking this, so soon after your dear husband was buried, but I’ve come to praise this Caesar salad. What’s your secret?

    BILL
    What? Uh, it’s the croutons. They’re double-baked with garlic and herbs.

    VON DOOM
    You must give me the recipe.

    BILL
    You know, now’s not the best–

    VON DOOM
    –you MUST!

    (Bill sighs and walks off with Von Doom. GINGER STEINBERG comes over. She’s older, but was once obviously a rare beauty.)

    GINGER
    Marjorie, I’m sorry.

    MARJORIE
    Thank you, Ginger. If anyone can understand, it’s you.

    GINGER
    I hope not too well. You know I lost my Irving the day before his pension vested.

    MARJORIE
    Two days for Walt.

    GINGER
    Ach. It’s that damn Marsupial! Why did he go work for him?

    MARJORIE
    Something about profit sharing and stock options. I don’t know. I wish he’d just stayed on Black Manta’s crew. That was nice. We got to summer at the beach and all I ever had to worry about was Aquaman sending a jellyfish to sting Walt. But he was sure The Marsupial was an up-and-comer.
    (BEAT)
    At least there’s the Henchmen’s Widows fund. And Walt carried a lot of life insurance.

    GINGER
    I’ll bet.

    (In the corner, Von Doom knocks over the wreath.)

    VON DOOM
    Let’s Limbo!

    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

  • FSW: The Reunion

    Newest warrior Ken got theme honors this week and selected gatherings. I’ve been only moderately happy with my entries of late, so I reached back several months to a sketch I’m still quite proud of for inspiration. This entry would benefit greatly from a second draft and a little polish, but I’m posting this early on Thursday morning before going offline for the weekend. I hope y’all appreciate it a bit as it stands.


    I believe it is my turn to select the theme again, so I’m going to go with…ooh, this is a nasty one…funerals.


    If you want to get in on the fun, email a link to your sketch – or its full text if you’ve got no web home – by midnight, next Friday to sketchwar at dreamloom.com

    The Reunion
    (ROB, late 20s and weary, wears a wrinkled dress shirt. He sits at a table in a gaily decorated high school gym. He is joined by RICH and SCOTT, also late 20s, equally rumpled.)

    RICH
    Cathy looks good. You should go talk to her.

    ROB
    I don’t know, it’s weird. Bill’s watching.

    SCOTT
    Dude, it’s Cathy. You mooned about her all through high school–

    RICH
    –since sixth grade.

    SCOTT
    Seriously? Then too?

    RICH
    Yeah. It was hilarious. He was what, five foot even, and she was as tall as she is today, but he thought he had a shot.

    ROB
    Thanks. I just…it’s different now.

    RICH
    Yeah. Now you have a shot. Come on.

    (ROB gets up and shuffles to CATHY’s table. She’s a classic blond beauty, 10 years lovelier than when she was homecoming queen.)

    ROB
    Hey, Cath.

    CATHY
    Hey, Rob. I was wondering when you’d finally come say hi.

    ROB
    I just…

    (Freeze. DUDE-ROB, late teens and dressed like Rob but rattier, enters and stands next to Rob.)

    DUDE-ROB
    Aw, man she looks good! Tell her you were busy talking to your Lamborghini mechanic. Chicks dig hot cars.

    ROB
    No, I think I’ve got this, thanks.

    (Unfreeze.)

    ROB (CONT’D)
    I just don’t know what to say. Bill’s here with you, right?

    CATHY
    Rob, things are complicated with me and Bill.

    (BILL walks up. He’s a classic athlete, 10 years balder and seedier than when he was a star, but still rocking his letterman’s jacket. He sits opposite Cathy.)

    BILL
    Hey, Rob.

    ROB
    Uh, hi Bill.

    BILL
    You two keep talking. Don’t mind me.

    DUDE-ROB
    Man, you can totally kick his ass now! Remember that atomic wedgie he gave you on the field trip to Colonial Williamsburg? Now’s your chance! Get him back.

    (Freeze. WISE-ROB, dressed like Rob but nattier, silver at the temples and horn-rimmed glasses, stands next to Dude-Rob.)

    WISE-ROB
    Violence never solved anything. Turn the other cheek.

    DUDE-ROB
    Pussy!

    ROB
    I’m not going to fight him.

    (JOCK-BILL enters. He’s a behemoth in his letterman’s jacket. Built like a lineman with the skills of a QB.)

    JOCK-BILL
    Of course he’s not going to fight. He’s always been a pussy.

    (Dude-Rob moves behind Rob to shield himself.)

    WISE-ROB
    William, you scare no one. (Indicates Bill) Look at you. You’re probably wrestling with your inner demons as we speak, fighting to suppress your latent tendencies.

    JOCK-BILL
    What the hell’s that mean, four-eyes.

    (OLD-BILL flounces in. He’s in his 50s, happy, and wearing a boa. Yes. I went there.)

    OLD-BILL
    Don’t be rude! (Flirty to Wise-Rob) Hi, Rob!

    WISE-ROB
    (Uncomfortable) Uh, hello Bill.

    (Everyone unfreezes.)

    CATHY
    Bill and I are separated. He wouldn’t come tonight by himself.

    ROB
    Wow. I…are you guys okay?

    BILL
    Yeah. I’m just really confused lately.

    DUDE-ROB
    Goddamn right you’re confused, fairy!

    WISE-ROB
    Rob! Grow up! (To Old-Bill) I’m sorry.

    OLD-BILL
    It’s alright. It doesn’t bother me anymore.

    JOCK-BILL
    I should kick your ass, old man!

    OLD-BILL
    As if! Bring it on, junior!

    (Jock-Bill tackles Old-Bill and they thrash about on the floor. Bill watches dispassionately. Dude-Rob and Wise-Rob pretend to look away.)

    ROB
    I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you figure things out. You were always such a cute couple.

    BILL
    I bet you hated me, huh?

    CATHY
    He didn’t hate you, Billy.

    BILL
    It’s okay. I’d have hated me. I do hate me.

    (Old-Bill gets up and brushes off. Jock-Bill is down for the count.)

    BILL (CONT’D)
    But I’m getting better now.

    (Bill gets up to leave.)

    BILL (CONT’D)
    I’m going to stay at my parents’ tonight, okay? The house is yours.

    (Bill leans over to give Cathy a chaste peck on the cheek and leaves, OLD-BILL in tow.)

    DUDE-ROB
    Dude, she’s yours. Tap that fine ass!

    WISE-ROB
    “Tap that?” Are you twelve? She’s a woman, not a keg at one of your salacious parties. Rob, treat her with the respect and affection you’ve always had for her. Ah yes, of course! The poem!

    ROB
    Poem? Oh, that. I don’t remember it.

    DUDE-ROB
    I do:
    (snickering)
    An hundred years should go to praise
    Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
    Two hundred to adore each breast,
    But thirty thousand to the rest;
    I know where I’d spend that 30000!

    WISE-ROB
    Miscreant! I didn’t mean that. I meant:
    (solemn)
    But at my back I always hear
    Time’s winged chariot hurrying near;
    And yonder all before us lie
    Deserts of vast eternity.

    DUDE-ROB
    Just ’cause you’re about to kick the bucket don’t mean he is.

    ROB
    Guys! I’ll handle this.
    (To Cathy)
    You want to dance?

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: Green Witches

    Well….here’s my second salvo in the fabulous Friday Sketch Wars. This time, I decided to get medieval on someone’s ass! (might have something to do with the fact I’m in an Improvised Shakespeare show Friday night, and an improviosed Tarantino show Saturday night).
    Anyway….our theme this week was “Gatherings” – I’ll update links as soon as the other combatants report in!
    ____________________________________________________________________________________

    EXT. – A CLEARING IN A CREEPY FOREST – NIGHT
    Lightning and thunder above, a big cauldron sits in the clearing, wolves howl, unseen critters scamper past in the dark, the sound of bat-wings flapping overhead, and only a thin shaft of moonlight reveals anything more than the black silhouettes of twisted ancient trees.

    HILDA, and old scraggly woman with a crooked nose, long straggly gray hair, slightly green skin, huge hair warts om her face, gnarled hands, wearing a long tattered ratty black dress and pointy black hat, enters from out of the woods with the use of a gnarled wooden stick as a cane. She is carrying a burlap sack filled with stuff.

    HILDA
    The creatures of darkness stir and cry out for mischief! The skies blacken and split…the time for evil has come!

    HILDA waves her hands at the cauldron and a fire bursts out under it. Steam also starts rising from whatever is in the cauldron

    HILDA
    Come forth my sisters and join me now! Bring forth your gifts and place them in our cauldron – let now our machinations begin!

    HELGA who looks like a variation on HILDA comes out of the woods, carrying a similar sack.

    HELGA
    Run cold blood, and good cheer flee
    When joined in mischief, we sisters three!

    HARPA now enters from the woods, the third sister, with another sack

    HARPA
    By raven’s caw, and toadlet’s croak,
    Mother night our dark deeds cloak

    HILDA
    To our labors bend your mind,
    A poor souls fate we must unwind

    All three gather around the cauldron and pull items from their sacks

    HELGA
    The fingers of a baby abandoned to die

    HELGA dumps them in the cauldron, and a puff of steam belches out of the cauldron

    HILDA
    Festering meat from a possum’s thigh

    HILDA dumps it in – another belch

    HARPA
    Nightshade planted on Hallow’s eve

    Dump…belch

    HELGA
    The tears of a widow, shed as she grieved

    Dump…belch

    HILDA
    Fang of an adder that struck a priest

    Dump…belch

    HARPA
    Organically farmed wormwood brought from the east.

    HILDA and HELGA look at each other upon hearing this.

    HARPA starts to dump it in….HILDA stops her hand with her cane-stick

    HILDA
    Wait….what didst thou say?

    HARPA
    Ummmm…..organically farmed wormwood brought from the east.

    HILDA
    Why not regular old wormwood?

    HELGA
    From the east?

    HARPA
    This tis much better….for twas grown without pesticides or chemicals. So tis better for the environment, and healthier to eat.

    HILDA
    Wormwood is a poison…eating it doth kill a man in minutes.

    HARPA
    All the more reason to go organic….why wouldst one want more toxins in something already so lethal?

    HILDA
    Enough of this. I didst agree when you wanted to use only free-range newt in our potions….

    HELGA
    And when thou didst say the cauldron should only be lit after 7pm on hot days to reduce airborne pollutants…

    HILDA
    AND when thou didst say we needed to stop making the gingerbread houses we use to entrap children out of refined sugar, and use the raw brown stuff instead…

    HELGA
    Looks like bad stucco.

    HILDA
    But this is beyond all measure of reason.

    HARPA
    Good Hilda, we must consider said things….we doth live in the woods and useth the plants of the earth for all our work….we shouldst be the first to consider about what servers environment and the people the best.

    HELGA
    I miss serving people, especially to other people.

    HILDA glares at HELGA, who smiles and quietly slinks back behind HILDA

    HILDA
    Harpa, I hat a business to run here. People doth pay us to put curses upon their enemies, to make people fall in love with them, or foretell their futures. They carest not if the person we turn into a frog for them gets cancer

    HARPA
    Hath they said that to you?

    HELGA
    Frog cancer tis so sad

    HILDA
    They doth not NEED to say it! People do not have other people turned into frogs because they wisheth them health and happiness!!!

    HELGA
    Yeah, but frog cancer tis sooooooo sad

    HILDA smacks HELGA in the head

    HILDA
    Who’s side art thou on???

    HARPA
    I know it doth cost more but…

    HILDA
    Costs? What dost thou mean, cost? What didst thou pay for that?

    HARPA
    Twas just a little bit more than….

    HILDA
    WHAT DIDST THOU PAY FOR IT?

    HARPA
    Three dracmas.

    HILDA fumes

    HARPA (CONT)
    Tis not too bad

    HILDA
    Regular wormwood is free!!! Thou mayst go and pick it up off the ground! It doth grow wild in the forest!

    HARPA
    True but who doth know what it hath been treated with, or what sort of pesticides are on it.

    HILDA
    Tis free!!! It could be buried in pig poop, and WE WOULD NOT CARE!!! We put it in a boiling cauldron and make potions with it! POTIONS THAT DO EVIL THINGS TO PEOPLE!!!!

    HARPA
    Surely thou wouldst not want a potion to taste like pig poop?

    HILDA
    WHY NOT? TIS AN EVIL POTION!!!! GIVEN TO SOMEONE THAT SOMEONE ELSE DOESN’T LIKE TO SOMETHING EVIL TO THEM!!! WHY SHOULDN’T IT NOT TASTE EVIL???

    HELGA
    Pig poop dot
    h taste more nasty than it doth taste evil.

    HILDA
    THOU ART AN IDIOT!!!

    Everyone pauses a moment….catching their breath. HARPA finally breaks the silence, resigned

    HARPA
    Fine….no more shall I bring organic ingredients for potion-making.

    HILDA
    Good

    HARPA
    I shalt stop suggesting uses for the rest of the lizard after we use it’s tongue for curses.

    HILDA
    Thank you

    HARPA
    And never more shall I bring up all the reasons we shouldst fly hemp-brooms instead of straw-brooms ever again, even though straw tis a resource intensive crop and has to be shipped in from…

    HILDA
    KNOCKST IT OFF!

    HARPA
    Sorry…old habit

    HILDA
    Darest not let it happen again. Now, mayst we finish this potion and go home?

    HARPA isn’t happy, but recovers herself and goes back to the cauldron

    HARPA
    Wormwood, that may or may not be organic, brought from the east

    Dump….belch

    HILDA
    Wing of bat that has freshly fed

    HELGA
    Rust from the axe that takes men’s heads….

    A knight, SIR ELDRIDGE, enters carrying a torch in one hand an a sword in the other wearing chain mail, a helmet, and a tunic with a royal looking crest on it

    SIR ELDRIDGE
    Halt Hags! Stay where thou art, and movest not!!!

    The sisters all freeze, scared of SIR ELDRIDGE

    SIR ELDRIDGE (CONT)
    I am from his Majesty’s Environmental Protection Agency. We hath heard rumors of potions being illegally dumped in these woods. Dost know of such a thing?

    All of the witches respond with “oh no, haven’t heard of anything like that”, “didn’t see anyone dumping”, “how rude”, “the nerve of some people”, etc.

    SIR ELDRIDGE (CONT)
    His Majesty’s fish pond hath been fouled with a frog-making potion that didst smell of pig poop……

    Again the witches respond over the of each other “of how awful”, “how inconsiderate”, etc.)

    SIR ELDRIDGE (CONT)
    Pray tell hags, what manner of potion be this?

    HILDA
    Tis but a generic potion….more like a potion base

    HELGA
    Potion starter

    Sir Eldridge sniffs it

    SIR ELDRIDGE
    Methinks it doth smell vaguely of pig droppings

    HARPA
    Oh no kind sir, you must be mistaken. For this potion doth use only organic ingredients.

    Sir Eldridge considers this for a moment

    SIR ELDRIDGE
    Doth not organic ingredients cost a great deal more?

    HARPA
    Aye, they do, but we feel the result be worth the price, and we doth simply charge those buying potions slightly more.

    SIR ELDRIDGE
    In truth, I’d pay more for an organic potion. Sir Halston didst purchase a common frog-making potion which he gave to his enemy, the Black Knight of Leeds. Turned the Knight into a frog, AND didst give him frog cancer.

    HELGA
    How sad

    SIR ELDRIDGE
    ‘Tis true. Sir Halston didst ends his days wracked with guilt. Pray thee, let me watch thee make thy organic potion.

    HARPA
    Thou art welcome to watch Sir knight, is he not good sisters.

    HELGA and HILDA answer “oh yes”, “sure”, etc. HILDA looks annoyed at HARPA, but has no choice but to go on

    HARPA
    Organically farmed wormwood, brought from the east

    HILDA
    Eye of…..free range…newt

    SIR ELDRIDGE
    Dost thou keep the rest of the newt after using only it’s eye?

    HELGA
    Aye, we make newt bread out of it

    SIR ELDRIDGE
    My mother didst make the most wondrous newt bread in my youth, with walnuts and raisins!

    FADE OUT.

  • 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: New Pants

    Michael selected this week’s theme: back to school. I thought about using a scene from my spec sequel to the Rodney Dangerfield classic, but it’s just too good to waste on the likes of y’all. Instead I give you…

    NEW PANTS
    (TOM, early 40s with a comb-over and MEMBERS ONLY JACKET, and his son BRANDON, 11 and old enough to be embarrassed by his father, eat cereal at a kitchen table.)

    BRANDON
    But mom promised she’d take me to the mall this weekend!

    TOM
    I know sport, but your Aunt Tina hasn’t had her baby yet. Mom can’t just up and leave her right now, you know that.

    BRANDON
    I know. But school starts Tuesday and I don’t got new clothes.

    TOM
    (Gently chiding) Don’t have.

    BRANDON
    Sorry. I don’t have new clothes. It’s just it’s a new school and–

    TOM
    –and you don’t want to start it off on the wrong foot. I know. I remember what it’s like. I was a kid once too, you know. Tell you what, how about the old man takes you clothes shopping instead?

    BRANDON
    You?

    TOM
    Yes me! Your mom’s not the only fashion plate around this house, you know. Back in my single days I used to be a pretty snappy dresser. How else do you think I landed a babe like your mom?

    BRANDON
    I thought she felt bad her boyfriend ran you over?

    TOM
    Haha! Chuck didn’t run me over, he just dinged my Corolla up pretty good. Your mom was so sweet, making sure he finally paid me for the repairs. But by then it was too late. She was a victim of the Tom-bomb. (BEAT) So how about it sport? You and me, trolling the mall for chicks and clothes?

    BRANDON
    Eww…

    (Lights down and back up. Tom sits at the table, now piled with folded clothes. Brandon enters.)

    BRANDON
    What’s all this?

    TOM
    I figured it’s your last chance to sleep late before the school year starts and you’re busy all the time, so I didn’t wake you. But I was so excited, I went out and did all your clothes’ shopping for you!

    BRANDON
    You…what? But how did you–

    TOM
    –I had a little trouble finding you pants.

    (Brandon picks up a rugby shirt with bold stripes. He picks up six just like it as his father talks.)

    TOM
    Can you believe that mall your mom likes doesn’t have a Sears?

    (Brandon’s eyes widen in terror.)

    TOM
    Had to run over to the Shelbyville Town Centre, but they must have been out.

    BRANDON
    Out?

    TOM
    Yeah, that’s what we get for shopping so late, I guess. But don’t worry, I stopped by your gramma’s house and found my old stash.

    (You thought Brandon’s eyes were wide in terror before? They’re Tex Avery-like now! Lights down again and back up. Brandon wears one of the rugby shirts and a pair of tan Toughskins.)

    TOM
    You look sharp, Brand!

    BRANDON
    My knees! I can’t bend my knees!

    TOM
    Keep trying, you’ll break ’em in eventually!

    BLACKOUT

  • Friday Sketch War – No Child Left Behind

    After being a long-time reader (and fan) of the Friday Sketch Wars, I decided to toss my hat into the ring (aka – get my ass in gear and get something written in time to play with the other kids 🙂 ). This weeks theme was “Back to School”.

    UPDATE:
    Richard got us dressed for school, and Michael made sure we got to class – so go check ’em out! And….they even kind enough to invite me to toss down the theme for next week (oh, the pressure).

    Sooooooooo…….in honor of the Democratic National Convention next week, let’s say the theme this week is: Gatherings
    ___________________________________________________________________

    INT. HIGHSCHOOL CLASSROOM – DAY
    Several students are milling about before class, talking to each other, flirting, the class nerd trying to be as invisible as possible….the usual classroom goings-on.

    The school bell rings, the classroom door opens, and in walks the teacher, MR. PHILLIPS

    MR. PHILLIPS
    Everyone settle down, settle down….I know you all have a lot to talk about after spending all summer hanging out together, but it’s learning time now.

    The students grumblingly sit down.

    MR. PHILLIPS (CONT)
    Alright…..welcome to your senior year at William Taft highschool. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Mr. Phillips, and I will be your homeroom teacher for first semester. You will meet here first thing every morning, I will go over any announcements, hand out any official paperwork, and send you on your merry way. I will also be the first person you talk to if you have any questions or problems, and I will be the person who proctors the many standardized tests now required by the state throughout the year. Are there any questions?

    TIFFANY raises her hand

    MR. PHILLIPS (CONT)
    Yes, Ms. Morelli.

    TIFFANY
    When can we buy yearbooks?

    MR. PHILLIPS
    Year books will be available for pre-purchase at the yearbook office after the new year.

    Another hand goes up – it’s LEILA’s

    MR. PHILLIPS (CONT)
    Yes, Ms. Gray?

    LEILA
    What about student tickets for the football games?

    MR. PHILLIPS
    Student tickets for Taft Golden Wombats’ football games, either for individual games or season tickets, will be available for purchase from your homeroom teacher, in this case myself. This also applies to all other varsity sports throughout the year.

    A hand goes up from one of the boys in the back of the class

    MR. PHILLIPS (CONT)
    Yes Mr., uhhhh, Clarkson is it?

    CHIP
    Yes sir, Chip Clarkson.

    MR. PHILLIPS
    What’s your question Mr. Clarkson?

    CHIP
    I wanted choir this fall, but it’s not on my schedule. Can I get that changed?

    MR. PHILLIPS
    Unfortunately Mr. Clarkson the entire music program has been eliminated due to budget cuts.

    The students break out grumbling amongst themselves

    MR. PHILLIPS (CONT)
    We’ve also lost the drama program…

    More grumbling

    MR. PHILLIPS (CONT)
    home economics….

    More grumbling

    MR. PHILLIPS (CONT)
    …and Field Hockey.

    Not a peep

    MR. PHILLIPS
    The entire national economy is in the crapper right now people, and school budgets are stretched right to the breaking point. State and federal government wants us to focus solely on reading, math and sciences, because the U.S. is behind almost every other industrialized nation in those disciplines. They want regular standardized tests to gauge progress, and our funding will be directly related to how well you kids do on those tests. Low scores on those tests will result in lower funding and more cut programs, possibly even varsity sports.

    A grumble goes up from the entire class

    MR. PHILLIPS (CONT)
    Which reminds me….Mr. Williams, are you here today? Tyson Williams?

    TYSON, one of the cool kids, athletic, stylish, and obviously a heartbreaker, stands up. He’s wearing a athletic letterman jacket and stylish tousled blonde hair, looking like he just walked off the set of Gossip Girl.

    TYSON
    Right here, yo!

    MR. PHILLIPS
    Mr. Williams, you’ve been the captain of the basketball team for the last two years, an all-state wrestling champion, and a star half-back for the Golden Wombats, have you not?

    TYSON
    You left out rock star and pimp of the nation bro!!!

    The class hoots and applauds at TYSON’s brashness. Mr. Phillips looks at Tyson’s record on his desk

    MR. PHILLIPS
    You barely passed your last two years of algebra, and earned a combined score of less than 500 on your practice SAT’s last year, which means you didn’t even spell you name correctly on the test.

    TYSON
    What can I say? I’m naturally gifted! GOLDEN WOMBATS RULE!!!

    While TYSON is talking, Mr. Phillips rings a little bell sitting on his desk. Two men in dark suits with dark sunglasses rush in through the door. Phillip’s points out Tyson, and the two men run over to him. They taser the boy, then pick him up and rush him out of the classroom. This all happens with the speed and precision of a military special forces operation.

    TIFFANY
    Oh my God Mr P! Those men just took Tyson!

    MR. PHILLIPS
    This is just a part of how things are going to be done at William Taft High from now on!

    CHIP
    What? We’re going to be tasered and kidnapped and never seen again?

    MR. PHILLIPS
    On the contrary – Mr. Williams is fine. Look…he’s coming back into the classroom right now.

    A thin small Indian teen, SANJEET, steps into the doorway, wearing Tyson’s letter jacket, which hangs on him, and wearing a blonde wig similar to Tyson’s hair. SANJEET speaks shyly with a heavy Indian accent He tries to speak hip, but has absolutely no clue how.

    MR. PHILLIPS
    There you are Mr. Williams. Welcome back. Please take your seat now that you’ve returned from using the restroom.

    SANJEET
    Thank you Mr. P. What is up my home skillets….I am wicked refreshed now that I my lizard has been successfully drained.

    Everyone stares as SANJEET takes TYSON’s seat

    TIFFANY
    That is NOT Tyson Mr. P.

    CHIP
    It’s some Indian dude!

    MR. PHILLIPS
    WRONG!!! This is the NEW Tyson Williams, former athletic wonder, who, thanks to an epiphany about where his low grades would lead him, has returned from Summer vacation an expert in complex mathematics and theoretical physics.

    SANJEET
    Quarks are my bitches!

    MR. PHILLIPS
    Now, if we can continue….

    TIFFANY
    NO!!! THIS IS SO TOTALLY WRONG!!! WHAT’S HAVE YOU DONE WITH TYSON???

    MR. PHILLIPS
    Ms. Morelli, your reading comprehension scores were embarrassingly low last year, weren’t they?

    TIFFANY
    DO NOT CHANGE THE SUBJECT MR PHILLIPS! I DEMAND TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO TYSON!!!

    MR. PHILLIPS rings a little bell sitting on his desk. TIFFANY falls to the floor as if dragged down below her desk where we cannot see her, and the electric crackle of a taser is heard. After a few seconds an Asian girl, YEI, dressed like Tiffany and wearing a wig identical to Tiffany’s hair, sits back up in Tiffany’s chair. YEI speaks with a Chinese accent, and the same awkwardness as SANJEET

    YEI
    Forgive please, Mr. Phillips. I drop number 2 pencil to floor. Please continue.

    MR. PHILLIPS
    That’s quite alright Ms. Morelli. I’m sure that someone like you, who, at your age has already completed two entire books analyzing the works of Lord Byron, which may or may not have been written in your native language, must be very attached to her number 2 pencils.

    Every student except SANJEET and YEI glance nervously around, afraid to move, but trying to make sure there is no one on the floor around them.

    LEILA gingerly and nervously raises her hand.

    MR. PHILLIPS
    Yes, Ms. Gray?

    LEILA
    Mr. P….I’m not saying that something just happened, in fact I’m sure absolutely nothing just happened, and I defintiely didn’t see anything just happen, and I’d swear to that on a stack of bibles even though my parents have raised me Budhist…but IF something just happened, which it didn’t, why would it have just happened?

    MR. PHILLIPS
    That is a well thought out question Ms. Gray. As I said before, educational funding, which includes my salary and tenure possibilities, is now being determined solely by student scores on standardized tests. A teacher may be fired, have their salary reduced, or be denied tenure simply if their students score too low on those aforementioned tests, whether or not it is the fault of the teacher, the failure of apathetic parents to properly motivate their children, or whether the children in question are simply morons. A teacher will ultimately pay the price for the failure of his or her students, even if the teacher in question was once a member of U.S. Military special forces who still has close friends in covert operations. Does that answer your question Ms. Gray?

    LEILA
    (scared out of her mind and almost stuttering)
    Y…y…y…..yes, Mr. Phillips.

    MR. PHILLIPS
    I think it’s a great shame that there are so many bright ambitious students in poorer countries around the world, who would give anything for the quality education American students take for granted, and that those same foreign students are being denied that opportunity while American students take it for granted and waste it. I wish I could find a way to address that injustice, to provide those motivated hard-working foreign students with a solid education, don’t you Ms. Gray.

    LEILA
    (still scared out of her mind)
    Y…y…y…..yes I do , Mr. Phillips.

    MR. PHILLIPS
    In fact, I very confident that the students in this classroom who have, shall we say, discovered a new dedication to their education, are smart and driven enough to earn merit scholarships from some of the best universities in the world. And I feel certain that the rest of you will be motivated to work harder simply by their example, won’t you class?

    No one says a word. MR. PHILLIPS snaps his fingers and the two men in dark suits step inside the doorway, looking ominous.

    MR. PHILLIPS
    I SAID ‘WON’T WE CLASS’???

    THE ENTIRE CLASS
    (in unison)
    YES MR. PHILLIPS

    MR. PHILLIPS waves the two goons off….they Leave

    MR. PHILLIPS
    Any other questions before we proceed?

    CHIP carefully raises his hand

    MR. PHILLIPS (CONT)
    Mr. Clarkson….what is your question?

    CHIP
    (extremely nervous)
    Mr. Phillips….sir….with all due respect….we live in the in a country where kidnapping and torture of citizens is illegal and a complete violation of our the Constitution. The United States was founded on principals that directly refute such police state tactics.

    MR. PHILLIPS stares at CHIP, then slowly raises his little bell to eye level. MR PHILLIPS rings his bell again. The students on either side of CHIP slide down out of view, and tasering can be heard. Two new students of obvious foreign descent, wearing clothing and wigs that vaguely resembles that of the students they just replaced, pop up as if nothing had happened.

    MR. PHILLIPS
    Mr. Clarkson, your test scores have been exemplary, so I will tolerate your outburst. However, students with borderline test scores will be placed in seats around you at all times. Should you feel the need to deliver a civics speech, those students will suffer to the consequences of your actions and your arrogance. Are we clear Mr. Clarkson?

    CHIP
    Crystal, sir. Thank you sir.

    CHIP sits back down gingerly and quietly. LEILA carefully and slowly raises her hand.

    MR. PHILLIPS
    Another question already Ms. Gray?

    MR. PHILLIPS picks up the bell and holds it for LEILA to see, but doesn’t ring it.

    LEILA
    Sir…ummmm…won’t the parents of the students who have, umm, altered their appearance slightly here today, notice that they look different?

    MR. PHILLIPS
    You’re teenagers Ms. Gray – your parents never see you anyway.
    PRINCIPAL WATERS stands in the doorway and knocks on the frame

    MR. PHILLIPS
    Ah, Principal Waters, please come on in. We were just discussing the standardized test process for this year.

    PRINCIPAL WATERS
    That’s exactly what I came by to discuss. As I understand it, you had several students in your classes last year who scored lower than desired on their state-mandated tests, is that correct.

    MR. PHILLIPS
    Unfortunately it is Principal Waters. However, we were just discussing how everyone in this room has re-dedicated themselves to good study habits and….

    The taser noise is heard again, and MR. PHILLIPS collapses to the floor disappearing behind his desk. A middle eastern man, GABRIEL, stands up wearing the same sweater as MR. PHILLIPS

    PRINCIPAL WATERS
    By the way kids, Mr. Phillips spent the summer in an Israeali kibbutz, where he picked up a slight accent, but earned two PHd’s in 18th century English literature and quantum physics. He also got a quite a tan, but we all agree he bears absolutely no resemblance to any Mossad agent who might be hiding out int the United States, don’t we??

    PRINCIPAL WATERS grabs the bell and holds it up threateningly for all to see

    THE ENTIRE CLASS
    Yes Principal Waters!

    PRINCIPAL WATERS
    Excellent, children! Have a wonderful school year Mr. Phillips!

    GABRIEL
    Go Wombats!

    Fade out

  • Whose Side Are You On?

    (A recording studio. SCOTT stands alone, fretting. After a beat, THERESA enters.)

    SCOTT
    He still out there?

    THERESA
    Yeah.

    (pause)

    SCOTT
    If he can’t go through with it, are you willing to do the voiceover?

    THERESA
    No! I have a horrible voice!

    SCOTT
    Don’t say that.

    THERESA
    It’s true! It’s worse than yours.

    (pause)

    SCOTT
    Yeah, I guess it is.

    THERESA
    I could never sell something as radical as this. Hell, I could tell people the earth was round, and they’d second guess themselves and consult a globe.

    (pause)

    SCOTT
    The jury’s still out on the earth being round, as far as I’m concerned.

    THERESA
    Not today. Please.

    (ROB enters.)

    SCOTT
    What’s up?

    ROB
    I’m in.

    THERESA
    You sure? Because we can’t screw around on this stuff anymore, we only have the studio till 2:30.

    ROB
    Right. Let’s just plow through it. I just want it to be known that I don’t believe any of this crap.

    SCOTT
    You don’t have to.

    (THERESA and SCOTT retreat to the recording equipment and ROB positions himself in front of the microphone. All three put on headphones.)

    THERESA
    Take it from “slurry walls.”

    ROB (reading)
    “The slurry walls, three-foot-thick walls of concrete buried deep underneath the World Trade Center, were designed to hold back the ocean and the Hudson River. But these walls were displaced, in some areas by up to eighteen inches. If the walls were strong enough to support the weight of the towers and the ocean for over twenty-five years, why would they be knocked out of alignment?” Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because two one-hundred-story buildings had just fallen down on top of them?

    SCOTT
    Cut!

    ROB
    I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I can’t get behind this because I don’t believe it.

    THERESA
    Hey, Rob, I see on your résumé that you played Nathan Detroit in “Guys and Dolls.” So, did you “believe” that you had to find a place for the big craps game?

    ROB
    The fact that I was in “Guys and Dolls” is not going to make people not want to work with me in the future!

    THERESA
    No, your unprofessionalism will do that nicely!

    SCOTT
    Please. Everyone just calm down. Rob, you’re very good. You have the steely timbre, the gravitas we need.

    ROB (grudgingly)
    Thank you.

    SCOTT
    There’s a reason we hired you for this. 9/11 was an inside job. The idea that a handful of guys with box cutters could do this is ridiculous, and everyone knows it.

    ROB
    Okay. I need to tell you something. Sometimes a conspiracy theorist will make a grand conspiracy statement, and he will follow it with the phrase, “and everyone knows it.”

    SCOTT
    Okay.

    ROB
    Those four words tag you as a crackpot. They carry the implication that when I claim to disagree with you, that means I must be “in on it.” Or that they’ve “gotten to me” and threatened my family or something.

    SCOTT
    All right.

    ROB
    And since I know that neither of those is the case, your entire theory crumbles. If there is no room in your worldview for me to disagree with you without being a coward, or a shadowy architect of clandestine machinations, then you are a crackpot, and you are to be ignored.

    SCOTT
    Noted. Are we doing this?

    (SPYDER, owner of the recording studio, enters.)

    SPYDER
    Guys, I need you to wrap this up. I got a “My Little Pony” Christmas special coming in here at 2:30.

    THERESA
    Spyder, can they reschedule? We’re trying to open the eyes of the nation here.

    SPYDER
    No, man, I want them in and out of here ASAP. They’re unlicensed.

    SCOTT
    What do you mean?

    SPYDER
    It’s not an official “My Little Pony” video, it’s a knockoff they’re going to sell on the street.

    (pause)

    THERESA
    Let’s just drop it.

    SCOTT
    Are you serious?

    THERESA
    Yeah. I guess the truth loses again. Give Rob his money and let’s go home.

    SCOTT
    Yeah, okay.

    THERESA
    I guess I’ll read the closing paragraph later. We can cobble together the rest

    (SCOTT stares down ROB for a moment, then shakes his hand.)

    SCOTT
    You fucked us, Rob. But you took a stand. On some level, I have to respect that.

    (ROB watches everyone pack up. He is about to take his water bottle and leave, but he stops himself. He swipes the script back from SCOTT.)

    ROB
    Roll the tape.

    SCOTT
    What are you doing, Rob?

    ROB
    Just roll it.
    (They do. ROB is magnificent, heartfelt, as he recites from the script.)
    “To review. George W. Bush was eager to create enough chaos to allow his half-brother Osama bin Laden to divert Afghanistan’s heroin trade through Putin’s Russia. So he asked the 107-year-old Dick Cheney to combine the Catholic Church’s weather machine with the water engine technology owned by Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac. Using it all in conjunction with a holographic sky-projector with possible origins in the blueprints from the ancient alien astronauts, they staged the most massive act of treason our country has seen.”
    (pause)
    “The President has said, you’re either with us or you’re with the terrorists. Open your eyes, America. They are one and the same.”
    (pause)
    “Whose side are you on?”

    (pause)

    THERESA (softly)
    You nailed it.

    ROB
    Well.

    THERESA
    No, you fucking nailed it.

    SCOTT
    Rob. Thank you.

    (SCOTT nods and makes his way out of the studio. SPYDER approaches THERESA.)

    SPYDER
    Hey, is that stuff true? About the water machine and the ancient astronauts?

    THERESA
    Every last word.

    SPYDER
    Could I get a copy of this video?

    (ROB, hearing this, nods at THERESA and SCOTT. They nod back. ROB exits.)

  • 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