Sketch War

Category: Sketches

Sketch Entries from the warriors

  • FSW: Radio Show Edition

    Another Friday and another sketch that I’m pulling out of my filing cabinet. Being tech week for Metaluna, I just haven’t had a free moment to write, let alone think of anything other than my lines for the show.

    Richard’s all new this week, though, and not messing around. People have gotten hurt.

    Dave’s been AWOL for a couple of weeks. But don’t give up on him. He’s out there watching from the tree line.

    So this piece is on the long side. I wrote it for WNEP’s “Armageddon Radio Hour New Year’s Eve” show a couple of years ago. There aren’t a lot of stage directions because, well, it’s radio. Think 30s/40s.

    “Helen on Wheels”

    ANNOUNCER: Grinkleman’s Prosthetic Limbs is proud to bring you another exciting evening of mystery and mischief with everyone’s favorite wheelchair-bound detective, Helen Slater. Grinkleman’s Prosthetic Limbs; When you need a helping hand, or hook, you need Grinkleman’s.

    SXF: Noir-ish music.

    HELEN: (Voice over) Father McDougan was in quite a state. Some creeps had bagged the baby Jesus from the Nativity Scene in front of City Hall.

    MCDOUGAN: It’s not just any baby doll, Helen. It was hand crafted in Rome, out of 24 carat gold and blessed by the Pope himself.

    HELEN: (V.O.) I’d never seen him so upset. He had the look of man who had seen Lucifer himself poking around his back door. He wanted the baby Jesus back and he didn’t want to wait for the Second Coming to see him again.

    MCDOUGAN: Do whatever you have to do, my child, just short of breaking a commandment. Unless it’s murdering the thieving son of a bitch that stole our baby Jesus.

    HELEN: (V.O.) Keeping the commandments in tact was no small feat in my line of work. But if someone was going to get plugged over this doll, it sure wasn’t going to be me or Franny, God bless her heart. I felt bad making her work on the day after Christmas, but I knew this case wouldn’t wait. McDougan didn’t give us much to go on, so we started at the only place I could think of.

    SFX: Door chimes. Squeaky wheels.

    MOSHE: (Heavy Jewish accent) Welcome to Moshe’s Jewelry & Deli, how can I help you?

    HELEN: We’re looking for baby Jesus, you seen him?

    MOSHE: What are you, pulling my leg or something?

    HELEN: I’m not pulling nothing. Has anybody been in here lately trying to push baby Jesus on you?

    MOSHE: Do you know what part of town you’re in?

    FRANNY: It’s a solid gold, baby Jesus.

    HELEN: That ring any bells for you?

    MOSHE: A baby made out of gold. Sheesh, who could afford such a thing?

    HELEN: So nobody’s come in trying to sell one off fast and cheap?

    MOSHE: What are implying?

    HELEN: I know the type of clientele you deal with here, so don’t try and play all kosher with me.

    MOSHE: I haven’t heard of this baby Jesus, but if it’s gold I know someone who might be able to help you.

    HELEN: Spill. And fix us a couple of ham sandwiches while you’re talking.

    FRANNY: Um, Helen.

    SFX: Driving car and windshield wipers.

    HELEN: (V.O.) After we got our order straight, Moshe told us where we might find our Jesus thief. I don’t know why the crooks and scum of this city always have to pick the day with the worst weather to be up to no good in, but it hasn’t stopped raining since we got this job. Don’t they know that rain plays the devil on a woman’s hair?

    FRANNY: What kind of a twisted soul steals the baby Jesus right out from under his mother’s nose?

    HELEN: I think we’re about to find out, Franny.

    SFX: A car’s brakes squeal to a stop. Car doors slam and men’s voices mumble.

    HELEN: Come on, let’s make tracks.

    SFX: Car door opening and closing. Footsteps on gravel. Trunk being opened and wheelchair being pulled out. Squeaky wheels. Another car door opening.

    HELEN: Turn the chair around.

    FRANNY: Let me help you.

    HELEN: I can do it myself. Ouch, you’re pinching my –

    FRANNY: I’m sorry, I don’t want you –

    HELEN: Just hold the damn chair still!

    SFX: Body sitting down hard. Car door closing.

    HELEN: Umbrella!

    SFX: Umbrella opening. Raining, hitting umbrella.

    FRANNY: Are you sure you want to go in there?

    HELEN: We don’t have any choice. Let’s make tracks.

    SFX: Squeaky wheels. Door opening and Jazz music.

    HELENThe place was jumping. Nothing but sad sacks spending their Christmas bonuses on booze and loose women as far as the eye could see.

    BARTENDER: Welcome to Dashiell’s Hamlet, ma’am, what can I get you?

    HELEN: Did you see two men just come in here?

    BARTENDER: Who said that?

    HELEN: I did. Down here.

    BARTENDER: Sorry, didn’t see you.

    HELEN: Two men just came in here a minute ago.

    BARTENDER: You should put a tall flag on your chair or wear a bell or something.

    FRANNY: Helen, over there. That’s him.

    BARTENDER: That’s Biggie Beahaul and his head goon, Felsch.

    HELEN: Let’s go introduce ourselves, Franny.

    SFX: Squeaky wheels. Two loud thuds.

    FRANNY: Helen, are you all right?

    HELEN: Who puts steps in a bar? Lord. Excuse me, Mr. Beahaul?

    SFX: Ice being stirred in a glass.

    BEAHAUL: Sorry, lady, I don’t work with charity cases.

    HELEN: I’m not here for a handout Mr. Beahaul, I’m looking for something.

    BEAHAUL: This look like the lost and found?

    HELEN: I’m not talking about lost mittens here, this “something” is worth a lot of scratch.

    BEAHAUL: What makes you think I’d know anything about it?

    HELEN: Call it woman’s intuition.

    BEAHAUL: How’s about you call it a day and get lost before I lose my temper and flatten your tires. Felsch, see these dames to the door.

    FELSCH: Yes, sir, Mr. Beahaul, sir.

    HELEN: Not so fast, Felsch. I think we might have something that interests you. Franny, show him.

    SFX: Cat call whistle.

    BEAHAUL: Nice melons.

    HELEN: Honeydew. Moshe said they were your favorite.

    BEAHAUL: Out of season too. You ladies went through a lot of trouble to get my attention.

    HELEN: Now that we’ve got it, I wonder if we might have a moment of your time.

    BEAHAUL: Sure, why not. Let’s go back to my office.

    SFX: Squeaky wheels and footsteps. A door opens and closes.

    BEAHAUL: You can set the melons down over there.

    SFX: Two melons being set down.

    BEAHAUL: Start talking.

    HELEN: We’re looking for a doll.

    BEAHAUL: Try the toy store.

    HELEN: A Jesus doll.

    BEAHAUL: Try the church.

    HELEN: A Jesus doll made out of solid gold. (Pause) What’s the matter Mr. Beahaul, cat got your tongue?

    BEAHAUL: I’m not in the solid gold, baby Jesus sales market.

    HELEN: Oh no? What exactly does it say on your business cards?

    BEAHAUL: It says “Be wary of strange women in wheelchairs who come baring melons”.

    HELEN: I hope you didn’t have to pay by the letter.

    BEAHAUL: Wait a minute. You’re that broad that thinks she’s a detective, ain’t ya?

    HELEN: How do you know that?

    BEAHAUL: It says so right there on the engraved plaque on your chair.

    HELEN: That was a gift from Franny.

    BEAHAUL: I’m afraid it’s time for you to go.

    HELEN: No
    t until we get what we came for.

    BEAHAUL: If you came for a fat lip, then you might be in luck.

    HELENL: You wouldn’t dare hit a defenseless, crippled woman in a wheelchair, would you?

    SFX: Slap!

    HELEN: You could have just said “yes” or “no”.

    BEAHAUL: Actions speak louder than words.

    HELEN: Yes they do. And your actions tell me you’re one rotten bastard. Franny, the melons.

    BEAHAUL: Oh, so you’re an Indian giver too.

    SFX: A melon being smashed on the ground.

    BEAHAUL: Hey! Don’t waste those!

    SFX: A gun being cocked.

    BEAHAUL: What the devil!

    FRANNY: Keep your hands where I can see them or I’ll plug ya. You too Felsch.

    BEAHAUL: The ol’ .45 in the melon trick. I shoulda known.

    HELEN: Mr. Beahaul, would you come here for a second?

    SFX: A step.

    HELEN: Closer.

    SFX: A step.

    HELEN: Bend down here, I want to tell you something.

    BEAHAUL: Nuh-uh, you’re just going to hit me.

    HELEN: I’m not, I just want to whisper something in your ear.

    BEAHAUL: You can tell me from there.

    HELEN: Just come here.

    BEAHAUL: No.

    SFX: Squeaky wheels.

    BEAHAUL: Ow! My foot.

    SFX: The door bursts open.

    MCDOUGAN: Helen!

    SFX: Gun shot.

    FRANNY: Oops.

    HELEN: Franny, what did you do?

    FRANNY: He startled me!

    BEAHAUL: You just shot Father McDougan!

    HELEN: Father McDougan, can you hear me? Are you all right? Franny call an ambulance.

    SFX: Footsteps running off.

    MCDOUGAN: (Labored breathing) I was just comin’ to tell ya.

    HELEN: What? Tell me what?

    MCDOUGAN: The baby Jesus.

    HELEN: We were just about to get it for you, Father.

    MCDOUGAN: Sister Mary Catherine put it in the wrong closet. It was in the church all along.

    SFX: Running footsteps.

    FRANNY: They’re on their way. How is he?

    BEAHAUL: You shot him, how do you think he is?

    HELEN: Hang on, Father, help is on the way.

    FELSH: I haven’t been to church in a while, but I’m pretty sure that’s a sin.

    SFX: Faint sound of a siren.

    ANNOUNCER: Will Father McDougan finally meet his maker? Will Franny go to prison for killing a priest? Will Helen give up detective work forever? Tune in next week when Grinkleman’s Prosthetic Limbs brings you another exiting chapter in the ongoing saga of everyone’s favorite wheelchair-bound detective, Helen Slater. And remember, at Grinkleman’s the pant leg is always half full.

    SFX: Dramatic music out.

  • FSW: Rules of Order

    (Amy stands at the head of a packed and unruly conference table. Everyone is talking over everyone else, trying to be heard above the din and chaos. Kurt sits quietly by Amy’s side.)

    AMY
    People! People! Please! Can we have order, please?!

    (She bangs her hand on the table and the chattering stops. Amy’s got control for the moment.)

    AMY
    Thank you. Alright, now as I was saying–

    STEVEN
    –Amy, look we’re not getting anywhere with this, right? Can I make a suggestion?

    AMY
    Sure, Steven. What do you–

    KURT
    (whispers) –he can’t talk yet.

    AMY
    What?

    KURT
    (still whispering) He hasn’t been recognized by the chair. He can’t talk.

    AMY
    But I’m the chair.

    KURT
    (still, like a weenie, whispering) You have to say it.

    AMY
    (sighs) Fine. The chair recognizes Mr. Denton.

    STEVEN
    Uh, right, okay. Where was I? Oh, yeah. I think we should just put it to a vote whether we should even use the money from the bake sale for new band uniforms. I think it should help pay for the field trip to the capitol, and why should we fight over band uniforms if we aren’t even going to have the money to buy them?

    AMY
    Okay. Anything to just get on to the next agenda item. Who thinks we should buy new uniforms? Raise your hand.

    KURT
    (whispering…seriously? what’s with this guy?) You can’t do that! He has to make a motion first, then it has to be seconded. We’re nowhere near voting on it.

    AMY
    You’re serious? We’ve been at this for two hours already. Let’s just try to make some headway. Don’t you want to go home to your family? I know I’d love to get the hell out of here and get a drink or three.

    KURT
    (whispering…now he’s just doing it to piss me off) As much as I love my wife and kids, I love RONR. Without it, we’d be no better than savages!

    (Kurt holds up his copy of “Robert’s Rules of Order Newly Revised” triumphantly and Amy considers it seriously for a moment. Then she snatches the book from the little twerp’s hand and CONKS him over the head with it. Kurt’s knocked backward and knocked out.)

    AMY
    Okay, everyone raise your hand if you think we should buy uniforms.

    BLACKOUT

    LIGHTS UP 

    (Same configuration as before, only now Kurt sits a little farther from Amy. Everyone is dressed differently: another week, another meeting.)

    AMY
    Alright, our first order of business tonight–

    KURT
    Ahem. Excuse me?

    AMY
    (sighs) The chair recognizes Mr. Burton.

    KURT
    After last week’s meeting I had a lot of time to think. After I came to, anyway. And I think you were right, Madam Chair. I think for our little PTA, RONR is just too cumbersome and formal. So I’d like to propose we change to the Native American model.

    AMY
    What’s that, Kurt?

    (Kurt picks up a large stick from behind his chair and holds it up.)

    KURT
    The Talking Stick. Whoever holds the stick can speak. No one else can speak without the stick. It gets passed around to each person in turn who can speak, or elect not to. It’s very fair.

    (Amy holds out her hand for the stick. Kurt hands it over.)

    AMY
    Hmm. I see what you mean. This does seem better than that fussy little book.

    (Amy CONKS Kurt with the talking stick. Over and out.)

    AMY (CONT’D)
    Okay. First order of business tonight is the pancake breakfast.

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: Reaction Edition

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

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

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

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

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

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

    SARAH: No. Not yet.

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

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

    SARAH: Shhhh. Just enjoy the ride.

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

    MARK: Ow. Ow! Sarah wait.

    SARAH: Are you all right?

    MARK: Something’s not right.

    SARAH: Too much teeth?

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

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

    (He is scratching.)

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

    MARK: Oh no.

    SARAH: What? What is it?

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

    SARAH: To what? To me?

    MARK: Maybe. Maybe something I ate.

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

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

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

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

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

    SARAH: What now?

    (Mark turns his back and unzips his pants.)

    MARK: I think it’s swelling.

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

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

    SARAH: Yeah. Earlier.

    MARK: What kind?

    SARAH: Ponds.

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

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

    MARK: Your lip gloss.

    SARAH: What about it?

    MARK: What kind?

    SARAH: Lip Venom.

    MARK: What’s it made of?

    SARAH: It’s cinnamon and ginger spices…

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

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

    (Mark’s is having trouble breathing.)

    MARK: I think my throat is closthing up.

    SARAH: I’m calling 911.

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

    SARAH: But if you’re going to die…

    MARK: I justht need sthome benedryll.

    SARAH: Do you have a bee sting kit?

    MARK: I’m not allergic to beesth!

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

    MARK: What?

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

    MARK: It’th never been this bad before.

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

    MARK: You can’t justht wash it off.

    SARAH: I don’t know what else to do.

    (His breathing is becoming more labored.)

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

    (He sits on the couch, wheezing.)

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

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

    (With that he passes out.)

    SARAH: Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

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

    SARAH: Mark! Wake up! Please!

    (She freezes.)

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

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

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

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

    SARAH: I am not a murderess!!!

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

    SARAH: Oh, God. I’m sorry.

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

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

    MARK: (Weakly) Stharah? Isth that you?

    SARAH: I’m right here, Mark.

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

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

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

    MARK: Noooo!

    BLACKOUT OUT

  • FSW: The Legend of the Fourth

    I decided to go with an Independence Day theme for this one, also challenging Michael to see if he could do the same. We’ll see what he comes up with later, but for now, please enjoy my offering.

    The Legend of the Fourth
    (Stan sits at the edge of his young son Seth’s bed, tucking him in for the night. Sunlight leaks through a break in the window coverings.)

    STAN
    Okay, sport. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.

    SETH
    Dad, why do I have to go to bed so early tonight?

    STAN
    Well, tiger, this is the scariest night of the year. The night when the walking dead roam the land looking for young boys and girls so they can eat their brains. Tonight is July 4th.

    SETH
    But Jimmy said there were fireworks tonight. His parents are taking him to the lake to watch.

    STAN
    Then Jimmy’s parents mustn’t love him like your mom and I love you, champ. Fireworks aren’t fun and games. We set off fireworks to scare away the monsters. Close your eyes and I’ll tell you the legend of the fourth.

    Tom Jefferson hated the king. When Tom was a boy, he’d written a long letter to the king, telling him how he wanted to become a knight someday so he could hit people over the head with a hammer. But the king never wrote back. So when Tom grew up, he had it in for the king. Problem was, Tom was what they call a dilettante, which is a fancy word for no-good slacker. Like your Uncle Bob.

    He looked everywhere for other people who hated the king. Patrick Henry hated the king because he was greedy. Patrick was always saying to people “give me this or give me that,” but the king never gave Patrick anything. Ben Franklin hated the king because the king didn’t like the electric lights Ben invented. John Adams hated the king because he wanted to be king himself.

    So they worked on a plan to destroy the kingdom.

    First they stole bodies from the cemetery. Then Patrick Henry took all the best parts from the bodies and sewed them together to make a better body. He realized that none of the teeth would fit in the mouth he’d used, so he asked his friend Paul Bunyan to carve some out of wood. They put them in the mouth and used Ben Franklin’s electricity to make it come to life.

    They named him George Washington and he beat the king up until he left. Then he chopped down a cherry tree and made everyone a pie to celebrate. That was the first July 4th in 1776.

    They realized that if they could make George come back to life, maybe Ben Franklin’s electricity could also make them live forever. So later that day they went back to Ben Franklin’s secret lab.

    Patrick Henry was greedy, so he wanted to live forever. He used Ben Franklin’s electricity on himself.

    Ben Franklin wanted to invent more things, like stoves and kites, so he used his electricity on himself.

    John Adams wanted to be king forever, so of course he used Ben Franklin’s electricity on himself.

    But Tom decided he didn’t want to live forever. And that was good, because what none of them knew was that Ben Franklin’s electricity could keep them alive forever, but every year on the same day they’d made themselves live forever, they’d need to eat. If they didn’t eat, the hunger would gnaw away at them and make them feel like they’d been kicked in their boy place.

    The only thing that would make the hunger go away was brains. Brains of little boys and girls.

    The next year on July 4th, Tom saw John Adams in the street trying to catch some children to eat their brains. He said, “John Adams, what are you trying to do to those children?”

    John Adams said, “Why, I’m trying to eat their brains Tom Jefferson!”

    Tom needed to save the children, so he tried to think of a way to scare off John Adams. Then he figured it out. He could use fireworks. “Everyone knows that zombies don’t like loud noise,” thought Tom. “Maybe John Adams is like a zombie now.”

    Tom was right, and the fireworks scared off John Adams. Zombie John Adams.

    And that’s why every year on the fourth of July, the children go to bed early and the grownups set off fireworks. To protect you from Zombie John Adams, Zombie Ben Franklin, and Zombie Patrick Henry.

    (Seth’s face is barely visible, with a deeply traumatized look in his eyes. The whole bed is shaking from his terror.)

    SETH
    What about Zombie George Washington?

    STAN
    Right. Him too. He’s the worst. With those wooden teeth, chewing on the little brains.

    Alright, buckaroo. It’s time to go to sleep.

    (Stan gets up and exits the room. Seth continues to tremble. Outside Seth’s bedroom, Stan’s wife Kerry gives him a long, deep kiss. She’s wrapped in a fluffy robe.)

    KERRY
    How did it go?

    STAN
    Great. He won’t be coming out till morning.

    KERRY
    Okay. Then you’d better hurry and get changed. I don’t want to be late.

    STAN
    What about you?

    (Kerry opens her robe to reveal a latex bustier, stilletto heels, and a garter belt. She picks up a riding crop from a nearby table and gives Stan a healthy whack with it.)

    KERRY
    Our first Sparklers and Spankers party? I’ve been ready for hours.

    BLACKOUT

  • All I Want is a Relaxing Dinner with Limp Bizkit

    (A restaurant. A MAÎTRE D’ answers the phone. It’s FRED DURST.)

    MAÎTRE D’
    Good afternoon, Kyle’s on Seventh.

    FRED
    Yes, I’d like to make a reservation for tonight.

    MAÎTRE D’
    Certainly, sir. How many will be dining?

    FRED
    Four.

    MAÎTRE D’
    And your name please?

    FRED
    Durst.

    MAÎTRE D’
    “Durst”?

    FRED
    Yes.

    MAÎTRE D’
    I’m sorry, is that “Durst” or “Burst”?

    FRED
    Durst.

    (The MAÎTRE D’ is about to write it down, but second-guesses himself.)

    MAÎTRE D’
    Sorry, is that “Durst” with a “D” or “Burst” with a “B”?

    FRED
    Durst with a D.

    (The MAÎTRE D’ pauses.)

    MAÎTRE D’
    I’m sorry sir, is that “D” as in “duck,” or “B” as in “buck”?

    FRED
    “D” as in “duck.”

    (The MAÎTRE D’ winces.)

    MAÎTRE D’
    I’m sorry. Is that “duck” as in “I went hunting and shot a duck,” or “buck” as in “I went hunting and shot a buck”?

    FRED
    “I went hunting and shot a duck.”

    (The MAÎTRE D’ is about to write the name down, but stops himself.)

    MAÎTRE D’
    Um. Was that “I went hunting and shot a duck as it paddled in the pond,” or “I went hunting and shot a buck as it gamboled through the woods”?

    DURST (irritable)
    I went hunting and shot a duck as it paddled in the pond.

    MAÎTRE D’
    Thank you, Mr. Durst. Sorry about that.

    FRED
    It’s fine.

    MAÎTRE D’
    May I have your first name?

    FRED
    It’s Fred.

    (The MAÎTRE D’ is about to write it down, but stops himself.)

    MAÎTRE D’
    I’m sorry, was that “Fred” or “Red”?

  • FSW: The Loan’s the Thing Edition

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    (They share a laugh. The phone rings.)

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

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

    JANE: Jane Gorman, talk to me.

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

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

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

    JANE: Let me see.

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

    MARTY: What are you doing?

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

    MARTY: What? Why?

    JANE: I’d rather not say.

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

    JANE: No one.

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

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

    MARTY: What?

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

    (He stands up and looks around.)

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

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

    MARTY: And he called you?

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

    (He sits.)

    MARTY: I’m going to die?

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

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

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

    (Marty stands and begins to leave, dejected.)

    MARTY: Uh. Thanks. I guess.

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

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

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

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

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

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: Witness Protection

    (A gray, grimy interrogation room. One table, two chairs, harsh fluorescents. MARVIN HENDERSON sits nervously opposite DET. JASON DETWILER.)

    MARVIN
    It’s not fair.

    DETWILER
    Life’s not fair, Henderson.

    MARVIN
    I need guarantees.

    DETWILER
    Guarantees? Haven’t you figured out from all of this that there are no guarantees in this life? Or the next?

    MARVIN
    He’ll kill me. You’ve got to protect me.

    DETWILER
    Witness protection? You give us what we need and testify against that sonuvabitch and we’ll talk.

    MARVIN
    I’m just an accountant!

    DETWILER
    And I’m just losing my patience, Henderson. Spill.

    MARVIN
    (Sighs deeply) Okay. At first, I just thought it was an error in the numbers. Doesn’t happen much, I make sure of that, but once in a while a mistake creeps in and sticks around. So I started tracking it back. It took me a while – he’s got books going back forever – but once I found it, things started falling into place.

    DETWILER
    Found what? Spell it out.

    MARVIN
    I should have realized. 144K isn’t that much. I mean, there’s billions of people, right? Why only 144,000? Why is that his magic number?

    DETWILER
    You tell me.

    MARVIN
    Timeshares.

    DETWILER
    What?

    MARVIN
    It’s timeshares. He bought up some swampland in the Everglades and drained it, put in condos, a little town, a man-made lake. A whole, self-contained little community. 2000 units, some one bedroom, some two. Week-long shares. You see, it’s not really 144K. That’s just approximate. Could be more, could be less.

    Heaven is a timeshare in Florida.

    DETWILER
    Sounds more like hell.

    MARVIN
    His old accountant was clever, but he couldn’t hide the payments. The boss had to grease a lot of palms to get that through. Plus, he had to pay off the masons.

    DETWILER
    Tough union?

    MARVIN
    No, the Freemasons. They wanted a piece of his action, and Jehovah didn’t want to start a war. He was trying to fly under the radar.

    DETWILER
    This is good stuff, Henderson, but I don’t know if it’s enough to nail him. You’ve got to give us more.

    MARVIN
    I’ve got more. He’s been skimming money off the top for years. His kid doesn’t even know, not that he’d do anything about it but pout anyway. It took me a month of going through the books, line by line but I caught it. You see, once you know what to ask, the answers can be found in his books.

    You know the X Prize?

    DETWILER
    No.

    MARVIN
    Big fund to build a private spaceship. Ten mill.

    DETWILER
    What’s that got to do with your boss?

    MARVIN
    It’s him. He’s the guy behind it.

    DETWILER
    What does god need with a starship?

    MARVIN
    Nothing. He’s been using it as a tax shelter. An illegal tax shelter.

    DETWILER
    We’ve got him!

    Tell me Henderson, why? Why did you turn against him?

    MARVIN
    My wife died last year. Cancer. I asked him why. “Why, Lord? Why did you take her?” He just sat there and said nothing. Bastard.

    BLACKOUT

    (A small, neatly furnished living room. Marvin and MARIE sit next to each other on a couch. Marvin’s hair color has been changed and he looks a few years older.)

    MARIE
    Ben, honey? I’m going to get a beer. You want one?

    MARVIN/BEN
    Sure, that’d be great.

    (Marie gets up and starts to head to the kitchen. The doorbell rings…)

    MARIE
    I’ll get it.

    (Marie crosses and opens the front door. A bright shaft of sunlight streams in through the opening. As the visitor speaks, Marvin’s expression changes from neutrality to abject terror.)

    MAN (O.S.)
    Have you heard the good word?

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: Short & Sweet Edition

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

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

  • FSW: Trapezoid Traffic Stop

    (Harold and Debbie sit in their car, strobing blue and red lights shining through the rear window making clear their plight. At the wheel, Harold looks forlorn, Debbie irritated.)

    RADIO ANNOUNCER (O.S.)
    …come on in to Spiedermann’s Metal Gazebos. With every great bower comes great bronze stability!

    DEBBIE
    Turn that off!

    (Harold kills the radio. A trooper strides to the window in full regalia. His boots a-gleam and his hat brim arrow-straight, Dudley Do-Right’s got nothing on him.)

    TROOPER
    License and registration, please.

    (He examines the provided materials for a moment.)

    Do you know why I pulled you over this evening, folks?

    HAROLD
    I sure don’t, officer.

    DEBBIE
    Harold! Don’t be difficult. You know what you were doing. Tell the nice man.

    HAROLD
    I suppose I might have been just a smidge over the speed limit back there. Sorry, officer. I was just keeping pace, you know. And yes, I know that’s wrong.

    TROOPER
    Speeding, huh? Didn’t notice that. Let me get that down. Just how fast do you think you were going, Mr. Renshaw?

    HAROLD
    Oh, I wouldn’t say more than a couple of miles over…maybe six?

    DEBBIE
    Harold!

    HAROLD
    Ten. Okay, I was going ten over. I’m real sorry.

    TROOPER
    Ten. I should probably write you up for that.

    (The Trooper pulls out his ticket pad and gets poised to write.)

    You know, that’s actually not why I pulled you over this evening, Harold. Do you mind if I call you Harold?

    HAROLD
    That’s fine.

    DEBBIE
    What else did you do, Harold?

    TROOPER
    Now ma’am, don’t get too mad at Harold. It’s not what he did, but what I can do for you. Folks, I pulled you over tonight to talk about Prickly Pear Products. Are you familiar with the healing power of prickly pears?

    HAROLD
    Prickly…what?

    DEBBIE
    Are you giving him a ticket or not?

    TROOPER
    Well ma’am, that depends. You see, I’m a distributor for 3-P, that’s what we call Prickly Pear Products, and I’d like to ask whether I can interest you in making hundreds of extra dollars a month with just a few hours of work. Our products practically sell themselves. From hair care to health care, soap to supplements, prickly pear pulp can change the way you live.

    Did you know that before the white man arrived, the native Americans of the Southwest never got cancer?

    HAROLD
    I really don’t think we’re inter…wait. That can’t be right. You’re saying they never got cancer? And you expect us to believe that?

    (The Trooper looks at Harold and Debbie for a second, then raises his pen to the ticket.)

    TROOPER
    No sir. I suppose I don’t. You said fifteen miles over the limit, correct? You know in this state that’s considered reckless. I think you should step out of the car.

    HAROLD
    I said ten! Ten!

    DEBBIE
    Excuse me. Officer? I was wondering if there were any other uses for prickly pears. It all sounds so fascinating. Doesn’t it Harold?

    TROOPER
    I’m glad you asked. My product display case is in the trunk of my patrol car if you’d like to take a look, folks. Don’t mind the man in the back seat. He’s harmless.

    BLACKOUT

  • Action Movie One-Liners Don’t Work In Real Life

    (Wesley Snipes talks on an airplane phone to hijacker and terrorist mastermind Charles Rane.)

    In “Passenger 57”

    SNIPES
    You ever play roulette?

    RANE
    On occasion.

    SNIPES
    Well let me give you a word of advice: always bet on black.

    In Real Life

    SNIPES
    You ever play roulette?

    (pause)

    RANE
    Do I what?

    SNIPES
    Ever play roulette.

    RANE
    Why?

    SNIPES
    Just answer the question.

    RANE
    No, I don’t think I’ve ever played roulette.

    SNIPES
    Okay.

    (pause)

    RANE
    Why do you ask?

    SNIPES
    No reason.

    RANE
    No, tell me why you asked me that!

    SNIPES
    It’s stupid.

    RANE
    What’s stupid?

    SNIPES (sighs)
    If you had said “yes,” I was going to tell you to always bet on black.

    RANE
    Why would I do that? That’s not a good strategy at all.

    SNIPES
    Look, just drop it.

    RANE
    I mean, more than half of the pockets on a roulette wheel are not black. They’re just as likely to be red. What the hell are you talking about?

    SNIPES
    I’m black.

    RANE
    Sorry, you cut out for a second.

    SNIPES
    I’m black.

    RANE
    Oh.

    (pause)

    SNIPES
    So, yeah.

    RANE
    So it was a joke?

    SNIPES
    Kind of.

    (pause)

    RANE
    We’re on the phone, how would I know you were black?

    SNIPES
    Just drop it.

    RANE
    And what color do you think I am? Red?

    SNIPES
    Look, the point is, I’m going to need you to land the plane and let all the passengers go.

    RANE
    No!

    (RANE hangs up)