Sketch War

Category: Sketches

Sketch Entries from the warriors

  • FSW: The Three Bees

    Okay, this one’s an odd egg. There are several jokes buried in here, but they’re targeted to specific audiences. I figure you either don’t get this at all, get pieces, or get everything. This might be my most layered piece yet. Now, whether it’s funny or not…

    David has already posted his piece for the week, an excellent one at that. He completely nailed his character’s voice. Michael’s on his honeymoon, so if a sketch shows up I’m going to be a bit concerned about the marriage! As for Red, she’s going to be out of the game for the next month or so as she lives the exciting life of a WSOP dealer. Poker, free drinks, and a salary. Not a bad gig.

    As always, we welcome – nay, beg – others to join in the sketch war games. Just email your piece or a link to your piece to sketchwar_at_dreamloom.com.

    The Three Bees
    (Jim lies on a couch. He wears shirt and tie, stylishly loose. His hair is a mop that says “I don’t care how it looks” but in reality takes thirty minutes and much product to achieve. Seated in a chair behind him taking notes is Dr. Josefs, a 50-something man in a cardigan. A very traditional Freudian.)

    DR. JOSEFS
    How are you today, Jim?

    JIM
    Okay. A little anxious…I had that dream again last night.

    DR. JOSEFS
    Tell me about it.

    JIM
    I’ve told you about it before. It’s the same, every time. Nothing ever changes.

    DR. JOSEFS
    I know, but this is a process. Talk it through. Tell me about the dream.

    JIM
    Okay. (Deep sigh)

    (As Jim starts to speak, the lights go down on the doctor’s office and come up on the scene he’s describing.)

    I’m sitting at a table in an old-style nightclub. It’s late, maybe after hours, and there are only a few people left. This one table is right in front of me. There are two men – one in a white dinner jacket and dress shirt with his bow tie undone, the other has his jacket and tie completely off and draped over the chair. Oh, the guy with the jacket, he’s got a button on the lapel. A yellow smiley face button.

    DR. JOSEFS
    What are the men doing?

    JIM
    They’re talking to each other and laughing, but I can’t hear them. All I hear is the sounds of tables being bussed.

    DR. JOSEFS
    Do you recognize these men?

    JIM
    Same two as always. The one with his jacket still on is a musician I saw perform once. McCreary, something. The other one is that guy who hosts “Man vs. Wild”. That Bear Grylls guy. He starts gesturing pretty wildly, pointing and waving his hands for emphasis. The McCreary guy just shakes his head no during the rant.

    (The men in the dream freeze and the lights dim to half-power. Then they come back up on the therapist’s office.)

    DR. JOSEFS
    And you can’t tell what they’re talking about?

    JIM
    Nope. I try. Everytime I have the dream I try to hear them, or read their lips or something. Doc, it’s happening more often. I’ve had it three times this week alone. I wake up sweating and shaking. What is it?

    DR. JOSEFS
    I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out. What else happens?

    JIM
    I’ve told you! I’ve told you at least ten times already. I’ve been having this dream for months!

    DR. JOSEFS
    I know, Jim. But we’re getting close to a breakthrough, I’m sure of it. What happens next?

    (Jim settles down and breathes deeply to calm himself. The lights go down again and they come up on the club scene. The men unfreeze.)

    JIM
    They finish their argument and then a carhop comes to the table with a tray.

    DR. JOSEFS
    A carhop?

    JIM
    One of those girls on rollerskates they used to have at drive-in burger places. She doesn’t have on much, but it all sparkles. It’s like she got in a fight with a Bedazzler and lost.

    DR. JOSEFS
    What’s on the tray?

    JIM
    Two bowls and a big jar.

    DR. JOSEFS
    A jar?

    JIM
    Yeah. The bowls are empty. She puts them in front of the guys and then opens the jar and pours it into the bowls. It’s thick and red. Looks like blood.

    DR. JOSEFS
    Do the men eat it?

    JIM
    Yeah. Like they’re starving. She rolls away and they’re already bent over the bowls. They’re ravenous. After a minute, they put down the spoons. They just pick up the bowls and drink, gulping down the soup. The one guy, McCreary, he spills a little on his shirt. Gets some on his smiley button, too. Then they turn right to me, both of them staring at me.

    DR. JOSEFS
    What do you think they want?

    JIM
    I don’t know. I can’t tell. Their expressions are blank. The wilderness guy, he raises his arm and points at me, and then I wake up.

    (Blackout on the nightclub scene. Lights back up on the therapist’s office.)

    Doc, I can’t take it any more. What’s it all mean?

    (Dr. Josefs looks at his notes, jots a few more down. Doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. It feels like an eternity.)

    DR. JOSEFS
    Jim, how are things at work?

    JIM
    At work? They’re fine. Same as usual.

    (Dr. Josefs jots a few more notes. From the darkness where the nightclub sits a man walks out. It’s Edward James Olmos, wearing a tuxedo. He walks right up to the couch while Dr. Josefs scribbles, not noticing.)

    OLMOS
    Your table is ready, sir.

    (Smash cut to the same exact scene, but Olmos is gone. Jim opens his eyes with a start and gasps.)

    DR. JOSEFS
    Jim?

    JIM
    I saw him. He was right here.

    DR. JOSEFS
    Saw who?

    JIM
    The maitre’d. But it wasn’t…it was that guy from “Miami Vice”.

    DR. JOSEFS
    Don Johnson? Don Johnson was the maitre’d?

    JIM
    No. Not him.

    DR. JOSEFS
    Tubbs? You dreamt about Tubbs? This is more serious than I realized. We’ll need to–

    JIM
    –no. Not him either. The lieutenant. What was his name?

    (Dr. Josefs scratches a few peremptory notes and puts down his pen.)

    DR. JOSEFS
    Jim, I think I understand what’s been bothering you–

    JIM
    –What is it, doc?–

    DR. JOSEFS
    –but, we’re out of time today.

    (Dr. Josefs presses a button on his intercom and speaks into it.)

    Mary? Could you please schedule another appointment for Mr. Halpert. Sometime in 2009 would be fine.

    BLACKOUT

  • Keith Olbermann Addresses the Guy Who Sat Behind Him at the Movie Theatre

    Finally, as promised, a special comment for the guy sitting behind me at the 9:15 showing of “Iron Man” last night.

    I don’t assume for a moment that you are familiar with Ralph Waldo Emerson, sir, but there may be something for you to learn in his aphorism, “Life is not so short but that there is always time enough for courtesy.”

    Because last night, before the movie even started, you abandoned courtesy with a swiftness bordering on psychotic.

    You saw fit, during the preview of “The Love Guru,” to voice the vulgar acts you would like to perpetrate on Jessica Alba. Your taste in female pulchritude notwithstanding, you’d do well to keep those comments to yourself. The imaginary exploits that were so intriguing to you held no such fascination for those of us within earshot of you, a group which, if I am not mistaken, included everyone in the theatre.

    Not content with that act of inconsideration, you took it upon yourself to begin nudging my seat.

    I am no Pollyanna; I know that a certain amount of jostling is to be expected even in a crowd of the most careful and considerate people. But it became clear that this shifting was not brought about by the act of innocently settling into your seat, but was rather the result of you propping your feet on the back of the empty chair to my left.

    I glanced back at you, hoping to remind you with my eyes that you were in fact not in your living room with a coffee table in front of you, but rather at a public venue filled with strangers who had paid for the privilege, not of listening to your witticisms, but of watching “Iron Man.”

    You gaped back at me with your uncomprehending eyes and finally asked, quoting here, “What is your problem?”

    (TITLE SCREEN: “What is your problem?” – The Guy Sitting Behind Me At The Movie Theatre)

    What is my problem? What is my problem, sir?

    That you would exhibit such blockheadedness that you wouldn’t know and/or care that your actions detracted from my experience. That you would be so brazen in your entitlement as to be immune to censure and embarrassment. That you would wait until the movie started before slowly and noisily unwrapping the cellophane on your box of Dots. That is my problem.

    When at last I stood up to leave that aisle and find another seat, suddenly you were aghast at my rudeness, snapping at me to sit down, and lambasting me for daring to block a portion of your view for three seconds’ worth of the film.

    It is at this moment that you made the transition from ignoramus to traitor. In spite of your impressive list of crimes against every other moviegoer in attendance, you chose to play the injured party – a sensitive, upstanding soul in a world gone mad – at the slightest hint of inconvenience presented to you.

    It is an upheaval of the social construct to expect the rest of us to conform to your gerrymandering standards of etiquette. That is my “problem.” That is the problem of every other paying audience member in that theatre. And at last, that is your problem, sir. For you have gotten this far in your life without the implications of that hypocrisy managing to creep their way into your skull.

    Finally, I appeal to your self-interest, since you have demonstrated your incapability to experience the slightest trace of empathy. Someday, perhaps not today, perhaps not tomorrow, but surely some future day, you will find yourself seated in front of a fellow audience member even more lowbred and oafish than you are.

    Perhaps he will demonstrate his intellectual vacuity by repeating every one of the movie’s idiotic punch lines. Perhaps he will answer several calls on his cell phone throughout the film. Perhaps he will bring a squirming toddler to an R-rated picture, and you will bear the brunt of all the fussing and scolding.

    Then you will realize too late which side of this social conflict you are on.

    Good night and good luck.

  • FSW: Bob’s Knob Shop

    I fear I may be alone again this week, folks. Michael’s nuptials are here (if you’ve enjoyed his sketches in the past like I have, you should go on over and wish him and the bride luck) and David’s been up against a wall at work for a long while now. This might be a one-man war band.

    Imagine indeed, Mr. Lennon.

    Bob’s Knob Spot
    (Bob, in his 50s and portly, stands front and center by the register of a cramped store. At the register is Mabel who may be in her 50s or may be in her 90s; it’s hard to tell. Behind them are tightly packed aisles filled with doorknobs. At point of sale are more doorknobs.)

    BOB
    Hi folks. Bob Pushkin at Bob’s Knob Spot here to tell you about this week’s deals. We’ve got a sale on all of last year’s six-centimeter, seven-centimeter, and nine-centimeter cabinet knobs. Round ones, square ones, wood ones, metal ones. It doesn’t matter, they’ve got to go. We’ve got to make room for the new models and have slashed our prices. Take this knob for example…

    (Mabel hands Bob a small knob for a cabinet drawer.)

    BOB
    Regularly priced at 89 cents, we’ve cut the price to 67 cents! That’s a savings of 25%! And it’s not just the base models, either…

    (Mabel hands Bob a small porcelain knob with a design painted on it.)

    BOB
    Take this Miller & Steen porcelain knob. Regularly $3.75, we’ve slashed the price to $2.50! Don’t miss out!

    And now it’s time for this week’s comparison shopper where Mabel and I go under cover around town and check out the prices at our competitors.

    (Mabel hands Bob a blister pack containing a full knob and lock assembly for a door.)

    I picked up this LockJaw doorknob at Stan’s Hinges and Doors for $37.99. Our price: $35!

    (Mabel hands Bob another packaged knob set.)

    Mabel picked this one up just last night. It’s a Knob Factory solid brass knob which we sell for $60. Mabel got this one at Beds, Knobs, and Broomsticks for $75. $75?! Don’t pay the markup at these high-priced shops, folks!

    (Mabel hands Bob another package.)

    This Shmekl & Petsl knobset in brushed aluminum came from Home Depot and cost..

    (Bob looks at the price…and then tosses the knob away.)

    Forget that folks. The big boxes can’t compete with our legendary service, anyway.

    Bob’s Knob Spot, at the Corner of the Sevens. Seventh street and Seventh avenue. Two miles south of the Expressway.

    BOB AND MABEL
    Come on in today and let us polish your knob!

  • FSW: Man Down Edition

    The day got away from me. End of the month is always hectic at work. Add in a little rehearsal, a lot of wedding stuff and you’ve got yourself a Sketch War without the “war”.

    Richard, The Universal Soldier, comes through as always with a topical sketch about the sleeper cell that is Rachel Ray.

    I haven’t heard from Dave since RAW closed. Hopefully he didn’t go overboard on the wine and end up in the Lake.

    I’m afraid the next couple weeks could be more of the same. I’ll try and get some things together so you won’t miss me while I’m off on the honeymoon.

  • FSW: Rachael Ray, Terrorist!

    Tough choice today. Most of the day, the topic below seemed the most obvious target. Then around 4:30 I heard Harvey Korman had died. I thought about trying to write a sketch in honor of his greatness, but I’m not worthy. I wanted to give him a sendoff fit for a king, but I’m just a lowly piss boy.

    So instead, watch and mourn (and by “mourn”, I mean “laugh your ass off”) here.

    Now that I’ve properly bummed y’all out, here’s this week’s effort

    Rachael Ray, Terrorist!
    (We’re in the middle of a park on a beautiful May day in our nation’s capital, cherry blossoms in full color, wispy white clouds gently tracing paths across the rich, azure sky. Front and center is Rachael Ray, played by a fat man in a wig. She holds a small Dunkin’ Donuts. She wears a keffiyeh.)

    RACHAEL
    Hi! I’m Rachael Ray! When I’m on the road, I can’t always whip up a batch of baba ghanoush and big bowl of tabbouleh. So when I’m craving that taste of home, I stop in at Dunkin’ Donuts for their all new Falafel Munchkins!

    (Opening the box, Rachael plucks out a little ball of fried garbanzo goodness. Between her sausage-like fingers, the falafel ball seems particularly delicate.)

    RACHAEL
    He’s so cute! Look at that.

    (She pops it in her mouth and her eyes roll back in her head like a fat man, wearing a wig, possessed by a demon of the sort that likes its garbanzo flour deep-fried.)

    RACHAEL
    Delish! You can really taste the EVOO they fried it in, too.

    (She quickly finishes off four more falafel. She reaches down and picks up a cup of Dunkin’ Donuts Iced Coffee.)

    RACHAEL
    Nothing better to wash down your awesome Dunkin’ Donuts Falafel Munchkins than fresh-brewed Dunkin’ Donuts Iced Coffee!

    (Like a Shop-Vac, she sucks it up the straw and down her mighty gullet.)

    RACHAEL
    Dunkin’ Donuts. It’s not just donuts anymore!

    CUT TO: News Studio
    (Michelle Malkin – played by an Asian man because it is so hard to find an actual Filipino Tranny willing to make fun of one of his/her own – sits next to FOX News anchor Megyn Kelly. Behind them a monitor shows the frozen and deeply disturbing image of Rachael.)

    MEGYN
    Michelle, tell the viewers at home what bothers you about this ad.

    MICHELLE
    You’re kidding me, right Barbie?

    MEGYN
    It’s Megyn.

    MICHELLE
    Whatever. Look. That fat cow is wearing a keffiyeh. Anyone who wears a keffiyeh is a terrorist. Anyone who defends anyone who wears a keffiyeh is a terrorist. Yassir Arafat used to wear a keffiyeh and he was a terrorist. Don’t you get it?

    MEGYN
    I’m trying to follow you…

    MICHELLE
    I’ll speak slower.

    MEGYN
    That would probably help. Thanks.

    MICHELLE
    Yassir Arafat wore a keffiyeh. Rachael Ray is wearing a keffiyeh. Clearly she’s just like him.

    MEGYN
    Didn’t Yassir Arafat also wear shoes?

    MICHELLE
    What’s your point, Barbie?

    MEGYN
    Megyn.

    MICHELLE
    Whatever.

    MEGYN
    You’re wearing shoes. Does that make you a terrorist, too?

    (Michelle sticks her fingers in her ears and hums and goes LALALALA very loudly.)

    MICHELLE
    (Sing-song) I can’t hear you.

    MEGYN
    Michelle. Michelle!

    (Michelle takes her fingers out of her ears.)

    MICHELLE
    I hope I’ve made my point.

    MEGYN
    Clearly.

    I have a statement from Dunkin’ Donuts here I’d like to read. It says, “It’s a goddamn black and white silk paisley scarf you ignorant slut. And we didn’t pick it. But we’re going to pull the ads anyway because we’re owned by the Carlyle Group and are a bunch of pussies afraid of a loud-mouthed Filipino Tranny.”

    What do you have to say to that?

    MICHELLE
    Dunkin’ Donuts can lick my balls. At least for the next three months until I see the special doctor.

    No one, but no one who wears a keffiyeh should be allowed to live. They should be marched off to concentration camps. And the parents who let their children wear that evil symbol of jihad are worse. That’s the most un-American thing a parent can do, is let their children wear a keffiyeh.

    (The monitor behind Michelle changes to show a photo of Meghan and Cindy McCain. Meghan proudly sports a keffiyeh. Not a black and white silk paisley scarf that a fashion-less Filipino Tranny might confuse, but a traditional keffiyeh.)

    MEGYN
    Michelle? Any comments on the photo on the monitor?

    MICHELLE
    Yeah. Barack Hussein Obama went to a Madrassa and Hilary Clinton is almost as much of a man as I still am.

    MEGYN
    Thanks, Michelle. We’ll be right back.

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: Office Edition

    Richard’s playing doctor this week.

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

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

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

    Enjoy.

    The Day Job

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

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

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

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

    JARRED: M-hm.

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

    JARRED: Thanks.

    (She pats him on the back.)

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

    JARRED: Will do.

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

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

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

    BARRY: She compared you to a painter?

    JARRED: Michelangelo.

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

    JARRED: No?

    BARRY: All I got was a blowjob.

    (Jarred stops typing.)

    BARRY: Well, better get back to it.

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

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: On the Couch

    (Trevor lies on a couch, while behind him Mary sits in a chair taking notes. She is wearing a suit and glasses. Her hair is in a bun held together with a pencil.)

    MARY
    How are you feeling today, Trevor?

    TREVOR
    I’m okay. A little sluggish. Didn’t get a good night’s sleep.

    MARY
    Yes?

    TREVOR
    Restless. My dreams were too vivid, I think. Probably shouldn’t have had that burrito before bed.

    MARY
    Tell me about the burrito.

    TREVOR
    You don’t want to hear about the dreams?

    MARY
    I haven’t had breakfast yet. (BEAT) And sometimes a burrito is just a burrito.

    (They both chuckle at her bad joke.)

    Alright. Tell me about your dreams.

    TREVOR
    They started out like they always do. I was thirteen and mowing the lawn. It’s July and I’m working up quite a sweat. Now, our yard was pretty small, maybe a quarter-acre of grass to mow, but in my dream it’s this huge expanse. It’s at least three, four acres. And it feels like I’m pushing uphill in both directions.

    MARY
    (Furiously scribbling notes) Mmmhmm…

    TREVOR
    I keep thinking I’m going to run out of gas and need to fill up the tank, but it keeps going. Engine sputters a few times, but it just keeps running. The sun’s beating down and I’m sweating a ton.

    MARY
    What are you wearing?

    TREVOR
    Wearing? I guess I’m in shorts. I’ve never thought about…no, wait…I’m wearing my uniform from my first job.

    MARY
    What job is that?

    TREVOR
    I was the guy in the El Pollo Loco costume who held the sign down by the road. Terrible job. I lasted a month. I think that was a record. That costume smelled like cigarettes and puke.

    MARY
    So you’re mowing the lawn in the costume. Do you have on the chicken head?

    TREVOR
    No. Just the rest of it. The feet are huge, too.

    MARY
    (More energetic notetaking) Mmmm…

    TREVOR
    And then suddenly, I find myself lying by a pool.

    MARY
    Are you alone?

    TREVOR
    My mother’s there, feeding me grapes. It’s kind of weird.

    MARY
    Are you still in your costume?

    TREVOR
    No. I’m in swim trunks. And you’re there, too, painting my toenails.

    MARY
    (Notes) I’m there? Hmm. What are your mother and I wearing?

    TREVOR
    She’s in one of those old-timey swimsuits. You’re dressed like you are now. Suit, hair up, glasses.

    MARY
    Very interesting —

    TREVOR
    — I love you, Mary.

    MARY
    No, no, no. You’re just projecting your feelings onto me.

    TREVOR
    No, Mary, really I do.

    MARY
    (More notes) Mmmhmm. (BEAT) Tell me more about your mother. How does it make you feel when she feeds you these grapes.

    TREVOR
    I guess it makes me feel good. I was hot and thirsty, and the grapes are cool and moist in my mouth.

    MARY
    And what do you think the grapes represent?

    TREVOR
    Represent? I don’t know.

    MARY
    Okay, we’ll get back to that. Let’s move on to something else. Last time you said you were having some performance issues. How is that going?

    TREVOR
    I, I just can’t get excited anymore.

    MARY
    Does anything excite you? Any fantasies?

    TREVOR
    Um, this is kind of hard to say…

    MARY
    This is a safe place, Trevor. You can say anything in here.

    TREVOR
    When I woke up from the dream I was pretty excited.

    (Mary flips pages, she’s taking so many notes now. Her pencil breaks and she pulls the one out of her hair to continue unabated. Her hair falls around her shoulders.)

    MARY
    I think we’re about to have a breakthrough–

    (The door opens and Sally, a teenage girl, comes in.)

    SALLY
    Mom? There’s a call for you from the hospital. Something about seizures, or something? One of your patients.

    MARY
    (Getting up) Thanks, Sally.

    SALLY
    Dad? Can I borrow the car tonight?

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: Cop Out Edition

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

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

    The Blind Date Bandit

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

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

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

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

    STEW: Why are you using the chain?

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

    STEW: Because you gave me a key.

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

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

    STEW: Like who?

    MITCH: What if I had a date?

    STEW: I think I know you better than that.

    MITCH: What do you want, Stew?

    STEW: What do you mean?

    MITCH: What brings you by?

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

    (Mitch just looks at him)

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

    MITCH: Don’t you mean etymology?

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

    MITCH: No, that’s ornithology.

    STEW: I thought that was teeth.

    MITCH: Maybe you should look into another hobby.

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

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

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

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

    STEW: What’s that supposed to mean?

    MITCH: Alison’s a terrible matchmaker.

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

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

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

    MITCH: Like physics and biology?

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

    MITCH: I didn’t lie on my form.

    STEW: What did you put down as your occupation?

    MITCH: I don’t remember.

    STEW: Did you put down temp?

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

    STEW: No, you put down writer.

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

    STEW: Sometimes.

    MITCH: What about the confidentiality agreement?

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

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

    STEW: She screens her clients very well.

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

    STEW: Tattoos are very sexy.

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

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

    MITCH: Some of them had real hair for sideburns.

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

    ALISON: I thought I’d find you here.

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

    ALISON: I’m ovulating.

    STEW: Now?

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

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

    (Alison begins undressing.)

    ALISON: There’s not enough time.

    MITCH: What’s going on here?

    STEW: We’re trying to have a baby.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    ALISON: Fine!

    (She pulls Stew down behind the couch.)

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

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

    ALISON: You have to tilt it more!

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

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

    ALISON: Farther!

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

    (The phone rings.)

    ALISON: Answer the damn phone, Mitch!

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

    ALISON: PUT A BABY IN ME!

  • FSW: In the Coop

    In the Coop
    (Two women wearing partial chicken costumes sit next to each other on nests on a raised platform. A conveyor belt runs beneath the platform, on which eggs occasionally pass.)

    MILDRED
    Did you hear? Esther’s boy came by her coop for Sunday dinner.

    RUTH
    My Irving didn’t even call on my birthday and you should tell me this?

    MILDRED
    I was making conversation. You’re not the only one whose children don’t come by, you know. I haven’t seen my Rachel since she moved.

    RUTH
    Chicks these days. In my day, family was the number one thing. You respected your mother, you respected your father. Now, they’re running off to coops as soon as they’re old enough to peck their own seed.

    MILDRED
    No respect for tradition.

    RUTH
    We lay them, sit on them while they incubate–

    MILDRED
    –I had the worst case of hemorrhoids when I was incubating my Susie–

    RUTH
    –and teach them how to live. And how do they repay us? Do they call? Do they write?

    MILDRED
    I can’t read that chicken scratch.

    RUTH
    That’s not the point. Is it asking too much a mother should she her grandchicks? Maybe spoil them a little?

    MILDRED
    Grandchicks?

    RUTH
    I…I’m ashamed to say it.

    MILDRED
    Ruthie, you know me. You’re like a sister to me. You can tell me anything.

    RUTH
    And you’ll tell it to all the other hens.

    MILDRED
    I promise I won’t. Trust me.

    RUTH
    (Ashamed) Sarah’s taken up with one of those farkakt Rhode Island Reds. She’s been laying for him like crazy.

    MILDRED
    I’m so sorry, Ruth. All we can do is raise them the best we can. Eventually they have to make their own choices.

    RUTH
    But a Red?!? I’m no racist–

    MILDRED
    –I know that, dear.

    RUTH
    But couldn’t she find a nice Jewish Rooster?

    MILDRED
    Maybe he is Jewish. Like Sammy Davis, Jr.

    RUTH
    My mother would have fricasseed me if I’d ever taken up with a Red.

    MILDRED
    These are different times, Ruth.

    RUTH
    I know. They have no respect for the old ways. No respect for their parents. Now, they just run off with the first cock that smiles at them.

    MILDRED
    Does she love him?

    RUTH
    Love?! I didn’t love Moishe when I married him.

    MILDRED
    Neither did I, but we grew to.

    RUTH
    That’s because Moishe was special.

    MILDRED
    Remember the way he could make the sun come up, just by crowing?

    (Ruth and Mildred sigh contentedly and moon for a few seconds, thinking of Moishe.)

    RUTH
    Oooh! One’s coming!

    (An egg drops onto the conveyor belt below Ruth and is carried off.)

    MILDRED
    That was easy. They’re never that easy for me.

    RUTH
    You don’t relax enough. You just need to breathe.

    MILDRED
    Oh! I felt that. I think it’s almost time!

    (Ruth reaches over with her wing/hand and takes Mildred’s wing/hand.)

    RUTH
    Just remember your breathing, dear.

    (Ruth demonstrates Lamaze-style breathing to Mildred who starts doing the same. She makes a face, and an egg drops onto the conveyor belt. Ruth looks down at it and shakes her head.)

    A *brown* egg? You too?

    BLACKOUT

  • What Happens in Degas, Stays in Degas

    (A WOMAN and MAN sit sullenly in a Paris café in 1876. The woman stares ahead drunkenly, a glass of absinthe on the table in front of her. The man smokes a pipe and stares offstage. They sit next to each other but don’t acknowledge each other. They are silent for several moments.)

    (Enter MARK and CAROLYN, two modern-day American tourists in their fifties. They wear Hawaiian shirts and carry maps and a digital camera. CAROLYN nudges MARK and points, none-too-subtly, at the French couple. MARK nods and snaps a picture of them.)

    (MARK and CAROLYN sit down next to the couple. MARK flags down a WAITER, who squints at them quizzically.)

    MARK
    Deux absinthe, merci.

    (The WAITER contemplates them, bewildered, for a beat, then turns and exits.)

    CAROLYN
    Well, I thought that ballet was simply charming.

    MARK (reading a guidebook)
    Yes.

    (CAROLYN turns and speaks to the WOMAN.)

    CAROLYN
    Bon jour. We adore your ballet. We just came from there.

    (The WOMAN turns her ghostly gaze on CAROLYN and blinks languidly a few times. Apparently unsure whether or not MARK and CAROLYN are hallucinations, she returns to contemplating the middle distance.)

    MARK (to CAROLYN)
    Now, don’t drink it until we’ve prepared it.

    CAROLYN
    Oh, will you get your nose out of that book? Relax!

    MARK
    We have to do the ritual. Do you want to experience this or not?

    CAROLYN
    We’ll be fine.

    (The WAITER wheels a cart up to the table. He sets before MARK and CAROLYN two glasses of absinthe, a pitcher of water, a bowl of sugar cubes, and two flat metallic utensils.)

    MARK
    Merci.

    (But the WAITER has already turned and begun wheeling the cart off.)

    CAROLYN (delighted)
    Well look at this!
    (She notices something missing.)
    Oop. We didn’t get spoons. Waiter!

    MARK (holding up a flat utensil)
    No, these are the spoons.

    CAROLYN
    How are you supposed to stir with those?

    MARK
    You don’t stir. Look.
    (MARK performs these steps as he describes them.)
    You set a spoon over the glass. Then you put a sugar cube on it.

    (CAROLYN turns to the WOMAN and whispers mischievously.)

    CAROLYN
    This isn’t legal in our country. Or time.

    MARK (continuing)
    Then you pour water over the sugar cube and into the glass until it gets milky.

    CAROLYN
    Goodness!

    MARK
    You try.

    (CAROLYN repeats the steps with her own glass.)

    CAROLYN
    Do we drink it now?

    MARK
    Let’s go for it!

    (MARK and CAROLYN raise their glasses to each other, then to the MAN and WOMAN, who ignore them. MARK and CAROLYN sip.)

    CAROLYN
    Oh, my gosh. It tastes like… Oh, I can’t put my finger on it.

    MARK
    It’s bitter.

    CAROLYN
    Crows. It tastes like Crows.

    MARK
    What do you mean it tastes like crows?

    CAROLYN
    The movie candy. Crows. They’re like Dots, but they’re black, and they taste like black Jujyfruits.

    MARK
    Yeah. Licorice.

    CAROLYN
    Oh!

    MARK
    It’s supposed to taste like licorice.

    CAROLYN
    I didn’t know it was supposed to taste like black licorice. This whole time I was thinking red licorice.

    MARK
    Red licorice isn’t licorice.

    CAROLYN
    I thought it would be like a glass of strawberry liqueur. Like that Alizé strawberry liqueur?

    MARK
    Alizé isn’t strawberry, it’s passion fruit.

    CAROLYN
    Then what was the strawberry liqueur we had at that aquarium fundraiser? It was so fun!

    MARK
    Dolfi.

    CAROLYN
    Dolfi. I was thinking this whole time that we’d be drinking strawberry Dolfi liqueur.

    MARK
    Absinthe is green. Why would you expect a green drink to taste like strawberry?

    CAROLYN (to MAN)
    Excuse me.
    (The MAN does not react.)
    Excuse… Par-done mwah, monsieur.
    (The MAN slowly turns to CAROLYN.)
    I’m sorry, would you mind putting out your pipe?
    (The MAN continues sucking disinterestedly on his pipe.)
    We’re American. It’s just a little jarring.

    (The MAN slowly turns away again.)

    MARK (to CAROLYN)
    Do you want to switch seats?

    CAROLYN
    No, I won’t give him the satisfaction.

    MARK (whispering)
    They’re French. They’re notoriously rude. Do not take it personally.

    CAROLYN (a little louder than necessary)
    Well they have no problem taking our money personally.

    MARK
    Shh. Switch places with me.

    CAROLYN
    Licorice isn’t green either.

    MARK
    Who said it was?

    CAROLYN
    I don’t think I like this. The bloom has just evaporated off the charm of the evening for me. I’d like to go back to the hotel.

    (The WOMAN startles them by unleashing a long sigh of infinite sadness. MARK and CAROLYN look at her for several seconds, but she is unaware of their existence. The WAITER passes through again, and MARK flags him down.)

    MARK
    The bill? Um… L’addition, s’il vous plaît?

    (MARK holds up a credit card. The WAITER makes no attempt to take it, staring back with a look of brazen, open-mouthed confusion.)

    CAROLYN
    They won’t have heard of credit cards, Mark.

    MARK
    Oh, dammit, you’re right.
    (MARK takes a wad of paper money from his fanny pack.)
    French francs? Do you take French francs?

    (The WAITER blinks at them, then makes the vaguest cursory gesture excusing himself and exits.)

    CAROLYN
    Just leave some money on the table, and let’s go.

    (CAROLYN gets up and leaves. MARK counts out a few bills and sets them on the table. He follows CAROLYN off. A beat. The MAN refills his pipe, relights it, and puffs deeply.)