Sketch War

Category: Sketches

Sketch Entries from the warriors

  • FSW: Small Store Edition

    Richard is the early bird this week with a hilarious sketch about a little pillow talk.

    I know Dave was headed to a Cubs game today, so he could be busy putting on his parka and snow boots before heading to the stadium. It’s like March here today.

    Here’s my sketch for what it’s worth. After seeing Campaign Supernova the other night, I really wanted to blast one out of the park. But I’ll settle for a single. As long as I don’t strand the runner on base.

    (A small, country grocery store. JIM stands behind the counter as JERRY finishes unloading his basket. Jim is ringing up items on the cash register, no barcode scanner here, through their conversation.)

    JIM: You are going to love these strawberries. Meredith just picked them yesterday.

    JERRY: Your produce is always so good.

    JIM: Well, it helps when our orchard is only ten miles away. We can pick it and sell it the same day.

    JERRY: It certainly makes a difference.

    JIM: You can almost taste the love.

    JERRY: Is that where that extra sweetness comes from?

    (They laugh. Jim has finished tallying up the order.)

    JIM: All righty. That’s going to be $27.50.

    (He reaches under the counter and pulls out a plastic bag.)

    JERRY: Don’t worry about the bag, Jim, I brought my own.

    JIM: Well, look at you. Janet’s finally got you paying attention to the environment.

    JERRY: She told me that if I brought home another plastic bag from the store she’d smother me with it.

    (They laugh.)

    JIM: Well, I’m glad to see you’re doing your part. Here, let me bag it up for you.

    JERRY: You don’t have to-

    JIM: No, no. Come on.

    (Jim takes the bag and freezes. His mood shifts.)

    JIM: What the hell is this?

    JERRY: What?

    JIM: This?

    (Jim points to the logo on the bag.)

    JERRY: It’s a reusable bag, Jim.

    JIM: From Wal-Mart, Jerry. Why do you have a bag from Wal-Mart?

    JERRY: I…I…I don’t know. I just have one.

    JIM: All these years, Jerry. All these years you’ve been buying your groceries here. I thought we had something special.

    JERRY: We do, Jim. You know I love your store.

    JIM: Yet here you stand with a Wal-Mart bag. In my store, Jerry! In my store!

    JERRY: Calm down.

    JIM: How many times?

    JERRY: What?

    JIM: How many times have you shopped…(chocking back tears) at Wal-Mart?

    JERRY: Oh, come on. Don’t do this. It didn’t mean anything. I swear.

    JIM: It means something to me, Jerry.

    JERRY: Jim, listen, would you rather I shopped in your store with this bag or shop there with…well you don’t even sell reusable bags.

    JIM: I am aware of my shortcomings, Jerry! You don’t have to slap me in the face with it. (beat) Did you like it?

    JERRY: I don’t know…

    JIM: Come on, tell me, what was it like?

    JERRY: Jim, please, don’t do this to yourself.

    JIM: I have to know, Jerry! Were their honeydew as juicy as mine? Did they have 97 varieties of apples?

    JERRY: No. God no. I didn’t even look at his melons. I swear. You know your produce is the tops.

    JIM: Then what? Why did you do it?

    JERRY: I was weak…

    JIM: Just tell me.

    JERRY: I don’t-

    JIM: Tell me!

    JERRY: There are just so many more options! All right? Is that what you wanted to hear? And they sell giant, family size boxes of cereal.

    (Jim gasps and nearly faints.)

    JERRY: You only sell the smaller ones.

    JIM: I don’t have the shelf space and you know it.

    JERRY: I know. I’m sorry. But, sometimes it’s just easier to buy the bigger box.

    JIM: You could always buy two smaller boxes.

    JERRY: But the bigger box costs less. Look, I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I’ll just get my things and go.

    (Jerry begins bagging his groceries. He finishes and heads for the door.)

    JIM: Wait.

    (Jerry stops and turns. Jim takes a small container of raspberries over to Jerry and puts them in his bag.)

    JIM: Just a little something to remember me by.

    JERRY: Thank you.

    JIM: Do you think you’ll ever come back?

    JERRY: Would you have me?

    JIM: I guess we’ll have to cross that bridge when we get to it.

    JERRY: Yeah. (beat) Yeah.

    (Jerry exits. Jim watches him go, the grief washing back over him, he begins to sob and slowly slides down the door to the floor.)

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: Pillow Talk

    Pillow Talk
    (Mark and Vanessa lie side by side in bed with the sheets pulled up to strategically cover their nudity. Hair is mussed. They’ve clearly just finished an energetic session of lovemaking.)

    MARK
    That your thong?

    VANESSA
    Where?

    MARK
    Ceiling fan.

    VANESSA
    Um, no I think that one’s yours.

    That was…where did you learn that new trick?

    MARK
    The one with the rolling pin?

    VANESSA
    No, the other one.

    MARK
    “The New Yankee Workshop.” Norm’s a stickler for shop safety, so I figured–

    VANESSA
    –measure twice

    MARK & VANESSA
    cut once!

    (Vanessa leans across Mark and grabs a bottle of Gatorade from a side table.)

    VANESSA
    Frost?

    (Mark leans across Vanessa and grabs his own bottle of Gatorade from her side table.)

    MARK
    (Indicating bottle) Orange. I’m old-school.

    So…um, that thing you said?

    VANESSA
    Which thing? About the mold in the basement? Because that wasn’t dirty talk. I just think we need to have that looked at.

    MARK
    No, not the mold. The other thing.

    VANESSA
    Oh. That. I just…I thought you’d like that. Guys like to hear stuff like that, don’t they?

    MARK
    Um, in the abstract, sure. You were just so…specific. It was unnerving.

    VANESSA
    How do you mean?

    MARK
    I mean, saying “you’re the best” or “no one’s ever made me feel this way” is a hell of an ego boost. I’m not going to lie. But usually – and it’s not like I’ve been with a lot of other women, and I’m not trying to compare – usually it doesn’t come with such a detailed list of people and places and…positions.

    VANESSA
    I don’t follow.

    MARK
    Well…alright. For example, when I was doing that thing with the watering can and toilet brush you said (in a monotone) “ooh baby, the way you move your hips is better than Joe Piscopo doing me reverse cowgirl in the back of that Hoboken cab with the bad shocks, summer of ’98, baby, baby, baby.”

    VANESSA
    No. I didn’t say that. I mean, maybe I said something like–

    MARK
    –word for word.

    VANESSA
    Really? You were going pretty fast then, how can you be sure?

    MARK
    I’ll never forget. Those words – and that look in your eyes, like a starving hyena – are etched in my memory.

    VANESSA
    I’m sorry if I freaked you out. I was…it was just so good. Like you’d taken it to another level. I guess I just lost my head. But what about you? I mean, I wasn’t the only one talking. What was that you were trying to say before I took the Saran Wrap off your head?

    MARK
    Help me, please. I can’t breathe?

    VANESSA
    Oh.

    (They sit in a moment of awkward silence.)

    MARK
    Mold?

    BLACKOUT

  • Shadows on the Cave Wall

    (RICK and STEVE in the front of a car. RICK is driving. STEVE is in the passenger’s seat.)

    (RICK suddenly swerves, then honks his horn.)

    RICK
    Look at this jackass.

    STEVE
    What a moron.

    RICK (yelling out window)
    Jackass!
    (pause)
    Sometimes I think everyone except me is an idiot.

    (pause)

    STEVE
    Am I an idiot?

    RICK
    Well, let’s approach this Socratically. Are you me?

    STEVE
    No.

    RICK
    Then I’m afraid you are an idiot. QED.

    (pause)

    STEVE
    I’m not a fan of that conclusion.

    RICK
    Well, your problem is with Socrates, not with me.

    (pause)

    STEVE
    No, you know my problem with Socrates? That cave allegory. That’s some bullshit right there.

    RICK
    You think bare language, in and of itself, is an adequate method to describe the depth and breadth of reality?

    STEVE
    Well, no. I just think it’s a shitty metaphor. It’s too baroque. Prisoners since birth in a cave who can’t move their heads and are therefore forced to watch shadow puppets cast by a fire above and behind them? Come on.

    RICK
    I see.

    STEVE
    If you have to go that far to prove a point, maybe you don’t have a point at all.

    RICK
    That was Plato.

    STEVE
    Bullshit. It was Socrates.

    RICK
    It was the character of Socrates in Plato’s Republic.

    STEVE
    Oh.

    RICK
    That’s essentially like saying you hate Toulouse-Lautrec because you don’t like the way he sang “Nature Boy” in “Moulin Rouge.”

    (pause)

    STEVE
    Well, I don’t.

  • FSW: Meta-Bistro Edition

    I’m gonna second what Richard said about his post this week.

    Not quite firing on all cylinders. I’m really looking forward to the weekend. And not doing a damn thing if I can help it.

    No word from Dave yet, but he could be busy putting razor-wire around his apartment.

    (A small table in a stylish bistro. A man and woman are chatting about a book at one table. At another, Craig sits looking at the menu. A waiter approaches.)

    WAITER: Could I get you something to drink while you’re looking over the menu?

    CRAIG: I’ll just have a bottle of Evian.

    WAITER: I’m sorry sir, but bottled water has been banned in the city.

    CRAIG: Really?

    WAITER: I’m afraid so. We just have tap water.

    CRAIG: Oh, then, Aquafina I guess.

    WAITER: That’s bottled water, sir.

    CRAIG: Really? I read something on Slate.com about it being just tap water.

    WAITER: It may be, but they still put it in a bottle and ship it out.

    CRAIG: Where does your water come from?

    WAITER: The lake, I suppose.

    CRAIG: No aquifer or mountain stream?

    WAITER: There are no mountains in Chicago.

    CRAIG: Wow. This is tough. I really had a taste of water when I came in here.

    WAITER: I can bring you a glass of water, if that’s what you want.

    CRAIG: Why didn’t you just say so? I’ll have an Evian.

    WAITER: But. It will be a glass that I hold under the tap in the kitchen sink. Because there is no bottled water.

    CRAIG: Ew. Sink water? I thought this was a Zagat’s rated restaurant.

    WAITER: The food is very good sir.

    CRAIG: But the water’s from the toilet.

    (Craig takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and pulls one out. He takes out a lighter.)

    WAITER: Excuse me, sir.

    CRAIG: What now?

    WAITER: There’s no smoking in the restaurant.

    CRAIG: (Sighing heavily) You didn’t ask me if I wanted smoking or non-smoking. I would have told you I wanted smoking.

    WAITER: No smoking in the entire restaurant.

    CRAIG: Fine. I’ll sit at the bar then.

    WAITER: The entire restaurant. Including the bar.

    CRAIG: You know I should just take my money and find another restaurant.

    WAITER: But?

    CRAIG: But nothing. Just bring me your foie gras appetizer. Unless you banned geese as well.

    WAITER: Geese no. Foie gras yes.

    CRAIG: Oh, come on!

    (The lights come up on another table, at which Richard and Dave are sitting, drinking cocktails.)

    RICHARD: The third one should have been funny.

    DAVE: Foie gras is pretty funny, when you think about it.

    RICHARD: It should have been something outlandish, though. Something extreme.

    DAVE: Force feeding geese to make their livers swell isn’t outlandish or extreme?

    RICHARD: Oh, shut up.

    DAVE: I’m just saying.

    (The lights go down on their table and come back up on Craig and the Waiter.)

    CRAIG: Who are they?

    WAITER: I don’t know, but they’ve been in here all morning commenting on everything anyone says.

    CRAIG: Weird.

    WAITER: I know. So, have you decided?

    CRAIG: I’ll just have the grasshopper gonad soup. And a glass of your iced Deported Immigrant Tears.

    WAITER: Venti or Grande?

    CRAIG: Grande, of course.

    (The waiter and Craig freeze mid laugh. The lights come up on David and Richard’s table. The look at one another and roll their eyes.)

    DAVID: (Calling towards the bar, holding up his glass.) Yeah, I’m gonna need another one of these.

    RICHARD: (Holding up his glass) Make that two.

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: Blind Date

    Please forgive me ahead of time for a boring sketch. I’ve had a rough week and didn’t get to this until an hour ago. It’s not good. Seriously. Sorry.

    Blind Date
    (Meredith sits at a small table in a stylish bistro with a glass of wine. She is fashionably dressed. She frequently raises her eyes from a copy of “All the Pretty Horses” to glance about. Liam enters, carrying a copy of “No Country for Old Men” under his arm. He wears dirty jeans and a sweatshirt. His hair and beard are long and unkempt. He looks around, spots Meredith, and crosses to her table.)

    LIAM
    Meredith?

    MEREDITH
    (Looking up) Yes?

    (Liam indicates his book and then points to Meredith’s. She invites him to sit down.)

    It’s nice to meet you finally, Liam. Would you like a drink?

    LIAM
    A beer would be great.

    (Meredith waves at a waiter who comes over.)

    MEREDITH
    A beer for my friend, and another glass of chablis for me, please.

    (The waiter goes off to fill the order.)

    Did you find the place okay?

    LIAM
    Yeah, once I realized it was near The Y, I knew I’d been here before.

    MEREDITH
    Oh? Do you workout at the Y?

    LIAM
    I live there.

    MEREDITH
    Oh. What do you do?

    LIAM
    Odd jobs. I used sweep out the back alley at this place for their day-old bread. But the new manager is a prick. He’d rather throw it out than give it away.

    MEREDITH
    I didn’t realize. Well…

    (The waiter appears with their drinks. Meredith finishes hers off in one swallow, points to the glass, and holds up two fingers to the waiter.)

    LIAM
    I loved what you said about “The Road” on the forum. That was the best analysis I’ve ever seen of McCarthy’s lyrical descriptions of the wasteland.

    MEREDITH
    Thank you. That’s very sweet. Especially considering what you had to say about “All the Pretty Horses”. I’m re-reading it now, and it’s not the same book to me at all after what you said.

    LIAM
    Thanks.

    (There’s an uncomfortably long pause in conversation. Liam finishes his beer. Both try to say something and stop themselves. The waiter arrives with another beer and two glasses of wine. He sets them down and Meredith and Liam both take long drinks.)

    MEREDITH
    Keep them coming, would you?

    So, you have a computer at The Y?

    LIAM
    No. I use the one at the public library. I like it there, especially during the summer. They don’t like us in The Y during the day, so I’ve gotta find someplace cool.

    So what’s a woman like you doing looking for men online? You must be beating them back with a stick.

    MEREDITH
    Hardly! I’ve tried everything. Match.com, eHarmony, JDate —

    LIAM
    — Oh, you’re Jewish?

    MEREDITH
    No. But all the dates I went on were terrible. All the men were idiots. One of them thought the Coens had written “No Country for Old Men”!

    LIAM
    You’re kidding!

    MEREDITH
    I’m serious.

    (The waiter returns with yet more alcohol and takes away the empties.)

    BLACKOUT

    LIGHTS UP

    (Meredith and Liam have been at the table a while and are clearly well lubricated. She’s moved to the seat next to Liam and is cozying up to him.)

    MEREDITH
    You want to get out of here?

    LIAM
    Sure. Your place or mine?

    MEREDITH
    Mine.

    (As Meredith picks up her bag, its contents spill onto the floor. Amidst the brush, mascara, compact, and wallet is a copy of “A Million Little Pieces”. Liam picks it up and turns it over in his hands. He hands it back to Meredith who looks ashamed.)

    LIAM
    Actually, I’m feeling a little tired. I think I’m just going to head back to The Y. Thanks for the drinks.

    MEREDITH
    No, Liam, wait. I can explain!

    LIAM
    No. I don’t think you can.

    BLACKOUT

  • Las Vegas Itasca

    (An architectural planning meeting in Vegas. WENTWORTH, BRAD, and GEORGE stand around a table. On the wall is a placard: Wentworth Casinos, Las Vegas, NV. Out the window is a view of the Strip.)

    WENTWORTH
    Who’s next?

    BRAD
    We’ve got Kirk Luberda. Bright young architecture student from the Midwest.

    GEORGE (skeptically)
    Ah. What do you think he’ll try to foist on us? Mies van der Rohe? Frank Lloyd Wright?

    BRAD
    I don’t know. I think it’s about time for a Chicago-themed hotel/casino. That would be a draw. People could stay in the miniature Sears Tower. You could make a restaurant in the shape of Wrigley Field.

    GEORGE
    Call it “Ivy’s”! Serve deep-dish pizza! Italian beef!

    BRAD
    And that big Picasso! He could be our spokesman! Like a robot-gangster-Picasso in a fedora that would stand at the door and welcome visitors!

    GEORGE
    And we could sell miniature brass reproductions of the Space Needle!

    BRAD
    That’s in Seattle.

    WENTWORTH
    Guys, guys. This is not our job. Let’s see what Mr. Luberda has to offer before we overthink this thing to death.

    BRAD
    Mr. Luberda? Come in please.

    (LUBERDA enters, carrying a portfolio and a tarp-covered object, which he sets on the table.)

    LUBERDA
    Good afternoon, gentlemen.

    WENTWORTH
    Mr. Luberda. The theming of a casino is vitally important. It must be new and innovative, but classic in its execution. How well a theme taps into the zeitgeist can determine whether a casino lasts a mere year, or sticks around for a full three years.

    BRAD
    The point is, when the building is imploded, can we look back and say, that was a gimmick we’re proud of? Or will it be another “Bridget Jones’s Pai Gow Palace”?

    (WENTWORTH, BRAD and GEORGE shudder.)

    LUBERDA
    I think you’ll be tickled with what I’ve come up with. As you can imagine, there’s a soft spot in my heart for the Midwest.

    BRAD
    I knew it!

    GEORGE
    Will you have a Space Needle?

    WENTWORTH
    Gentlemen, please. Go on.

    LUBERDA
    Well. Maybe it’s best for me to just show you.
    (He lifts the tarp, revealing a miniature suburban town.)
    I give you: Las Vegas Itasca!

    (pause)

    GEORGE
    What does “Itasca” mean?

    LUBERDA
    It’s my hometown. It’s a suburb of Chicago. That’s in Illinois.

    (They all look over the model.)

    BRAD
    What’s this structure here?

    LUBERDA
    It’s the gazebo.
    (Pause. The other THREE look blankly back at him.)
    In Usher Park!

    WENTWORTH
    Will people know what that is?

    LUBERDA
    They’ll know it’s where they cash in their chips. Beautiful, functional, and full of swans, just like the real Usher Park.

    BRAD
    (points to a tiny human figure on the model)
    This woman here on the stage. She looks like Bonnie Raitt.

    LUBERDA
    She is. A professional Bonnie Raitt impersonator will perform nightly.

    BRAD
    Why is she wearing handcuffs?

    LUBERDA
    Do you guys not read the news? She was arrested in Itasca in 2001 for protesting Boise Cascade’s deforestation practices.

    WENTWORTH
    I don’t know, Mr. Luberda. This all seems kind of esoteric.

    LUBERDA
    Is candy too esoteric for you?

    (LUBERDA presses a button and the roof of the miniature Bethany United Methodist Church opens, shooting out colorful boxes of Nerds, Gobstoppers, and Lik-M-Aid.)

    GEORGE
    (gasping delightedly)
    An assortment of Willy Wonka products!

    LUBERDA
    Their factory is located in Itasca, on Norwood Avenue.

    GEORGE
    Oh! Are all the cocktail waitresses dressed as Oompa-Loompas?

    LUBERDA
    You tell me.

    (LUBERDA pulls a sketch out of his portfolio featuring an orange-skinned, green-haired cocktail waitress in short white overalls. She holds a tray with a complex, striped drinking vessel with an elaborate bendy-straw sticking out of it.)

    WENTWORTH, BRAD, and GEORGE
    Ooooh!

    LUBERDA
    And…

    (LUBERDA turns the page to another drawing: a man wearing huge glasses and a beige windbreaker sits glumly at a blackjack table.)

    BRAD
    Is that John Cusack, as he appears in the movie Grace is Gone?

    LUBERDA
    (nodding)
    …which filmed in Itasca.

    GEORGE
    That’s the one where his wife dies in Iraq!

    LUBERDA
    And all the dealers will be dressed like him.

    WENTWORTH
    I’ll tell you what, Mr. Luberda. I’m starting to take a shine to this idea. You’ve got the contract.

    (They shake hands.)

    LUBERDA
    Thank you sir!

    WENTWORTH
    Thank you. Let’s break ground immediately and start building Las Vegas Itasca. And we’ll see how long it lasts before we have to raze it.

    (A miniature rumbling. Tiny flashes of light appear along the bottom of the model. It descends into tiny puffs of smoke and dust, and it is gone.)

    (LUBERDA shrugs comically. WENTWORTH, BRAD, and GEORGE laugh and point. Freeze-frame. Closing credits.)

  • FSW: Silence is Golden Edition

    Happy Friday to us, every one!

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

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

    Consent is Silent

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

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

    Jack continues to read his newspaper.

    Gail begins tapping her foot.

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

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

    Jack straightens up his newspaper and begins reading again.

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

    Jack slowly slides it towards him.

    Gail gives him a “Well?” look.

    Jack shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head.

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

    Jack smiles up at her.

    Gail kisses him on the head and exits.

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

    As he does this…

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

    BLACK OUT

  • FSW: Rachel Ray, $40 a Day

    For the whiny little bitches – you know who you are – who are going to read this and say “you’ve never been with a real woman…you wouldn’t know what to do…curves…hawt…” whatever. Rachel Ray’s genetics are showing through. She’s going to be a fat old Italian woman someday. Facts are facts. So what? I’m a fat dude, so imagine it’s me dressed in drag for this sketch.

    Also, I found a *great* parody sketch of RR when I was putting this together this evening. I needed to get the patter she uses to start off her show, so I went to YouTube. No luck finding a real opening to $40 a Day, but I did find this MadTV sketch. I stole the opening two sentences which sounded exactly the way I recall RR’s opening. It feels weird to crib from another sketch instead of directly from the horse’s mouth (yeah, I meant to say horse,) but you gotta do what you gotta do. Anyway, that’s a great sketch which I recommend watching almost as much as I recommend reading mine.

    Rachel Ray, $40 a Day

    (Various shots of Rachel Ray – played by a fat man in a wig – in action, eating, eating some more, and eating still more. Opening graphics and music over. The credits end and we settle on our Rachel mid-screen wearing short-shorts and a bikini top with a sheer wrap over. The clothes look like they fit 30 pounds earlier. Or, perhaps when she still looked like a woman instead of a fat man in a wig.)

    RACHEL
    Hi everybody, I’m Rachel Ray! And this is ‘$40 a Day’, the show where I travel to exotic locales and show you how to have great meals for little money. Today we’re in one of my favorite places…Miami Beach! The great thing about Miami Beach is how relaxed everyone is.

    (Camera pans around to show strollers, rollerbladers, lots of people in beach attire. As the camera pans back to Rachel, we see some people staring and pointing in disgust.)

    RACHEL (CONT)
    I’m starving, so let’s go get some breakfast!

    (Rachel waddles a few steps and stops in front of a restaurant. She leans over and puts her hand on the door frame to brace herself. She’s winded. There’s a chalkboard with specials right next to the door.)

    RACHEL (CONT)
    (Winded) This place, (looking around for the name) Miguel’s, is a favorite with the locals, I’m sure. And these specials sound yum-o!

    (Cut to Rachel sitting at a table with a menu and a cocktail in front of her. The cocktail is huge, fruity, and has an umbrella. But she’s eaten the fruit, tossed aside the umbrella, and already drunk half of it. A waiter approaches.)

    WAITER
    Have you decided what you’d like?

    RACHEL
    Everything sounds so good…french toast, eggs benedict, machaca and eggs, oooh…fried plantains – delish! Okay, I’ll have that.

    WAITER
    A side of fried plantains? Is that all?

    RACHEL
    Nooo. French toast, eggs benedict, machaca and eggs, AND the fried plantains. And (finishing her drink in one mighty gulp) this bitch is kicked. Bring me another of these.

    (The waiter walks off fearfully as Rachel turns to the camera.)

    RACHEL (CONT)
    When you’re traveling, you really want to find the unique little places that make a city special. Miami Beach is a melting pot of different cultures, and the Cuban influence is felt everywhere. Like in this drink.

    (Waiter returns with two other waiters, all carrying loaded trays with Rachel’s breakfast. They set the mass of food in front of her and she starts eating before the last plate is even in place. The second and third waiters hurry off. Most of the food ends up in her mouth, but there is a certain amount of spillover.)

    WAITER
    Can I bring you anything else? Some water, or another napkin perhaps?

    RACHEL
    (Speaking through food) No, I’m good for now. Thanks.

    (Cut to the end of the meal. The plates are cleared, the food is gone. Two empty glasses are on the table, a third in Rachel’s hand as she finishes off with a loud ‘slurp’ with the straw. As she puts the glass down, she notices a piece of bacon lodged between her breasts. She picks it out and eats it. The waiter returns with the check.)

    RACHEL
    Let’s see how I did.

    (Graphics of a check being tallied. The pre-tip total comes to $28 for food and $11 for drinks. Her tip of $1 brings her to a total of $40.)

    RACHEL (CONT)
    Oops! It looks like we’ve used up our whole budget for the day on breakfast. But that’s okay, there’s plenty for us to do here in good old Miami Beach, and who knows, maybe we’ll figure out a way to squeeze lunch and dinner out of this day, anyway.

    (Cut to Rachel waddling down the street away from the restaurant. Shouting is heard in the background and the camera pans around to see the waiter standing outside, waving the dollar tip.)

    WAITER
    I think you left this on the table, you cheap bleep.

    RACHEL
    Come on, I think we should get out of here. Right now! (Starts running, because fat guys in drag are funny when they run.)

    (Cut to Rachel splashing around in the ocean. People are staring.
    Cut to Rachel sitting on a bench. She’s changed into a slightly less revealing, but equally inappropriate outfit, this time with a short skirt.)

    RACHEL (CONT)
    Oh boy! I’m famished! In the summertime when I was a kid, I’d go swimming at the lake near my Grandpa Manny’s. And when I got out of the water, he’d always have a steaming bowl of soup and a sammie waiting for me. So now whenever I swim, I crave soup and a sammie. I’ve gotta figure out a way…

    (An older, well-dressed man walks by.)

    RACHEL (CONT)
    Excuse me sir, have you got a second?

    MAN
    Sure. Hey, you’re that Rachel Ray! My wife – rest her soul – used to watch your show all the time.

    RACHEL
    (Getting an idea) Your wife passed away. That’s so sad. I’m sorry for your loss. I’ll bet you’ve been really lonely…

    MAN
    Excuse me?

    (The fat-man-in-a-wig Rachel starts aggressively flirting – sucking his fingers, touching his chest, pulling his skirt up to reveal more leg.)

    RACHEL
    I mean, since your wife’s been gone. You have needs. I do too. I want soup. And I know what you want. Come on back to my hotel. I promise we’ll be done in thirty minutes or less.

    (The man runs away.)

    RACHEL (CONT)
    (Calling out in the distance) How ’bout you, sweet cheeks!?

    (Cut to later. Rachel is still sitting on the bench, crying.)

    RACHEL (CONT)
    (Through the tears) I just can’t take it anymore. My husband’s cheating on me, Oprah won’t return my calls, and I just want a bowl of soup and a sammie.

    (Cut to Rachel crawling through a garbage dumpster, looking for food.)

    RACHEL (CONT)
    When you’re on vacation, remember to take in the local color and customs. I hear that Miami Beach is famous for dumpster diving to find free food…

    (Cut to Rachel standing on the sidewalk. It’s night time. She looks like a girl who’s been rejected for sex and eaten dumpster food.)

    RACHEL (CONT)
    I’m Rachel Ray and I’ll see you next time on $40 a Day. (To child walking by with ice cream cone) Hey. Hey, kid, I’m talking to you! Can I have a lick off that?!

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: Great Outdoors Edition

    Another week come and gone. I would have had this up sooner, but I’ve been hiding under my desk in case another aftershock rolls through here. Earthquakes are only supposed to happen in Third World Countries and California. Not the Midwest.

    Anyhow, Richard came out, guns a-blazing, with a funny party planning idea.

    No word from Dave yet, but I’m sure he’s brewing up something. Unless he’s busy putting up drywall.

    And I haven’t heard from Red in a week. Maybe the folks at her church didn’t find her sketch last week all that amusing.

    Here’s my offering for the week. Enjoy. And as always, feel free to play along. We’d love to read some more sketches.

    The Great Outdoors

    (Somewhere in the forest. MAGGIE and HARRY stumble in. They are dressed for hiking, both with backpacks. They look pretty beat-up and disheveled.)

    MAGGIE: (Out of breath) That’s it. I’m done.

    (She sits on a rock and takes off her pack.)

    HARRY: (Also out of breath) No. Come on. We have to keep moving.

    MAGGIE: I can’t take another step.

    (She takes out a canteen and opens it. She up-ends it and a couple of drops fall into her mouth. She throws the canteen over her shoulder.)

    MAGGIE: That was the last of the water. Harry, let’s face it, we’re done for.

    HARRY: We can’t give up. What does Survivorman say? 90% of the battle is keeping your spirits up.

    MAGGIE: Fuck Survivorman and fuck your happy spirit. We’re going to die out here and our bodies will probably be eaten by wolves.

    HARRY: Honey, we’ve only been out here a day.

    MAGGIE: There’s so much I wanted to do with my life. I can’t believe it’s over.

    HARRY: That’s no way to talk. We’re going to get through this.

    MAGGIE: Listen, Harry, there are some things you should know. Some things I need to get off my chest before I die.

    HARRY: Um…okay.

    MAGGIE: I’ve had a few affairs.

    HARRY: Oh?

    MAGGIE: All right. All right. I’ve had a lot of affairs.

    HARRY: Maggie, why?

    MAGGIE: Because you’re crap in bed, Harry. And because I need lots and lots of sex.

    HARRY: Was it with anyone I know?

    MAGGIE: Pretty much everyone you know.

    HARRY: If the sex is so bad, then why did you marry me?

    MAGGIE: Are you serious? Harry, you’re filthy rich. I haven’t had to work a day in the last seven years. I just went shopping and went to spas and had sex every day. I felt like a goddess.

    HARRY: You only married me for my money?

    MAGGIE: Heavens no. You are also friends with some of the hottest actors in Hollywood.

    HARRY: You slept with George?

    MAGGIE: George, Brad, I slept with all of them. Sometimes two or three at a time.

    (Harry sits down on rock.)

    MAGGIE: Wow. This feels great. I’ve been holding all of this in for so long. You should give it a try. Is there anything that you’ve kept secret that’s been weighing heavily on your soul?

    HARRY: No. My life is an open book. I share everything with you.

    MAGGIE: Okay, so it’s just me then. It’s a shame too, because this really feels great. Um, what else?

    HARRY: There’s more?

    MAGGIE: Oh! You remember that housekeeper who I thought stole my earrings?

    HARRY: Ruth? Who’d been with my family since I was a boy? Who practically raised me?

    MAGGIE: That’s the one. Well, I didn’t fire her. I killed her.

    HARRY: What?!

    MAGGIE: We got into an argument about the jewelry. One thing let to another and I brained her with your humanitarian award. Funny thing was, I found the earrings at Billy’s apartment the next morning. I felt so stupid.

    HARRY: Billy? My brother?

    MAGGIE: And father of your “son”. Are you all right? You don’t look so good.

    HARRY: I…my life…I thought you…

    (Maggie puts her arm around him.)

    MAGGIE: There, there. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve never felt closer to you than I do right now.

    HARRY: You’re only saying that because you think you’re about to die.

    MAGGIE: But doesn’t it make you feel a little better?

    HARRY: Yes.

    MAGGIE: All right then.

    (There is a rustling in the woods. They both jump up to see what’s coming. EARL stumbles out of the bushes, twirling a toilet paper roll on his finger.)

    EARL: Whoa! Hey, sorry. I didn’t realize there was anyone over here. I was just looking for a place to do a little logging. If you know what I mean?

    MAGGIE: Where did you come from?

    EARL: That campsite over there. Listen, I’d love to stay and chat, but natures getting ready to kick down my back door. If you know what I mean?

    (Earl exits.)

    MAGGIE: Did you know where we were this whole time?

    HARRY: Pretty much.

    MAGGIE: But why? I mean, we were just…I thought that…I don’t understand.

    HARRY: I wanted to create a lasting memory for our anniversary.

    MAGGIE: Our wha-? Is that this month?

    HARRY: Today.

    MAGGIE: Oh, honey! Happy Anniversary!

    (Maggie goes to hug him, but he stops her.)

    HARRY: You don’t have to pretend anymore. Why don’t you go over to the campsite and get something to eat. I’ll call the helicopter and we’ll go home. Then we’ll discuss what happened here today.

    MAGGIE: Okay. But know that I’d do anything. Anything. To not be divorced from you.

    HARRY: Good to know.

    (Maggie heads off toward the camp. Harry takes a deep breath and look around. After a moment, Earl pops out from behind some bushes.)

    EARL: Listen, I couldn’t help but overhear. If you want, me and some buddies can make sure she never leaves these woods.

    HARRY: Thanks for the offer, but I can’t kill her off, she’s my bread and butter.

    EARL: I beg your pardon?

    HARRY: I’ve been filming her while she has sex with my friends, then selling the videos online. I’ve made more money in the last seven years than I’ve ever seen before. No, I’m going to make this marriage work. (Beat) But maybe you can help me.

    EARL: How’s that?

    HARRY: I think a nice outdoor film could be a real big seller.

    EARL: If it’ll help you out, I’d love to bang your wife.

    HARRY: I’d be much obliged.

    (Harry puts his a
    rm around Earl’s shoulder and they walk off toward the camp.)

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: Party Planners

    Allow me to preface this sketch with a preemptive “meh”. High concept, but it really goes nowhere. Not without a multi-million dollar budget to make it all happen, at least. Hmm…

    Party Planners
    (A large number of people fill a cavernous hall, dressed formally. The lights go down, and crossing, moving spots cut through the darkness. Just off center, a man with clipboard and walkie-talkie stands ready.)

    EMCEE (O.S.)
    (Deafening) Ladies and gentleman, put your hands together and welcome Mr. and Mrs. David Fagin for their first dance as a married couple!

    MICHAEL
    (Into walkie-talkie) We’re go for pyro!

    (Flames shoot out of the top of the wedding cake. Fireworks go off in the background. The bride and groom walk through the smoke and flames to the center of the dance floor.)

    MICHAEL
    (Into walkie-talkie) Bring it home, people!

    (The fireworks display becomes more intense as Aerosmith begins to play at high volume. The newlyweds begin to dance.)

    MICHAEL
    (Into walkie-talkie) Great work, everyone. (Turning to camera) Hi. I’m Michael Bay. For years I’ve worked in Hollywood making movies and making millions. But now, I’ve decided to branch out. So if you’d like your next wedding, sweet sixteen, or Bar Mitzvah to be a real blockbuster, call Michael Bay’s Party Planners!

    (Cut to Michael in the lobby of a small office. He’s standing in front of reception, where a sexy young woman sits busily answering phones.)

    TRIXIE
    (Answering phone) Michael Bay’s Party Planners. How may I help you today?

    MICHAEL
    Here at MBPP we cater to your every need from the moment you first walk in. Take Trixie over here. Pretty easy on they eyes, right fellas? I spent months working with the best casting directors in town to trying to find the perfect mix of sex appeal and girl next door. But once Trixie walked through the door, we knew we had our receptionist. That same attention to detail is what sets MBPP parties apart. Whether you want Scarlett Johansson to jump out of your wedding cake, Sean Connery to give you away or Ben Affleck to check coats, we can deliver. Let’s meet some of the wizards who make it all happen.

    (Camera follows Michael as he walks through a door and into the warehouse-sized back of the building. Sparks are flying from someone welding in the distance, people working everywhere, and a VW Bug in the foreground. Michael walks up to Rick and Stacy who are sitting at a small table.)

    MICHAEL
    This is Stacy Lavelle. She’s in charge of pyrotechnics at MBPP. Stacy, why don’t you tell us what you’re working on here?

    STACY
    We’re making flashpots for the Rosencrantz/Guildenstern wedding. There’s going to be a lot of noise and a lot of smoke.

    MICHAEL
    Fantastic! What’s the theme?

    STACY
    Rick?

    RICK
    The bride’s father passed away recently, so we’re going to make it look like his ghost has returned to walk her down the aisle. First we’re killing all the lights, then the flashpots go off, and then we’re projecting images of him on a scrim. We’ll play a recording of his voice, as well. The bride will never expect it!

    MICHAEL
    Sounds great! I’ll let you guys get back to work.

    (To camera) As you can see, we take our jobs very seriously here at MBPP. We want to make sure your party is bigger, louder, and more exciting than any party before. Here’s Todd McElroy, our demo expert. Todd? What are you working on?

    TODD
    The finale of the Sussman Sweet 16. Chloe wants a BMW convertible and of course her father’s bought her one. But we’ve decided to bring in this new Bug instead as a joke. She’ll obviously be upset and angry, and just when her tantrum reaches its peak, our stunt driver speeds in with her BMW and shoots the Bug with this fake rocket launcher. We blow a charge under the Bug and it should flip over three times before ending upside down. Then we cue fireworks.

    MICHAEL
    That sounds awesome, Todd. You’ve been with me for a long time. How is party planning different from the movies?

    TODD
    Well, I can’t fall back on CGI so much, so it’s made me relearn some of the old ways of doing things. Otherwise, it’s about the same. I mean, movies and parties are all about the same thing, right? Bombs, crashes, and rolling fire.

    MICHAEL
    Truer words were never spoken. Thanks, Todd.

    (To camera) I hope you’ve enjoyed your behind the scenes look at Michael Bay’s Party Planners and want to choose us for your next party. At MBPP, no party is too big for us to handle, though many are too small. If you’re looking for an intimate affair with just close friends and family, try someone else. But if you want the rockin’est party ever, give us a call.

    (BLACKOUT)