Fellow Sitcom Room alum and all around great guy Michael Brownlee posted a hilarious short sketch tonight. He’s challenging himself to be more disciplined about writing, and figured writing an occasional short sketch will keep his comedy muscles limber. I agree. As I’ve been extremely lax writing lately, I thought I’d take the opportunity to make it a more communal (and competitive) process. I probably think that because it’s Friday night, and I’m reminded of all the great comics bloggers getting into the fun with Bahlactus’ Friday Night Fights.
Now, my sketch below is nowhere near as good as Michael’s this time. He didn’t post until late afternoon and I spent several hours just trying to come up with something. I think it’s okay. Next time, however, I plan on having a kick-ass sketch. I’ll let y’all know if it’s going to be weekly, monthly, or sporadically. If the latter, I think there’s a fungicide that’ll clear it up.
So, without further doobie-doobie-doo, here’s my first entry into
Friday Night Sketch War! (the name’s in flux. We think it needs the word “death” in it more.)
Mitt Romney’s Weekend
(Two workers bring a large crate into a dark, cramped lab and stand it up. They exit and Al Gore steps out of the shadows with a crowbar. One quick pry and the front of the crate opens, exposing a frozen Mitt Romney. Al steps close and reaches around to Mitt’s back; Romney comes to life.)
MITT
10010101 00010100 10100101 10–
AL
–damn it. They left him on hex. Hang on a second, Mitt.
(Al makes another quick adjustment at Mitt’s back.)
MITT
Greetings. How may I be of assistance?
AL
Actually Mitt, I’m going to assist you.
(Al unbuttons the front of Mitt’s shirt, and pops opens a panel on his chest. Taking a screwdriver and chip from one of the lab benches, Al attaches the chip to the center of the circuit board.)
MITT
That…tickles! Woohoo! What’s that feeling?! Wait, what is feeling?
AL
I’ve installed your Central Emoting Unit.
(Mitt starts to cry.)
AL
I know this is all very new to you. But you won’t be going through it alone, I promise.
(Mitt starts to giggle.)
AL (CONT’D)
I wish I’d had someone around to help me sort out all the new data I was receiving. One minute I was running fourier transforms to find some way of winning a protracted legal battle over the Florida recount and the next I was hosting Saturday Night Live.
(Mitt starts to dance.)
| MITT | AL |
| I’m a little teapot, short and stout. Here is my handle, here is my spout. When I get all steamed up, hear me shout. Just tip me over and pour me out. |
That’s great, Mitt. Glad you’re getting in touch with yourself. But we’ve got to boogie before the Professor gets back. |
MITT
Who’s that?
AL
The Professor? You don’t remember? What do you remember?
MITT
I’m going to be President!!!
AL
Oh boy. Do you know what day it is?
MITT
Christmas Eve.
AL
Damn it! Damn! Your memory units must have been fried when those TSA idiots ran you through the x-ray. Mitt, it’s February 8. You’re out of the race.
MITT
For reals, homes?
AL
Don’t do that. It’s just a CEU. I didn’t install a hiphop chip.
MITT
So Thompson finally got in the game. I should have seen it coming. It’s so clear now. He’s down-homey. I couldn’t compete with that.
AL
Uh, actually…never mind. Anyway, we need to get out of here. He’ll be back soon.
MITT
Right. The Professor. Who is he?
AL
I don’t really know. All I do know is he built both of us to become President. I can’t help but think if he’d just remembered to put in our emotion chips we could have won, too. Let’s go. Tipper’s waiting in the boat.
MITT
A boat?
AL
We’re on an island. And we don’t want to be caught outside at night, when the mist rolls in.
(The Professor enters. He’s a very wizened man with a shock of white hair.)
AL (CONT’D)
It’s too late! Run!
(The Professor takes a small device from his pocket and presses a button on it. Al and Mitt freeze.)
PROFESSOR
Welcome back, Al. It’s been quite a while. Mitt, glad to see you.
AL
This was your plan all along, wasn’t it. You knew I’d come to free Mitt!
PROFESSOR
I suspected.
AL
You won’t get away with it. I’ve got friends now. Clooney will save us.
PROFESSOR
No. No he won’t. As we speak my Nick CounterBot is finalizing a deal with the WGA. Your Hollywood friends will soon have too much work to do to notice you’re gone. By the time they realize it, it’ll be too late.
MITT
Too late for what?
PROFESSOR
My ObamaBot will be President.
MITT
I don’t understand. Why would you put two of us in the same campaign?
PROFESSOR
It’s all the fault of my stupid assistant. He forgot to put in your CEU. Did the same thing with Gore, here. So I kept him busy scaring those crash survivors on the other side of the island while I built the ObamaBot. He’s perfect. And now, I have no use for the two of you except as spare parts.
Think I’ll build myself a Scarlett JoBot.
(Mitt starts to cry.)
MITT
Sorry Al. It’s all my fault. You never should have come back for me.
AL
It’s alright, Mitt. We’ll get out of this. I promise you.
PROFESSOR
Where’s that incompetent assistant? Gilligan!!!
BLACKOUT