Sketch War

Tag: humor

  • FSW: The Reunion

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


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


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

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

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

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

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

    RICH
    –since sixth grade.

    SCOTT
    Seriously? Then too?

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

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

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

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

    ROB
    Hey, Cath.

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

    ROB
    I just…

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

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

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

    (Unfreeze.)

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

    CATHY
    Rob, things are complicated with me and Bill.

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

    BILL
    Hey, Rob.

    ROB
    Uh, hi Bill.

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

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

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

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

    DUDE-ROB
    Pussy!

    ROB
    I’m not going to fight him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    WISE-ROB
    (Uncomfortable) Uh, hello Bill.

    (Everyone unfreezes.)

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

    ROB
    Wow. I…are you guys okay?

    BILL
    Yeah. I’m just really confused lately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    BILL
    I bet you hated me, huh?

    CATHY
    He didn’t hate you, Billy.

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

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

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

    (Bill gets up to leave.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: New Pants

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

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

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

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

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

    TOM
    (Gently chiding) Don’t have.

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

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

    BRANDON
    You?

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

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

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

    BRANDON
    Eww…

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

    BRANDON
    What’s all this?

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

    BRANDON
    You…what? But how did you–

    TOM
    –I had a little trouble finding you pants.

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

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

    (Brandon’s eyes widen in terror.)

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

    BRANDON
    Out?

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

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

    TOM
    You look sharp, Brand!

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

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

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: Highway Robbery

    Not my best work. I’m going to leave it at that. I think it’s a cute-ish setup, and I don’t mind the payoff, but it’s clunky and clumsy and the dialog sucks. Sorry. Blame David for picking this week’s theme of payroll. Michael’s up for next week’s theme. My fingers are crossed that it doesn’t hurt quite like this one!
     

    (Payroll department. TIM, 30s and beige as the cubes and carpet of his department, sits at his desk. MARY, late 20s but holding tight to her early 20s, stands at his side.)
    TITLE: WELLS FARGO SOUTHWEST REGIONAL DATA CENTER, PAYROLL DEPARTMENT, PAYDAY, 11:59AM.

    MARY
    I don’t understand why we don’t just send out an email.

    TIM
    Corporate needs hard copies of everyone’s AR-13s, in triplicate.

    MARY
    Tree killers.

    TIM
    That’s just the way things are done. If we don’t get those in, no one’s getting paid next month.

    MARY
    I know, I know. I’ll take care of it. I just don’t know why it’s got to be this way.

    TIM
    Personally, I like doing things the old way. I like knowing I’ve got a file cabinet filled with all the documents I need to get us through any audit. What do you have with an email?

    (Gunfire announces the arrival of THREE COWPOKES, dusty, mustachioed, and 120 years too late. Ringleader DALE steps front and center and shoots his two six-shooters.)

    DALE
    Yeehah! Alright you lily-livered hangdogs. Hand over the loot.

    MARY
    Sir, you can’t fire guns in–

    (Dale shoots Mary. Dead.)

    DALE
    Yeehah!

    TIM
    (sighing)
    Great. Do you know how long it takes to train a good payroll clerk? What do you want.

    DALE
    We’re aimin’ to take your payroll off your hands, pardner.

    TIM
    Take our…you want to steal our payroll?

    DALE
    You betcha!
    (to henchmen)
    He ain’t the sharpest fella, is he?

    TIM
    You do realize that most of our employees just have direct deposit, right?

    DALE
    What in tarnation is that?

    TIM
    Pay is deposited directly into their bank accounts. No paychecks, no cash. All they get is a stub.

    DALE
    Goldang it all! The world’s just changin’ too fast for this ol’ outlaw.

    TIM
    I know how you feel.

    DALE
    I s’pose they get medical, too.

    TIM
    And dental.

    (Dale raises his eyebrow suggestively. Lights come down and back up. Tim sits alone at his desk. Dale comes up in the same dusty cowboy gear. He shoots into the air.)

    TITLE: WELLS FARGO SOUTHWEST REGIONAL DATA CENTER, PAYROLL DEPARTMENT, ONE WEEK LATER

    DALE
    Yeehah! Here are them AR-13s, boss!

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: Walt and the Olympics

    Today’s the Disney-ABC deadline. My application got in the mail yesterday, but in honor of the day, I suggested that this week’s theme should be Disney. Hope you enjoy. Next week’s theme *should* be up to David, but if he’s not fully back in the battle, it’ll fall to Michael.
     

    (A lab. An odd mixture of modern and Gernsback-inspired equipment. THREE MEN in white lab coats hover over a metal tube. WALT DISNEY sleeps inside.)
    TITLE: TODAY. A TOP-SECRET LAB DEEP BENEATH EPCOT CENTER.

    PERRAULT
    His vitals are almost normal, he should be up any–

    (Walt pops up. A bell goes off.)

    WALT
    Oh boy, that was a good nap. Heya fellas.

    HAND
    It worked! It really worked!

    WALT
    Well of course it did, son. This is the best reanimation equipment money can buy. What’s the date?

    HAND
    2008. August 2008.

    WALT
    That was a little longer than I expected. Darn. Tell me, how’s the company doing? Did it get by alright once our copyrights went into the public domain?

    LUSKE
    Into the…no. Mr. Disney, we still have all our copyrights.

    WALT
    You did say 2008, right son?

    HAND
    Yessir.

    LUSKE
    You can thank Sonny Bono.

    PERRAULT
    Sonny Bono’s dead.

    HAND
    Actually, he’s in that tube over there.

    WALT
    Alright. So we’ve still got our characters. Good. What else. (BEAT) Hey! It’s 2008. It’s an Olympiad!

    HAND
    Yessir. Would you like to watch them while you’re finishing your recovery?

    WALT
    Sure! Who doesn’t love the Olympics?

    (A TV is turned on, and we hear Bob Costas spinning a melodramatic tale of woe over a John Tesh score. Walt’s face drops as he watches.)

    WALT
    Where the hell is Jim McKay?!?

    CUT TO:

    (Another lab room, the same mixture of high and sci-fi tech. Walt stands behind a bank of monitors and a board. The three techs operate the board.)
    TITLE: 2012. A TOP-SECRET LAB BENEATH EPCOT CENTER

    WALT
    Hit is, boys!

    (On the screens, we see an Animatronic JIM MCKAY.)

    MCKAY
    Hello. Welcome to ABC Sports coverage of the Thirtieth Olympiad. I’m Jim McKay.

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: President Paul

    Um, well…so last week I selected the topic of cross dressing for this week’s sketches. Little did I know that it wasn’t an easy theme and I wouldn’t get my first opportunity to work on it until a half-hour ago. Ugh. It’s…okay. I treated it like an improv sketch and once I had the basis, just pushed forward without much concern about what was happening. It suffers from not having a really good through-line. Sorry. Next week, hopefully, I will have more time to write my sketch, but for now, take some small enjoyment from President Paul.


    (A crowded press room. Reporters crammed in, shoulder-to-shoulder. There’s a constant low-level murmur coming from them as they wait. As one, they all turn their heads and track someone moving to the podium. We’re still on the reporters.)

    REPORTER 1
    Mr. President! Mr. President! Chuck Masters, LA Times. President Paul, how do you respond to those who say your election was a fluke? That if Barack Obama and John McCain hadn’t been caught with their hands in Cookie Jar you would never have been anything more than a spoiler.

    (We cut to the podium. Standing behind the Seal of the President: Ru Paul.)

    PRESIDENT PAUL
    First off, baby, it’s Madame President! If Hilary had this much style she’d be standing here today. Second, I know Cookie Jar. She’s huge on the erotic dance circuit. Y’all’ve been treating her like a pariah and that’s not right. She’s a sweetie and it’s no wonder my former opponents were enthralled by her charms. As to your question, Chuck, let me say that I think the American public made an informed choice, an intelligent choice, and a choice they’ll be very happy with.

    REPORTER 2
    Madame President! Cindy Shermer, Miami Herald.

    PRESIDENT PAUL
    Go ahead, Cindy.

    REPORTER 2
    Madame President, you won Florida handily, dominating in Miami-Dade county. Is this another case of confusing ballots and people voting for the wrong candidate?

    PRESIDENT PAUL
    Cindy, you look awfully pale. You don’t get out much, get away from your computer screen, do you?

    REPORTER 2
    That’s not relevant. Are you avoiding my question, Madame President?

    PRESIDENT PAUL
    Not at all, Cindy. I’m trying to answer it. Maybe you should get outside sometime and walk around your beautiful city. That’s my city. My people. The freaks and fabs of Miami got up and voted for one of their own.

    REPORTER 2
    Are you saying you don’t think the Serpentine ballots might have had something to do with it? With your name right next to Ron Paul’s name?

    PRESIDENT PAUL
    Y’all think Miami and Fort Lauderdale would have voted in record numbers for a crazy man yelling about the gold standard? Why would they do that when they could vote for the real Gold Standard?

    REPORTER 3
    Madame President! Over here, please, Madame President! Pick me, pick me!

    PRESIDENT PAUL
    That’s more like it! Go ahead, Francesco.

    REPORTER 3
    Thank you, darling! Francesco Batisti, Vogue. Madame President, what do you say to the rumors that you plan on picking Ralph Lauren to be your Secretary of State?

    PRESIDENT PAUL
    Sounds like you’ve got a source deep, deep inside, Francesco! That’s right, I’m picking Ralph. He’s a little darling, and when I think how America should present herself to the world, I think Lauren.

    REPORTER 4
    Madame President! Thank you. Cal Trumbo, FOX News. What are your plans for the court? It is likely that two or three Supreme Court justices could be replaced during your term in office. What sort of candidates are you going to seek to fill those openings?

    PRESIDENT PAUL
    Cal, I’ll seek the same sort of candidates for those openings as for all my openings. Fabulous ones! Thank you all for coming, but I have to meet with the Joint Chiefs now!

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: Working Through the Pain

    We’ve decided that writing a sketch a week, often a few hours before it’s due, isn’t nearly challenging enough. From now on, we’re going to write on set topics or themes. Michael’s picked this week’s theme: workaholics. I’ll go ahead and pick next week’s theme right now…cross dressing. (TheWife and I are going to see Eddie Izzard in Vegas next weekend.)

    I wish I had more time to give this a bit more polish, but it’s 10:45pm. I’m going to a 3:15am showing of “The Dark Knight” and need at least a little sleep. So my apologies for the rough edges.

    (Ravi, a surgeon in his early 30s in surgical whites, works on a patient with OR nurse Betty at his side. Anesthesiologist Karl sits on the other side of the operating table monitoring his equipment. Ravi is performing delicate brain surgery on Amanda. An intricate ballet occurs between Ravi and Betty. Her responses to his one word grunts for instruments occur almost before he makes them. His hands fly.)

    RAVI
    Retractor. Melman. (BEAT) Damn it! Where’s that priest?

    BETTY
    He should be here any moment. Are you sure you need him?

    RAVI
    Am I sure? Damn it, Betty – Debakey – don’t you think I know what I’m doing? Kimmel.

    BETTY
    It just seems too soon for a priest. You’re the best damn surgeon in the state. It’s too soon to give up.

    (Oh yeah, turns out this is the sort of brain surgery where the patient is awake.)

    AMANDA
    I’m right here!

    RAVI
    Take it easy, Amanda. Everything’s going fine.

    BETTY
    I’m sorry. I just think…well…I’m sorry.

    RAVI
    Damn it, Betty. That’s enough! Hemostat.

    (The door to the OR flies open and a man rushes in. He’s also dressed in surgical whites.)

    RAVI
    Father Rodriguez?

    (It’s not Father Rodriguez. It’s Chip, Amanda’s 20-something assistant.)

    CHIP
    No, sir. Amanda, there’s a problem in Singapore. I did what I could without you, but the foreman said if the worker’s demands aren’t met they’ll strike.

    AMANDA
    That’s alright Chip. Come on over here. Doctor Cheswick, you don’t mind if Chip takes your seat for a moment, do you?

    KARL
    But I have to watch this monitor here. See how it goes beep, beep, beep? If it stops, I have to press these switches and turn these dials. I can’t just–

    AMANDA
    –Thanks. Scoot. Alright Chip, what’s the skinny?

    RAVI
    Leno. Wipe, please.

    (Betty wipes Ravi’s brow with a piece of gauze held by forceps.)

    CHIP
    They’re demanding a six-percent cost of living raise–

    AMANDA
    –That’s doable.

    CHIP
    And Friday night off.

    BETTY
    I’m sorry, Doctor. I was out of line.

    RAVI
    That’s alright. It’s understandable. Balfour.

    AMANDA
    Friday night off? Every Friday? We can’t do that. We’d never meet the production goals.

    CHIP
    Actually, just this Friday. George Michael is playing Jalan Besar Stadium and they want to go.

    AMANDA
    The entire shift?

    CHIP
    Apparently George Michael is like the David Hasselhoff of Singapore. Singapore’s Germany in this analogy.

    AMANDA
    Fine. Do it. But every shift has to cut ten minutes off lunch for the next three weeks. Anything else?

    CHIP
    No, ma’am.

    (Chip gets up and Karl takes his seat back. He turns a few dials, but nothing happens. As Chip leaves, another man enters the OR – Father Rodriguez.)

    RAVI
    Finally! I was beginning to think you wouldn’t make it in time.

    FATHER RODRIGUEZ
    I came as quickly as I could, my son. Is this the woman?

    RAVI
    Yes. Amanda, this is Father Rodriguez.

    AMANDA
    I’d shake your hand, but I’m otherwise occupied.

    (Polite chuckles all around, but from Betty. She’s steamed.)

    RAVI
    Carson.

    FATHER RODRIGUEZ
    Ravi Srinivasan, do you take Amanda Palmer to be your lawfully wedded wife?

    BLACKOUT

  • 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: 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

  • 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: 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