Sketch War

Tag: writing

  • 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

  • Friday Night Sketch War: Round Eleven

    This week was a light one. Three scouts met while surveying a potential battlefield and got into a fight with non-lethal ordinance.

    • Coyote threw wiffle balls at the others…
    • Michael blew spitballs…
    • Red sprayed foam…

    This week we’ve got Pyrotechnic Parties, Camping Trips, and Tortured Artistes.

    And if you get a chance, stop by David’s joint and wish him well finding the other half of his ass.

  • 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)

  • Friday Night Sketch War: Round Ten

    Oh, the humanity!

    Three score and three days ago Michael and I brought forth on this internet a new challenge, conceived in Comedy, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created funny.

    Now we are engaged in a great comic war, testing whether that challenge, or any challenge, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that challenge might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

    But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate – we can not consecrate – we can not hallow – this web. The brave men and women, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here…

    • Red led a cavalry charge into the thickets early…
    • Coyote performed valiant but futile battlefield surgery on the wounded…
    • Michael schemed and planned and plotted and napped through it all…
    • David surveyed the great loss of life and limb from high above.

    This week we’ve got babes in naves, doctors on telly, great warriors felled by beautiful maidens, and a little man in a boat.

    If you feel my usage of this great speech for such a trivial adventure was sacrilegious, please go here to see it in its intended glory here.

  • FSW: Fantasy Dream Edition

    It’s time for another round of Friday Sketch War.

    Richard was first out of the gate today, with a cautionary tale about television doctors.

    Nothing from Dave yet, but if it’s anything like last week, he’ll toss something out that will 

    blow us all away.

    Update: Dave is up and, er, swimming. And we have a new battler in our midst. Red has joined the fray. Please make her feel welcome.

    Here’s my attempt at the funny. I think I need to cut it down some, but I like the premise a lot.

    And, as always, if you’d like to play along, simply post your sketch and send us a link.

    Enjoy!

    Dream Date Night Dream

    (We are in the small, studio apartment of PAUL. It is decorated as any geek, fanboy might. Lots of horror movie posters, action figures on shelves, an authentic lightsaber in a glass case, Star Wars bed sheets, etc. Paul sits in bed, wearing a headset, playing an online game on his computer. Through the wall we hear the unmistakable sound of enthusiastic lovemaking.)

    PAUL: (On headset) Jesus, my neighbor’s at it again. I swear that guy gets more tail than Aragon. (Beat) Oh, way more than Solo. (Beat) Well that’s your opinion.

    (The lovemaking gets louder and louder, then suddenly, there is a short scream of shock followed by a loud THUD!)

    PAUL: (On headset) Hang on, Slayer 9, I think I’ve got a situation here.

    (Paul leans back against the wall, trying to hear what’s going on. We hear a woman’s voice saying “Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.” Over and over again.)

    PAUL: (On headset) Dude, I’m gonna have to log off. (Beat) I know, I know, but you’ve got enough Hit Power to take the ogres should they attack. (Beat) Would you calm down, that wizard is long gone. I’m sure I’ll return before he does.

    (There is a knock on his door.)

    PAUL: (On headset) Holy shit, I think the chick he was banging is knocking at my door. (Beat) No, I’m not going to take a picture.

    (More knocking.)

    JAMIE: (Off) Hello? Is anyone home? Hello?

    PAUL: Just a second! (On headset.) All right, all right. But only because you saved my ass on the Isle of Gygax. After this we’re even.

    (More knocking.)

    PAUL: Coming!

    (He quickly removes his headset and positions the laptop so it’s pointing toward the door. He takes a tiny webcam and attaches it to the top of the computer. He crosses to the door and opens is. JAMIE, drop-dead gorgeous, enters, wearing a man’s t-shirt and nothing else.)

    JAMIE: Oh, thank god you’re home. I think my boyfriend needs a doctor.

    (Paul is frozen momentarily in the tractor-beam of her beauty.)

    JAMIE: Hello? You speak English?

    PAUL: Uh. Yeah. And Elven. A little Klingon, too. Enough to get by anyhow.

    JAMIE: Can you help me?

    PAUL: Sure. Uh. (Beat) What do you want me to do?

    JAMIE: Check on my boyfriend.

    PAUL: Right. Okay. Yeah.

    (Paul starts to leave, followed by Jamie. There is a BEEP from his computer and he turns to look at it.)

    PAUL: Uh. You know. You should. Wait here. Yeah. In case. You know.

    JAMIE: Okay. Thanks. I’m a little freaked out right now.

    (She goes to sit down on a beanbag chair near the wall. Another BEEP from the computer. Paul grabs her and stops her.)

    PAUL: Actually. Just stay right here.

    (He positions her so she’s in front of the camera. Another BEEP. Paul looks at the computer. He moves her slightly to the left and turns her sideways.)

    PAUL: Right here. I’ll be right back.

    (Paul takes another look at her and then quickly runs out of the apartment. Jamie stays where she was placed. A rapid series of BEEPS emanates from the computer. She looks for the sound and sees the computer. Through the wall we hear Paul.)

    PAUL: (Off) Dude! Dude! Wake up. Dude!

    (Paul runs back in. Jamie turns to him.)

    JAMIE: Why does your computer keep repeating “thank you”?

    PAUL: It’s a, uh, gratitude program I just installed.

    JAMIE: Oh. How is he?

    PAUL: Um, okay, I think. I think maybe he’s just unconscious.

    JAMIE: Do you think he’ll be all right?

    PAUL: I’m not a doctor but…

    (BEEP from the computer. Paul steps closer to read the screen.)

    PAUL: But, I think you should stay here until he comes to. He probably just needs a little air. Uh.

    (BEEP from the computer.)

    PAUL: Would you like something to drink?

    JAMIE: I could really use a shot of whiskey right now.

    PAUL: Oh. Well. I only have water and Diet Cherry Fanta.

    JAMIE: Water’s fine.

    (Paul heads over to the kitchen.)

    PAUL: I’m Paul, by the way.

    JAMIE: Jamie. Thanks for being here, Paul. I’m such a nutcase when it comes to emergencies.

    (Paul comes back with a glass of water.)

    PAUL: Oh, sure, I’m always home.

    (BEEP from the computer.)

    PAUL: Because I’m Rick.

    JAMIE: What?

    (BEEP.)

    PAUL: Rich. Because I’m so rich. I never need to leave.

    (Jamie begins to take in her surroundings.)

    JAMIE: Wow, you really like movies, huh?

    PAUL: Oh yeah.

    JAMIE: Is that a real light saber?

    PAUL: Darth Vadar’s. From A New Hope.

    JAMIE: No shit.

    PAUL: You like Star Wars?

    JAMIE: Love it. I was Princess Leia for Halloween this year. You know the outfit she wore as Jabba’s slave girl?

    (Paul has a physical reaction to this image. Another series of BEEPS from the computer. Jamie looks at it and seems to be a little shocked.)

    JAMIE: I don’t think your gratitude program is working very well. Now it’s just repeating “Take off your shirt” over and over again

    (PAUL leaps over and slams the laptop closed. A series of BEEPS. He yanks out the headset and the camera. He stuffs the laptop under the blankets.)

    JAMIE: You know, I should probably check on Jarrod.

    PAUL: Who? Oh yeah! No! Let me go. I don’t want you to get freaked out again or anything.

    JAMIE: Okay. Thanks.

    (Paul runs out again.)

    PAUL: (Off) Oh hey, dude. You’re up. Uh, no I haven’t seen her. What’s that over there?

    (There is a dull thud, followed by the sound of something heavy falling. Paul comes running back in.)

    PAUL: He had a relapse.

    JAMIE: Oh no.

    PAUL: But I think he’s going to be fine. You can hang out here until he’s better.

    JAMIE: Oh. Sure. Okay.

    PAUL: So…You wanna see the Steampunk action figures I’ve modded?

    JAMIE: You do Steampunk? Cool!

    PAUL: (In complete awe) Mela en’ coiamin

    JAMIE: What?

    PAUL: Nothing. Just an Elven blessing.

    JAMIE: That’s neat.

    PAUL: I could teach you, if you like.

    JAMIE: That would be nice. (Beat) What’s on your shirt? Are you bleeding?

    PAUL: What? Oh! No. (He wipes it away.) It must have been some sauce from my Spaghetti O’s.

    (They share a laugh. Jamie sits down on the bed. We hear faint moaning through the walls. Paul turns on his stereo.)

    PAUL: I hope you like Evanescence.

    (Paul sits on the bed next to Jamie.)

    JAMIE: They’re my favorite band.

    (An annoying BEEPING noise begins.)

    JAMIE: What’s that?

    PAUL: I don’t know.

    JAMIE: Listen, why don’t you check it out, while I slip into something a little more comfortable.

    PAUL: What’s more comfortable than just a t-shirt?

    JAMIE: You’ll see.

    (She exits into the bathroom. Excited, Paul takes off his shirt and pants. The BEEPING is getting louder, so he begins searching for it. He looks all over and eventually winds up looking under the blankets of his bed. He is completely covered. The lights change very subtly. He comes out from under the blankets, stretching and yawning.)

    PAUL: Wait. What? No no no no no no.

    (He runs to the bathroom and knocks on the door.)

    PAUL: Jamie? Hello?

    (He opens the door.)

    PAUL: NOOOO! Dammit!

    (Something is still BEEPING. He makes it back to his bed where he digs out his computer. He opens it up and the beeping stops. He puts on his headset. The sound of enthusiastic lovemaking begins next door. Paul sighs.)

    PAUL: (On headset) He, Slayer 9, what’s up? (Beat) Nothing, just listening to my neighbor get his baloney pony ridden. Again. Dude gets more tail than Apollo’s killed Cylons. (Beat) You’d be certifiable if you didn’t do Starbuck.

    (The door opens and Jamie comes in, dressed, with donuts and orange juice.)

    JAMIE: Good morning, sleepy head.

    PAUL: (On headset) Dude, I gotta get back to you. I think I’m still dreaming.

    (He pulls off the headset.)

    PAUL: You’re…you’re real.

    JAMIE: What? Last night wasn’t enough to convince you? Oh, I hope you don’t mind, but I borrowed some of your clothes.

    (Paul is just standing, staring, flabbergasted.)

    JAMIE: Listen, I thought maybe we could take a shower together and then watch LORT. All three movies, director’s cut of course, straight through.

    (Paul falls to his knees and begins to weep.)

    JAMIE: Paul, are you all right?

    PAUL: I’m happier than a Ranchor in shit.

    JAMIE: Cormamin lindua ele lle.

    PAUL: It does, indeed.

    (Paul stands up and goes to hug Jamie. He steps on one of his action figures that is on the floor.)

    PAUL: Ow!

    (He begins hopping around, loses his balance and falls behind the bed. There is a sickly sounding, WET CRACK.)

    JAMIE: What are the odds?

    (She looks around. Shrugs. Takes the donuts and leaves.)

    BLACKOUT

  • Friday Night Sketch War: Round Nine

    We’ve got an interesting battle this week. Back from the brink of doom (probably after making a Mephistophelian deal) Michael is firing on all cylinders. Red’s got a new home on the web, but didn’t join in the festivities. David channeled his inner Sondheim. It was a slugfest out there today…

    • Michael launched an early salvo on Thursday, setting off EM devices in the atmo…
    • Coyote scrambled bombers out of a secret Antarctic base while Crystal Palace struggled to come back online…
    • Michael fired rail guns from orbit, leveling Cleveland and Minsk…
    • David launched every missile out of every attack-hardened silo, leaving the Earth a smoking cinder.

    There was a lot of pain, crying, and gnashing of teeth today. We lost a lot of good people (and a lot of deadwood too…nukes and railguns are indiscriminate.) Hapkido, shotguns, fisticuffs, and song were the weapons of choice this week, my good readers. Go forth and be amused.

  • Friday Night Sketch War: Round Eight

    I’d been holding off on reporting the results of this week’s battle in hopes that Michael would make it out of the M*A*S*H unit, where he was playing grab ass with Hot Lips Houlihan, in time to post. He’s been under the weather this week, and in Chicago, there’s been a LOT of weather this week under which to be.

    But then I remembered that even if he did make it out, he was meeting up with the brothers from the Water Buffalo Lodge for a Bowl-A-Thon. So hold back, I shall no more!

    • Coyote rises to periscope depth and fires a torpedo…
    • David and Leonardo DiCaprio drop depth charges from their battleship…
    • Red surprises the combatants with a fuel-air bomb dropped from a B-52.

    That’s right: someone new tossed her hat in the ring! Finally, PHX can represent with two mirth agents against the combined might of the Chicago comedy mafia! (I’ll nag her to get her own damn blog next time.)

    What’s that you ask? What have we got this week? Bad gifts, guy talk, and people who dress funny!

  • FSW: Someone New Enters the Battle!

    Wow. Someone (not the two people I was actually targeting, but someone) felt called out this week and decided to send in a sketch. It’s her first shot at sketch comedy, but I thought it was pretty decent. She’s homepageless at the moment, so I’m going to paste it below. Everyone, please give a warm welcome to our newest battler, Red. (I’m not going to include her email address as she suggested, because I fear she’d send money to all the deposed Nigerian princes who would contact her.)

    The Meeting
    (Two women and a man sit at a conference table wearing business casual attire. Ms Willson rushes in and stands at the head of the table, where we can only see her back. The other three get odd expressions on their faces, and glance between each other and Ms Willson. Smiles slowly creep across their faces.)

    MS WILLSON
    Is something funny? We have serious business to attend to, and since I am behind schedule we really don’t have time to have this conversation. (Brianne raises her hand.) Yes, Brianne, do you have something to say, and is it pertinent to the meeting?

    BRIANNE
    Well, I just wanted to tell you that–

    MS WILLSON
    –If it’s not about the meeting, I don’t want to hear it.

    (Ms Willson ad-libs on sales figures and clients for a few moments. The others continue to smile.)

    MS WILLSON
    The fact that our sales numbers are down, is that something you find amusing, Charlie?

    CHARLIE
    (Stammers) No, no, that’s not funny at all. It’s just that…

    MS WILLSON
    Just that what? Really, is this a case of Friday afternoon happy hour anticipation or are you all just on something?

    (They stare at the floor, holding back snickers.)

    MARIE
    Well, Ms Willson, what we’ve been trying to tell you, is that it’s hard to focus on sales numbers when your dress is tucked into your pantyhose and we can see your underwear. Is today Monday or Friday because I can’t tell from what you are wearing?

    (Ms Willson turns away from the table to face us and looks down. Her dress is tucked into her pantyhose in front and the front or her underwear is visible. We can clearly read the word “Monday” printed all over them.)

    MS WILLSON
    Ah, well. Thanks Marie, and all, sorry I didn’t let you speak sooner. (She heads to the door.) I’ll be right back…

    (The three co-workers burst into laughter.)

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: An Awkward Birthday

    Same spiel as every week. If anyone feels up to putting her sketch talents to the test, please email a link, or the body of your sketch if you have no place to post it, to sketchwar_at_dreamloom_dot_com. The results of the battle will be posted sometime Friday evening.

    An Awkward Birthday
    (Rob and Jean sit at a kitchen table with shreds of wrapping paper lying visible on the floor. He: mid 20s, wearing a plaid flannel shirt, jeans, and glasses. She: early 20s, hair in a ponytail, white blouse, jeans.)

    ROB
    I thought you’d like it.

    JEAN
    How could…are you crazy? What would make you think I’d want…that?

    ROB
    I don’t know. You’re, it’s just that —

    (They freeze. A man in his 40s with touches of silver at the temples of his perfectly combed hair enters and crosses to stand behind Rob’s right shoulder. He is dressed identically to Rob, though his shirt is neatly tucked and buttoned all the way to the top.)

    ROB-2
    It’s just that you’re a difficult person for whom to shop.

    (Jean remains frozen, but Rob turns to look at his doppelganger.)

    ROB
    “For whom to shop?” Are you fucking kidding me? Look at her! She’s already pissed off and now you want me to talk like an English professor in the middle of a fight?

    ROB-2
    There is no wrong time for good grammar.

    ROB
    Right. Well I think I’m going to take this one myself if you don’t mind.

    (Jean unfreezes.)

    ROB (CONT)
    — you’re a hard person to shop for.

    JEAN
    Hard? Hard how? Look around the apartment, Rob. Look over there on the counter. What do you see?

    ROB
    A pile of magazines?

    JEAN
    Catalogs. They’re catalogs. With pages conveniently folded so you can see what I like. Trust me when I tell you not one of those catalogs has anything like…that.

    ROB-2
    She has a point.

    ROB
    (Glares at Rob-2) But Jeannie, if I just get you something from one of those, it’s like I put no thought in it at all. You might as well just take a card from my wallet and order it yourself. I thought I could surprise you with something different. Something personal.

    (Jean freezes. A third man appears, dressed the same but with his shirt completely undone and hair mussed. This one is 17 or 18. He stands behind Rob’s left shoulder.)

    ROB-3
    Dude! Tell her how long it took!

    ROB
    Not now.

    ROB-3
    Tell her, man. An hour, just standing there with that stuff slathered on.

    ROB
    I wish I was at work.

    ROB-2
    Were at work. You wish you were at work.

    ROB-3
    Nice hair, grandpa. You put Crisco in that?

    ROB-2
    Get a job!

    (Jean unfreezes.)

    JEAN
    You know I don’t…do that. Why would you buy me a dildo?

    ROB
    That’s just it! It’s not just a dildo! It’s an exact replica of me!

    JEAN
    What?

    ROB-3
    Tell her about the latex!

    JEAN
    What are you talking about?

    ROB
    Intimate Expressions – the sex shop by the Greyhound station – they have this new thing where they take casts of–

    JEAN
    –So now you’re hanging out at sex shops?!?

    (Rob-2 and Rob-3 both take a single, large step backwards.)

    ROB
    Just the one. I mean, no! I heard about it on the radio, is all. I swear. At Valentine’s Day they were talking about it and I thought it’d be something you’d like. You always say how much you miss me when I work nights–

    JEAN
    –So you thought you could give me a rubber–

    ROB-3
    –Latex

    ROB
    Latex

    JEAN
    –latex version of your dick and that’d be alright? That’s what you thought I meant when I said I missed you?

    ROB
    I just wanted–

    ROB-2
    –I just wanted, finally, to give you some memento to remind you of me.

    ROB
    Seriously! Who talks like that?

    ROB-3
    Tell her about the hot chick who took the mold!

    ROB
    Guys, really, I think I’ve got this. Thanks for all your help.

    I just wanted to finally give you something special. I screwed up. Again. I’m sorry. Here, I’ll throw it out.

    (Rob extends his hand. Everyone freezes. A woman who looks just like Jean enters and crosses to stand behind Jean. She holds out her hand.)

    JEAN-2
    Oh hell no! If you’re not going to use it, then give it to me!

    BLACKOUT

  • Friday Night Sketch War: Round Seven

    After last week’s two-man wrecking crew, this week we’re back to three combatants. Still, there were some lingering personal, health, and weather issues keeping the warriors from fighting at peak form. See for yourselves as…

    • Coyote rouses the team to fight, fight, fight…
    • David tells it like it is…
    • Michael shows us it really is a wonderful war.

    This week we’ve got the greatest coach ever, the greatest boyfriend ever, and the greatest ¿angel? ever.