Sketch War

Blog

  • Friday Night Sketch War: Funeral Edition

    Last week’s reunion special got me a bit melancholy, thinking about the ultimate reunion. When all your friends and family (or, in my case, a county official and anonymous creamatorium worker) get together to celebrate who you were and how you lived. Brings a tear to my eye. A tear, because a cinder from your remains got in my eye!

    This week’s challenge sees four warriors (once David stopped washing his damn hair) on the field of battle.

    • Coyote spied on a lackey’s funeral…
    • Michael sent a ghost to do his bidding…
    • Ken sold me a new coffin…
    • David made a [adjective] [noun] of death.

    Next week’s topic is selected by Michael: change. Same call for sketches as always…if you wanna show us the funny, email sketchwar_AT_dreamloom.com.

  • The Lemon-Scented Passing of Jack Kaufmann

    (A funeral. The casket is upstage center, and black-clad MOURNERS are milling around. TIMMY, a boy of five, is downstage, shyly standing next to his mother, MARJORIE. EDWARD, holding a notepad, is kneeling and talking to TIMMY.)

    EDDIE (to TIMMY)
    A noun? It’s like a person, place or thing.

    MARJORIE (to TIMMY)
    What’s something you saw today, sweetheart? Just name anything.

    (TIMMY whispers something to MARJORIE, who laughs.)

    EDWARD
    What did he say?

    MARJORIE (to TIMMY)
    Tell him what you said, sweetie.

    (TIMMY whispers to EDWARD. EDWARD laughs and writes something in the notebook.)

    EDWARD
    That’s perfect. That’s perfect. Thank you, Timmy.

    (The FUNERAL DIRECTOR approaches EDWARD.)

    FUNERAL DIRECTOR
    Any time you’re ready.

    (EDWARD nods and makes his way to a podium by the casket. He clears his throat, and the MOURNERS take their seats and quiet down.)

    EDWARD
    The Eulogy.

    Friends and family, well wishers and pomegranates, we are gathered today to mourn the lemon-scented passing of Jack Kaufmann.

    Jack Kaufmann was a soggy soul, a man who was quick with a cheesy handshake and a kind Q-Tip. And he was always willing to lend a helping jack-o-lantern to someone in need.

    Things weren’t always easy for Jack Kaufman. As one of sixty-nine children, he constantly had to pistol-whip for attention. But most would agree that this only made him hotter. In fact, he drew upon his experience just last year, when he finally fulfilled his dream of eating Mount Everest.

    He is survived by his lovely wife Angelina Jolie, his son Rick Astley and daughter Miley Cyrus, and of course McNuggets, his faithful thirteen-lined ground squirrel. And most of us would argue that, at a mere one hundred billion years old, he was far too hoarse to die.

    But today is not only a day for sadness, for we still have many ticklish memories of this drunken man. And Jack Kaufman himself would have wanted each and every one of us to seize the toilet.

    (EDWARD steps down from the podium as the MOURNERS wipe away tears. Organ music.)

  • FSW: Putting the fun in Funeral

    Ahhh Friday, and the hills are alive with the sound of sketches!

    I’m a little tardy posting today – I’ve been off work this week, so I’ve been slacking on everything!

    The topic this week was funerals, and I have to admit, for the first half of the week, I was really stuck – all I could picture was the famous Bill Braskey funeral sketch written by Adam McKay and Will Ferrel for Saturday Night Live a few years back. Every sketch idea I had seemed to be a variation on that. But once I was able to get past that, some nice ideas started breaking, and in the end it came down to a Bill Brasky variation, a Viking funeral sketch, or this, which is more filmic commercial parody and less character driven (which is a fancy way of saying “this is pure unadulterated silliness with lots of visual gags”). But it’s definitely different from what I usually tend towards writing, and ended up being dialogue light (“show, don’t tell” is something I try to work towards more and more with sketches).

    Well, enough of my rambling….Michael let us sit in on a funeral WITH the deceased watching and Robert whacked a super-villain’s lackey.

    And here’s my funeral offering for the week….next week’s theme is “Change”.

    ___________________________________________________________

    INT. – FUNERAL PARLOUR
    An austere but reverent viewing room. An open casket surrounded by flowers is at the front of the room and a line of mourners file by paying their respects

    ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
    It’s never easy to lose a loved one….

    The widow stands over the casket with 2 sons flanking either side, all looking down into the casket and shaking their heads slowly. The camera moves in closer to the casket

    ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
    But that doesn’t mean it can’t be fun!

    The camera pans down into the casket to show the deceased packed in ice set with cold bottles of bear. Against the corpse’s chest is a small flat screen TV showing an NFL game, held between the deceased’s hands. Tortilla chips inset with bowls of salsa and nacho cheese ring the deceased’s head.

    CUT TO:

    EXT. – P.T. BUCKETKICKERS FUNERAL PARLOUR – DAY

    The place looks somber from the outside, except for the TGI Friday’s style sign and red \ white striped awnings

    ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
    At P.T. Bucketkicker’s Funeral Parlour we create the kind of funerals that people look forward to! Want to turn those tears of loss in tears of laughter? Try our “Jack in the Casket”

    CUT TO:

    INT. – FUNERAL PARLOUR
    An elderly couple walks up to view the casket. A “SPROING” sound is heard and the corpse immediately sits upright in the casket. The elderly woman laughs, the elderly man clutches his chest and falls to the floor.

    On the screen, a disclaimer is superimposed:
    “Jack in a Casket option must be selected prior to rigor mortis”

    ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
    Saying goodbye makes wake attendees more aware their own days are coming to end. You can make them feel like a kid again with Wakey – our funereal clown!

    CUT TO:

    INT. – FUNERAL PARLOUR
    Another wake, people sit in front of an open casket while others file past to pay their respects. WAKEY is also in line mocking the other mourners with exaggerated wiping of tears and other mimed gestures. WAKEY is a traditional party clown with white face, big orange hair, red nose, etc, except his jumpsuit and shoes are black and white, like a clown tuxedo, and he has crosses attached to each shoulder.

    WAKEY makes a big “shush” gesture to the sitting mourners, and as standing mourner leans in over the body, WAKEY pulls out an oversized box with a big red button. When the standing mourner is looking into the casket, WAKEY pushes the button, and an arm pops up from the casket hitting the standing mourner square in the face with a pie. WAKEY mimes laughing as the pie-dripping mourner stands bakc upright. As the pie-smacked mourner turns to look at WAKEY, a powerful stream of seltzer sprays from the coffin hitting the him right in the face.

    ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
    Speaking of kids, don’t you hate bringing them to funerals? P.T. Bucketkicker’s is the only funeral parlor in the tri-state area with a state-of-the-art video game arcade AND bowling alley.

    CUT TO:

    INT. – FUNERAL PARLOUR
    Another funeral wake, mourners sit respectfully as BRUCE stands before them. The sounds of bowling can be head loudly as BRUCE starts to speak

    BRUCE
    I’d like to thank you all for coming. I know my mother would have been touched that all of you are here for her.

    The “whoo-whoo-whoo” sound of PAC-MAN hitting a ghost is heard.

    ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
    Losing a spouse is especially hard. You haven’t been to a party alone in years. So why should you go to a funeral alone? P.T. Bucketkicker’s can provide you with a funereal escort so you don’t have to face this all alone.

    CUT TO:

    INT. – FUNERAL PARLOUR HALLWAY
    A man holds a door open as mourners file into a viewing room. The widow walks in on the arm of a topless rippled Chippendale’s dancer, complete with black spandex pants and fake white wrist cuffs. She pauses, turns and waves behind her to an elderly man entering another view room. The elderly man is in a wheel chair, very frail looking, wearing an oxygen mask attached to a bottle on his chair. The elderly man is wheeled in by a stiletto-heeled-boot wearing, leather bustier, leather shorts and fishnet clad Pussycat Doll. The elderly man smiles, and gives a thumbs up and we hear a deep pull on that oxygen.

    ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
    Speaking of spouses, you began your married life with that romantic first dance. Shouldn’t you have a last dance to say goodbye? At P.T. Bucketkicker’s, we can make that happen.

    CUT TO:

    INT. – FUNERAL PARLOUR
    Chairs have line the sides and a big area is cleared in the middle of the view room. The lights go down except for a spotlight in the center. The widow steps into the light and “I’ve Had the Time of My Life” starts playing. The deceased is wheeled in by a well-dressed funeral director on a hand truck, upright, with arms splayed in waltz position like a mannequin. The widow steps in an arranges herself so the deceased’s arms hit in the right places, which takes some time. The funeral director puts his arms under the deceased’s to help. They finally start dancing, awkward
    ly, with the funeral director wheeling the deceased around, and the widow doing her best to keep up.

    ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
    Don’t you hate those people at the eulogy who try to make the deceased sound like a saint just because they’re dead? Let them try that with our eulogy lie detector.

    CUT TO:

    INT. – CHURCH – DAY
    Mourners sit in the church as CHARLIE stands up at the pulpit. He stands under a wooden frame, like an airport metal detector, with a large red and a green light at the top of the frame

    CHARLIE
    Dan was a giving man, a loving father, and a devoted husband

    A loud BUZZ sounds, and the red light lights up. Charlie and The congregated mourners burst into laughter

    CHARLIE (CONT)
    Oh geez…alright…let’s face it, Dan loved his underage hookers! He lived life like a penicillin tycoon on a Bangkok shore leave!

    The green light lights up as a bell sounds, everyone laughs, except the widow who looks surprised and appalled, and starts crying even harder.

    ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
    Finding it hard to say that final goodbye? With the Pop-up Pit, you won’t have to!

    CUT TO:

    EXT. – CEMETARY – DAY
    All of the mourners stand grave-side as the casket is lowered into the earth. The mourners turn to leave, weeping loudly, and the casket is launched up out of the hole and lands on the ground next to the pit.

    CUT TO:

    EXT. – P.T. BUCKETKICKERS FUNERAL PARLOR – DAY

    ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
    With so many options, you can customize your funeral to suit YOUR kind of fun!

    A list of options starts scrolling up the screen:
    CELEBRITY ENDORSEMENT NOVELY WREATHS
    PARTY HUMMER-HEARSE (WITH HOT TUB)
    “WHOOPEE” CASKETS
    GLOW-IN-THE-DARK EMBALMING FLUID
    OUR PROFESSIONAL SLAPSTICK PALLBEARING TEAM – “THE PALLIES!”
    EXOTIC DANCERS FOR ALL FAITHS AND DENOMINATIONS
    STAND-UP PRIESTS (FROM LAS VEGAS)

    ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
    So if you’ve got someone to bury why not bring them on down to P.T. Bucketkicker’s…where we put the FUN back in Funeral!

    The camera pans over slightly so the marquee sign in front of the Funeral Parlor can be seen. On the sign:
    “Lenderman viewing: Mon 3-7
    Ladies Night: Weds 7-Midnight”

    FADE OUT

  • FSW: Funeral Edition

    “Funeral” was Richard’s theme and he’s already up and running with a clever sketch.

    Nothing from Ken yet, so we’ll have to wait and see what he comes up with.

    Dave still has that just washed glow so I’m not sure if he’s joining us this week or not.

    As for next week’s theme, since it’s a word I haven’t heard enough the last couple of weeks, let’s go with Change.

    I’ll Be Back

    (A funeral home. Everyone is dressed in black. A closed casket sits at the center of the aisle. Julia stands and addresses the crowd.)

    JULIA: Friends. Family. People who just showed up for the free food. It’s so good to see you all here today. I’m sure Henry is looking down on all of us and smiling. Smiling because so many of his friends have come to pay their respects. Smiling because he died doing what he loves, helping little, old ladies cross the street. Smiling, because he died owing large sums of money to all of you. If you’ve come looking to collect I’m afraid I have bad news. We don’t even have the funds to give him a proper burial. And the suggestion that we hack his corpse into tiny pieces and let dogs eat then shit him out, while colorful, isn’t really in keeping with the spirit of the day.

    (A number of people rise, grumbling and exit the room.)

    Julia: We’re here to remember the kindness and love that he shared with us.

    Steve: He borrowed my books and never returned them.

    Kate: He told me I had a fat ass.

    Greg: He always ate my lunch whenever I brought it to work.

    Voice From the Back of the Room: Come on. We can do better than that can’t we?

    Julia: Henry? Is that you?

    (Henry stands in the back. Everyone gasps.)

    Julia: You’re alive!

    Greg: I knew it was too good to be true.

    Henry: No, no, I’m dead. I just wanted to come back and check out my funeral. It’s not going as well as I had hoped.

    Julia: Well, it appears that you weren’t the best guy to know.

    Henry: Me? Come on. We all have quirks that we’re ashamed of.

    (Looking at those gathered. He points to a woman in the front row.)

    Henry: Like Jenny here. She steals money from her senile grandmother. Or Max over there. I took his pedophilia secret to the grave with me. And Jeremy.

    (He looks around the room.)

    Henry: Where’s Jeremy?

    (A hand raises toward the back corner.)

    Henry: Jeremy here is the one that pushed me in front of that train.

    (A gasp from the crowd.)

    Henry: Right, huh? That’s shittier than eating someone’s peanut butter sandwich every day. Right?

    Greg: Well…

    Henry: But don’t worry, Jeremy. I didn’t come back to haunt you. I came back to forgive you.

    Jeremy: Uh…Thanks.

    Henry: That and I wanted to deliver the good news myself.

    Jeremy: Good news?

    Henry: I’m going to be reincarnated as your son!

    (Henry hugs Jeremy.)

    Jeremy: That’s going to be tough seeing as I don’t have a girlfriend I have no plans to settle down.

    Henry: I know, right. But that high school girl you’ve been diddling is about to call you and tell you she missed her period.

    Jeremy: But we always use a…

    (Jeremy’s cell phone rings)

    Jeremy: (Into phone) Hello?….Hey, babe, can I call you right…What?…Aw shit!…Are you sure?…

    Julia: You get to choose who you want to come back as?

    Henry: Only in certain cases. I wasn’t supposed to die for another forty-seven years, so since I got short changed with that life, I get to pick how I want my next life to go.

    Julia: The whole thing?

    Henry: Pretty much. It’s going to be rough for a while. Being the child of a high school senior is never easy. But it helps build character. Besides, my grandparents are loaded. And I grow up to be the most powerful man in the world.

    Julia: You’re going to be The President of the United States?

    Henry: No. CEO of ExxonMobile.

    Jeremy: (Hangs up the phone) Well, smart guy. Stephanie and I are going to meet to discuss our options.

    Henry: What options are those? Dad.

    Jeremy: Well, I think the only smart thing to do is abort you.

    Henry: (Gasps) You’d kill me twice?

    Jeremy: What’s to kill. You’re a zygote at this point. A teeny-tiny blob of jelly.

    Henry: Haven’t you heard? Life begins at the moment of conception. What about the soul?

    Jeremy: Well, the way I look at it. If you’re supposed to be the baby, but you’re still here, then that means there isn’t a soul to worry about.

    Henry: You’re an evil, liberal bastard.

    Jeremy: Evil? You’re the one that decided to seek revenge by planting yourself in Stephanie’s uterine wall.

    Henry: You haven’t seen the last of me. There’s still time to come back as a mountain lion or a crocodile or grizzly bear. You better be careful where you vacation because you never know where I’ll be lurking.

    Jeremy: Yeah, but with the increase in global warming and more and more park land used for drilling and mining, most of the top food chain predators will be extinct soon.

    Henry: Yeah, well, you better hope I don’t come back as a…a…spider or something. I’ll lay eggs up your nose and then you’ll be sorry.

    Jeremy: I’ll keep plenty of Raid handy just in case.

    Henry: Balls!

    (Henry storms off.)

    Julia: Are you really going to talk her into having an abortion?

    Jeremy: Why not? Neither one of us wants to be a parent. Besides, she’d be six months pregnant when cheerleading try-outs roll around. Some things are just more important.

    Julia: True.

    Blackout

  • FSW: Death of a Henchmen

    So last week, TheWife suggested I write my sketch on gatherings about a funeral. I already had an idea in mind which I liked, so I decided against it. But when it came time to pick this week’s topic, I was happy to burden the other guys with funerals! This way, we ALL get to put the fun back in funeral.

    I’m moderately happy with this one, though I realized as I was wrapping it up that I had no ending for it. That kinda sucks. Thankfully, I had Victor.

    Death of a Henchman
    (A bright living room: neatly decorated with feminine touches throughout. Several tables are laid out with casseroles and bowls of food. A large wreath dominates one corner. Many people mill about in black. The widow, MARJORIE STEVENSON, is talking with BILL JENSEN.)

    MARJORIE
    I still can’t believe Walt’s gone. It’s just like him though. He promised he’d clean out the gutters this weekend. Now he’ll never…
    (Sobbing)
    …he’ll never make up another excuse to get out of helping around the house.

    (Bill puts his arm around Marjorie.)

    BILL
    I know. He was good at that. Used to get out of cleanup at work, too. Not that anyone cared. He was worth ten of us. We were happy to do his share around the hideout.

    MARJORIE
    Thanks, Bill.

    BILL
    Quite a turnout. I’ll bet every henchman in town is here.

    (Sargent O’Herlihy walks over. A stout Irish man raised on beef and Irish stout, his nose looks like a potato left in a drawer too long.)

    O’HERLIHY
    Bill. Marjorie. I’m sorry for your loss. Walt was a black-hearted bastard, but he was always the first to buy a round at the pub. When he wasn’t in the clink, that is.

    MARJORIE
    He always liked you, Clancy. Said you were the only clean cop he could stand.

    O’HERLIHY
    I liked that he never kicked me in me nether regions.

    (O’Herlihy takes out a hip flask, toasts the air, and swigs. He walks away as HARLEY QUINN comes up with a covered platter.)

    HARLEY
    Marjorie, Mr. J. couldn’t make it, but he sends his regards. And this dish he cooked himself.

    (Harley pulls back the cover, exposing a very large Joker Fish. Marjorie is stone faced.)

    MARJORIE
    Thank you, Harley dear. Why don’t you put that on the table. Leave it covered; we don’t want it to…get cold.

    HARLEY
    It’s a dish best served cold.

    MARJORIE
    Than hot. Wouldn’t want it to get hot.

    (Harley walks away with her platter of scary fishiness. STAN HOOPER comes to pay his respects. He’s young, but using a walker.)

    STAN
    Marjorie. I don’t know if you remember me. I was the Gay Blade’s wheelman back in ’02.

    MARJORIE
    Oh, right. You were the one who put the solid fuel rocket on the Blade’s Kia.

    STAN
    (Blushing) Yeah.

    BILL
    How’ve you been? It’s Stan, right?

    STAN
    Yeah. Stan. Uh, I’ve been okay. Got out of traction last month. Doc figures six, seven months of therapy and I should be back in business, God willing. You know anyone looking for a driver?

    BILL
    No, no. Sorry.

    MARJORIE
    Well thank you very much for coming by, Stan. It means a lot.

    STAN
    I was just wondering…I…I don’t want I should be rude, but…how did it happen? You hear all sorts of rumors…

    MARJORIE
    He was setting up a giant boxing glove on the roof of the Fremont Tower. Some crazy scheme of The Marsupial. Something about jets or missiles–

    BILL
    –Captain Awesome. It was part of a trap for Captain Awesome. Missiles to box him in and the glove to finish him off.

    MARJORIE
    (Getting tight-chested) Right. That’s it. But the springs were second rate – everything The Marsupial does is second rate – and the whole thing collapsed on…

    (Marjorie trails off and starts to cry some more.)

    STAN
    Geez, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean I should–

    BILL
    –It’s a difficult time for us all.

    (Stan backs away respectfully. Victor Von Doom strolls over carrying a plate of food.)

    VON DOOM
    Marjorie, Bill, darlings! You know I feel strange asking this, so soon after your dear husband was buried, but I’ve come to praise this Caesar salad. What’s your secret?

    BILL
    What? Uh, it’s the croutons. They’re double-baked with garlic and herbs.

    VON DOOM
    You must give me the recipe.

    BILL
    You know, now’s not the best–

    VON DOOM
    –you MUST!

    (Bill sighs and walks off with Von Doom. GINGER STEINBERG comes over. She’s older, but was once obviously a rare beauty.)

    GINGER
    Marjorie, I’m sorry.

    MARJORIE
    Thank you, Ginger. If anyone can understand, it’s you.

    GINGER
    I hope not too well. You know I lost my Irving the day before his pension vested.

    MARJORIE
    Two days for Walt.

    GINGER
    Ach. It’s that damn Marsupial! Why did he go work for him?

    MARJORIE
    Something about profit sharing and stock options. I don’t know. I wish he’d just stayed on Black Manta’s crew. That was nice. We got to summer at the beach and all I ever had to worry about was Aquaman sending a jellyfish to sting Walt. But he was sure The Marsupial was an up-and-comer.
    (BEAT)
    At least there’s the Henchmen’s Widows fund. And Walt carried a lot of life insurance.

    GINGER
    I’ll bet.

    (In the corner, Von Doom knocks over the wreath.)

    VON DOOM
    Let’s Limbo!

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: Gathering Edition

    Another Friday, another sketch. Let the games begin.

    Richard is up and ready with a sketch that might be my favorite to date. I’m sure it has nothing to do with my own tendencies to write about high school crushes and the voices that guide us.

    Ken has a tale of witches that think green.

    Dave is still recovering from his tragic loss, so nothing from his camp yet.

    It was Ken that pitched out this week’s theme, Gatherings

    I don’t know if it’s because great minds think alike or what, but I was going to post a funeral scene when I noticed that Richard suggested that for next week’s theme. I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself having a whole week to polish a scene.

    Not wanting to disturb the dark clouds that are swirling in my bean this week, I figured I wouldn’t stray too far from the funeral home. You might want to put down the slice of pizza before you start. You’ve been warned.

    American Male

    (City sidewalk. Early afternoon. A large crowd is gathered around one another looking at something on the ground. Gary, a well dressed man in his 30s, sees his friend Al, also well dressed and 30s, among the gawkers. Al is finishing his lunch, a hotdog. Gary has a large coffee.)

    Gary: Hey, Al. Long time no see. How’s tricks?

    Al: Gary! Buddy! Doing all right, thanks.

    (They shake hands, doing the awkward chest bump “guy hug” thing.)

    Gary: What’s with the crowd?

    Al: Jumper.

    Gary: No shit.

    (They both look up at the building.)

    Gary: What floor?

    Al: Not sure. But it must have been up there pretty far. All that’s left is a suit full of pulp.

    Gary: Damn.

    Al: I know.

    Gary: Did he land on anyone?

    Al: Doesn’t look like it. Though that woman over there got a nice helping of splatter.

    (They look over at a woman, covered in blood and brain matter, sitting at a bus stop staring off into space.)

    Gary: Nice. Well, I guess she gets the rest of the day off, huh?

    Al: Seriously. Lucky duck. Oh, hey, you gotta check this out.

    (They push their way through the crowd to get a better look.)

    Gary: Oh my God!

    Al: I know, right? That’s got to be a $1000 suit.

    Gary: What a waste.

    Al: At least take the coat off before you jump.

    Gary: Seriously.

    (Gary squats to look closer.)

    Gary: Dude, that’s a fucking Skagen. Completely smashed.

    Al: Some people just don’t have a clue. (With a mouthful of hotdog.) Oh, hey, watch your shoes there, buddy.

    (Gary looks down and realizes he’s inches away from stepping on something red and squishy. He stands.)

    Gary: Thanks man. If I mucked up these Guccis, I’d fucking kill myself.

    (There is the briefest of pauses as they look at one another, then burst out laughing.)

    Al: Hey, you going to that meet and greet over at Sidley Friday night?

    Gary: Standing around with a bunch of vultures in cheap suits trying to blow smoke up my stink star? No thanks. I think I’m going to take Nikki over to that new sushi place on Randolph.

    Al: Dude, you gotta spring for the babe buffet. They lay out all this crap on a hot, naked Asian chick. A-mazing. Dipping pan-joon in her poon is not an option, sadly.

    (Paramedics arrive on the scene with a stretcher and one of them bumps into Al.)

    Al: Hey, Jack, where’s the fire?

    Gary: Some people.

    Al: Not an ounce of fucking respect in this city anymore.

    Gary: Seriously.

    Al: Hey, we should do golf or wine or something some time, yeah?

    Gary: Totally. Text me.

    Al: Will do. Well, I should be getting back to the slave quarters.

    Gary: Yeah, time flies when you’re having fun.

    Al: It must be like you’re living in a time machine, right?

    (They share a laugh. They start to walk away. Gary points at Al’s shirt.)

    Gary: Dude, I think you got some mustard on your shirt.

    (Al looks down, trying to see.)

    Al: Are you fucking kidding me? Goddamn it! That’s going to ruin my whole fucking day.

    Gary: Seriously.

    (They walk off. The crowd continues to stare at the scene. One of the paramedics is talking to the splattered woman.)

    BLACKOUT

  • 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: Green Witches

    Well….here’s my second salvo in the fabulous Friday Sketch Wars. This time, I decided to get medieval on someone’s ass! (might have something to do with the fact I’m in an Improvised Shakespeare show Friday night, and an improviosed Tarantino show Saturday night).
    Anyway….our theme this week was “Gatherings” – I’ll update links as soon as the other combatants report in!
    ____________________________________________________________________________________

    EXT. – A CLEARING IN A CREEPY FOREST – NIGHT
    Lightning and thunder above, a big cauldron sits in the clearing, wolves howl, unseen critters scamper past in the dark, the sound of bat-wings flapping overhead, and only a thin shaft of moonlight reveals anything more than the black silhouettes of twisted ancient trees.

    HILDA, and old scraggly woman with a crooked nose, long straggly gray hair, slightly green skin, huge hair warts om her face, gnarled hands, wearing a long tattered ratty black dress and pointy black hat, enters from out of the woods with the use of a gnarled wooden stick as a cane. She is carrying a burlap sack filled with stuff.

    HILDA
    The creatures of darkness stir and cry out for mischief! The skies blacken and split…the time for evil has come!

    HILDA waves her hands at the cauldron and a fire bursts out under it. Steam also starts rising from whatever is in the cauldron

    HILDA
    Come forth my sisters and join me now! Bring forth your gifts and place them in our cauldron – let now our machinations begin!

    HELGA who looks like a variation on HILDA comes out of the woods, carrying a similar sack.

    HELGA
    Run cold blood, and good cheer flee
    When joined in mischief, we sisters three!

    HARPA now enters from the woods, the third sister, with another sack

    HARPA
    By raven’s caw, and toadlet’s croak,
    Mother night our dark deeds cloak

    HILDA
    To our labors bend your mind,
    A poor souls fate we must unwind

    All three gather around the cauldron and pull items from their sacks

    HELGA
    The fingers of a baby abandoned to die

    HELGA dumps them in the cauldron, and a puff of steam belches out of the cauldron

    HILDA
    Festering meat from a possum’s thigh

    HILDA dumps it in – another belch

    HARPA
    Nightshade planted on Hallow’s eve

    Dump…belch

    HELGA
    The tears of a widow, shed as she grieved

    Dump…belch

    HILDA
    Fang of an adder that struck a priest

    Dump…belch

    HARPA
    Organically farmed wormwood brought from the east.

    HILDA and HELGA look at each other upon hearing this.

    HARPA starts to dump it in….HILDA stops her hand with her cane-stick

    HILDA
    Wait….what didst thou say?

    HARPA
    Ummmm…..organically farmed wormwood brought from the east.

    HILDA
    Why not regular old wormwood?

    HELGA
    From the east?

    HARPA
    This tis much better….for twas grown without pesticides or chemicals. So tis better for the environment, and healthier to eat.

    HILDA
    Wormwood is a poison…eating it doth kill a man in minutes.

    HARPA
    All the more reason to go organic….why wouldst one want more toxins in something already so lethal?

    HILDA
    Enough of this. I didst agree when you wanted to use only free-range newt in our potions….

    HELGA
    And when thou didst say the cauldron should only be lit after 7pm on hot days to reduce airborne pollutants…

    HILDA
    AND when thou didst say we needed to stop making the gingerbread houses we use to entrap children out of refined sugar, and use the raw brown stuff instead…

    HELGA
    Looks like bad stucco.

    HILDA
    But this is beyond all measure of reason.

    HARPA
    Good Hilda, we must consider said things….we doth live in the woods and useth the plants of the earth for all our work….we shouldst be the first to consider about what servers environment and the people the best.

    HELGA
    I miss serving people, especially to other people.

    HILDA glares at HELGA, who smiles and quietly slinks back behind HILDA

    HILDA
    Harpa, I hat a business to run here. People doth pay us to put curses upon their enemies, to make people fall in love with them, or foretell their futures. They carest not if the person we turn into a frog for them gets cancer

    HARPA
    Hath they said that to you?

    HELGA
    Frog cancer tis so sad

    HILDA
    They doth not NEED to say it! People do not have other people turned into frogs because they wisheth them health and happiness!!!

    HELGA
    Yeah, but frog cancer tis sooooooo sad

    HILDA smacks HELGA in the head

    HILDA
    Who’s side art thou on???

    HARPA
    I know it doth cost more but…

    HILDA
    Costs? What dost thou mean, cost? What didst thou pay for that?

    HARPA
    Twas just a little bit more than….

    HILDA
    WHAT DIDST THOU PAY FOR IT?

    HARPA
    Three dracmas.

    HILDA fumes

    HARPA (CONT)
    Tis not too bad

    HILDA
    Regular wormwood is free!!! Thou mayst go and pick it up off the ground! It doth grow wild in the forest!

    HARPA
    True but who doth know what it hath been treated with, or what sort of pesticides are on it.

    HILDA
    Tis free!!! It could be buried in pig poop, and WE WOULD NOT CARE!!! We put it in a boiling cauldron and make potions with it! POTIONS THAT DO EVIL THINGS TO PEOPLE!!!!

    HARPA
    Surely thou wouldst not want a potion to taste like pig poop?

    HILDA
    WHY NOT? TIS AN EVIL POTION!!!! GIVEN TO SOMEONE THAT SOMEONE ELSE DOESN’T LIKE TO SOMETHING EVIL TO THEM!!! WHY SHOULDN’T IT NOT TASTE EVIL???

    HELGA
    Pig poop dot
    h taste more nasty than it doth taste evil.

    HILDA
    THOU ART AN IDIOT!!!

    Everyone pauses a moment….catching their breath. HARPA finally breaks the silence, resigned

    HARPA
    Fine….no more shall I bring organic ingredients for potion-making.

    HILDA
    Good

    HARPA
    I shalt stop suggesting uses for the rest of the lizard after we use it’s tongue for curses.

    HILDA
    Thank you

    HARPA
    And never more shall I bring up all the reasons we shouldst fly hemp-brooms instead of straw-brooms ever again, even though straw tis a resource intensive crop and has to be shipped in from…

    HILDA
    KNOCKST IT OFF!

    HARPA
    Sorry…old habit

    HILDA
    Darest not let it happen again. Now, mayst we finish this potion and go home?

    HARPA isn’t happy, but recovers herself and goes back to the cauldron

    HARPA
    Wormwood, that may or may not be organic, brought from the east

    Dump….belch

    HILDA
    Wing of bat that has freshly fed

    HELGA
    Rust from the axe that takes men’s heads….

    A knight, SIR ELDRIDGE, enters carrying a torch in one hand an a sword in the other wearing chain mail, a helmet, and a tunic with a royal looking crest on it

    SIR ELDRIDGE
    Halt Hags! Stay where thou art, and movest not!!!

    The sisters all freeze, scared of SIR ELDRIDGE

    SIR ELDRIDGE (CONT)
    I am from his Majesty’s Environmental Protection Agency. We hath heard rumors of potions being illegally dumped in these woods. Dost know of such a thing?

    All of the witches respond with “oh no, haven’t heard of anything like that”, “didn’t see anyone dumping”, “how rude”, “the nerve of some people”, etc.

    SIR ELDRIDGE (CONT)
    His Majesty’s fish pond hath been fouled with a frog-making potion that didst smell of pig poop……

    Again the witches respond over the of each other “of how awful”, “how inconsiderate”, etc.)

    SIR ELDRIDGE (CONT)
    Pray tell hags, what manner of potion be this?

    HILDA
    Tis but a generic potion….more like a potion base

    HELGA
    Potion starter

    Sir Eldridge sniffs it

    SIR ELDRIDGE
    Methinks it doth smell vaguely of pig droppings

    HARPA
    Oh no kind sir, you must be mistaken. For this potion doth use only organic ingredients.

    Sir Eldridge considers this for a moment

    SIR ELDRIDGE
    Doth not organic ingredients cost a great deal more?

    HARPA
    Aye, they do, but we feel the result be worth the price, and we doth simply charge those buying potions slightly more.

    SIR ELDRIDGE
    In truth, I’d pay more for an organic potion. Sir Halston didst purchase a common frog-making potion which he gave to his enemy, the Black Knight of Leeds. Turned the Knight into a frog, AND didst give him frog cancer.

    HELGA
    How sad

    SIR ELDRIDGE
    ‘Tis true. Sir Halston didst ends his days wracked with guilt. Pray thee, let me watch thee make thy organic potion.

    HARPA
    Thou art welcome to watch Sir knight, is he not good sisters.

    HELGA and HILDA answer “oh yes”, “sure”, etc. HILDA looks annoyed at HARPA, but has no choice but to go on

    HARPA
    Organically farmed wormwood, brought from the east

    HILDA
    Eye of…..free range…newt

    SIR ELDRIDGE
    Dost thou keep the rest of the newt after using only it’s eye?

    HELGA
    Aye, we make newt bread out of it

    SIR ELDRIDGE
    My mother didst make the most wondrous newt bread in my youth, with walnuts and raisins!

    FADE OUT.

  • Friday Night Sketch War: Back to School Edition

    We’ve been ambushed! Michael gave us this week’s theme and we set about sharpening our bayonets and targeting our rockets and seducing our Rockettes. Before either of us (or David, still bone-weary from last week’s beatdown) could get in a shot, our newest and boldest battler launched a salvo!

    David might still throw a last-minute grenade in this week, but all he’s going to pick off are the nurses and medical corpsmen tending the wounded at this point. But next week, we could have a four-man or even five-man battle royale! Hell, it could be more if anyone else feels brave and bold enough to join in. The theme for next week was selected by Ken, our newest warrior: gatherings.

    If you want to try your luck, email your sketch, or a link to where it’s posted to sketchwar AT dreamloom.com by midnight on Friday.

    We’ve got the sad truth of NCLB, the Softer Side of Sears, and a typical day in a rust belt city this week. Lots of good stuff.

  • Friday Sketch War – Back to School Edition

    Wow. A week’s gone by. I guess you gotta be careful when you start looking for change. Cause then things change.

    Anyhow, it’s Friday. I’m very exicted to announce we have a new battler in our midst.

    Ken has been spying on us from San Francisco and decided to join the fight this week. Be sure to give him a nice Sketch War welcome.

    Richard is raiding his father’s wardrobe for today’s sketch.

    Dave is silently stalking us as always. I’m sure we’ll hear his battle cry soon enough.

    “Back to School” was my suggestion and I’ve had fun working on it. Enjoy!

    In Country with Young Men

    (A rubble-strewn city street. Burned out cars and demolished storefronts. A group of well armed, heavily armored people appear around the corner. Crouching, they hurry to a position behind an abandoned car.)

    Johnson: (Into radio) Strongarm, Strongarm, be advised, we are in position, have visual of the target.

    (The radio squawks with static.)

    Strongarm: (Over radio) Roger that. Proceed to objective.

    (Johnson turns to the rest of the group.)

    Johnson: All right, this is it. Everyone stay close and keep your eyes peeled.

    Tank: There’s a lot of open ground between here and there.

    Johnson: You’re not going soft on me now, are you Tank?

    Tank: Just sayin’. We got some cherries with us never been this close to the heat.

    Johnson: Kansas! Up front.

    (A young man with thick glasses awkwardly makes his way to the front of the group. He is sweating profusely and looks like he might throw up at any moment.)

    Johnson: You ready for this?

    Kansas: I…I…I’m not sure. I’ve never…I mean, I don’t even know…

    Johnson: Listen up you limp dick. We’re headed into that building across the street and we need everyone to pull their own weight. You lag behind or stop to catch your breath and you’re toast. Got it? If I think, even for a second, you’re in danger of jeopardizing this operation I’ll drop you myself. Understood?

    (Kansas swallows hard and pushes up his glasses. He readjusts this backpack and grips his rifle.)

    Kansas: Yes sir.

    Johnson: The rest of you pack of do-nuthins. You know the drill. You can do this shit in your sleep. I want a clean entry. We move on my mark.

    (Everyone nods and readies themselves. Some people cross themselves. Others kiss their guns. Kansas looks nervously around. Mags, a young woman with a shock of red hair sticking out from under her helmet, slides up next to him.)

    Mags: Don’t worry about Johnson. He’s always rough on the new kids. He’ll get you there in one piece though.

    Kansas: I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.

    Mags: What? You didn’t have to go to school in Wichita?

    Kansas: We did. But we took the bus.

    (Johnson stands, rifle at the ready.)

    Johnson: Go! Go! Go!

    (They begin to move across the street. Shots ring out. Johnson and Tank lay down cover fire.)

    Mags: (To Kansas) Stick close and shoot anything that moves!

    (She fires her rifles and begins running. Kansas runs behind her.)

    Mags: Oh, and welcome to Detroit!

    (More shots. An explosion rains debris down on the them. They make their way across the street and into a building marked “Henry Ford Public High School” as another explosion sends them diving through the doors. As the dust settles we hear the bell ring.)

    BLACKOUT