Sketch War

Tag: sketch war

  • 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

  • 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

  • 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

  • Friday Night Sketch War: Payroll Edition

    This week sees the return of the three-man battle royale edition, and to grease the skids for his reentry to the fight, David picked this week’s theme. And then? He just managed to set his bomb off with seconds to spare in the fight!

    Next week’s theme has been selected by Michael and is back to school. I think this is a good time for someone else to enter the fray with a surprise attack. We’re bloodied, weary, and too focused on the fight in front to see a sneak sketch from behind. If you want to try your luck next week, email your sketch, or a link to where it’s posted to sketchwar AT dreamloom.com by midnight on Friday.

    Read, learn, love. And get writing your own sketches, people. Clearly, anyone can do it.

  • FSW: Payroll Edition

    This week’s theme was “payroll”.

    Richard said he had trouble with it, but turned in a fine sketch none the less.

    No word from the theme originator yet.

    Here’s my effort this week. Not crazy about the ending. But it’ll do for now.

    Next week’s theme is “Back to School“.

    And, as always, if you’d like join us, simply write a sketch and let us know where to read it.

    The Meeting

    (The backroom of a warehouse. A table sits in the middle of an empty room. A single, bare bulb swings from the ceiling. Eight of the roughest, meanest looking thugs sit at the table. Jimmy “The Clam” Garbosi stands at the head of the table. He has a briefcase and a large shopping bag.)
    Jimmy: As you’s fellas know, it’s been a rough year for The Family. Peoples ain’t been able to pay as much for protection and whatnot.

    (He takes a stack of stapled papers out of his briefcase. There is a colorful pie chart on the front page. He hands the stack to Ernie “The Node” Farconni.)

    Jimmy: Take one and pass it around.

    (They do.)

    Jimmy: As you’s can see from the chart here-

    Ernie: You do this?

    Jimmy: So what if I did?

    Ernie: It’s nice work.

    Jimmy: Grazie. As I was sayin’. Our income is down 32% from this time last year.

    Barry: Is that the yellow chunk?

    Jimmy: (sigh) Yes, Barry, it’s the yellow chunk. Now, what this means, unfortunately, is that we’re going to have to let some of you go.

    (Everyone tenses up. Some of them reach for the inside of their jackets. Everyone watches everyone.)

    Jimmy: Whoa, whoa, whoa. It ain’t gonna be like that. Hands on the table guys. Come on.

    (Everyone slowly pulls their hands out of their coats and puts them on the table.)

    Jimmy: The Family understands that you’s gotta feed your own and if that means you gotta find work with another family, that’s the way the meatball bounces. But. Know this. If you choose this option and I see you out on the street, I’ll shoot your fuckin’ face off. (beat) Questions?

    (Harry “The Limp” Barollo is flipping through the hand-out. He raises his hand.)

    Jimmy: Harry.

    Harry: It don’t say nuthin’ in here ‘bout our benefits.

    Jimmy: Right. Good question. We will continue your benefits package for six months after your termination.

    (Everyone tenses. A couple people reach for their coats.)

    Jimmy: Tah, tah, tah. Relax.

    (Everyone does.)

    Jimmy: So you can still get free lunches at Gordo’s on 63rd and the fish fry Fridays is free at Sal’s, but only during Lent. The backroom at Mac’s is available to for parties, but you’re gonna have to pay for your own booze.

    Ernie: No dames?

    Jimmy: No dames, Ernie. You’re gonna have to settle for your wife like the rest of us.

    (Everyone chuckles.)

    Ernie: You disrespectin’ my wife?

    Harry: No, he’s disrespectin’ you, ya mook.

    Ernie: Who you callin’ a “mook”, ya hose?

    Jimmy: Fellas, fellas. Please. Could we not live up to the stereotype for one stinkin’ meetin’?

    Barry: So who’s goin’?

    (Everyone nods and looks at Jimmy. He pulls out a sheet of paper.)

    Jimmy: Before I read off these names I want you to know that this wasn’t an easy decision. We looked through your past performance records, took into account the number of years you’ve been workin’ with –

    (Harry shoves himself back from the table, reaches into his coat, pulls out his gun and shoot’s the man across from him, dead.)

    Jimmy: Wait!

    (Immediately everyone is on their feet. Shots ring out. Goombahs dies. When the dust settles, Jimmy is still at the head of the table. Harry, Barry and Ernie are the only three left standing. Jimmy looks down at the piece of paper in his hands and shakes his head.)

    Jimmy: What are the odds? Right. Get this mess cleaned up. There’s work to be done.

    (Harry and Barry begin dragging bodies off.)

    Ernie: Hey, Jimmy. What’s in the bag?

    Jimmy: It was PSPs and iPods for the fellas that was gonna get axed.

    Ernie: Can I have one?

    Jimmy: You’re still here, Ernie.

    Ernie: Yeah, but I’d like an iPod.

    Jimmy: Well, you shoulda thought of that before you got all trigger happy. Now help these guys out before I get sore at ya.

    (Jimmy walks off. Ernie is using one of the hand-outs to scoop up someone’s splattered brains.)

    Jimmy: (To himself) Middle management sucks.

    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: Disney Edition

    “Disney” was the theme tossed out by Richard this week in honor of his applying for the Disney-ABC Television Writing Fellowship. Here’s hoping it was just the push he needed to get accepted.

    His sketch this week brings us the Walt-cicle taking in the Olympics.

    Dave jumped in last week after getting a reaming from the creator of Wall-E. Nothing from him yet, but the theme is in his hands should he choose to join us.

    I think it’s interesting that I chose to deal with Walt as well. Not sure what that says about Richard and I. Aside from the “great minds think alike” stuff.

    Origin of Species.

    (A dark and dingy basement/laboratory. A young man is standing over an operating table working on a body. We can’t really see what’s on the table. He is whistling while he works. Suddenly a light is turned on and we hear footsteps coming into the basement.)

    Dad: What are you doing down here, Walt?

    Walt: Knock! I asked you to knock before coming down here!

    (Walt frantically throws a sheet over the body. His Dad enters.)

    Dad: I’m sorry, son, but something’s happened.

    (He notices Walt’s apron is covered with splattered blood.)

    Dad: What are you working on?

    Walt: Nothing. Science experiment. Nothing.

    (The body under the sheets twitches. Dad looks around Walt at the figure on the table.)

    Dad: Is it alive? You’re not torturing one of Mrs. DeVille’s cats again are you?

    Walt: No, Dad.

    Dad: We talked about that, remember?

    Walt: I remember, Dad. Now, what did you want to talk to me about? I have work to do.

    Dad: There’s no easy way of saying this. It’s your mother.

    Walt: What about her?

    Dad: Well, she was out picking berries and some hunters mistook her for a deer…

    (There is a sound from under the sheet. A strange guffawing, laugh-like sound.)

    Dad: What the hell do you have under there?

    (Dad whips away the sheet to reveal a strange humanoid looking dog. Dad recoils with disgust.)

    Dad: Sweet Jesus! What have you done?

    Walt: It’s not finished yet!

    Dad: Is that Pluto?

    Walt: No, dad. I would never hurt our dog.

    Dad: Then?

    Walt: It’s the Darling’s goofy-looking mutt.

    (The “dog-man” twitches and guffaws again.)

    Walt: He is going to be able to walk and talk, just like we do.

    Dad: Oh son. Son, this is wrong. You have to stop this.

    Walt: Why can’t you believe in me? My work.

    Dad: Walt, trying to make animals behave like us isn’t work, it’s….it’s immoral.

    Walt: You just wait and see. I’ll show you. I’ll show everyone!

    (Walt bolts up the stairs.)

    Dad: Son wait! Come back!

    (We hear a door slam in another part of the house. Dad takes a look around the basement. The “dog-man” twitches and guffaws.)

    Dad: Jesus. This is worse than those damn mice he kept putting short pants on.

    (He picks up a shovel and bashes the “dog-man” with it. There are a couple of yelps and then it is still. He wipes his hands and heads for the stairs.)

    Dad: He’s gotta cut this shit out. A thing like this can stick with a man forever. After all, it’s a small world out there.

    (He climbs the stairs. A cricket in a top hat and coat leaps onto the table. It takes one look at the “dog-man” and vomits.)

    BLACKOUT