Sketch War

Tag: writing

  • FSW: New Pants

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

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

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

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

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

    TOM
    (Gently chiding) Don’t have.

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

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

    BRANDON
    You?

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

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

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

    BRANDON
    Eww…

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

    BRANDON
    What’s all this?

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

    BRANDON
    You…what? But how did you–

    TOM
    –I had a little trouble finding you pants.

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

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

    (Brandon’s eyes widen in terror.)

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

    BRANDON
    Out?

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

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

    TOM
    You look sharp, Brand!

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

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

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: 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: Cross Dress Edition

    Richard tossed this one out last week. And, like him, I’ve waited until the last minute to crank it out.


    Not to self: Start tossing out ideas earlier in the week.

    Next week theme: Procrastination. 

    All right. This here’s what we call a “blackout”. A quickie that, hopefully, ends with a laugh. Much like my sex life.
    Party Pops
    (A team of ad execs are sitting around a table. There are take out contains littered everywhere. Everyone is fried.)
    James: We’ve been at this all night. Let’s just call it and get some sleep.
    Peter: No. We have (looking at watch) four hours until deadline. Come guys, we can do this.
    (David hops to his feet and starts doing jumping jacks.)
    David: We just need a little energy. We’ve got some decent ideas here. We just need that one killer idea to push us over the top.
    Martin: All right, if no one else is going to say it, I’ll point out the huge elephant in the room. This product is  just not marketable.
    James: Every product is marketable, Martin. We just have to find the right angle.
    Martin: We’ve come at this thing from every angle imaginable. There’s just no way we’re going to make Mr. and Mrs. John Q. Public race out the grocery store and buy a pack of Boy George’s new “Party in Your Mouth Popsicles.” I mean, for god’s sake, they’re even ribbed.
    Blackout

  • FSW: Trapezoid Traffic Stop

    (Harold and Debbie sit in their car, strobing blue and red lights shining through the rear window making clear their plight. At the wheel, Harold looks forlorn, Debbie irritated.)

    RADIO ANNOUNCER (O.S.)
    …come on in to Spiedermann’s Metal Gazebos. With every great bower comes great bronze stability!

    DEBBIE
    Turn that off!

    (Harold kills the radio. A trooper strides to the window in full regalia. His boots a-gleam and his hat brim arrow-straight, Dudley Do-Right’s got nothing on him.)

    TROOPER
    License and registration, please.

    (He examines the provided materials for a moment.)

    Do you know why I pulled you over this evening, folks?

    HAROLD
    I sure don’t, officer.

    DEBBIE
    Harold! Don’t be difficult. You know what you were doing. Tell the nice man.

    HAROLD
    I suppose I might have been just a smidge over the speed limit back there. Sorry, officer. I was just keeping pace, you know. And yes, I know that’s wrong.

    TROOPER
    Speeding, huh? Didn’t notice that. Let me get that down. Just how fast do you think you were going, Mr. Renshaw?

    HAROLD
    Oh, I wouldn’t say more than a couple of miles over…maybe six?

    DEBBIE
    Harold!

    HAROLD
    Ten. Okay, I was going ten over. I’m real sorry.

    TROOPER
    Ten. I should probably write you up for that.

    (The Trooper pulls out his ticket pad and gets poised to write.)

    You know, that’s actually not why I pulled you over this evening, Harold. Do you mind if I call you Harold?

    HAROLD
    That’s fine.

    DEBBIE
    What else did you do, Harold?

    TROOPER
    Now ma’am, don’t get too mad at Harold. It’s not what he did, but what I can do for you. Folks, I pulled you over tonight to talk about Prickly Pear Products. Are you familiar with the healing power of prickly pears?

    HAROLD
    Prickly…what?

    DEBBIE
    Are you giving him a ticket or not?

    TROOPER
    Well ma’am, that depends. You see, I’m a distributor for 3-P, that’s what we call Prickly Pear Products, and I’d like to ask whether I can interest you in making hundreds of extra dollars a month with just a few hours of work. Our products practically sell themselves. From hair care to health care, soap to supplements, prickly pear pulp can change the way you live.

    Did you know that before the white man arrived, the native Americans of the Southwest never got cancer?

    HAROLD
    I really don’t think we’re inter…wait. That can’t be right. You’re saying they never got cancer? And you expect us to believe that?

    (The Trooper looks at Harold and Debbie for a second, then raises his pen to the ticket.)

    TROOPER
    No sir. I suppose I don’t. You said fifteen miles over the limit, correct? You know in this state that’s considered reckless. I think you should step out of the car.

    HAROLD
    I said ten! Ten!

    DEBBIE
    Excuse me. Officer? I was wondering if there were any other uses for prickly pears. It all sounds so fascinating. Doesn’t it Harold?

    TROOPER
    I’m glad you asked. My product display case is in the trunk of my patrol car if you’d like to take a look, folks. Don’t mind the man in the back seat. He’s harmless.

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: The Three Bees

    Okay, this one’s an odd egg. There are several jokes buried in here, but they’re targeted to specific audiences. I figure you either don’t get this at all, get pieces, or get everything. This might be my most layered piece yet. Now, whether it’s funny or not…

    David has already posted his piece for the week, an excellent one at that. He completely nailed his character’s voice. Michael’s on his honeymoon, so if a sketch shows up I’m going to be a bit concerned about the marriage! As for Red, she’s going to be out of the game for the next month or so as she lives the exciting life of a WSOP dealer. Poker, free drinks, and a salary. Not a bad gig.

    As always, we welcome – nay, beg – others to join in the sketch war games. Just email your piece or a link to your piece to sketchwar_at_dreamloom.com.

    The Three Bees
    (Jim lies on a couch. He wears shirt and tie, stylishly loose. His hair is a mop that says “I don’t care how it looks” but in reality takes thirty minutes and much product to achieve. Seated in a chair behind him taking notes is Dr. Josefs, a 50-something man in a cardigan. A very traditional Freudian.)

    DR. JOSEFS
    How are you today, Jim?

    JIM
    Okay. A little anxious…I had that dream again last night.

    DR. JOSEFS
    Tell me about it.

    JIM
    I’ve told you about it before. It’s the same, every time. Nothing ever changes.

    DR. JOSEFS
    I know, but this is a process. Talk it through. Tell me about the dream.

    JIM
    Okay. (Deep sigh)

    (As Jim starts to speak, the lights go down on the doctor’s office and come up on the scene he’s describing.)

    I’m sitting at a table in an old-style nightclub. It’s late, maybe after hours, and there are only a few people left. This one table is right in front of me. There are two men – one in a white dinner jacket and dress shirt with his bow tie undone, the other has his jacket and tie completely off and draped over the chair. Oh, the guy with the jacket, he’s got a button on the lapel. A yellow smiley face button.

    DR. JOSEFS
    What are the men doing?

    JIM
    They’re talking to each other and laughing, but I can’t hear them. All I hear is the sounds of tables being bussed.

    DR. JOSEFS
    Do you recognize these men?

    JIM
    Same two as always. The one with his jacket still on is a musician I saw perform once. McCreary, something. The other one is that guy who hosts “Man vs. Wild”. That Bear Grylls guy. He starts gesturing pretty wildly, pointing and waving his hands for emphasis. The McCreary guy just shakes his head no during the rant.

    (The men in the dream freeze and the lights dim to half-power. Then they come back up on the therapist’s office.)

    DR. JOSEFS
    And you can’t tell what they’re talking about?

    JIM
    Nope. I try. Everytime I have the dream I try to hear them, or read their lips or something. Doc, it’s happening more often. I’ve had it three times this week alone. I wake up sweating and shaking. What is it?

    DR. JOSEFS
    I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out. What else happens?

    JIM
    I’ve told you! I’ve told you at least ten times already. I’ve been having this dream for months!

    DR. JOSEFS
    I know, Jim. But we’re getting close to a breakthrough, I’m sure of it. What happens next?

    (Jim settles down and breathes deeply to calm himself. The lights go down again and they come up on the club scene. The men unfreeze.)

    JIM
    They finish their argument and then a carhop comes to the table with a tray.

    DR. JOSEFS
    A carhop?

    JIM
    One of those girls on rollerskates they used to have at drive-in burger places. She doesn’t have on much, but it all sparkles. It’s like she got in a fight with a Bedazzler and lost.

    DR. JOSEFS
    What’s on the tray?

    JIM
    Two bowls and a big jar.

    DR. JOSEFS
    A jar?

    JIM
    Yeah. The bowls are empty. She puts them in front of the guys and then opens the jar and pours it into the bowls. It’s thick and red. Looks like blood.

    DR. JOSEFS
    Do the men eat it?

    JIM
    Yeah. Like they’re starving. She rolls away and they’re already bent over the bowls. They’re ravenous. After a minute, they put down the spoons. They just pick up the bowls and drink, gulping down the soup. The one guy, McCreary, he spills a little on his shirt. Gets some on his smiley button, too. Then they turn right to me, both of them staring at me.

    DR. JOSEFS
    What do you think they want?

    JIM
    I don’t know. I can’t tell. Their expressions are blank. The wilderness guy, he raises his arm and points at me, and then I wake up.

    (Blackout on the nightclub scene. Lights back up on the therapist’s office.)

    Doc, I can’t take it any more. What’s it all mean?

    (Dr. Josefs looks at his notes, jots a few more down. Doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. It feels like an eternity.)

    DR. JOSEFS
    Jim, how are things at work?

    JIM
    At work? They’re fine. Same as usual.

    (Dr. Josefs jots a few more notes. From the darkness where the nightclub sits a man walks out. It’s Edward James Olmos, wearing a tuxedo. He walks right up to the couch while Dr. Josefs scribbles, not noticing.)

    OLMOS
    Your table is ready, sir.

    (Smash cut to the same exact scene, but Olmos is gone. Jim opens his eyes with a start and gasps.)

    DR. JOSEFS
    Jim?

    JIM
    I saw him. He was right here.

    DR. JOSEFS
    Saw who?

    JIM
    The maitre’d. But it wasn’t…it was that guy from “Miami Vice”.

    DR. JOSEFS
    Don Johnson? Don Johnson was the maitre’d?

    JIM
    No. Not him.

    DR. JOSEFS
    Tubbs? You dreamt about Tubbs? This is more serious than I realized. We’ll need to–

    JIM
    –no. Not him either. The lieutenant. What was his name?

    (Dr. Josefs scratches a few peremptory notes and puts down his pen.)

    DR. JOSEFS
    Jim, I think I understand what’s been bothering you–

    JIM
    –What is it, doc?–

    DR. JOSEFS
    –but, we’re out of time today.

    (Dr. Josefs presses a button on his intercom and speaks into it.)

    Mary? Could you please schedule another appointment for Mr. Halpert. Sometime in 2009 would be fine.

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: Bob’s Knob Shop

    I fear I may be alone again this week, folks. Michael’s nuptials are here (if you’ve enjoyed his sketches in the past like I have, you should go on over and wish him and the bride luck) and David’s been up against a wall at work for a long while now. This might be a one-man war band.

    Imagine indeed, Mr. Lennon.

    Bob’s Knob Spot
    (Bob, in his 50s and portly, stands front and center by the register of a cramped store. At the register is Mabel who may be in her 50s or may be in her 90s; it’s hard to tell. Behind them are tightly packed aisles filled with doorknobs. At point of sale are more doorknobs.)

    BOB
    Hi folks. Bob Pushkin at Bob’s Knob Spot here to tell you about this week’s deals. We’ve got a sale on all of last year’s six-centimeter, seven-centimeter, and nine-centimeter cabinet knobs. Round ones, square ones, wood ones, metal ones. It doesn’t matter, they’ve got to go. We’ve got to make room for the new models and have slashed our prices. Take this knob for example…

    (Mabel hands Bob a small knob for a cabinet drawer.)

    BOB
    Regularly priced at 89 cents, we’ve cut the price to 67 cents! That’s a savings of 25%! And it’s not just the base models, either…

    (Mabel hands Bob a small porcelain knob with a design painted on it.)

    BOB
    Take this Miller & Steen porcelain knob. Regularly $3.75, we’ve slashed the price to $2.50! Don’t miss out!

    And now it’s time for this week’s comparison shopper where Mabel and I go under cover around town and check out the prices at our competitors.

    (Mabel hands Bob a blister pack containing a full knob and lock assembly for a door.)

    I picked up this LockJaw doorknob at Stan’s Hinges and Doors for $37.99. Our price: $35!

    (Mabel hands Bob another packaged knob set.)

    Mabel picked this one up just last night. It’s a Knob Factory solid brass knob which we sell for $60. Mabel got this one at Beds, Knobs, and Broomsticks for $75. $75?! Don’t pay the markup at these high-priced shops, folks!

    (Mabel hands Bob another package.)

    This Shmekl & Petsl knobset in brushed aluminum came from Home Depot and cost..

    (Bob looks at the price…and then tosses the knob away.)

    Forget that folks. The big boxes can’t compete with our legendary service, anyway.

    Bob’s Knob Spot, at the Corner of the Sevens. Seventh street and Seventh avenue. Two miles south of the Expressway.

    BOB AND MABEL
    Come on in today and let us polish your knob!

  • FSW: Man Down Edition

    The day got away from me. End of the month is always hectic at work. Add in a little rehearsal, a lot of wedding stuff and you’ve got yourself a Sketch War without the “war”.

    Richard, The Universal Soldier, comes through as always with a topical sketch about the sleeper cell that is Rachel Ray.

    I haven’t heard from Dave since RAW closed. Hopefully he didn’t go overboard on the wine and end up in the Lake.

    I’m afraid the next couple weeks could be more of the same. I’ll try and get some things together so you won’t miss me while I’m off on the honeymoon.

  • FSW: Rachael Ray, Terrorist!

    Tough choice today. Most of the day, the topic below seemed the most obvious target. Then around 4:30 I heard Harvey Korman had died. I thought about trying to write a sketch in honor of his greatness, but I’m not worthy. I wanted to give him a sendoff fit for a king, but I’m just a lowly piss boy.

    So instead, watch and mourn (and by “mourn”, I mean “laugh your ass off”) here.

    Now that I’ve properly bummed y’all out, here’s this week’s effort

    Rachael Ray, Terrorist!
    (We’re in the middle of a park on a beautiful May day in our nation’s capital, cherry blossoms in full color, wispy white clouds gently tracing paths across the rich, azure sky. Front and center is Rachael Ray, played by a fat man in a wig. She holds a small Dunkin’ Donuts. She wears a keffiyeh.)

    RACHAEL
    Hi! I’m Rachael Ray! When I’m on the road, I can’t always whip up a batch of baba ghanoush and big bowl of tabbouleh. So when I’m craving that taste of home, I stop in at Dunkin’ Donuts for their all new Falafel Munchkins!

    (Opening the box, Rachael plucks out a little ball of fried garbanzo goodness. Between her sausage-like fingers, the falafel ball seems particularly delicate.)

    RACHAEL
    He’s so cute! Look at that.

    (She pops it in her mouth and her eyes roll back in her head like a fat man, wearing a wig, possessed by a demon of the sort that likes its garbanzo flour deep-fried.)

    RACHAEL
    Delish! You can really taste the EVOO they fried it in, too.

    (She quickly finishes off four more falafel. She reaches down and picks up a cup of Dunkin’ Donuts Iced Coffee.)

    RACHAEL
    Nothing better to wash down your awesome Dunkin’ Donuts Falafel Munchkins than fresh-brewed Dunkin’ Donuts Iced Coffee!

    (Like a Shop-Vac, she sucks it up the straw and down her mighty gullet.)

    RACHAEL
    Dunkin’ Donuts. It’s not just donuts anymore!

    CUT TO: News Studio
    (Michelle Malkin – played by an Asian man because it is so hard to find an actual Filipino Tranny willing to make fun of one of his/her own – sits next to FOX News anchor Megyn Kelly. Behind them a monitor shows the frozen and deeply disturbing image of Rachael.)

    MEGYN
    Michelle, tell the viewers at home what bothers you about this ad.

    MICHELLE
    You’re kidding me, right Barbie?

    MEGYN
    It’s Megyn.

    MICHELLE
    Whatever. Look. That fat cow is wearing a keffiyeh. Anyone who wears a keffiyeh is a terrorist. Anyone who defends anyone who wears a keffiyeh is a terrorist. Yassir Arafat used to wear a keffiyeh and he was a terrorist. Don’t you get it?

    MEGYN
    I’m trying to follow you…

    MICHELLE
    I’ll speak slower.

    MEGYN
    That would probably help. Thanks.

    MICHELLE
    Yassir Arafat wore a keffiyeh. Rachael Ray is wearing a keffiyeh. Clearly she’s just like him.

    MEGYN
    Didn’t Yassir Arafat also wear shoes?

    MICHELLE
    What’s your point, Barbie?

    MEGYN
    Megyn.

    MICHELLE
    Whatever.

    MEGYN
    You’re wearing shoes. Does that make you a terrorist, too?

    (Michelle sticks her fingers in her ears and hums and goes LALALALA very loudly.)

    MICHELLE
    (Sing-song) I can’t hear you.

    MEGYN
    Michelle. Michelle!

    (Michelle takes her fingers out of her ears.)

    MICHELLE
    I hope I’ve made my point.

    MEGYN
    Clearly.

    I have a statement from Dunkin’ Donuts here I’d like to read. It says, “It’s a goddamn black and white silk paisley scarf you ignorant slut. And we didn’t pick it. But we’re going to pull the ads anyway because we’re owned by the Carlyle Group and are a bunch of pussies afraid of a loud-mouthed Filipino Tranny.”

    What do you have to say to that?

    MICHELLE
    Dunkin’ Donuts can lick my balls. At least for the next three months until I see the special doctor.

    No one, but no one who wears a keffiyeh should be allowed to live. They should be marched off to concentration camps. And the parents who let their children wear that evil symbol of jihad are worse. That’s the most un-American thing a parent can do, is let their children wear a keffiyeh.

    (The monitor behind Michelle changes to show a photo of Meghan and Cindy McCain. Meghan proudly sports a keffiyeh. Not a black and white silk paisley scarf that a fashion-less Filipino Tranny might confuse, but a traditional keffiyeh.)

    MEGYN
    Michelle? Any comments on the photo on the monitor?

    MICHELLE
    Yeah. Barack Hussein Obama went to a Madrassa and Hilary Clinton is almost as much of a man as I still am.

    MEGYN
    Thanks, Michelle. We’ll be right back.

    BLACKOUT

  • Friday Night Sketch War: Round Sixteen

    As the three-day weekend rolls to a close, it’s time to announce the winners and losers of this past Friday’s battle royale. In another two-man fight to the death,

    • Coyote drew first blood with his katana…
    • Michael parried with his claymore. What sucked for Coyote, was the Claymore was of the landmine variety.

    Winner: Michael.

    While we’re enjoying the small duels, it’s about time some friends and family join in the battle. We’re not the only writers here; we shouldn’t be the only writers fighting on Fridays. Email a link to your sketch to sketchwar_at_dreamloom.com.