Sketch War

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  • Friday Sketch War: Holiday Edition

    My week off didn’t necessarily inspire any great writing this week. But the blowing snow that I woke up to did. For whatever twisted reason, my brain has had “Deck the Halls” on constant repeat in my head.

    It looks like Richard took some time away from praying to the Basketball and Porcelain Gods to drive to the hoop.

    And Dave is summing up how we all feel when that dark day arrives.

    As always, feel free to play along. Honestly, we call it a “war”, but we’re really lovers at heart.

    (AT RISE: Max is slouching in a chair. He holds a glass of whiskey, the almost empty bottle sits on the table in front of him. He downs the rest of his drink and puts the glass down. With a heavy sigh he reaches for a gun. A .38 pistol. He looks at the gun for a moment and then puts the barrel to his temple. He closes his eyes. Will appears behind him.)

    WILL: That’s really going to hurt you know.

    (Max jumps, startled and drops the gun.)

    WILL: Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.

    MAX: How did you get in here?

    WILL: You’re pointing a gun to your head about to take your own life and you’re worried about how secure your back door is?

    MAX: Good point. Take whatever you want.

    (Max picks up the gun and points it to his head.)

    WILL: I didn’t come here to rob you.

    MAX: Look, pal-

    WILL: Will.

    MAX: Whatever. This isn’t as easy as it looks okay? So I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop distracting me.

    WILL: Made up your mind? Really going to go through with it?

    MAX: Yes.

    WILL: Huh.

    (Max lowers the gun)

    MAX: What?

    WILL: What?

    MAX: What’s “huh” supposed to mean?

    WILLL: Well, it’s just that you’ve never completed anything you’ve started. Never seen anything through to the end in your whole life. I’m just a little surprised that this is the project you’ve decided to actually finish.

    MAX: Who are you?

    WILL: I’m Will.

    MAX: What do you want from me?

    WILL: That’s a really good question, Max.

    MAX: Well, Will?

    WILL: I’m here to show you how you’re life touches other people. To show you what will happen to them if you kill yourself.

    MAX: Isn’t there a movie about this?

    WILL: Yes. That’s where we got the idea. This time of year is full of suicides and a bunch of us were all sitting around watching “It’s a Wonderful Life” when someone said “Hey would should just do that.” So here I am.

    (Max puts down the gun)

    MAX: All right. Let’s see it.

    WILL: We’ll start with your wife.

    MAX: Ex-wife.

    WILL: Right.

    (A panel shifts to the side to reveal a couple making passionate love.)

    WIFE: Yes! Yes! Yes! Don’t stop! You’re so much better than Max!

    (The panel shifts back into place.)

    WILL: Perhaps we should start with your mother.

    MAX: My mother is dead.

    WILL: Your brother?
    (Max shakes his head “no”)
    Sister?
    (Max shakes his head “no”)
    Best friend?
    (Beat)
    Right, your best friend then.

    (A panel shift to reveal the same couple making passionate love.)

    BEST FRIEND: Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh baby you are so hot! Max was an idiot to ever let you go!

    (The panel shifts back into place.)

    WILL: How about someone you haven’t seen in a while?

    MAX: There’s my Uncle Lou. I haven’t seen him in years.

    (The panel slides back to reveal the couple still going at it. Uncle Lou enters)

    UNCLE LOU: Little Maxie, are you here? It’s your old Uncle…
    (He sees them going at it.)
    Great day in the morning.
    (Beat)
    Say son, how’s about you move over a give an old pro a chance?

    BEST FRIEND/WIFE: Sure, come on in!

    (The panel slides back into place)

    MAX: Are you finished? Or does someone else get to bang my wife?

    WILL: Ex-wife.

    (Max picks up the gun)

    MAX: Excuse me.

    WILL: No, wait. There has to be someone whose life will be altered if you kill yourself.

    MAX: I don’t think I’m going to kill myself anymore.

    WILL: Oh. That’s good. My work is done here.

    (Max crosses over and pulls back the panel where the three of them are going at it. He shoots them all. He pulls the panel back into place.)

    WILL: Oh my.

    MAX: Do angels die if you shoot them?

    WILL: Oh, I’m not an angel, I live next doo-

    (Max shoots Will. Max walks back over to his seat and pours himself another drink and starts singing “Deck the Halls”)

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: The Pep Talk

    I’d like to pre-apologize for this sketch. My week so far:

    • dirty, nasty unclean hands of a salad chef (I believe that was the source) gave me salmonella on Tuesday
    • I tried desperately to give it back, all of it back, on Wednesday (and today)
    • Got to work at 4am this morning so I could make it home in time to watch the tourney (when is this Highest of High Holy Days going to be made a national holiday?!?)
    • Watched a shitload of basketball (meanwhile, I frequently unloaded much shit)
    • Hammered out this sketch while watching WVU kick UA’s asses!!! (I hate the Pac-10.)

    So yeah, it’s not very good. 🙁

    The Pep Talk
    (Locker room, we see the backs of a few players sitting quietly, heads bowed. Coach Lou Calipahounewski walks in with a clipboard and a disgusted look on his face. He stands in front of the players silently for a few seconds, shaking his head.)

    COACH
    That has got to be the most godawful half of basketball I’ve ever seen. What the fuck are you doing out there? Can you tell me that? Can anyone answer me that? What the fuck are you —

    PLAYER 1
    — they’re just too —

    COACH
    — if I wanted you to speak, I’d ask a goddamn question! Did I ask a goddamn question?

    (Tick, tick, tick)

    COACH (CONT)
    Did I?!?

    PLAYER 2
    I think you —

    COACH
    No I did not! (He throws his clipboard; it shatters.) I didn’t ask any fucking questions!!! Billy! You have those stats yet?

    (An assistant scurries over with another clipboard and sheepishly hands it to Coach Lou.)

    COACH (CONT)
    Three rebounds? We had three rebounds? Three boards to their 17. That makes me sick. Johnson? Son, you need to box out. What did we work on all week long?

    (Tick, tick, tick)

    COACH (CONT)
    Johnson?! You deaf, boy?!

    JOHNSON
    Boxing out?

    COACH
    That’s right, boxing out. Get up here. Get up here and show me how you box out!

    (Johnson walks to the front of the room and stands next to Coach Lou. He gets into a defensive crouch, hands at the ready, and boxes out.)

    COACH (CONT)
    No, goddamn it! No! How many times do I have to show you this?

    (Coach Lou drops the clipboard and gets into a crouch, but it isn’t a defensive one. He arches his back, puts his hands on his hips, shoves his ass into Johnson, and starts to grind. “Shake That Thing” starts playing in the background.)

    COACH (CONT)
    That’s right. That’s the way to work it. That’s how you box out.

    (Coach gets more and more into it until finally Johnson, in a mixture of fear and disgust, backs away.)

    COACH (CONT)
    See what I did there? I own the paint. I own the paint. You box out like that in the second half, Johnson. (Picking up the clipboard) Robinson! One assist. One assist to seven turnovers?!? Come on. That’s not how we play ball. Thats not how we play ball at all. You’ve gotta protect the ball, Jeremy. Billy! Give me a ball!

    (A ball is passed to Coach Lou. The clipboard goes flying. The ball goes flying. Coach Lou goes flying. He picks himself back up off the floor and holds the ball in his hands.)

    COACH (CONT)
    Remember what I always say: two dribbles is two too many. Always look to pass. You can move the ball faster passing it than dribbling it. (Starts dribbling. The way he does it is more like he’s spanking the ball for being naughty.) If you have to dribble, remember to keep your eye on the ball. Don’t look around or you’ll lose sight of that big, round (slapping it more forcefully) hard ball. And use both hands, don’t just rely on your right hand. (He dribbles once with his left, but loses complete control of the ball and it smacks him in the face, knocking him back to the floor. He gets up and passes the ball off screen with as limp-wristed a motion as can be imagined.)

    BILLY (O.S.)
    Two minutes, Coach.

    COACH
    Alright guys, gather round.
    They said we wouldn’t win a game and they were wrong. We won that exhibition game against Lazy Pines back in September.
    They said we wouldn’t win our conference tourney and they were wrong. I knew once that blizzard hit the 94 the Governor was going to declare a state of emergency and shut down all the roads to Fargo.
    They said we wouldn’t win the play-in game and they were wrong. Though that bad shrimp in the other locker room was a one in a million break.

    Look fellas, we’ve been through a lot. I want to tell you about another fella I know who went through a lot. Fella by the name of George. Now I’m going to tell you something I’ve kept to myself for years. None of you ever knew George. He was long before your time, but you all know what a tradition he is. One of the greatest natural athletes I’ve ever seen. Could jump straight out of the gym, run all day, and still be getting into trouble when everyone else was ready for sleep. But George wasn’t just an athlete. He was a student, always questioning, always curious. Well, curiosity finally caught up with George one day. The last thing he said to me was “eep eep eeeeep! eep eep eeeeep!!!”

    Now I’m not a religious man. I don’t know if there’s a heaven or hell, or a separate monkey heaven and monkey hell. But if there is – I mean, either the one heaven and hell for everyone, or possibly the separate monkey heaven and hell – George is up there watching. So go out there with all you’ve got and win just one for the monkey.

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: Red’s Welcome

    Apologies for being late with this one; it had to go through a little more processing than usual. It’s not as funny as some weeks, but it wasn’t written with that solely in mind. I hope you all enjoy. David’s had his up since yesterday here. It’s very funny, especially if you know someone like the protagonists or, sadly, are someone like the protagonists. Michael did not put up a sketch this week and is sitting on the sidelines with some family business. My best wishes go out to him and his family.

    For those “keeping score”, David and I played shuffleboard instead of fighting this week. He beat me when the sound of helicopters gave me a flashback.

    Red’s Welcome
    (Long queue at the Pearly Gates. At the front of the line, dapper in his tux, stands Leo “Red” Rush, a man’s man of 84 years. Hale and hearty, the tux strains against the rejuvenated body within. St. Peter sits at the desk.)

    PETER
    Red! Welcome. We’ve been waiting for you.

    RED
    Oh good! I wasn’t sure which way I was going.

    PETER
    It was never really in doubt up here.

    RED
    Long life, you know. A few, er, indiscretions and dalliances. And I might have been a little loose with my tongue a few times.

    PETER
    Well fuck, Red! Where the hell you think you are here? A tea room?

    RED
    I uh, didn’t expect you to…did I just hear you right? Did you say —

    PETER
    — fuck? Fuck yah, I did. I was a fisherman, Red. How did you think I’d talk? Like a Hallmark card? C’mon. I’ve got a break due, why don’t I show you around the place and give you the skinny. Everyone, I’m taking five. Cherubs should be by with honey roasted peanuts and fresh baked cookies in a minute. If you’re a little tired from your death, ask for a moist cloth. They’re very refreshing.

    (Peter and Red head through the gates and into heaven. It looks like a pristine German village, so clean as to appear brand new. Innumerable happy people stroll, sit at cafes, and laugh with friends.)

    RED
    Heaven looks like Bavaria?

    PETER
    Think of it as an infinitely large Epcot Center. I thought you might like a Märzen after your trip.

    (Peter puts out his hands and two tall, frosty beers appear. He hands one to Red and takes a long draught of his own.)

    RED
    You’ve got a little…there’s…St. Peter, you’ve got foam in your beard. (Peter wipes off) I’ve got to tell you, this isn’t what I was expecting. All my life…I just figured there’d be halos and harps and angels with wings.

    PETER
    We’ve got that too, but who wants to hang out with those types? You were in the war, right Red?

    RED
    Yes sir.

    PETER
    You’ll find things are a little different here. If you’d like, you can join a league and play against your old enemies. We’ve got ping pong, softball, soccer, volleyball, actually an infinite number of games. Usually the old warriors get a kick out of that.

    RED
    There are Nazis in heaven?

    PETER
    Not exactly. There are quite a few former soldiers, though. You know, now that I think about it, you might enjoy this. See that movie theater?

    (Sign on the marquee reads: “Hitler Boiling In Oil: Shows start every 15 minutes”)

    PETER (Cont)
    It’s run longer than “Cats”.

    RED
    Peter? You know what I’d really like is to look in on my family. Is there any way to do that?

    PETER
    Sure. Come over here. We’ve got these kiosks all over the place. You just type in the name of the person you want to see and they pop up on the monitor. You can even send them messages.

    RED
    I can?

    PETER
    Sure. Here’s the icon for Ethereal Messenger. You click this…no wait, you have to double click. Sorry. We just changed over from Macs to Windows. There’s a little adjustment. Damn Apple store sold us a bunch of computers and promised on a stack of bibles they’d run all our software. We installed the EM software on all these shiny new boxes and it just wouldn’t start. Boss said he’d had it with Jobs and “that whole bunch of clove-smoking, beret-wearing, shiny happy lemmings.” Called up Gates and put in the order the next morning. Good thing that guy gave all that money away or we’d be stuck running Ubuntu or something. Good luck getting support for that!

    Anyway, here we go. Who’d you like to message?

    RED
    My grandson Michael. How does this work?

    PETER
    You can just click one of these smileys and he’ll get a warm, protected feeling for a minute. Or you can type a message here and it will be delivered the next time he dreams. You want to type it?

    RED
    Yeah. Thanks, Peter.

    (Red types his message on the clunky, but fully functional computer: “You’re a good boy, Michael. I’ve always loved you. Granddad.”)

    BLACKOUT

  • The Wine Tasting

    (A wine SALES REP stands behind a table, impassive, bored. On the table are several different bottles of wine. Enter a young WOMAN carrying a plastic wineglass. The SALES REP slips into sales mode.)

    SALES REP
    Good evening.

    WOMAN
    Good evening! What do you have here?

    SALES REP
    These are the wines of Chile and Argentina.

    WOMAN
    Oh, that sounds lovely. Where should I start?

    SALES REP
    I would start with the Carmenere, and work your way down the line.

    WOMAN
    All right!

    (She holds out her glass, and the SALES REP pours. Enter young MAN from the opposite side of the stage with a plastic wineglass.)

    MAN
    Hello.

    SALES REP
    Good evening. We’re doing Chile and Argentina.

    MAN
    Sounds great!

    (The SALES REP pours him a slug too. The MAN and WOMAN sip.)

    WOMAN
    Oh. That’s nice.

    MAN
    Yes. Very nice.

    (pause)

    SALES REP
    You should be getting some blackberry.

    (MAN and WOMAN nod)

    MAN
    Definitely.

    (pause)

    SALES REP
    And a hint of mocha.

    WOMAN
    Mm-hmm.

    (pause)

    SALES REP
    And a little graphite.

    MAN
    Graphite, yes!

    SALES REP
    You’re picking up the graphite?

    WOMAN
    I could write a letter with this wine!

    MAN (bursting out with laughter)
    Pah hah hah!

    SALES REP
    Very good, miss.

    (MAN and WOMAN sip)

    MAN
    “Write a letter.” That was good.

    WOMAN
    Thank you.

    (MAN and WOMAN sip)

    MAN
    Maybe we could each buy a bottle, and we could write letters to each other with the wine!

    WOMAN
    Oh, but I’d rather drink it!

    MAN
    Two bottles each then, one for drinking and one for writing letters!

    (MAN and WOMAN laugh. The SALES REP slumps and rolls his eyes.)

    WOMAN
    I think we have a plan!

    SALES REP
    Let’s move on to the Malbec.
    (The SALES REP pours. The MAN and WOMAN sip.)
    This is a young wine, but it’s precocious.

    WOMAN
    Pert!

    MAN
    Yes, “pert”!

    WOMAN
    Cheeky!

    MAN
    Who does this wine think it is?

    WOMAN
    I want to spank this wine!

    MAN
    Do I… detect… wood?

    SALES REP
    Very perceptive, sir.

    WOMAN (to MAN)
    Go you!

    SALES REP
    Before barreling, the vintner…
    (He sighs)
    …melts down a birch log and adds it to the wine by straining it through a sandalwood colander. So you’re probably getting birch and sandalwood.

    MAN
    I was going to say sandalwood!

    SALES REP
    You should also be getting a touch of children’s tears, grilled raven’s feathers, and cherry cola.

    WOMAN
    Yes! I was like, “Where is this Cherry Coke coming from?”

    SALES REP
    Well, more Cherry Pepsi.

    WOMAN
    Cherry Pepsi… Oh, okay. Yes.

    SALES REP
    But Mexican Cherry Pepsi. Made with sugar cane, not corn syrup.

    WOMAN
    You’re absolutely right. You’re absolutely right.

    SALES REP
    On to the Merlot?
    (He pours)
    This one is called “Tu Padre es una Mujer Fea.” It means “Sultry Sunday Morning.”

    WOMAN
    Oooh.

    SALES REP
    It’s the winemaker’s favorite time of the week, on his veranda, looking out over the humid hillsides, surrounded by cumulus clouds, wisps of mosquito netting, and millions of tiny, colorful frogs. All of which you can taste here.

    MAN
    Frogs?

    SALES REP
    Yes sir.

    (The MAN swishes the wine is his mouth thoughtfully)

    MAN
    Kind of a scaly, amphibious minerality? Maybe?

    SALES REP (nodding)
    Anything else?
    (They stare blankly)
    The sound of helicopters?

    MAN (gasps)
    Wow.

    WOMAN
    That’s astounding. Is there a heliport near the vineyard?

    (SALES REP shakes his head, taps his temple)

    SALES REP
    In his mind. He’s haunted by his childhood rescue from a riot at a pinball tournament.

    WOMAN
    I think I can taste pinballs!

    SALES REP
    I’ve never noticed that before, but I bet you’re right! On to the Cabernet Sauvignon?
    (With ham-fisted mischief)
    Now be careful with this one. It’s a Cab said to have aphrodisiac properties, so be mindful of who happens to be nearby when you taste it.

    (MAN and WOMAN glance at each other with looks of mock concern. The SALES REP pours. the MAN and WOMAN taste.)

    WOMAN
    Wow.

    MAN
    Whew.

    WOMAN
    Okay.

    MAN
    Yes.

    WOMAN
    I could see… I could see how that… Wow.

    (The WOMAN absently unbuttons the top button on her shirt.)

    MAN
    I sense some, ah… I sense some… I’m definitely detecting some wood.

    WOMAN
    May I have some more?

    MAN
    Yes, let me get in there too.

    (The SALES REP pours. The MAN and WOMAN drain their cups, then stare deep into each other’s eyes, then push all the bottles to the floor, leap over the table, and begin feeling up the SALES REP.)

    SALES REP
    Shell I put you down for a case each then?

    WOMAN (wrapping her leg around the SALES REP)
    Oh my god, more.

    MAN (kissing the SALES REP’s neck)
    Two cases.

    SALES REP
    And some artisanal pretzel bread?

    WOMAN
    Oh god, yes!

    MAN
    Give me the biggest motherfucking loaf of artisanal pretzel bread you can fit your fucking arms around!

    SALES REP
    Very good.

    (Clothes are flying everywhere as lights come down.)

  • It’s Three A.M.

    (Nighttime. The Oval Office is dark and empty. Several moments pass. Then the calm is pierced by the sound of a phone ringing. It rings a second time. And a third. Finally, we hear the shuffling of someone approaching. The door opens, and in stumbles PRESIDENT BARACK OBAMA, tightening the belt on his bathrobe. He flicks on the light and picks up the receiver on the red emergency telephone.)

    OBAMA
    This is President Obama. (pause) Hello?

    (The phone continues ringing.)

    OBAMA
    Shit.

    (He jabs two keys on the telephone, hangs the phone up, then picks up the receiver again.)

    OBAMA
    Hello?

    (The phone continues ringing.)

    OBAMA
    Dammit.

    (OBAMA hangs up, then falls into a chair and rubs his temples, listening to the phone ring a few more times. Finally, resigned, he pulls out his cell phone and dials. He covers his other ear as he waits for an answer.)

    OBAMA
    Come on… Pick up…
    (pause)
    Hillary? It’s Barack again… Yes, I know what time it is, I’m sorry. But it seems that something’s happening in the world, and, well, I suppose you can hear for yourself… Yes… No, I already tried pressing star-nine, and it just kept ringing… All right, hold on.

    (He presses two keys on the red phone and picks up the receiver again.)

    OBAMA
    President Obama, White House.

    (The phone keeps ringing.)

    OBAMA
    No, Hillary, it didn’t work, I told you… It’s what?… Stuck in conference mode? What the hell is conference mode?… Unplug the phone? If I unplug it and plug it back in, won’t I disconnect the call?… Listen, that may have worked in the 90s, but things have changed in Washing– Okay! Okay, I’ll try it.

    (OBAMA falls to his hands and knees and feels around under the table for the phone cord. But soon the ringing stops and is replaced by a tinny recording of “Hail to the Chief.”)

    OBAMA
    Crap, it went to the machine.

    (We hear a recorded message playing.)

    OBAMA (RECORDING)
    Hello, you’ve reached Barack Obama…

    PAUL (RECORDING)
    …and Ron Paul…

    MICHELLE (RECORDING)
    …and Michelle!

    OBAMA (RECORDING)
    We can’t come to the phone right now, but please leave us a detailed message at the beep. Stay full of hope, America!

    (beep)

    MAHMOUD (ON ANSWERING MACHINE)
    Mr. Obama. It’s President Ahmadinejad. I can only assume by your failure to answer that you do not take my threat seriously.

    (OBAMA frantically presses buttons on the phone.)

    OBAMA
    Mahmoud! Wait! Hello?

    MAHMOUD (ON ANSWERING MACHINE)
    It is therefore that I have launched my sleeping-baby-seeking missiles, aimed at households across your country’s heartland. Perhaps next time, you will take my call. Ahmadinejad, out.

    (Click. Dial tone. OBAMA falls to his knees and beseeches the heavens.)

    OBAMA
    NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

    (OBAMA weeps on the floor. An inset appears of HILLARY CLINTON, festooned with American flag pins, hoisting a Bible and breastfeeding an infant. She gazes at the baby for a second, then whispers to us.)

    CLINTON
    I’m Hillary Clinton, and I approve this horrifying vision of a world without me as President. (She looks to the baby.) Shhhhh… shhhhhh….

  • Friday Sketch War: Round Five

    Our hearty meals digested, our concubines put aside, we stepped up to the dohyō. Again, three of us had come to the ceremonial ground to battle for supremacy. The yobidashi brush the sand smooth where we had sat as we step up to the shikiri-sen.

    • Coyote is terrifying in his non-traditional hemp mawashi. He strikes first…
    • Michael sports a bright red and yellow mawashi and cuts a noble figure…
    • David looks as though he’s been woken from a deep slumber by a ringing phone in his pale blue mawashi…

    This week we’ve got hippies, new jobs, danger at 3am, and secrets too frightening to reveal. Come revel in our words!

  • Friday Sketch War: New Job Edition

    What time is it, kids? That’s right! It’s Sketch War time!

    You say you want to get in on the action? Great! Just write a sketch and post a link. It’s just that easy.

    I thought I’d be the first one out of the gate this morning, but Richard’s the early bird today. Bastard.

    Update: Dave’s chimed in with this horrifying look at the future.

    The New Job

    (A conference room. Martin sits at a table. He is clean-cut, wearing a nice suit and tie. James, also in suit and tie is manning a slide projector, which Martin has been watching. James turns it off.)

    JAMES: I think that’s everything.

    (Martin sits dumbfounded. James begins packing up the equipment.)

    JAMES: Sir? Are you all right?

    MARTIN: Is this some kind of joke?

    JAMES: I’m afraid not.

    MARTIN: Everything you just told me is true?

    JAMES: All of it.

    MARTIN: I don’t know what to say.

    JAMES: It takes a little while to let it all sink in.

    MARTIN: We have to tell people about all this.

    JAMES: I’m afraid we can’t.

    MARTIN: I don’t understand.

    JAMES: Can you image the sense of outrage? Of panic? People would never believe us again if they found out the truth behind any one of these stories, let alone all of them. No, you’ve been briefed because you have to maintain the stories as they have been reported.

    MARTIN: But it’s all been lies.

    JAMES: It’s for their own good.

    MARTIN: I believed those lies once too.

    JAMES: Yes, sir, at the time you were not allowed to know the real stories.

    MARTIN: I don’t think I can do this.

    JAMES: There’s no turning back now, sir.

    MARTIN: But I can’t go out there and face them, day after day, knowing all this and lying to them.

    JAMES: It has to be this way to make things run smoothly.

    MARTIN: The people will believe me. They trust me.

    JAMES: That’s the general idea.

    MARTIN: Who else knows about this?

    JAMES: There are only twelve of us. Thirteen including yourself now.

    MARTIN: The people deserve to know this information.

    JAMES: I understand your indignation. Everyone who views this information for the first time feels the same way. But I assure you, that this has all be kept secret out of absolute necessity and will remain that way.

    MARTIN: Some people are already spreading this information.

    JAMES: They’re lucky guessers. Theorists. And they’ve all been discredited as crackpots and tinfoil hat wearing lunatics.

    MARTIN: I just can’t wrap my mind around it. All the lives that have been lost.

    JAMES: Patriots, all.

    MARTIN: It all seems so senseless.

    JAMES: Not when you’re thinking about the greater good, sir. Which you have to do from here on out.

    MARTIN: Greater good?

    JAMES: Yes, sir. There is an agenda here that is bigger than all of us and we cannot let the thought of a few hundred thousand deaths stop us from the work that must be done.

    MARTIN: What happens if I decide to tell people about this?

    JAMES: You’ll be replaced.

    MARTIN: But you just can’t replace one of the most recognized people in the world without a few questions being raised.

    JAMES: We can and we have. More than likely you’d be lost at sea. Tragic plane crash returning home from some diplomatic gathering.

    MARTIN: But then the next person who watched this would know what happened to me.

    JAMES: Yes, sir. And hopefully they would more fully understand the importance of these secrets and choose to keep them as such.

    MARTIN: So, basically, to put it bluntly, if I don’t keep my mouth shut, you’ll shut it for me?

    JAMES: Yes, sir.

    (Kelly, a well dressed woman, pokes her head in the door.)

    KELLY: (To Martin) They’re ready for you, sir.

    MARTIN: I just need a moment.

    (Kelly and James exchange a look.)

    JAMES: (To Kelly) He’s fine.

    (Kelly exits. James has put away all the gear and produces a suit bag which he lays on the table.)

    JAMES: Show time.

    (Martin just stares at the bag.)

    JAMES: What’s it going to be?

    (Martin rises and crosses to the suit bag.)

    MARTIN: What choice do I have? I’m in.

    JAMES: Glad to hear it, sir. I’ll let you get changed. And let me be the first to welcome you to the family. “Ronald”.

    MARTIN: Thanks. (Beat) I’m loving it.

    JAMES: That’s the spirit.

    (They shake hands and James leaves. Martin opens the suit bag and pulls out a bright red wig and a white and yellow clown suit. He begins applying white makeup to his face. As James opens the door we hear a crowd of children cheering.)

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: Fight the Patriarchy

    I’m firing off an early attack in an attempt to draw First Blood. Or maybe to draw Rambo: First Blood Part 2. Should any new grapplers feel up to entering the Sumo ring of sketch war, please email a link to your submission (or its full text if you are homepageless) to sketchwar_at_dreamloom_dot_com.

    Fight the Patriarchy
    (Two hippies, Breeze and Anton, sit at a card table outside Whole Foods. Scent lines of patchouli and pot wafting from their hemp clothing and unkempt dreads are almost visible. A middle-aged man walks away from the card table with a pamphlet Breeze has handed him.)

    BREEZE
    You shouldn’t let your parents control your life.

    ANTON
    It’s not like that. I want to be an engineer.

    BREEZE
    That’s because you’ve been indoctrinated. Why else would you want to rape Mother Earth?

    ANTON
    Dude, I don’t want to rape anything. I just wanna build dams and bridges.

    BREEZE
    Dams block the natural flow of Gaia’s tears. Bridges support the war machine. Engineering was invented by white men so they could fight wars and enslave women and minorities.

    ANTON
    C’mon. It’s just cool to build stuff. When I was a kid, I’d play with my Legos for hours, building space stations and cities, and imagining all the people who lived and worked there. Didn’t you do that?

    BREEZE
    Plastic tools of the patriarchy! With all those round…pegs forced into innocent holes by grubby male hands!

    ANTON
    Whoa. You’ve got some serious issues.

    BREEZE
    Sorry. It’s the rape culture. It gets to me.

    There’s a tribe in the rainforest where the women are in charge. They don’t even have a word for war. They don’t have a word for yellow either, but that’s okay. They call it “color of the pus from a scorpion sting”.

    (A well-kept woman in her 40’s walks up to the table and glances at the material.)

    ANTON
    Do you want to sign our petition?

    WOMAN
    What’s it for?

    ANTON
    Um…

    BREEZE
    It’s a petition requiring all the schools in the district to use paper made from locally grown hemp. It’s biodegradable, renewable, and supports small farmers instead of evil international paper corporations.

    WOMAN
    Uh, maybe I’ll sign on my way out…

    (Woman rushes away and into the store)

    BREEZE
    Did you forget why we’re here?

    ANTON
    I just…Tuesday it was to stop Japan’s whale hunt, Thursday it was to rename MLK Boulevard to Rosa Parkway —

    BREEZE
    — MLK was a tool of the hegemony! —

    ANTON
    — and yesterday it was to require Herstory be taught in grade school. I just lost track of the day.

    BREEZE
    You know, there’s a tribe in Laos that doesn’t have calendars or clocks. We could learn a lot from them. They have a wise-woman who tells them when it’s time to reap and time to sow. She uses her menstrual cycle to determine everything. I’m thinking of spending the summer there. Or maybe on a walking tour of Nepal.

    (As Breeze has been jabbering, a 20-something dude in a pink shirt with popped collar has approached.)

    CHAD
    Bethany? What happened to your hair?

    BREEZE
    Uh, um, Chad. It’s, great to…see…um. Anton? This is Chad. He…I…we went to high school together.

    CHAD
    ‘Sup.

    So I was talking to your mom at the club yesterday. She said you weren’t going to Rome this year ’cause you just wanted to veg on the beach. You going to Cannes, or just hanging in the Hamptons?

    BREEZE
    (Embarrassed in front of Anton) The Hamptons.

    CHAD
    Coolio. Me too. Dakota and Bryce’ll be there, too.

    BREEZE
    (Failing to hide her excitement) Bryce? Oh…uh, whatever.

    CHAD
    Ai-ight. Peace out. See ya later.

    (Chad struts off.)

    BREEZE
    Don’t say a word.

    ANTON
    Bethany?

    BREEZE
    Not a word!

  • Sketch War Recap

    Another exciting day of sketchy goodness. You really should be playing along.

    In case you missed them…Dave’s having some office trouble. Richard’s got some competition issues. And I’ve got to lay off the 700 Club.

    Seriously people, get in the game. I can feel you out there judging us. So let’s see what you got.

    Or are you yella?

  • Friday Sketch War: Round Four

    The armies assembled on their respective sides of the battlefield the evening before committing their forces to the attack.

    • Unbeknownst to everyone, Michael stealthily climbed atop a tor a thousand yards distant from the battlefield. Selecting an arrow from his quiver, he pulled his bow taut and let it loose…
    • Hearing the arrow whistling through the air, Coyote rallied his troops…
    • Late but well provisioned, David ordered his trebuchets fire!

    This week we’ve got the One True Plan – the millennial cell phone plan, Erin Andrews at the NFL Combine, and cube dweller hijinks. Come on it, the comedy is fine!