Friday, July 4, 2008

FSW: Reaction Edition

The gauntlet was thrown down and I tripped over it, but never picked it up. It's been a long week and I thought I was being good by getting this sketch written the other day. I just couldn't shift gears to the 4th mode fast enough. Maybe next week.

However, if you want to read about our zombie forefathers, Richard's got you covered.

If you want to read about the tragic consequences of choosing the wrong lip gloss, I'm all over that this week.

Enjoy. And Happy Birthday Nation o' mine.

Pants on Fire

AT RISE: In total darkness we hear giggling and keys rattling. A door opens and we see the silhouettes of Sarah and Mark stumble through in mid make out. They might fall or stumble over some furniture.

MARK: (Laughing) Let me turn on a light.

SARAH: No. Not yet.

(Things get quiet. We hear a Zipper going down.)

MARK: (Taking a breath) Oh wow. Sarah…

SARAH: Shhhh. Just enjoy the ride.

(We hear the sounds of pleasure coming from both of them. More from Mark. Mark’s moans of pleasure start to turn to moans of discomfort.)

MARK: Ow. Ow! Sarah wait.

SARAH: Are you all right?

MARK: Something’s not right.

SARAH: Too much teeth?

(Mark fumbles for the lamp. The lights come on and we see that they are both dressed nicely, for a night out. Mark is zipping up his pants. His pain and her panic will increase throughout the following.)

MARK: No, my face. It feels like it’s on fire. And itching.

(He is scratching.)

SARAH: Oh yeah, it looks like you’ve got some red blotches on your neck.

MARK: Oh no.

SARAH: What? What is it?

MARK: I think I’m having an allergic reaction.

SARAH: To what? To me?

MARK: Maybe. Maybe something I ate.

SARAH: Is this bad? Do you need to go to the hospital?

MARK: Depends on what it isth. Oh sthit. My tongue’s stharting to swell.

SARAH: All right. What do I need to do?

(Mark is now beginning to feel it in his crotch.)

MARK: Oh! Oh wow. Thisth can’t be good.

SARAH: What now?

(Mark turns his back and unzips his pants.)

MARK: I think it’s swelling.

SARAH: Well, couldn’t that be because I was…

MARK: Not that kind of swelling. Oh no! More red blotches! Did you useth hand crème today?

SARAH: Yeah. Earlier.

MARK: What kind?

SARAH: Ponds.

MARK: Was it sthented with anything? Vanilla? Peacheth?

SARAH: No. No, I always use the unscented kind.

MARK: Your lip gloss.

SARAH: What about it?

MARK: What kind?

SARAH: Lip Venom.

MARK: What’s it made of?

SARAH: It’s cinnamon and ginger spices…

MARK: Thinnamon! It’s the thinnamon! I’m fucking allergic to thinnamon!

SARAH: How was I supposed to know? This is only our third date! I don’t even know what your favorite movie is or if you had any pets when you were a kid.

(Mark’s is having trouble breathing.)

MARK: I think my throat is closthing up.

SARAH: I’m calling 911.

MARK: I can’t go to the hosthpital becausth of swelling in my dick.

SARAH: But if you’re going to die…

MARK: I justht need sthome benedryll.

SARAH: Do you have a bee sting kit?

MARK: I’m not allergic to beesth!

SARAH: Well, do you have a…cinnamon…sting kit?

MARK: What?

SARAH: What do you normally do when you have an allergic reaction to cinnamon?

MARK: It’th never been this bad before.

(She goes into the kitchen and comes back out with a wet dish towel.)

MARK: You can’t justht wash it off.

SARAH: I don’t know what else to do.

(His breathing is becoming more labored.)

MARK: I justht need to sthit down for a minute.

(He sits on the couch, wheezing.)

SARAH: I think we need to get you to a hospital.

MARK: (Getting woozy)No, no, no. No hosthpitalsth. Maybe thisth will passth.

(With that he passes out.)

SARAH: Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

(She lightly taps his face, trying to rouse him.)

SARAH: Mark! Wake up! Please!

(She freezes.)

SARAH: What if dies? Killed by a blow job. I’ll never live it down.

(She begins to frantically shake him, slapping him harder on the face.)

SARAH: Wake up! Wake up, you allergenic pussy!

(She crams the wet towel onto his face, pushing into his mouth.)

SARAH: I am not a murderess!!!

(The thrashing rolls them off onto the floor. The jolt brings Sarah to her senses.)

SARAH: Oh, God. I’m sorry.

(She cradles his head and wipes him with the towel. Mark starts to come around.)

SARAH: Yeah, that’s it. Come back to me. Come back.

MARK: (Weakly) Stharah? Isth that you?

SARAH: I’m right here, Mark.

MARK: I think I’m stharting to feel sthlightly better. Maybe the towel wasth the way to go.

SARAH:You’re alive. I’m so happy you’re alive!

(Sarah, in her excitement, bends over and kisses Mark on the lips.)

MARK: Noooo!



R.A. Porter said...

Cinnamon sting! Nice.

And a perfect ending.