FSW: Gathering Edition

Another Friday, another sketch. Let the games begin.

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

Ken has a tale of witches that think green.

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

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

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

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


American Male

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

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

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

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

Gary: What’s with the crowd?

Al: Jumper.

Gary: No shit.

(They both look up at the building.)

Gary: What floor?

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

Gary: Damn.

Al: I know.

Gary: Did he land on anyone?

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

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

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

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

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

Gary: Oh my God!

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

Gary: What a waste.

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

Gary: Seriously.

(Gary squats to look closer.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Al: Hey, Jack, where’s the fire?

Gary: Some people.

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

Gary: Seriously.

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

Gary: Totally. Text me.

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

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

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

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

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

(Al looks down, trying to see.)

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

Gary: Seriously.

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

BLACKOUT

FSW: The Reunion

Newest warrior Ken got theme honors this week and selected gatherings. I've been only moderately happy with my entries of late, so I reached back several months to a sketch I'm still quite proud of for inspiration. This entry would benefit greatly from a second draft and a little polish, but I'm posting this early on Thursday morning before going offline for the weekend. I hope y'all appreciate it a bit as it stands.


I believe it is my turn to select the theme again, so I'm going to go with...ooh, this is a nasty one...funerals.


If you want to get in on the fun, email a link to your sketch - or its full text if you've got no web home - by midnight, next Friday to sketchwar at dreamloom.com


The Reunion
(ROB, late 20s and weary, wears a wrinkled dress shirt. He sits at a table in a gaily decorated high school gym. He is joined by RICH and SCOTT, also late 20s, equally rumpled.)

RICH
Cathy looks good. You should go talk to her.

ROB
I don't know, it's weird. Bill's watching.

SCOTT
Dude, it's Cathy. You mooned about her all through high school--

RICH
--since sixth grade.

SCOTT
Seriously? Then too?

RICH
Yeah. It was hilarious. He was what, five foot even, and she was as tall as she is today, but he thought he had a shot.

ROB
Thanks. I just...it's different now.

RICH
Yeah. Now you have a shot. Come on.

(ROB gets up and shuffles to CATHY's table. She's a classic blond beauty, 10 years lovelier than when she was homecoming queen.)

ROB
Hey, Cath.

CATHY
Hey, Rob. I was wondering when you'd finally come say hi.

ROB
I just...

(Freeze. DUDE-ROB, late teens and dressed like Rob but rattier, enters and stands next to Rob.)

DUDE-ROB
Aw, man she looks good! Tell her you were busy talking to your Lamborghini mechanic. Chicks dig hot cars.

ROB
No, I think I've got this, thanks.

(Unfreeze.)

ROB (CONT'D)
I just don't know what to say. Bill's here with you, right?

CATHY
Rob, things are complicated with me and Bill.

(BILL walks up. He's a classic athlete, 10 years balder and seedier than when he was a star, but still rocking his letterman's jacket. He sits opposite Cathy.)

BILL
Hey, Rob.

ROB
Uh, hi Bill.

BILL
You two keep talking. Don't mind me.

DUDE-ROB
Man, you can totally kick his ass now! Remember that atomic wedgie he gave you on the field trip to Colonial Williamsburg? Now's your chance! Get him back.

(Freeze. WISE-ROB, dressed like Rob but nattier, silver at the temples and horn-rimmed glasses, stands next to Dude-Rob.)

WISE-ROB
Violence never solved anything. Turn the other cheek.

DUDE-ROB
Pussy!

ROB
I'm not going to fight him.

(JOCK-BILL enters. He's a behemoth in his letterman's jacket. Built like a lineman with the skills of a QB.)

JOCK-BILL
Of course he's not going to fight. He's always been a pussy.

(Dude-Rob moves behind Rob to shield himself.)

WISE-ROB
William, you scare no one. (Indicates Bill) Look at you. You're probably wrestling with your inner demons as we speak, fighting to suppress your latent tendencies.

JOCK-BILL
What the hell's that mean, four-eyes.

(OLD-BILL flounces in. He's in his 50s, happy, and wearing a boa. Yes. I went there.)

OLD-BILL
Don't be rude! (Flirty to Wise-Rob) Hi, Rob!

WISE-ROB
(Uncomfortable) Uh, hello Bill.

(Everyone unfreezes.)

CATHY
Bill and I are separated. He wouldn't come tonight by himself.

ROB
Wow. I...are you guys okay?

BILL
Yeah. I'm just really confused lately.

DUDE-ROB
Goddamn right you're confused, fairy!

WISE-ROB
Rob! Grow up! (To Old-Bill) I'm sorry.

OLD-BILL
It's alright. It doesn't bother me anymore.

JOCK-BILL
I should kick your ass, old man!

OLD-BILL
As if! Bring it on, junior!

(Jock-Bill tackles Old-Bill and they thrash about on the floor. Bill watches dispassionately. Dude-Rob and Wise-Rob pretend to look away.)

ROB
I'm sorry to hear that. I hope you figure things out. You were always such a cute couple.

BILL
I bet you hated me, huh?

CATHY
He didn't hate you, Billy.

BILL
It's okay. I'd have hated me. I do hate me.

(Old-Bill gets up and brushes off. Jock-Bill is down for the count.)

BILL (CONT'D)
But I'm getting better now.

(Bill gets up to leave.)

BILL (CONT'D)
I'm going to stay at my parents' tonight, okay? The house is yours.

(Bill leans over to give Cathy a chaste peck on the cheek and leaves, OLD-BILL in tow.)

DUDE-ROB
Dude, she's yours. Tap that fine ass!

WISE-ROB
"Tap that?" Are you twelve? She's a woman, not a keg at one of your salacious parties. Rob, treat her with the respect and affection you've always had for her. Ah yes, of course! The poem!

ROB
Poem? Oh, that. I don't remember it.

DUDE-ROB
I do:
(snickering)
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
I know where I'd spend that 30000!

WISE-ROB
Miscreant! I didn't mean that. I meant:
(solemn)
But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.


DUDE-ROB
Just 'cause you're about to kick the bucket don't mean he is.

ROB
Guys! I'll handle this.
(To Cathy)
You want to dance?

BLACKOUT

FSW: Green Witches

Well....here's my second salvo in the fabulous Friday Sketch Wars. This time, I decided to get medieval on someone's ass! (might have something to do with the fact I'm in an Improvised Shakespeare show Friday night, and an improviosed Tarantino show Saturday night).

Anyway....our theme this week was "Gatherings" - I'll update links as soon as the other combatants report in!

____________________________________________________________________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

HELGA
The fingers of a baby abandoned to die

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

HILDA
Festering meat from a possum’s thigh

HILDA dumps it in - another belch

HARPA
Nightshade planted on Hallow’s eve

Dump...belch

HELGA
The tears of a widow, shed as she grieved

Dump...belch

HILDA
Fang of an adder that struck a priest

Dump...belch

HARPA
Organically farmed wormwood brought from the east.

HILDA and HELGA look at each other upon hearing this.

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

HILDA
Wait....what didst thou say?

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

HILDA
Why not regular old wormwood?

HELGA
From the east?

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

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

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

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

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

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

HELGA
Looks like bad stucco.

HILDA
But this is beyond all measure of reason.

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

HELGA
I miss serving people, especially to other people.

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

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

HARPA
Hath they said that to you?

HELGA
Frog cancer tis so sad

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

HELGA
Yeah, but frog cancer tis sooooooo sad

HILDA smacks HELGA in the head

HILDA
Who’s side art thou on???

HARPA
I know it doth cost more but...

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

HARPA
Twas just a little bit more than....

HILDA
WHAT DIDST THOU PAY FOR IT?

HARPA
Three dracmas.

HILDA fumes

HARPA (CONT)
Tis not too bad

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

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

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

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

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

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

HILDA
THOU ART AN IDIOT!!!

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

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

HILDA
Good

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

HILDA
Thank you

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

HILDA
KNOCKST IT OFF!

HARPA
Sorry...old habit

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

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

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

Dump....belch

HILDA
Wing of bat that has freshly fed

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

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

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

The sisters all freeze, scared of SIR ELDRIDGE

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

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

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

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

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

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

HELGA
Potion starter

Sir Eldridge sniffs it

SIR ELDRIDGE
Methinks it doth smell vaguely of pig droppings

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

Sir Eldridge considers this for a moment

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

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

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

HELGA
How sad

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

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

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

HARPA
Organically farmed wormwood, brought from the east

HILDA
Eye of.....free range...newt

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

HELGA
Aye, we make newt bread out of it

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

FADE OUT.

Friday Night Sketch War: Back to School Edition

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

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

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

• Ken launches Greek fire from his desk, getting the smart kids to calculate trajectories...
• Coyote put on his defensive armor too late...
• Michael danced between raindrops across the battlefield.

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 Sketch War - No Child Left Behind

After being a long-time reader (and fan) of the Friday Sketch Wars, I decided to toss my hat into the ring (aka - get my ass in gear and get something written in time to play with the other kids :) ). This weeks theme was "Back to School".

UPDATE:

Richard got us dressed for school, and Michael made sure we got to class - so go check 'em out! And....they even kind enough to invite me to toss down the theme for next week (oh, the pressure).

Sooooooooo.......in honor of the Democratic National Convention next week, let's say the theme this week is: Gatherings

___________________________________________________________________

INT. HIGHSCHOOL CLASSROOM - DAY
Several students are milling about before class, talking to each other, flirting, the class nerd trying to be as invisible as possible....the usual classroom goings-on.

The school bell rings, the classroom door opens, and in walks the teacher, MR. PHILLIPS

MR. PHILLIPS
Everyone settle down, settle down....I know you all have a lot to talk about after spending all summer hanging out together, but it’s learning time now.

The students grumblingly sit down.

MR. PHILLIPS (CONT)
Alright.....welcome to your senior year at William Taft highschool. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Mr. Phillips, and I will be your homeroom teacher for first semester. You will meet here first thing every morning, I will go over any announcements, hand out any official paperwork, and send you on your merry way. I will also be the first person you talk to if you have any questions or problems, and I will be the person who proctors the many standardized tests now required by the state throughout the year. Are there any questions?

TIFFANY raises her hand

MR. PHILLIPS (CONT)
Yes, Ms. Morelli.

TIFFANY
When can we buy yearbooks?

MR. PHILLIPS
Year books will be available for pre-purchase at the yearbook office after the new year.

Another hand goes up - it’s LEILA’s

MR. PHILLIPS (CONT)
Yes, Ms. Gray?

LEILA
What about student tickets for the football games?

MR. PHILLIPS
Student tickets for Taft Golden Wombats’ football games, either for individual games or season tickets, will be available for purchase from your homeroom teacher, in this case myself. This also applies to all other varsity sports throughout the year.

A hand goes up from one of the boys in the back of the class

MR. PHILLIPS (CONT)
Yes Mr., uhhhh, Clarkson is it?

CHIP
Yes sir, Chip Clarkson.

MR. PHILLIPS
What’s your question Mr. Clarkson?

CHIP
I wanted choir this fall, but it’s not on my schedule. Can I get that changed?

MR. PHILLIPS
Unfortunately Mr. Clarkson the entire music program has been eliminated due to budget cuts.

The students break out grumbling amongst themselves

MR. PHILLIPS (CONT)
We’ve also lost the drama program...

More grumbling

MR. PHILLIPS (CONT)
home economics....

More grumbling

MR. PHILLIPS (CONT)
...and Field Hockey.

Not a peep

MR. PHILLIPS
The entire national economy is in the crapper right now people, and school budgets are stretched right to the breaking point. State and federal government wants us to focus solely on reading, math and sciences, because the U.S. is behind almost every other industrialized nation in those disciplines. They want regular standardized tests to gauge progress, and our funding will be directly related to how well you kids do on those tests. Low scores on those tests will result in lower funding and more cut programs, possibly even varsity sports.

A grumble goes up from the entire class

MR. PHILLIPS (CONT)
Which reminds me....Mr. Williams, are you here today? Tyson Williams?

TYSON, one of the cool kids, athletic, stylish, and obviously a heartbreaker, stands up. He’s wearing a athletic letterman jacket and stylish tousled blonde hair, looking like he just walked off the set of Gossip Girl.

TYSON
Right here, yo!

MR. PHILLIPS
Mr. Williams, you’ve been the captain of the basketball team for the last two years, an all-state wrestling champion, and a star half-back for the Golden Wombats, have you not?

TYSON
You left out rock star and pimp of the nation bro!!!

The class hoots and applauds at TYSON’s brashness. Mr. Phillips looks at Tyson’s record on his desk

MR. PHILLIPS
You barely passed your last two years of algebra, and earned a combined score of less than 500 on your practice SAT’s last year, which means you didn’t even spell you name correctly on the test.

TYSON
What can I say? I’m naturally gifted! GOLDEN WOMBATS RULE!!!

While TYSON is talking, Mr. Phillips rings a little bell sitting on his desk. Two men in dark suits with dark sunglasses rush in through the door. Phillip’s points out Tyson, and the two men run over to him. They taser the boy, then pick him up and rush him out of the classroom. This all happens with the speed and precision of a military special forces operation.

TIFFANY
Oh my God Mr P! Those men just took Tyson!

MR. PHILLIPS
This is just a part of how things are going to be done at William Taft High from now on!

CHIP
What? We’re going to be tasered and kidnapped and never seen again?

MR. PHILLIPS
On the contrary - Mr. Williams is fine. Look...he’s coming back into the classroom right now.

A thin small Indian teen, SANJEET, steps into the doorway, wearing Tyson’s letter jacket, which hangs on him, and wearing a blonde wig similar to Tyson’s hair. SANJEET speaks shyly with a heavy Indian accent He tries to speak hip, but has absolutely no clue how.

MR. PHILLIPS
There you are Mr. Williams. Welcome back. Please take your seat now that you’ve returned from using the restroom.

SANJEET
Thank you Mr. P. What is up my home skillets....I am wicked refreshed now that I my lizard has been successfully drained.

Everyone stares as SANJEET takes TYSON’s seat

TIFFANY
That is NOT Tyson Mr. P.

CHIP
It’s some Indian dude!

MR. PHILLIPS
WRONG!!! This is the NEW Tyson Williams, former athletic wonder, who, thanks to an epiphany about where his low grades would lead him, has returned from Summer vacation an expert in complex mathematics and theoretical physics.

SANJEET
Quarks are my bitches!

MR. PHILLIPS
Now, if we can continue....

TIFFANY
NO!!! THIS IS SO TOTALLY WRONG!!! WHAT’S HAVE YOU DONE WITH TYSON???

MR. PHILLIPS
Ms. Morelli, your reading comprehension scores were embarrassingly low last year, weren’t they?

TIFFANY
DO NOT CHANGE THE SUBJECT MR PHILLIPS! I DEMAND TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO TYSON!!!

MR. PHILLIPS rings a little bell sitting on his desk. TIFFANY falls to the floor as if dragged down below her desk where we cannot see her, and the electric crackle of a taser is heard. After a few seconds an Asian girl, YEI, dressed like Tiffany and wearing a wig identical to Tiffany’s hair, sits back up in Tiffany’s chair. YEI speaks with a Chinese accent, and the same awkwardness as SANJEET

YEI
Forgive please, Mr. Phillips. I drop number 2 pencil to floor. Please continue.

MR. PHILLIPS
That’s quite alright Ms. Morelli. I’m sure that someone like you, who, at your age has already completed two entire books analyzing the works of Lord Byron, which may or may not have been written in your native language, must be very attached to her number 2 pencils.

Every student except SANJEET and YEI glance nervously around, afraid to move, but trying to make sure there is no one on the floor around them.

LEILA gingerly and nervously raises her hand.

MR. PHILLIPS
Yes, Ms. Gray?

LEILA
Mr. P....I’m not saying that something just happened, in fact I’m sure absolutely nothing just happened, and I defintiely didn’t see anything just happen, and I’d swear to that on a stack of bibles even though my parents have raised me Budhist...but IF something just happened, which it didn’t, why would it have just happened?

MR. PHILLIPS
That is a well thought out question Ms. Gray. As I said before, educational funding, which includes my salary and tenure possibilities, is now being determined solely by student scores on standardized tests. A teacher may be fired, have their salary reduced, or be denied tenure simply if their students score too low on those aforementioned tests, whether or not it is the fault of the teacher, the failure of apathetic parents to properly motivate their children, or whether the children in question are simply morons. A teacher will ultimately pay the price for the failure of his or her students, even if the teacher in question was once a member of U.S. Military special forces who still has close friends in covert operations. Does that answer your question Ms. Gray?

LEILA
(scared out of her mind and almost stuttering)
Y...y...y.....yes, Mr. Phillips.

MR. PHILLIPS
I think it’s a great shame that there are so many bright ambitious students in poorer countries around the world, who would give anything for the quality education American students take for granted, and that those same foreign students are being denied that opportunity while American students take it for granted and waste it. I wish I could find a way to address that injustice, to provide those motivated hard-working foreign students with a solid education, don’t you Ms. Gray.

LEILA
(still scared out of her mind)
Y...y...y.....yes I do , Mr. Phillips.

MR. PHILLIPS
In fact, I very confident that the students in this classroom who have, shall we say, discovered a new dedication to their education, are smart and driven enough to earn merit scholarships from some of the best universities in the world. And I feel certain that the rest of you will be motivated to work harder simply by their example, won’t you class?

No one says a word. MR. PHILLIPS snaps his fingers and the two men in dark suits step inside the doorway, looking ominous.

MR. PHILLIPS
I SAID ‘WON’T WE CLASS’???

THE ENTIRE CLASS
(in unison)
YES MR. PHILLIPS

MR. PHILLIPS waves the two goons off....they Leave

MR. PHILLIPS
Any other questions before we proceed?

CHIP carefully raises his hand

MR. PHILLIPS (CONT)
Mr. Clarkson....what is your question?

CHIP
(extremely nervous)
Mr. Phillips....sir....with all due respect....we live in the in a country where kidnapping and torture of citizens is illegal and a complete violation of our the Constitution. The United States was founded on principals that directly refute such police state tactics.

MR. PHILLIPS stares at CHIP, then slowly raises his little bell to eye level. MR PHILLIPS rings his bell again. The students on either side of CHIP slide down out of view, and tasering can be heard. Two new students of obvious foreign descent, wearing clothing and wigs that vaguely resembles that of the students they just replaced, pop up as if nothing had happened.

MR. PHILLIPS
Mr. Clarkson, your test scores have been exemplary, so I will tolerate your outburst. However, students with borderline test scores will be placed in seats around you at all times. Should you feel the need to deliver a civics speech, those students will suffer to the consequences of your actions and your arrogance. Are we clear Mr. Clarkson?

CHIP
Crystal, sir. Thank you sir.

CHIP sits back down gingerly and quietly. LEILA carefully and slowly raises her hand.

MR. PHILLIPS
Another question already Ms. Gray?

MR. PHILLIPS picks up the bell and holds it for LEILA to see, but doesn’t ring it.

LEILA
Sir...ummmm...won’t the parents of the students who have, umm, altered their appearance slightly here today, notice that they look different?

MR. PHILLIPS
You’re teenagers Ms. Gray - your parents never see you anyway.

PRINCIPAL WATERS stands in the doorway and knocks on the frame

MR. PHILLIPS
Ah, Principal Waters, please come on in. We were just discussing the standardized test process for this year.

PRINCIPAL WATERS
That’s exactly what I came by to discuss. As I understand it, you had several students in your classes last year who scored lower than desired on their state-mandated tests, is that correct.

MR. PHILLIPS
Unfortunately it is Principal Waters. However, we were just discussing how everyone in this room has re-dedicated themselves to good study habits and....

The taser noise is heard again, and MR. PHILLIPS collapses to the floor disappearing behind his desk. A middle eastern man, GABRIEL, stands up wearing the same sweater as MR. PHILLIPS

PRINCIPAL WATERS
By the way kids, Mr. Phillips spent the summer in an Israeali kibbutz, where he picked up a slight accent, but earned two PHd’s in 18th century English literature and quantum physics. He also got a quite a tan, but we all agree he bears absolutely no resemblance to any Mossad agent who might be hiding out int the United States, don’t we??

PRINCIPAL WATERS grabs the bell and holds it up threateningly for all to see

THE ENTIRE CLASS
Yes Principal Waters!

PRINCIPAL WATERS
Excellent, children! Have a wonderful school year Mr. Phillips!

GABRIEL
Go Wombats!


Fade out

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.

• Coyote kicks up some dust and lays down the law with an out-of-time cowpoke...
• Michael lets us know the recession hits everyone hard...
• David is very truthy, and everyone knows it.

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

Whose Side Are You On?

(A recording studio. SCOTT stands alone, fretting. After a beat, THERESA enters.)

SCOTT
He still out there?

THERESA
Yeah.

(pause)

SCOTT
If he can’t go through with it, are you willing to do the voiceover?

THERESA
No! I have a horrible voice!

SCOTT
Don’t say that.

THERESA
It’s true! It’s worse than yours.

(pause)

SCOTT
Yeah, I guess it is.

THERESA
I could never sell something as radical as this. Hell, I could tell people the earth was round, and they’d second guess themselves and consult a globe.

(pause)

SCOTT
The jury’s still out on the earth being round, as far as I’m concerned.

THERESA
Not today. Please.

(ROB enters.)

SCOTT
What’s up?

ROB
I’m in.

THERESA
You sure? Because we can’t screw around on this stuff anymore, we only have the studio till 2:30.

ROB
Right. Let’s just plow through it. I just want it to be known that I don’t believe any of this crap.

SCOTT
You don’t have to.

(THERESA and SCOTT retreat to the recording equipment and ROB positions himself in front of the microphone. All three put on headphones.)

THERESA
Take it from “slurry walls.”

ROB (reading)
“The slurry walls, three-foot-thick walls of concrete buried deep underneath the World Trade Center, were designed to hold back the ocean and the Hudson River. But these walls were displaced, in some areas by up to eighteen inches. If the walls were strong enough to support the weight of the towers and the ocean for over twenty-five years, why would they be knocked out of alignment?” Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because two one-hundred-story buildings had just fallen down on top of them?

SCOTT
Cut!

ROB
I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I can’t get behind this because I don’t believe it.

THERESA
Hey, Rob, I see on your résumé that you played Nathan Detroit in “Guys and Dolls.” So, did you “believe” that you had to find a place for the big craps game?

ROB
The fact that I was in “Guys and Dolls” is not going to make people not want to work with me in the future!

THERESA
No, your unprofessionalism will do that nicely!

SCOTT
Please. Everyone just calm down. Rob, you’re very good. You have the steely timbre, the gravitas we need.

ROB (grudgingly)
Thank you.

SCOTT
There’s a reason we hired you for this. 9/11 was an inside job. The idea that a handful of guys with box cutters could do this is ridiculous, and everyone knows it.

ROB
Okay. I need to tell you something. Sometimes a conspiracy theorist will make a grand conspiracy statement, and he will follow it with the phrase, “and everyone knows it.”

SCOTT
Okay.

ROB
Those four words tag you as a crackpot. They carry the implication that when I claim to disagree with you, that means I must be “in on it.” Or that they’ve “gotten to me” and threatened my family or something.

SCOTT
All right.

ROB
And since I know that neither of those is the case, your entire theory crumbles. If there is no room in your worldview for me to disagree with you without being a coward, or a shadowy architect of clandestine machinations, then you are a crackpot, and you are to be ignored.

SCOTT
Noted. Are we doing this?

(SPYDER, owner of the recording studio, enters.)

SPYDER
Guys, I need you to wrap this up. I got a “My Little Pony” Christmas special coming in here at 2:30.

THERESA
Spyder, can they reschedule? We’re trying to open the eyes of the nation here.

SPYDER
No, man, I want them in and out of here ASAP. They’re unlicensed.

SCOTT
What do you mean?

SPYDER
It’s not an official “My Little Pony” video, it’s a knockoff they’re going to sell on the street.

(pause)

THERESA
Let’s just drop it.

SCOTT
Are you serious?

THERESA
Yeah. I guess the truth loses again. Give Rob his money and let’s go home.

SCOTT
Yeah, okay.

THERESA
I guess I’ll read the closing paragraph later. We can cobble together the rest

(SCOTT stares down ROB for a moment, then shakes his hand.)

SCOTT
You fucked us, Rob. But you took a stand. On some level, I have to respect that.

(ROB watches everyone pack up. He is about to take his water bottle and leave, but he stops himself. He swipes the script back from SCOTT.)

ROB
Roll the tape.

SCOTT
What are you doing, Rob?

ROB
Just roll it.
(They do. ROB is magnificent, heartfelt, as he recites from the script.)
“To review. George W. Bush was eager to create enough chaos to allow his half-brother Osama bin Laden to divert Afghanistan’s heroin trade through Putin’s Russia. So he asked the 107-year-old Dick Cheney to combine the Catholic Church’s weather machine with the water engine technology owned by Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac. Using it all in conjunction with a holographic sky-projector with possible origins in the blueprints from the ancient alien astronauts, they staged the most massive act of treason our country has seen.”
(pause)
“The President has said, you’re either with us or you’re with the terrorists. Open your eyes, America. They are one and the same.”
(pause)
“Whose side are you on?”

(pause)

THERESA (softly)
You nailed it.

ROB
Well.

THERESA
No, you fucking nailed it.

SCOTT
Rob. Thank you.

(SCOTT nods and makes his way out of the studio. SPYDER approaches THERESA.)

SPYDER
Hey, is that stuff true? About the water machine and the ancient astronauts?

THERESA
Every last word.

SPYDER
Could I get a copy of this video?

(ROB, hearing this, nods at THERESA and SCOTT. They nod back. ROB exits.)

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

FSW: Walt and the Olympics

Today's the Disney-ABC deadline. My application got in the mail yesterday, but in honor of the day, I suggested that this week's theme should be Disney. Hope you enjoy. Next week's theme *should* be up to David, but if he's not fully back in the battle, it'll fall to Michael.
 

(A lab. An odd mixture of modern and Gernsback-inspired equipment. THREE MEN in white lab coats hover over a metal tube. WALT DISNEY sleeps inside.)
TITLE: TODAY. A TOP-SECRET LAB DEEP BENEATH EPCOT CENTER.

PERRAULT
His vitals are almost normal, he should be up any--

(Walt pops up. A bell goes off.)

WALT
Oh boy, that was a good nap. Heya fellas.

HAND
It worked! It really worked!

WALT
Well of course it did, son. This is the best reanimation equipment money can buy. What's the date?

HAND
2008. August 2008.

WALT
That was a little longer than I expected. Darn. Tell me, how's the company doing? Did it get by alright once our copyrights went into the public domain?

LUSKE
Into the...no. Mr. Disney, we still have all our copyrights.

WALT
You did say 2008, right son?

HAND
Yessir.

LUSKE
You can thank Sonny Bono.

PERRAULT
Sonny Bono's dead.

HAND
Actually, he's in that tube over there.

WALT
Alright. So we've still got our characters. Good. What else. (BEAT) Hey! It's 2008. It's an Olympiad!

HAND
Yessir. Would you like to watch them while you're finishing your recovery?

WALT
Sure! Who doesn't love the Olympics?

(A TV is turned on, and we hear Bob Costas spinning a melodramatic tale of woe over a John Tesh score. Walt's face drops as he watches.)

WALT
Where the hell is Jim McKay?!?

CUT TO:

(Another lab room, the same mixture of high and sci-fi tech. Walt stands behind a bank of monitors and a board. The three techs operate the board.)
TITLE: 2012. A TOP-SECRET LAB BENEATH EPCOT CENTER

WALT
Hit is, boys!

(On the screens, we see an Animatronic JIM MCKAY.)

MCKAY
Hello. Welcome to ABC Sports coverage of the Thirtieth Olympiad. I'm Jim McKay.

BLACKOUT

Friday Night Sketch War: Procrastina-a-tion...

...is making me wait.

It's been a few weeks since I've done a Sketch War roundup, but we've been running strong. Michael and I have been fighting enameled-mouth-grinder and keratin-back-scratcher for weeks, and were happily rejoined by David and his rock-n-roll zombies this week.

The rules have changed recently. Our weekly battles are now themed instead of free-for-alls. The theme for this week's brawl was selected by Michael based on our usual approach to writing our sketches: procrastination. For those playing along at home and those of you brave enough to step onto the killing fields, next week's theme is Disney. Write your Disney-themed sketch and send it, or a link to it, to sketchwar AT dreamloom.com. Now, onto the mayhem!

• Coyote reaches back in time to a simpler age of short-sleeved dress shirts and black ties to tell a tale of engineering procrastination...
• Michael plays with his Wii...
• David slips on the floor. Eww!. His sketch gets a review from Andrew Stanton.

Enjoy!

Hot Rocks, Cold Bodies

(A morgue. Four bodies are covered with sheets. TONY PRATT, coroner, lifts one of the sheets and speaks into a handheld tape recorder.)

TONY
...and the renal and liver failure, along with the low sodium concentration in the plasma, makes for a textbook case of Legionnaires' disease. In younger victims, this would have been very treatable, but these subjects had elderly, oft-abused bodies, and this outbreak was simply the straw that broke the camel’s back.
(TONY walks to another of the sheets and lifts it.)
Keith Richards lasted the longest, but the severe bouts of vomiting finally drained his body of all hydration, leaving him a dried husk of a man.
(TONY drops the sheet and begins walking across the room.)
And if I may add a personal note, I am saddened by the fact that the band I grew up worshipping, the band I thought would never die, has been felled by something as random as a bacterial infection spread by the air conditioning system of their five-star hotel. Their end does not hold with the hard-living reputa- WHOOP
(TONY has slipped on something. He bends down and examines it.)
What the hell?
(He leans closer.)
That’s disgusting.

(BRENT HERNANDEZ, an assistant coroner, enters. He has tears in his eyes.)

BRENT
Tony, have you seen- WHOOP
(BRENT has slipped too. He looks around him on the floor.)
Oh no. It happened again.

TONY
What happened again?

BRENT
It’s the new intern, sir. She keeps wandering in here, and, well...

TONY
Well what?

BRENT
Have you seen her? She’s fucking hot.

TONY
Brent, if the two of you have been fornicating in the morgue, I’ll see to it that you never work in the industry again.

BRENT
No! Not at all! In fact, she’s a bit of a tease... It’s, uh, it’s why I’m crying.

TONY (indicating the floor)
Then where did this come from?

BRENT
It’s the bodies, sir. I think... I think it’s from the bodies. This happens every time the new intern comes in here.

TONY
Are you serious?

BRENT
She’s really fucking hot.

TONY
Be that as it may, the floor is covered in corpse ejaculate, and I am not going to clean it up. Send the intern in here with a mop.

BRENT
All due respect, sir, that would cause a bit of a vicious cycle.

TONY
Tell her to wear some dowdy clothing!

BRENT
I can’t. She’d take us to court in a sexual discrimination case.

And Now, The Punch Line.

(TONY looks to the camera and rolls his eyes.)

TONY
This is the worst musical predicament we’ve had here since Roberta Flack’s lover went on that soft-song killing spree!!!!!!!!!

The End.

FSW: Procrastination Edition

The third week of our themed entries. And, true to the theme, I waited until the last minute to start working on it. Not that I haven't been mulling the idea over in my head all week. But still...

Next week's theme is "Disney" for those of you playing along at home.

Richard is already up with a scene from the historical moon mission.

Mine doesn't have nearly the honorable lineage.


Procrastination

(We see a television screen. A talking head news anchor.)

ANCHOR: And today is the 75th Anniversay of the passing of James McAveney. Mr. McAveney's passing is notable primarily because he was the last person known to have died in the past 75 years.

(The channel changes. We see a reporter standing in the middle of a massive crowd of people.)

REPORTER: Things have only gotten worse. With death rates still at zero, the planet's resources have been pushed to the brink. And with land becoming a scarce commodity as well, desperate people are looking to man-made islands to save the ever increasing population.

(The channel changes. A Reporter is talking to a distraught businessman.)

BUSINESSMAN: We thought it was a fluke at first. But it's been really hard to run a funeral home when there are no funerals.

REPORTER: I understand this has been particularly trying on your wife.

BUSINESSMAN: Yeah, well, she tried to commit suicide a while back, but it didn't work. I came home and she was just hanging from banister, frustrated that she had failed. Guess it was her third attempt that day too.

(We cut to a lavishly decorated office lobby. A beautiful woman sits behind the desk. The door opens and an incredible, white light fills the room. A voice emanates from the light and seems to be coming from everywhere at once.)

GOD: Is he in?

RECEPTIONIST: One moment, please. (Into intercom) Sir, the Great I Am is here to see you.

DEATH: (On speakerphone) Sweet! Send him in.

(We're in the Death's office. It looks like something from Edward Gorrey's nightmares. God enters.)

GOD: We need to talk. You've fallen behind on your quotas.

(We see a hooded figure standing in front of a large screen TV. A large sickle leans against one wall. He holds a Wii remote in his bony hand which he swings like a tennis racket.)

DEATH: Have you played this thing? It's like you're actually playing tennis. But without all the wear and tear on your joints. Amazing.

(Death continues to play. God just shakes his head and sighs.)

BLACKOUT