Friday, August 15, 2008

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.



R.A. Porter said...

I can smell the gunpowder, acrid and sweet like sulfur.

NotNits said...

I forbade myself to read the other entries until I posted my own. I'm glad - this was sweet like dessert.