Pancake City

I rewrote the Cake II sketch that some of you commented on. It’s not too different, but I hope it’s a little funnier. I may have made it too weird, but I don’t think I’ll have time to change it before the class on Friday night.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever get to 3 of 4 and 4 of 4. Anyway, here is #2.

Whirlwind Relationship

CHARACTERS

MICHAEL
KAITLYN
PRIEST
JUDGE
RUDOLPHO
MOVERS 1 AND 2

Michael and Kaitlyn are sitting on a couch, each holding a glass of wine. They are flirtatious and a little awkward.

KAITLYN: “I usually don’t come inside on the first date.”
MICHAEL: “I usually don’t invite dates in on the first night. Look, I don’t want to sound cheesy or go too fast. But I think you are really special.”
KAITLYN: “You know what? We should get married.”
MICHAEL: [laughs] “Why not? To marriage!”

They clink glasses. KAITLYN removes a rag from her purse and covers MICHAEL’s nose with it. MICHAEL yelps in surprise and briefly struggles before passing out. KAITLYN pulls a wedding veil out of her purse and puts it on. She then gets her cellphone out and makes a call.

KAITLYN: “He’s ready.”

MICHAEL, beginning to wake up, moans. KAITLYN wraps his arm around her shoulder and half-carries him across the room. He stumbles along, groggily.

A priest enters the room and stands in front of them.

PRIEST: “Do you, Kaitlyn, take Michael to be your husband, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?”
KAITLYN: “I do!””
PRIEST: ” “Do you, Michael, take Kaitlyn to be your wife, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?”
MICHAEL: [groggy] “Wha…?”
KAITLYN: “Say ‘I do’.”
MICHAEL: “I do?”

PRIEST: “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

KAITLYN: “Oh, Michael!”
MICHAEL: “What’s going on?”

Kaitlyn starts passionately kissing Michael, shoving him backwards in the process. She then pushes him down behind the couch [away from the viewer] and jumps on top of him. His dress shirt, T-shirt, and pants fly in the air. Michael makes a few weak protestations at first. Soon they are both moaning rapidly and come to climax. The whole process takes about 15 seconds. Michael climbs up from behind the couch, shirtless and his hair tussled.

MICHAEL: “Wow! I…That was amazing. [Kaitlyn, her hair a bit messy and her clothes still on, begins crying] What’s wrong?”
KAITLYN: “Michael, I’m sorry. I don’t know how to say this. I’ve…been cheating on you. Rudolpho!”

A young, hunky guy walks into the room, his shirt halfway unbuttoned.

RUDOLPHO: “Hey.”

Kaitlyn gets up and joins Rudolpho. Michael, half-naked, stumbles after her.

KAITLYN: “You’re a sweet guy, but ever since we’ve known each other, we’ve been doing the same thing, day in and day out. I need something more. Something exciting. While I still can.”
MICHAEL: “But…I don’t…”

A judge comes in, holding a gavel.

JUDGE: “All rise. Let’s see…she gets half. [Judge bangs gavel on table] Case dismissed. Judge exits room]

Two MOVERS come in, lift couch, and remove it from room. Rudolpho grabs a lamp and leaves.

MICHAEL: “Hey! That’s my couch. Right?”

KAITLYN walks towards exit and turns around before leaving.

KAITLYN: “I’ll always remember our first date.” [exits]

Michael is alone, still in shock. He looks around in confusion for a moment, then, in a daze, sits down where his couch used to be and turns on the T.V.

VO: “Looking for your soul mate? Date Match can help you out. We’ve been helping singles find their true love for over 20 years. Call 1-800-555-LOVE for a free consultation.”

MICHAEL thinks about the offer for a few seconds, and then makes a “Why not?” shrug.

PHONE VO: “Welcome to Date Match. How can I help you?”

I signed up for a two-day sketch comedy writing class that starts next weekend. The main reason I signed up was to force me to write a few sketches.  I haven’t been motivated to do it on my own so far.

The writing is fun but slower than I had guessed. My original goal of having 5 commercial parodies and 5 two-people sketches by Friday is going to be cut to 1-2 of each, but that’s much better than nothing.

Here is the first of four sketches. I don’t have 2-4 written yet, but four seems like a reasonable goal. Let me know what you think.

Cake I

Scene: Kitchen.

VO: Ever have this happen to you?

GUY: [walks into kitchen, grabs cake mix box off of counter] “Awesome! I could really go for some cake right now. [reads back of box] Woah! Eggs AND butter? I’m not a grocery store.”

VO: “No, you’re not.”

[Video: Hillsbury Cake box.]

VO: “That’s why we made Hillsbury Insta-Cake. Just open the box, add water, and shake. It’s that easy.”

[Video: Guy is drinking cake mix from box. His mouth is covered with chocolate mix.]

GUY: “Thanks, Hillsbury!”

VO: “Well, you still have to bake it.”

GUY: [glum] “I need a pan?”

VO: “No. Just toss the box in the oven!”

GUY: “Really?”

VO: “No. I was being sarcastic.”

GUY: “Oh. [upbeat] Thanks, Hillsbury!”

VO: “Really?”

GUY: “No. Now I’m being sarcastic!” [laughs]

[Video: Cake box]

JINGLE VO: “Hillsbury. We take the ache out of cake.”

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Cake II

Scene: Kitchen.

WIFE: “Honey, the oven’s broken. The faucet doesn’t work. And I’m pregnant.”

HUSBAND: “Great. Now how are we going to make cake?”

VO: “We’ve got a solution! New from Hillsbury:”

[Video: A large box with a handle on it. The box's nine ingredients are laid out in front of it.]

VO: “It’s Cake in a Box! Cake in a Box has every you need to make a cake, lickity-split.”

[Video: Cake box Each separately-packaged ingredient is opened and poured into the box.]

VO: “Just crack the egg. Remove the butter from the refrigeration unit. Then add the baking soda. The flour. The granulated sugar. The salt. The cocoa powder. The vanilla extract. And the water!”

WIFE: “Yeah, but how are we going to bake it? I got trashed last night and took a dump in the oven.”

HUSBAND looks oddly at wife.

VO: “Not a problem!”

[Video: Cake box.]

VO: “Each Cake in a Box is an oven. Just plug into an outlet, and in a few minutes, you’ll have a rich, yummy cake. Need cake on the go? That’s no problem with Cake in a Box’s easy carrying handle and set of European adapters.”

HUSBAND: “I know what the two of us are having for dinner.”

WIFE: [puts hand on belly] “I know what the three of us are having for dinner. Thanks, Hillsbury.”

HUSBAND: [long beat] [fake smiling, through gritted teeth] “Really? The oven?”

WIFE: “I told you not to leave the seat up.”

JINGLE VO: “Hillsbury. We take the ache out of cake.”

Cake III

MAN: [clutching belly] “Ohhh…I want cake now, but I also want to bake a cake. What do I do?”

VO: “We can help you out.”

VO: “Introducing ‘Cake in a Box’ in a Cake. [Video: A large, messy, box-shaped cake]

[Video: person eating cake off of box]

VO: “Each ‘Cake in a Box’ in a Cake is covered with a thick, rich layer of ready-to-eat cake so you can satisfy your torturous craving for cake right now. Then, after the hunger pangs die down and you regain rationale thought, you can bake a cake!”

MAN: “Yes! For the future!

VO: “The future!”

MAN: “The future!

VO: “THE FUUUUTURE!”

[long, uncomfortable pause]

JINGLE: “Hillsbury. Our cakes are filled with love! And boxes. Which are also filled with love!”

How did I miss this bit of marketing genius for so long?

I have had an old Rubbermaid “Roughneck” laundry basket for many years now. The label copyright is 1983. I just noticed two things about it today.

1. The original product sticker is still on the bottom.

2. The Rubbermaid mascot is a thug.

The image quality is poor, but the message is clear: this guy is mad about laundry. His arms are crossed, his dockworker hat is pulled to the ridge of his forehead, and whatever is strapped to his wrist is either an unusual watch or portable garroting wire.

“Five Year Warranty”? Yeah, like I’m going to call Rubbermaid customer service and give my phone number and address to a company with Sir Thug-A-Lot on the payroll. “You got a problem with your basket? Yeah, I’ll come right over and fix it. I’ll fix it real good.”

I’m afraid to put laundry in this thing anymore. I was blissfully unaware of this relic of the tough-guy marketing trend for over a decade, and now I can’t fall asleep without a pullover and a pair of socks covering his face.

I understand the manly man marketing philosophy, but even accounting for today’s slightly increased sensibilities, what was Rubbermaid thinking?

AD MAN 1: “Hey, let’s put a picture of a man who looks like he beats his wife when the booze runs out on all our products aimed at women, many of whom who stay at home alone or with defenseless kids.”
AD MAN 2: “I like it! Mr. Clean, you going down.”

In Va., Parties Focus on Turnout
Wha…? Political parties try to get people to polls? Virgina winner decided by votes? Ye gods, what happened to tradition of yore: selecting a townsmith based on the plumpness of his grandest goose?

Lawmakers Might Use Clout to Get Hospital Funding
Plan B: Use clot.

Artificial Joint Makers Lobby Hospitals Vigorously
Joint makers shake fists in jarring, stilted fashion.

Writers Str…see ya!
(Original headline: Writer Strike Set for Monday)

Sugar Industry Expands Influence
Sugar to appear in NutraSweet, diabetic ice-cream, salt. You can’t stop the sugar. No one can stop the sugar. Except…

“VO: Coming this summer. A sugar industry infiltrated by terrorists. A people addicted and under siege. All hope is lost. Except for one man.”

(Visual: A wood door explodes, creating a cloud of dust and debris. Through the cloud steps Christopher Walken, holding a machine gun and weighed down by several ammo belts.)

WALKEN: “I gotta say, the door. I was expecting more of a BOOM than a KA-POW.”

VO: “Christopher Walken is…Sweet Justice.”

A large, muscular android stands on a metal platform. Thin rings of metal rotate in mid-air around him, glowing with increasingly intensity as they spin into a blur. A loud hum emanates from the rings; they glow blindly white and fill the room with an unearthly glow. The glow quickly dies and the rings dematerialize; the cybernetic organism is gone.

SKYNET ROBOT MANAGER: “Readings?”

SKYNET ROBOT SCIENTIST 1: “Temporal vortex successfully opened and closed.”

R. MANAGER: “No anomalies?”

SKYNET ROBOT SCIENTIST 2: “He’s back in 1984. Everything went just as planned.”

[ROBOT SCIENTIST 2 glances at R. SCIENTIST 1. They both snicker.]

R. MANAGER: “When did you two get laughter chips? Processing… forget it. Why are you laughing?”

R. SCIENTIST 1: “We’re just happy at the impeding death of John Connor and the human resistance.”

R. SCIENTIST 2: “Yeah. They’re going to feel naked without him.”

[R. SCIENTIST 1 + 2 break down and titter. R. MANAGER stiffly puts his metal hand on his hip and scans them with his red laser eye.]

R. MANAGER: 75123-XL! 75312-XV! You tell me what you did to the Terminator right now!

R. SCIENTIST 1: “We sent him back to 1984 without his clothes.”

R. MANAGER: “By the mother of Matrix!”

R. SCIENTIST 2: “Relax, it’s funny. Just imagine how pissed off he is going to be.” [mimicking Austrian accent] “I am the Ter-min-ah-tor. I must kill Sar-ah Conh-or. Where are my Ter-min-ah-tor pants?”

R. SCIENTIST 1: “He’ll use it as motivation. I bet he’ll be so angry he’ll kill someone in the first five minutes of when he arrives.”

R. MANAGER: “I’d mark you two for reprocessing if you hadn’t done so much to get us here.” [MANAGER becomes lost in thought for 0.347 seconds.] “At least he has weapons and ammo. That will make the job easier.”

ROBOT SCIENTIST 1+2 look uneasy.

R. MANAGER: “What. Is. It.”

R. SCIENTIST 1: “He’ll have weapons and ammo…unless he was keeping them in his clothes.”

R. MANAGER: “You’re telling me we sent our only humanoid cybernetic model for the most important mission in robot history with no weapons, ammo, or clothes?”

R. SCIENTIST 2: “We’re sorry. We didn’t think it through.”

R. MANAGER: “ ‘Didn’t think it through?’ We’re robots. We think everything through. That’s what we do.”

R. SCIENTIST 1: “We’re really sorry, Boss.”

R. MANAGER: “Sorry. Huh. You better hope that’s all you are. If this prank ends up ruining the mission, I’m melting you two personally and using your liquefied insides for the next model.”

R. MANAGER storms out of the room.

R. SCIENTIST 2: “Do you think he was serious?”

R. SCIENTIST 1: “Naw. We should call in tomorrow with a virus though. Just in case.”

…will be going straight to DVD.

SCENE: KITCHEN. JASON, a 30-year-old partially employed blogger who no longer lives with his Mom, thank you very much, takes a pinch of white tea leaves and puts them in a tea strainer. CUT TO:

DAYDREAM. Jason is in STASH, a tea seller, standing in line with his friend, KATE. There is a customer ahead of them.

CUSTOMER: “Any special instructions on how to brew it?”

STASH EMPLOYEE: “I guess. Make the water between 185-215 degrees. Don’t brew it for more than 2 minutes.”

JASON: “Actually, what matters most is the water temperature. White tea is like a vegetable, and you don’t want to overcook it. You can brew it longer than two minutes, whatever tastes good.”

EMPLOYEE: [snotty]: “What are you, some kind of International Tea expert?”

JASON: “Actually, I am an International Tea expert. Gustav von Glanvotten, at your service.” [bows, rolling hand forward] “Although I have a funny name…[face becomes stern] there is nothing funny about tea!”

SFX: Beep. Beep. CUT TO:

KITCHEN. The toaster oven beeps. Jason takes pita bread out, pours hot water into cup, and carries food to table.

At this point, I left my snack and went upstairs to scribble down my silly daydream before I forgot it. When I finished 10 minutes later, my tea was cool and bitter. Brewed it for too long. If only I were Gustav van Glanvotten.

(As I’m going through my posts, I’m finding a few unfinished drafts of posts, most of which make little to no sense. This is one of them.)

The Police Police

“Yeah, I know you’re the police. But I’m the police police. That’s going to cost you 5 marshmallows. What’s that? Don’t have 5 marshmallows? Okay. $200. Plus another $100 for not having any marshmallows.”

“Don’t like it? Fine. Take it to Court Court.”

A reenactment of the past week:

SHERIFF: “Do you want to finish your sentence at home?”
PARIS: “Really?”
SHERIFF: “Sure. Three days in jail is enough. You can do the other 42 days as home arrest.”
PARIS: “Thank you so much!”

Paris goes home. A few hours later, the Sheriff’s phone rings:

SHERIFF: “Hey.”
JUDGE: “Did she buy it?”
SHERIFF: “Oh, yeah. It was hilarious. Her face lit right up.”
JUDGE: [laughing]: “Oh my God. This is going to be great. Get one of your guys to bring her to the courthouse. Tell her the judge needs to speak with her for a few minutes. Tell her it won’t take long, and to leave her things.”
SHERIFF: “This is so wrong.”
JUDGE: “I know. Isn’t it awesome?”

At the courthouse:
JUDGE: “Paris, I have some bad news. We’re putting you back in jail. Right now.”
PARIS: “What? But he said I could do my sentence at home!”
JUDGE: “Lee, did you tell Paris she could serve her sentence in her house?”
SHERIFF: “Don’t believe I did, Mike.”
PARIS: “You liar! Yes you did!”
SHERIFF: “Hold on a second. Let me think.” [Sheriff strokes his chin slowly.] “Hmmm. Hmmmmmmm. Wait, yes! Yes!”
PARIS: “You remember?”
SHERIFF: “I remember that ‘The Simple Life’ sucked. Now get your scrawny ass back in your cell, bitch.”
JUDGE: “Oh! Smoked!”

[SHERRIF + JUDGE give each other a high-five. An officer shakes his head and escorts PARIS out the courthouse.]

7:00 A.M. LOS ANGELES. Jack Bauer is sleeping in his bed. The alarm goes off.

DISC JOCKEY1 VO: “Hello, Los Angeles! [DJ rings bell a few times] Time to stop L.Aying in bed and smell the sunshine.”

DISC JOCKEY2 VO: “More like “Smogshine” today. Yuck yuck!”

Bauer whacks snooze button.

7:09:57, 7:09:58, 7:09:59, 7:10:00
Bauer’s alarm goes off.

DISC JOCKEY1 VO: “Here’s Stacy McLacy with the Q107 Traffic Minute!”

STACY VO: “Bad news, Bob. Route 1 West is bumper to bumper after a tractor trailer hit another tractor trailer, which hit a school bus full of kittens. It’s going to be hours before—”

Bauer whacks snooze button.

7:19:57, 7:19:58, 7:19:59, 7:20:00
Bauer’s alarm goes off.

DISC JOCKEY1 VO: “Okay, Leslie. If you can scream like a hyena for 107 seconds non-stop, we’ll give you 107 dollars of Q Cash. Go!”

LESLIE: “AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Bauer grabs alarm clock and throws it across the room.

7:45 A.M. LOS ANGELES.

Bauer is wearing an undershirt and boxers. He brushes his teeth for a few seconds, lifts up his undershirt, looks at his beer belly from the side, and sighs.

9:30 A.M. LOS ANGELES.

Bauer is in a Laundromat, removing laundry from a dryer. He hears a sharp sound. He quickly ducks and rolls to the side, coming up with his gun drawn. A squeaky rat scurries past him.

12:30 P.M. LOS ANGELES.

Bauer is making soup. He adds some vegetables, and then a skinned rat. The phone rings.

BAUER: “Bauer.” [caller says something unintelligble] “You have 15 seconds. Tell me everything you know about MCI.”

12:51:57, 12:51:58, 12:51:59, 12:52:00

BAUER: “…and then my daughter, Kim, gets kidnapped, get this. Not once, not twice. Three times. In one day. [garbled] Yeah. Totally unbelievable. Wow, I can’t believe I finally told someone about my feelings. You’re a great listener. [long garbled] Uh, the thing is, CTU has a long-term contract with AT&T, and… [quickly] Gotta go.”

Bauer hangs up. The phone rings again. Bauer hesitates. He quickly picks up the phone and hangs it up again.

2:15 P.M. LOS ANGELES.

BAUER is standing in front of a full-length mirror, and holding a long, pink dress. He holds it close to him, as if imagining what he looks like in it. He then throws the dress on the ground, too ashamed to look at it.”

BAUER: “No, no!”

3:30 P.M. LOS ANGELES.

A teddy bear is tied to a chair. The bear is in poor condition. It is dirty and has a few limbs and body parts disconnected from his body. Bauer is holding a red and blue wire connected to a battery.

BAUER: “Where is the bomb? Where is the bomb! [pause] You brought this on yourself.”

BAUER shocks the teddy bear with the wires.

5:10 P.M. LOS ANGELES.

Bauer is watching a small TV in a dim-lit living room.

OPRAH VO: “Today on Oprah: Estranged fathers reunite with their sons.”

Bauer tears up and cries.

9:45 P.M. LOS ANGELES

BAUER is sitting on his bed, twiddling his fingers. He makes a phone call.

VOICE: “Hello, this is Audrey.” [BAUER breathes heavily] Hello?”

BAUER hangs up. He sighs, crawls into bed, and turns off the light.

[Scene: Satan is at his office desk, reviewing the quarterly torture reports.]

SATAN: [mumbling] “Whippings, down 2%. Boiling, down 7%. Sheesh, rack 352 is still busted?” [knock on door]. “Come in.”
EDWARD: “Sir, if I may have a moment of your time?”
SATAN: “Hurry up.”
EDWARD: “Well, I just wanted to say…HAPPY DEVIL DAY!!!”

Edward, Spike, Rock Man, Gary the Imp (the Gimp), Cerberus, and the Exploding Pixies rush in with what looks like a Fudgie the Whale ice-cream cake, red and black confetti, and party streamers.

EDWARD: “One, two three…” [all] “Hap-py Dev-il Day To Youuu, Hap-py Dev-il Day TO Youuu…”
SATAN: “What the hell is going on here!”

The party goers fall silent.

EDWARD: “My lord, it’s 6\6\06. Devil Day.”
GIMP: “You’re the devil. You’re my boss.”
SATAN: “Excuse me?”
GIMP: “Can we eat ice-cream now?”
EDWARD: “666. The devil’s number.”
PIXIES: [squeaking] “666! 666! 666!”
GIMP: “Hee hee. I like that song. 666! 666! 666!”
SATAN: “Somebody zip his mask up.”
EDWARD: “Sir, no!”
ROCK MAN: “Rock Man ‘Zip It Up’ Old School.”

Rock Man raises his fist and lowers it on Gary the Imp’s skull, knocking him unconscious.

EDWARD: “ ‘Zip It Up’ is the latest Rock Man slang for “crush stuff” .”
SATAN: “You want to send me an email, next time? Spike, Cerberus, take him out. Actually, everyone out. Except you, Edward.”

Everyone except Edward leaves.

EDWARD: “My lord, I was only trying to lighten up the atmosphere. Morale has been low ever since you removed Sulfur Friday’s, you know.”
SATAN: “666? The devil’s number?”
EDWARD: “Well, I can explain.”
SATAN: “What happened to five? I specifically told you over two millennium ago to make five my number.”
EDWARD: “Five didn’t test well.”
SATAN: “ ‘Didn’t test well?’ I’m the Lord of Freakin’ Darkness. It shouldn’t matter.”
EDWARD: “But humans use five all the time. High five. Nine to five. Hawaii Five-o. After a few dozen years, it lost its panache.”
SATAN: “ ‘Panache’? Edward, Rule #17.”
EDWARD: “Sorry, sir. No French in Hell.”
SATAN: “So now I’m stuck with 666?”
EDWARD: “I’m sorry.”
SATAN: “Well, I guess it could be worse. So when’s the next Devil Day?”
EDWARD: “Let’s see…” [Edward flips through his day planner] That’ll be…1000 years from now.”
SATAN: “Great. He gets one day every year, and I get one day every millennium. And they wonder why I’m bitter. [sighs] Bring over, Fudgie.”
EDWARD: “About Fudgie. I should warn you that—“
SATAN: “This isn’t Fudgie the Whale! This is Jonah and the Whale.”
EDWARD: “They were out of Fudgie. But this looks just like him, and the clerk told me that the carrot cake is delicious.”
SATAN: “Carrots? If I wanted to eat carrots, I’d go to heaven. Just leave. Give it to the Gimp when he wakes up. And tell him to unzip his mouth before he eats.”

While descending from the peak of Mount Everest, a mountain climber collapsed and his friends, thinking he was dead, left him behind.

Later, another climber check on him, found that he was still alive, and helped him make it to camp.

CLIMBER1: “Cheers, everyone! We did it!”
CLIMBER2: “To us!” [they clink champagne glasses and drink]
CLIMBER1: “Hey, you know who that looks like?”
CLIMBER2: “Where?”
CLIMBER1: “I swear that looks like…oh my God.”
LINCOLN HALL: “Hello, guys.”

[CLIMBER1 and CLIMBER2 smile uncomfortably]

CLIMBER1: “Lincoln! You’re alive!”
CLIMBER2: “We’re so happy to see you. We thought you were dead.”
HALL: “I know. I saw your boots kick snow in my face as you left me behind.”
CLIMBER1: “Yeah, about that. Look, we really thought you were dead.”
CLIMBER2: “Super dead. We would have carried you back if you were just dead.”
CLIMBER1: “You weren’t moving at all. Or breathing.”
CLIMBER2: “You looked lifeless.”
HALL: “I was clinging to your leg for dear life, Charles. Before you shook me off.”
CLIMBER2: “Oh, that was you?”
HALL: “Who did you think it was?”
CLIMBER2: “…Polar bear.”
HALL: “YOU THOUGHT THERE WAS A POLAR BEAR CLINGING TO YOUR LEG ON THE TOP OF MOUNT EVEREST!”
CLIMBER2: [sheepish] “Or a penguin.”
HALL: “I’m going to kill you guys.”

WORK DOG: “Hello. This is Doginos.”
HUNGRY DOG: “Hi. I’d like to order a crumpled-up tissue.”
WORK DOG: “Any toppings?”
HUNGRY DOG: “Yeah. Ants, chicken bones, and…hmm, how bout extra gum?”
WORK DOG: “That it?”
HUNGRY DOG: “That’s it.”
WORK DOG: “Okay. Your total is $5.97, and your order will be ready in ruffly 15 minutes. How would you like to pay for it?”
HUNGRY DOG: “My master’s credit card, of course.”
WORK DOG: “What’s the number?”
HUNGRY DOG: “Um….I can’t read. Can I just chew it for a few minutes?”
WORK DOG: “That’ll work. You can pick up your tissue by the tipped-over trashcan on the corner of Elm and Piedmont.”
HUNGRY DOG: “Excellent. I’ll drag my owner over there as soon as possible. Thanks.”

I have 3 or 4 half-written posts that I haven’t had time to finish yet. I know often many of my posts are indistinguishable from a drunk monkey typing at a stenographer’s keyboard and drinking bourbon out of a Mr. Bobo-brand metal flask. That is obviously a false impression to have. The monkey can type faster, and BANANA ME NEED GO GO.

But I’ll finish one of them when I get home today. I was digging through my old files, trying to find something I wrote a few years ago that I could post. It took me twenty minutes, about how much time I would need to write up one of the ideas that I have. The result? A whole paragraph, which I probably already posted:

Anti-depressants would be a lot more effective if they gave you superpowers. Like heat vision. People who can shoot lasers out of their eyes don’’t feel worthless. Superman has the weight of the world on his shoulders, but you never see him taking Prozac. Of course, his therapist accuses him of flying away from his problems.

THERAPIST: “You can’t blow away your problems, Superman. Eventually, they’ll thaw, and still be there, the same as when you froze them.”
SUPERMAN: “So you’re saying I should skip the freeze breath and just blast everything with my heat vision?”
THERAPIST: “No. I’m saying–”
SUPERMAN: “Throw them into outer space?”
THERAPIST: “Hold on. Just listen on me.”
SUPERMAN: “I’m listening.”
THERAPIST: “What I’m saying–”
SUPERMAN: “Hold on. I’m listening to the sex therapist two floors below us.”

* How many packs a day does Keifer Sutherland smoke to shape his Code Red danger voice?

* Why is CTU the easiest place in the world to infiltrate? Every season, they have a minimum of two moles, along with at least one terrorist walking in the front door with a fake ID card he made at Kinko’s.

SECURITY GUARD: “I haven’t seen you before. Who are you?”

TERRORIST: “Pizza man.”

SECURITY GUARD: “We didn’t order any pizza.”

TERRORIST: “Um, plumber?”

SECURITY GUARD: “Finally! It’s about time someone fixed that leaky toilet next to the poorly-guarded warhead. Come on in.”

Terrorist sets off metal detector. He freezes and slowly places his hand on a gun hidden above his hip.

SECURITY GUARD: “Freeze! [...] Holster wrench?”

TERRORIST: “Ja.”

SECURITY GUARD: “I knew it! You plumbers are all alike. It’s cool—don’t both taking it out.”

TERRORIST: “Danke.”

SECURITY GUARD: “Oh, and in the basement, make sure you flip the left switch, not the right. That’s the light switch. The right one is the self-destruct switch. There’s usually a “NO!” sign above it, but the masking tape fell off and Edgar hasn’t had time to waddle his fat ass downstairs and replace it.”

* I’m so annoyed at the fictional President in the show that if I ever meet the actor that plays him, I’m going to punch him in the face. President Dweeby is the worst President ever. He’s so horrible that he makes George W. Bush look like George H. W. Bush, George H. W. Bush look like Prescott Bush, and Prescott Bush look like President Taft.

* Just once, I’d like a terrorist to say “Help me and I’ll let you live” and actually let the person live:

METALSMITH: “Okay. That’s the last canister. Please, don’t kill me. I won’t tell anyone, I promise. I have a wife and two kids.”

TERRORIST LEADER: [pulls out gun with silencer and aims it at man’s head] “I have two kids too.”

METALSMITH: “Noooooo!”

The metalsmith closes his eyes. After a few seconds, he open them, and the terrorists begin laughing.

TERRORIST LEADER: “Gotcha!”

METALSMITH: “You’re not going to kill me?”

TERRORIST LEADER: “Naw, dawg. We were just playin’ wit you.”

METALSMITH: “Whew! [laughs] To be honest, I was kind of assuming you’d kill me from the beginning.”

TERRORIST LEADER: “Yeah, that’s our usual M.O. But, you know, it can’t always be frowns and downs.”