Rubber Thug

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."

Headlines

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."

2029. Skynet Department of Temporal Manipulation

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.”

The Movie of My Life...

...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.

I'll Get Back To It Later

(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."

Are We Being Too Hard on Paris?

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.]

The Other 364 Days

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.

Devil Day

[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.”

An Uncomfortable Conversation

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."

How Dogs Find Disgusting Things To Eat

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.”

Posts are Coming!

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."

24

* 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.”

Advice for Living Right

The best time to play a practical joke is on your death bed.

If I have a kid by the time I die, I’m going to call him by my bedside, motion him to lean in, and then whisper in his ear: “You were adopted.” [urrk]

Famous people are lucky. They can play the best jokes on their death bed.

John Glenn: “The moon landing was faked.” [gaarr]

Eric Clapton: “I shot the sheriff.”
Family Member: “We already know that.”
Eric Clapton: “Oh. Well then, I shot Kennedy.” [aaaggg]

George W. Bush: “I peed in the reflecting pool.”
Jenna: “Dad, why are you telling us this?”
George W. Bush: “It’s one of them practical jokes, you see. You tell them right before you die.”
Barbara: “But you’re not about to die. You’re still President of the United States.”
Jenna: “You went jogging this morning.”
George W. Bush: “Damn CIA. Gave me faulty intelligence.”

A Rare Victory for Reality

Sony pays $1.5 million to settle a class-action lawsuit accusing the company of quoting a fake movie critic in its ads.

A good quote: "The lawsuit, originally filed by two California moviegoers, claimed the ads fooled the plaintiffs into seeing 'A Knight's Tale.' "

JUDGE: "Prosecution, you may begin your opening statement."
LAWYER: "Thank you, your honor. Ladies and gentelmen of the jury, my clients saw 'A Knight's Tale'. The prosecution rests."

Several members of the jury gasp and faint.

JURY FOREMAN: "Get the noose!"

Will Sony continue to cite fake critics, or use the marginally-less deceptive practice of putting their own marketing copy in quotes to make it appear it came from the pen of a critic ("You gotta see this movie!")? Only Deuce Bigalow, Male Gigolo II, will tell.

I Scream When I Melt

There’s often a “Frosty’s Heating and Cooling” van driving around my neighborhood. It’s the adult version of an ice-cream truck. If I owned the company, I’d change the name to “Frosty and Sunny’s Heating and Cooling” because there’s no way I’m taking heating advice from a guy named Frosty. Cooling, yes—Frosty knows his stuff about cooling. But heating? Ridiculous.

SHIVERING MOM: “Is it fixed?”
FROSTY: “All done.”
SHIVERING MOM: “But it’s still freezing in here.”
FROSTY: “Are you kidding? My carrot nose almost fell off, and I just left a clump of my ass in the kitchen. “

Gold Toe

I may explain the genesis for this post at a later date, but for now, the important part is that this is an excerpt of an Austin Powers parody made with sock puppets.

Austin Powers 4: Gold Toe

SON: Dad! Austin Powers has discovered the compound. He's heading this way.
GOLD TOE: Don't worry. He vill never get pass our security system. Vatch the monitor. Security on!

Suspenseful music plays as we see the menacing, dark enclave that guards the entrance to Gold Toe's lair. The music crescendos, and a single laser turns on.

SON: That's it? One laser?
GOLD TOE: That is just the beginning. Ven Powers trips the laser, a grate holding 100 tons of molten lava vill--
SON: If Powers trips the laser. What if he doesn't trip it?
GOLD TOE: Vell, how vould he do that? It is right by his knees.
SON: I don't know. He trips and stumbles over it? He's in a good mood and decides to gallop the way here?
GOLD TOE: Please. Nobody gallops anymore.
SON: That's not the point. The point is you spent 10 million dollars on a security system with one laser.
GOLD TOE: Don't be absurd. The system has over four dozen lasers.
SON: Then why aren't you turning them on?
GOLD TOE: [sarcastic] Oh, yes. Vhat a good idea. I vill turn on all the lasers. Next, I vill open all the vindows with the air conditioning on. Oh, I am thirsty. I vill get a soda from the fridge. No, no reason to close the door. Father Gold Toe vill pay the bill.
SON: Dad, that's not fair.
GOLD TOE: Do you know how much it costs to run a laser? Do I vork for the electric company?
SON: Well, actually, yes, you do. You took them over an hour ago.
GOLD TOE: Oh. I...well...okay, you got me there. Turn on the rest of lasers!

Good April Fool's Jokes

"H-h-h-hi. D-d-d-d-do you have any t-t-t-t-t-t-t-two bedroom apartments a-a-a-a-a-a-a-available?"
"Is this a joke?"
"Y-yes, it is. April Fool's!"
"I knew it! I knew you didn't really stutter."
"No, I do. The A-A-April Fool's is that I don't really care about y-y-y-y-your crappy apartment."

Bad April Fool's Jokes

"Hi Mom."
"Bret! You haven't called in a while. How are you?"
"Good. Hey, Mom. I just want you to know: I love you."
"That's so sweet--"
"April Fool's!"

"Doctor, what's the news?"
"I have some good news. All the tests came back negative. You're good to go."
"YES! I was so worried. Last night, I couldn't--"
"April Fool's! You have cancer."
"--sleep last night, and I've been crying all the time. My kids keep asking me, 'What's wrong?' and I've been brushing them off, and--"
"Didn't you hear me? I said you have cancer."
"But you said I was fine."
"I know. But after that, I said "April Fool's."
"I...I...me? But, I thought...oh, no."
"Well, this is awkward."

FOX NEWS: "We repeat, there is a plane headed towards the Empire State Building..."

Oh, Yahoo

A real-life conversation:

"Harold! What are you doing in there?"
"Nothing, hon."
"You locked the door."
"Hold on. I'll be out in a minute."
"You're look at porn again, aren't you? Answer me."
"No, of course not."
"You lying bastard! You told me you stopped. You..." [breaks down and sobs]
"Trust me. I'm not looking at porn."
"Oh, really? Then what are you looking at, Harold?"
"Uhhhhh...puppies."
"Puppies?"
"Yeah. Lots of cute puppies."
"You think I'm that stupid? You do, don't you? Well, that's it. I'm leaving, Harold. Goodbye." [door slams]
"Honey, wait! You don't understand. I'm using Yahoo Image Search. Yahoo Image Search! Oh, no. Curse ye, you hoards of delightfully cute puppies! What havoc have you wrought upon my soul?"

Before the graveyard...

I wrote a skit and later realized that the premise is inherently flawed. The premise is that Rush Limbaugh, Bill O'Reilly, and a helium balloon are competing for the 2005 Gasbag of the Year Award.

Funny idea, right? But it didn't work, and several drafts and comments from friends later I've come to realize that the premise has contradictions in itself that make it almost impossible to convert into a great skit.

I'm still working the contradictions out, but one of several that I thought of so far is that I'm trying to parody two things at the same time: the personalities of Rush Limbaugh/Bill O'Reilly, and right-wing talk radio. Writing skits with more than one subject just doesn't work.

There is also the choice of the game show format, which requires lots of short responses, and trying to parody Limbaugh and O'Reilly, which I believe requries them to speak for several sentences at a time.

It's an odd notion to me--that a skit can be flawed just because of a poor structure. I've always worked under the idea that in sketch writing, what is important is how the concept is done, not the concept itself. That a truly creative person could find a way to make any premise work. Now I think the premise is at least as important as the writing, possibly more so.

Okay, enough self-absorption. Here's the skit. You may find it amusing, may not.

HOST: "Welcome to the finals of the 2005 American Gasbag Competition. I'm Chuck Sewer. By the end of this night, one of these three talk show hosts will be America's Gasbag of the Year. Let's meet the finalists."

HOST: "A titan of radio and TV, and guardian of the No-Spin Zone: Bill O'Reilly."

O'REILLY: "I'm going to lecture you like I've never lectured before."

HOST: "Always right, never wrong, he puts the left where they belong. Rush Limbaugh."

LIMBAUGH yanks out a bottle of pills and tosses back the whole bottle. As the pills fall, he snaps at them like a mad dog tearing at a piece of meat. Most of the pills miss his face and fall on the floor.

HOST: "And give it up to our returning champion, helium balloon!

BALLOON: "EEE-EEE-EEE."

O'REILLY: "Hey!"

HOST: [laughing] "No win zone, indeed. First up is the lighting round. You will be given a series of topics. Whoever makes the most outrageous statement about it wins. Hands to the buzzer!

BALLOON: "EEE-EEE-EEE."

HOST: "Just vibrate then. First topic. ACLU."

O'REILLY: [buzzer] "Hitler would be a card-carrying ACLU member."
LIMBAUGH: [buzzer] "Hitler? If Hitler had sex with Satan, their baby would be President of the ACLU."
BALLOON: "EEE-EEE-EEE-EEE."

HOST: "Judges? Helium balloon by a nose!"

RIMBAUGH: "Come on! Who are the judges, the New York Times?"

HOST: "Sorry Rush, but two-headed Hitler-Satan baby that pees evil is the winner. Next topic: The Clintons."

LIMBAUGH: Last week, Hillary Clinton had sex with the two-headed Hitler-Satan baby, "Hitlan".
O'REILLY: "Then she brought a catapult to Iraq and flung aborted babies at our troops.
HOST: "Wow. Helie is stunned squeak-less. Well, let's see who the judges [sees Balloon shaking] Yes?
BALLOON: "EEE-EEE-EEE-EEE-EEE-EEE."
O'REILLY: [angry] "Mmph!"
HOST: "Ohhhhhh, my! Can you say that about a woman and a water hose? Another one for H.B. Final topic: the torture at Abu Ghraib."

LIMBAUGH: "It's amazing to me how outraged the libs are about this "scandal." I mean, you ever hear of needing to release some steam?
BALLOON: "EEE-EEE-EEE-EEE-EEEE.

O'Reilly thinks for a moment.

O'REILLY: "EEE-EEE-EEE-EEE-EEE."

HOST: "This round: O'Reilly!"
BALLOON: "EEE-EEE-EEE."
LIMBAUGH: "Yeah, he just repeated what he said!"
HOST: "Welcome to the right-wing echo chamber, guys."
O'REILLY: [mocking contestants with echo] "You suck…you suck…you suck…"
BALLOON: "EEE-EEE-EEE."
O'REILLY: [covering his chest] "You smear merchant!"
HOST: [laughing] "Oh, Helie. I'm sure O'Reilly has the same number of nipples as everyone else. Let's check the leader board. H.B. is on top with 20, O'Reilly has 10 and Rush is dead last with 0."

HOST: "Next is the all-important skills competition. Your task today is to get our mystery guest to shut up as fast as possible. Let's bring him out. Coming all the way from a back alley behind the CVS down the street. It's…a homeless person."

ELDERLY MAN creeps on stage with cane.

ELDERLY PERSON: "You told me you had food."
HOST: "That's hilarious! Bill, you're first. Go!"
ELDERLY PERSON: "Dear sir, do you have any food?"
O'REILLY: "Who is this joker?"
ELDERLY PERSON: "I'm elderly and cold."
O'REILLY: "Somebody shut his mike off."
ELDERLY PERSON: "I'm so hungry. I wish I had a doughnut."
O'REILLY: " Listen, buddy. You're in the No Spin zone. The only thing you're eating is the truth."
ELDERLY PERSON: "Can I have gravy with the truth?"
O'REILLY: "That's it. Cut his mike. This interview is over. I'm not going to dress you down anymore, out of respect for your father."
ELDERLY PERSON: "My father's 93. He was a pirate. Where is the food? I'm--(mouths rest of sentence)
HOST: "34 seconds! That might be good enough for first place. The mike cut-off comes through again."
ELDERLY PERSON: "But my name is Henry."

HOST: "Isn't he adorable? Rush, you're next. You'll need to be 34 seconds for a chance to win. Go!"
LIMBAUGH: "Woah, woah, woah. Hold on here. What on God's Earth is a "homeless" person?"
HOST: "It's a person without a home."
LIMBAUGH: "Well, what's he doing here? Tell him to go home."
ELDERLY PERSON: "Can I have an orange?"
HOST: "He can't. He's homeless."
LIMBAUGH: "Huh?"
HOST: "He's HOME-less."
LIMBAUGH: [long pause] "I don't get it."
HOST: "Mmm…I'm going to have to disqualify you. Sorry, Rush."
ELDERLY PERSON: "I have scurvy."

HOST: "Maybe our reigning champion can help you out. Helie, are you ready?"
BALLOON: "EEE-EEE."
HOST: "Go!"
ELDERLY PERSON: "My stomach is eating itself."
BALLOON: " EEE-EEE."
ELDERLY PERSON: "Really? You will?
BALLOON: " EEE-EEE."
ELDERLY PERSON: "Thank you! He's going to buy me dinner."
BALLOON: " EEE-EEE."
ELDERLY PERSON: "You love me?
BALLOON: " EEE-EEE."
ELDERLY PERSON: "[tears up] Oh! You want to give me a hug! Thank you! It's been so long.
BALLOON: " EEE-EEE."

ELDERLY PERSON shuffles over to balloon. When he grasps the balloon for a hug, it attacks the elderly man, beating him senseless.

ELDERLY PERSON: "AHH! AHH!"

HOST: "[horrified] Helie. You…killed him. In cold blood. You just killed him…and beat out O'Reilly time with 33 sec.! Helium Balloon retains his crown! This has been the 2005 American Gas Bag Competition. Good night!

Sketch: Bumper Sticker Madness

CHARACTERS

J.B. (Boss)
IDEA MAN 1
IDEA MAN 2

Boss walks in.

J.B.: We got a problem. Our bumper stickers sales are flat. The company is going broke and we haven't had a hit in over a year.

IDEA MAN 1: But we've come up with plenty of great ideas.

IDEA MAN 2: Yeah. "My other car is also a car".

IDEA MAN 1: "Honk if you love honking".

IDEA MAN 2: "ARRRRRRRRRRRRGH!"

J.B.: Especially "ARRRRRRRRRGH!" Who wants to put "ARRRRRRRRRRGH!" on their car?

IDEA MAN 2: Pirates?

J.B.: There are no pirates! That's the point. We're targeting too narrow markets. We need to generate some ideas for a really large group.

IDEA MAN 1: The blind.

J.B.: Do I need to tell you all the ways that idea is dumb?

IDEA MAN 1: Hold on, J.B. Hear me out. We'll put an arrow on the bumper sticker in Braille so they'll know which way to stick it on their cars.

J.B.: Next.

IDEA MAN 2: I got it. Street ladies.

J.B.: No.

IDEA MAN 2: But--

J.B.: No! We're not doing a bumper sticker on street ladies.

IDEA MAN 2: But--

J.B.: No!

IDEA MAN 2: [pause, then rushed out] "If you can read this you're not in the backseat".

J.B.: Jesus Fucking Christ! We're going to be bankrupt in a month. We need to find the largest market possible. Think, people!

IDEA MAN 1: Jesus! Religion. We've never done a bumper about religion before.

J.B.: Yes. Yes! Good idea. Okay, let's think. What's a catchy bumper sticker that a religious person would buy?

IDEA MAN 1: "God Bless America".

J.B.: That's nice, but it's been done before.

IDEA MAN 1: No no no no. [takes out poster board + magic marker. Writes away from audience, then lifts us poster board.] "God Bless America".

J.B.: That's your twist?

IDEA MAN 1: Hear me out. It puts the focus on who's blessing America. [pretends to be confused customer] "Who's blessing America? The bus driver? Grandma? I don't know. Hey, what's this? God Bless America. Oh! Now I get it. I'll take one."

IDEA MAN 2: I'll take five.

IDEA MAN 1: I'll take ten!

J.B.: Underlining God isn't going to help us break into a new market.

IDEA MAN 1: But--

IDEA MAN 2: He's right. We need something bigger. To go for the gold. To...

[takes poster board, scribbles like he is making a lot of revisions.]

IDEA MAN 2: Call up the printing press and tell 'em to slap it on. "God Bless America". We get the religious audience and the patriotic audience.

J.B.: That just went from dumb to confusing.

IDEA MAN 1: J.B., I hear you loud and clear. Hold on.

[takes poster board, scribbles a long time, like he is making a paragraph-worth of revisions.]

IDEA MAN 1: "God Bless America." "What's God doing to America? Is he hitting it? Is he shaking it? No, he's blessing America. Because he's God, and he's the best. I'll take 10."

IDEA MAN 2: I'll take 20.

IDEA MAN 1: I'll sell myself into prostitution to buy one.

J.B.: Look, both of you. Drop it. We need to think of a different tack.

A few moments of silence while they try to think of a solution.

IDEA MAN 2: I got it.

[takes poster board, scribbles for a few moments]

IDEA MAN 2: "God Bless America, Motherfuckers".

J.B.: Time to call it quits. You did two enough for today. Go home. I'll think of something myself.

IDEA MAN 2: What's wrong with "God Bless America, Motherfuckers"?

J.B.: Go.

IDEA MAN 1 + 2 hesitantly get up to leave.

IDEA MAN 1: God Bless America, ass slappers?

J.B.: Out!

IDEA MAN 2: God Bless America, ball jigglers?

J.B.: Go home!

IDEA MAN 1 + 2 leave. Offstage: "Ring-ring." J.B. picks up phone.

J.B.: Hello, sir. Yes, I have something I think you'll like. " God Bless America, Motherfuckers." Thank you, sir. I think it's going to be a winner too. Oh, no. I thought of it myself.

On the back of bottles of Liquid-Plumr:

TO DISPOSE: Offer empty container for recycling. If recycling is not available, discard container in trash.


***
CUSTOMER SERVICE: "Liquid-Plumr. How can I help you?"
PERSON: Hi. What exactly do you mean by "offer empty container for recycling"?
CS: It means you can put it in your recycling container, if you have one.
PERSON: So that's an ix-nay on placing it outside on a pile of mulch, surrounded by a circle of candles, and smearing the blood of a sacrificial goat upon your naked body while you chant a paean to Kronos, God of recycling, as part of an effort for him to accept your humble offering?
CS: Yeah.

***
CUSTOMER SERVICE: "Liquid-Plumr. How can I--"
PERSON: "Hi. Me again. I tried discarding container in trash, but my trashcan won't take it."
CS: "It won't 'take it'?"
PERSON: "Well, it doesn't have an opening, so I threw the container at it and it bounced off the top."
CS: "Is the lid open?"
PERSON: "The lid! Yes. It all makes sense now. You've unclogged my brain AND my drain."

***
CS: "Liquid-Plumr. How can I help you?"
PERSON: "What happened to the B? Is Liquid-Plumrrr drunk?"
[click]
PERSON: "Is that a dial tone, or are you slurring an 'O'?"

***
CS: "Liquid-Plumr."
PERSON: "Have we spoke before?"
CS: "No. I just started today."
PERSON: "Excellent. I have a suggestion. On the back of the bottle, the directions say, "If recycling is not available, discard container in trash." Discard is a harsh word. It batters a container's fragile self-esteem at a delicate point in his life when he is wrestling with the question, "Now what?" That's why you should change the wording to "promote container to trash." Give them hope. Let them know that, whatever path life next takes them, it can be just as rich and fulfilling as unclogging hair out of drains."
CS: "Is this a joke?"
PERSON: "You got me. This is Ron from finance."
CS: "Ha ha! I knew it."
PERSON: "Ha ha! Kidding aside, I have some bad news. You're fired."

"What Did I Miss?"

(A sketch I wrote.)

A shabbily-dressed man with a crazed look slowly stumbles across the stage. CITIZEN, reading a newspaper as she walk, heads towards him. The man grabs her.

SHABBY MAN: Please, miss. What day is it?

CITIZEN: January 27th.

SHABBY MAN: What year?

CITIZEN: [puzzled] Year? 2005.

SHABBY MAN: [stunned] You're the first person I've seen in over twelve months.

CITIZEN: Where have you been?

SHABBY MAN: I was trapped under L'Enfant Plaza. I fell down a pothole and a car parked over me. The meter ran out. Five seconds later, it got a boot.

CITIZEN: Oh my God. It was there the whole time? How did you get out?

SHABBY MAN: A larger pothole took the car. I climbed out by standing on top of it.

CITIZEN: That's horrible. Can I get you something? What can I do?

SHABBY MAN: Please, just tell me what I missed.

CITIZEN: Where should I start?

SHABBY MAN: Anything. Sports. How are the Redskins doing?

CITIZEN: Well, Joe Gibbs came back.

SHABBY MAN: [gasps] The Gibbsiah. Are we in the Super Bowl?

CITIZEN: Um, no.

SHABBY MAN: Damn. We lost the Conference Championship.

CITIZEN: Not exactly.

SHABBY MAN: Second round?

CITIZEN: Hmmmm…

SHABBY MAN: Wild card?

CITIZEN: I'm not sure how to put this...

SHABBY MAN: 8-8?

CITIZEN: 6-10.

SHABBY MAN: [spirit crushed]. I can't believe it. They're worse than the Wizards.

CITIZEN: Actually, they're doing pretty good.

SHABBY MAN: And the Caps?

CITIZEN: How are you feeling right now?

SHABBY MAN: Not well.

CITIZEN: Let's switch to something else.

SHABBY MAN: [thinks for a moment] Bennifer! Are they--?

CITIZEN: I'm sorry.

SHABBY MAN: Oh. Brad and Jennifer?

[shakes head no]

SHABBY MAN: Britney and Jason?

CITIZEN: Who?

SHABBY MAN: Britney Spears and Jason A. Alexander. They got married in Las Vegas. I fell down the manhole the next day.

CITIZEN: They broke up after 55 hours.

SHABBY MAN: [looks away, stares off] All this time I thought I was living a dream. But it was really a nightmare. What about the gays?

CITIZEN: They still can't get married.

SHABBY MAN: Yeah, that makes sense.

CITIZEN: Are you interested in politics?

SHABBY MAN: The election! What's been doing on with the economy?

CITIZEN: It's still in a slump.

SHABBY MAN: Iraq?

CITIZEN: On the brink of civil war.

SHABBY MAN: The debates?

CITIZEN: Bush got creamed.

SHABBY MAN: So who's the new President?

CITIZEN: George Bush.

SHABBY MAN: What? Howard Dean still lost?

CITIZEN: Actually, it was John Kerry.

SHABBY MAN: Who?

CITIZEN: Exactly.

SHABBY MAN: Is there any reason to stay out here?

CITIZEN: Uh, American Idol is coming back for another season?

SHABBY MAN: I'll be in my hole.

Fellowship of the Ring Com-E-D!

Hey, it's only three years late.

INT. HOBBIT'S ROOM, PRANCING PONY -- NIGHT

INSERT: MERRY SNORING SOFTLY ON HIS PILLOW.
INSERT: PIPPIN stirs slightly, then settles back to sleep.

WIDE ON: the door creaks open...THE FOUR RINGWRAITHS silently slide into the Hobbit's room.