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A Very Ironic Thanksgiving

27 Feb

(A family is gathered in their dining room for Thanksgiving. The table is covered with an embroidered tablecloth and loaded with china bowls of food. A kind-looking mother and father are sitting there, along with their heavily-tattooed and pierced son.)

MOM: Josh, it’s so nice that you got here from Portland for Thanksgiving. That storm could’ve really messed up your travel plans.

JOSH: Please, Mom, call me Lotus.

MOM: Lotus?

LOTUS: Yes, Lotus. My yogi gave it to me. He says I am radiant like a lotus blossom.

DAD: That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, Josh. Are you still playing guitar?

LOTUS: The guitar? I sold it. As of now, I’m playing lead in an all-accordion post-glam pre-thrash speed folk band. We’ve got a cool 26 plays on MySpace since March. We’re working on this new three track EP that will sell in almost 7 stores across Oregon. It’s gonna be sick!

DAD: You know what, Josh-

LOTUS: LOTUS!

DAD: Fine, Lotus. But when are you gonna get a job? Or go back to school? You had a full ride to Berkeley.

(Lotus’s disgusted cringe makes the dragon tattooed on his neck dance. His mom starts to tear.)

LOTUS: I told you, Berkeley was inhibiting my creativity. Besides, I have a job: I’m an Occupy manager for my block.

DAD: Sure, you make two bucks a week sleeping in your own feces with other weirdos. That’s exactly what a National Merit Scholar should be doing with his life.

MOM: Harold, stop it! Don’t ruin another Thanksgiving!

LOTUS: Yeah, cool it Dad. I’ve been sending resumes around as well. And I’m going back to school.

DAD: Oh. Then I’m sorry. So what’s this you’re doing?

LOTUS: I’m going to the Portland School of Glass-blowing, and you don’t need to pay a thing. I’m becoming a barrista.

DAD: Fine, I don’t give a rat’s ass. Do whatever you want to do, but I’m not paying for it anymore.

(Lotus  slams his chair against the table and walks into the kitchen. His mom follows him.)

MOM: Honey, don’t worry. You can stay here whenever you need to.

LOTUS: (tearfully): Really? Thanks, Mom.

MOM: Of course, sweetie. Just take those tunnel plugs out of your ears, please. You look like the plumbing department of a hardware store.


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You Say Apathy Like it’s a Bad Thing

9 Feb

Sadly, Nickelodeon is reporting big losses this quarter. They have attributed this to a lack of fresh new TV show ideas being made available and it’s true: most of them stink. But luckily, I have an idea to save the industry.

Every single Disney or Nick show has the exact same main character: A perky, likable girl and her close-knit friends who often stand up for each other, who do something together while battling bullies and other teenager things. (Alcohol and teen pregnancies are usually two subjects avoided in this market.)

Clearly, that model isn’t working. That’s why my new character is the least interesting person in the world. A teenage boy, Chuck, with oppressive acne goes to school and hangs out with his teenage friends Paxton, Angus, and Leroy who frequently ridicule each other. He usually goes home afterwards and plays video games, all while maintaining an acerbic relationship with his parents. Here’s a sneak preview.

(Chuck is sitting at home playing video games. The doorbell rings and he goes to get it, only after hearing it play six times. He walks downstairs, delicately fingering a yellow zit on his jaw. He opens the door to find a mailman struggling beneath a large package. Please, keep your mind out of the gutter.)

MAILMAN: One package for Chuck Thrushberry.

CHUCK: Harumph.

(Bending over to pick up the box, Chuck accidentally lifts the mailman. After noticing that the object he has picked up is not cardboard, he sets the postal worker down roughly.)

MAILMAN: Have a nice day!

CHUCK: Don’t tell me what to do.

(After closing the door, Chuck meanders back into the kitchen, where he opens his box. After searching for a box cutter but coming up fruitless, he pulls out a dirty spoon instead. The box is quickly covered in soggy cereal and hours-old milk, but has opened. Chuck reaches in to pull out a large bag of cupcake mix. Though he may come off simple, Chuck does have a secret affinity for the culinary arts. Conveniently, almost as if it were scripted, Mrs. Thrushberry appears, still unaware of her son’s talents with a cake mold.)

MRS. THRUSHBERRY: Aren’t you a little old to be making cupcakes, Chuck?

CHUCK: Aren’t you a little old to be in a onesie?

(Having only seen her face, the audience now learns Mrs. Thrushberry is in fact wearing a onesie, and she quickly leaves the room with no explanation. Turning away, Chuck’s fingers once again return to the yellow zit. Chuck pulls away quickly, remembering that if he coddles his zits, they may never be able to live on their own, and once again hikes upstairs for more video games.)

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Wow, it Really is Heavy!

17 Jan

Like many Americans, I tuned in to watch the Golden Globes last week. It seems that though these people spend their whole life memorizing and reciting pre-written scripts, they can’t, for the life of them, remember their acceptance speeches. Here’s mine in case I ever win:

ANNOUNCER:And the winner, for best choreographer in a foreign language, animated, made-for-TV comedy short, is: Charlie!

ME: Oh wow! I totally didn’t expect this at all, I just happened to have a speech in my pocket. Of course, I want to thank my mom and my dad, especially. You see, this is the three year eight week anniversary of my dad getting a mild burn on his pointer finger while plugging a microphone in to record a foreign language, animated, made-for-TV comedy short, and I guess this my little homage to him. I want to thank the cast: Lonnie Tinkletown, Clarice Beauregard, Sylvester Saxenpoo. I want to thank the wonderful crew: Steve up at lighting, Lawrence heading up sound, Jaques Catanois for your wonderful scenery. A special thanks to Horatio at Smile Time Catering. Your popovers were excellent, but I felt the raspberry was a little doughy. Thanks to Mr. Wrenger, my eight grade geometry teacher, and Señorita Marquez, my charanga instructor. Hello to Hector, the custodian on set, Maggie, my cat-sitter, and Bartholomew, our accountant. Thanks so much to Rising Sunset Productions, for being the wind beneath our feet in terms of getting this film to the masses. No, no, stop playing the music, I’m not finished. A huge shout-out to Betty, the bingo-caller at the nursing home we visited. How are the varicose veins treating you? Finally, a massive thank you for the Hollywood Foreign Press Association, for giving me the opportunity to get up here, and giving my fans an opportunity to hear what I have to say. See you at the after party!

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All You Need is Love! And Murder. And Betrayal.

12 Jan

Obviously, I haven’t found the time to update my blog in the last couple days. However, I did find the time to notice One Life to Live was ending after a half-century. In this economy, job security like that can only be dreamt of, so I’ve decided to write my own soap opera. Passion’s Destiny, as it will be called, will bring certain elements from Hispanic soaps, as well as a very dramatic medical motif. Based in the rainy city of Cape Gertrude, Passion’s Destiny  is a “sweeping odyssey of drama, passion, and destiny.” (That’s not a review or anything, using quotes just looks better.)

(In a completely original storyline, Royce and Daffodil are canoodling, and in doing so, are blatantly disobeying their parents. Daffodil leans in for a tender kiss, but Royce shies away.)

ROYCE: No, we can’t.

DAFFODIL: Why not?

ROYCE: My lips are so chapped.

DAFFODIL: That’s horrible.

(Camera turns to a lavish apartment in the up-scale north of Cape Gertrude. Standing next to an ornate mantle is Lola, an elderly women approaching her centennial, but her plastic surgery makes her look no older than 67. However, her plastic surgeon sneezed during the breast augmentation, so one is roughly two inches higher up than the other.)

LOLA (on the telephone): It happened? … No! … They’ll find the secret. … I’ll be right over!

(Faster than a GOP candidate can say fiscal responsibility, Lola throws on a jacket, jacket being used loosely since she’s essentially just wearing a wolf pelt. She calls Basil, her driver, Rumaki, her hairless cat, and Whiskers, her personal chef, and they all climb into the Bentley. Unfortunately, there was a mix-up while entering the vehicle and Rumaki ended up behind the wheel. Needless to say, the gang easily found a parking spot up a telephone pole.)

(Camera finds itself in a hospital room. A fat Italian baker, Tortellini Frederico,is settled on the table, with powdered sugar in his mustache and pain in his eyes. Frederico is actually a mob boss, but chose a bakery as his money laundering location because of his passionate love of cannolis. Beside him is Dr. Austin Calhoun, a man far too handsome to have passed a cutthroat organic chemistry class at the university on his degree. He is consulting a clipboard, but has forgotten the charts, and is furrowing his brow to keep up appearances.)

CALHOUN (to nurse): This man’s gonna need sixty cc’s of colonoscopy, nurse.

FREDERICO: Whats-a wrong-a with me-a?

CALHOUN: Sir, I’ve just diagnosed you with sensitive nipples. Luckily, you’ll be okay.

(Dr. Calhoun could not have been more incorrect at that time. Tortellini was actually suffering from  sfogliatelle-induced heart failure, and had already expired by the time Calhoun made his diagnosis. Calhoun, in customary practice, wrote “natural causes” on the death certificate and went home. Sadly, he missed the two hit men hired by Frederico in his will, now out to get him. Cut to commercial with Calhoun considering offering medical assistance to a wealthy woman and her friends who have just been in an accident, but instead deciding that his appointment with the stylist is far more important.)

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You ARE The Father!

6 Jan

Last week, my father, brother and I, looking for a wholesome family bonding experience, sat down on the couch to watch The Maury Povich Show. I was so inspired I’ve decided to start my now paternity test show. Please enjoy this sneak peek:

(I am sitting on the left, with a man, Dominique, and his girlfriend, Tanganyika. They’re desperately avoiding eye contact, though their passion for each other is unmissable.)

ME: Tanganyika recently gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, Clare, (cut to video monitor with picture of Clare). However, Dominque has concerns over whether he is the father. He has heard rumors that his iguana, Tico, is really Clare’s daddy, and came to me to help smooth this matter over. Dominique, let’s hear your side of the story.

DOMINIQUE: I thought I was the father, until my aunt’s cousin’s book club member’s swim coach’s dad said he had heard that Tico was the father of the baby. Then, I didn’t know who to trust so I came on the show.

ME: And Tanganyika?

TANGANYIKA: I don’t know why I’m here. I know for a fact Dominque is the father of my baby, cuz I never even met Tico, except when I helped Domique clean the cage.

ME: Let’s get Tico out here, and here his story.

(Tico enters from stage left. He looks confused and lizardy.)

ME: Nice to have you here, Tico!

TICO: …

DOMINIQUE: See, TIco has diabetes, and so does Clare. That’s why he’s the father!

ME: Actually, Clare has Type 2 diabetes, which isn’t hereditary. Also, her diet consists of KFC Baby Food and Lucky Charms, so the diabetes thing isn’t really evidence.

(Dominique is gazing at the wall. His eyes aren’t focused and a small bead of drool is falling from his bottom lip.)

ME: Well, let’s get the results. When it comes to one-year-old Clare, Dominique, you are the father!

(Dominique and Tanganyika embrace tearfully. Tico runs into the studio audience and eats a fly in the corner of the room. Dominique stops him, since his blood sugar is through the roof already. Cut to commercial.)

ANNOUNCER: After the break, we talk to Abraham, who is trying to stop his daughter from marrying a coffee mug.

This picture looks like it belongs in a cult dining room.

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That’s So 1%

31 Dec

Now that the Occupy movement has largely disbanded, I can be less fearful of their mob mentality when I ridicule them on a public forum. So, without further ado, a sneak preview of my new TV show, Thats So 1%.

(Lilac, the matriarch of the Chesterfield family, is sitting at home with her son, Chauncey. Lilac and Chauncey are seated on a velvet couch. Lilac is wearing a yellow sundress and an oversized white sunhat. Chauncey is still in his pajamas, and is desperately trying to persuade her that it is December, and sundresses are a little out of season.)

LILAC: Chauncey, if it were December, why would I be wearing a sundress?

CHAUNCEY: That’s precisely the point, mother. It’s 23 degrees out there.

LILAC: Here, enough of this petty arguing. Let’s ask Mellamo.

(Mellamo was the long-time maid of the Chesterfield family. Surprisingly enough, her name is actually Guadalupe, but when she first arrived at the home, she introduced her self by saying, “Me llamo Guadalupe,” and the name stuck.)

MELLAMO: Actually Miss Lilac, it’s way too cold for the sundress. Perhaps I should get you the coat you had made last winter, the one with a lining of baby seal. Environmental carelessness is a most becoming look for you.

LILAC: You know what, all this debating has tired me out. I don’t really feel like leaving the house today.

(Lilac, longing for the days when her children couldn’t point out her innumerable character flaws, walks across the room to a cabinet and gestures toward a photo album situated on the third shelf, about as high as Lilac’s navel.)

LILAC: Mellamo, can you get this? I’m far too frail to get up on the step ladder.

(Mellamo gets the photo album resentfully, no step ladder required. Lilac settles down on the couch with the album and opens up to a page full of pictures from the vacation house in the Cape. She settles down and flashbacks to a favorite memory from their vacations. Lilac is seen recalling her bridge partner, Tabitha, describing to her how her husband was taking her on a walk through the downtown, to window shop in those delightful little stores. Lilac, not to be outdone, hired a pilot to fly her over the downtown, where she window shopped from above.)

LILAC: Oh, Chauncey, isn’t this picture just delightful? You were all so cute.

CHAUNCEY: Yes, Corinth [his younger sister] was just the funniest little trust fund baby in town. And there I am, a trust fund toddler.

END SCENE

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Freshman Tries to Be Sophomoric

18 Dec

My cousin Harris said I need to include more kid’s jokes on my blog. So here goes:

SCENE: (The Book Worm is a small independently-owned book store on Oak Street. They are having a celebrity author, Steve Buttface come talk about his choice in the GOP race, along with an esteemed local politician, Selectman Cathy Poopyhead. A small crowd has arrived to hear their intellectual back-and-forth.)

Buttface: In my opinion, Newt really doesn’t have what America needs in terms of a role model. We need someone who displays excellent morality, and a willingness to sacrifice himself for his country.

(Buttface farts violently as Poopyhead prepares her retort. The book store staff is quickly overwhelmed with orders for scented bookmarks.)

Poppyhead: You know, I agree with you on some level, but we need a good leader before a good person. I would happily elect a candidate whose leadership potential is such that it overshadows his somewhat flawed personal life.

Buttface: Cathy, I agree with you on some level, but I dream of the day when both qualities can reside in one candidate. Unfortunately, I have yet to see that in anyone running this year.

(Poopyhead prepares a chart showing approval ratings in major swing states. Instead, she accidentally comes upon a picture of Calvin urinating on key figures in the Democratic National Party. The crowd erupts in laughter.)

Buttface: You know, a great philosopher once said, “All men’s souls are immortal, and so is the left bumper.”

Poopyface: That’s not a real quote! Name your source!

Buttface: The Socrates pinball machine at Dave & Buster’s.

(Buttface pauses for a moment and excuses himself, as his publisher is calling. Apparently, the conversation was being reported on by several national news outlets. Sales of his book, I Feigned Intelligence and You Can Too, are plummeting due to his referencing arcade games. The book store staff quickly takes the microphone and announces that the book-signing has been cancelled. The crowd, feigning intelligence, sits down and shouts that they are occupying the book store. Within minutes, several pizzas arrive, having been donated by the “Poopyface 2012” campaign.)

CURTAIN

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Lose 15 Pounds, No Eating Required!

14 Dec

Millions of American women subscribe to a women’s health or beauty magazine. While the tips these periodicals offer can do wonders for your growing crows feet, or help you lose those last few inches by Christmas, they’re doing more harm than good when it comes to marriages. Don’t believe me, read this dialogue:

(Rod and Calvin are two middle-aged men on a pheasant-hunting trip. Rod is driving, and both have wives at home. Rod alerts Calvin as they cross the Kansas-South Dakota border. Calvin hurriedly checks the map as they remember there is no Kansas-South Dakota border. Rod is picking the M&M’s out of a store-bought trail mix.)

ROD: (firmly) I’ll tell you Cal, Nancy’s off her rocker. Just last week, I saw her rubbing honey on her forehead. Something about wrinkles.

CALVIN: (with curiosity) Yeah, Janet does the same thing. I tried to ask her about it, and she said something about “feeling old today.”

ROD:  (with gusto) Are you never making her feel special? Nancy pulls that crap on me all the time. It’s ridiculous.

CALVIN: (angrily) I’m just getting started. My boy, Kenneth, he came in from the snow. Janet thought his skin looked dry, so she made him hold pieces of bologna on his cheeks.

(Calvin flips on the radio, and settles on WJCR, a radio station based out of Omaha. He smiles as he recognizes his favorite broadcast, Mustangs, Chargers and Jesus: The Mid-West’s #1 Christian Car Show.)

ROD (lacking enthusiasm): Tell me about it. So I was putting up some Venetian blinds for Nancy, and I busted my back. For a whole week she made me bathe in a tub filled with corn flour. I was breaded like a chicken cutlet.

CALVIN (irritated): Where in the hell are they finding these tips? I swear, next time she makes us quinoa for dinner, I’m getting up. I don’t care if the “Mind and Body” column called  it a miracle grain, I want pork chops.

ROD (inquisitively): Speaking of which, you hungry? There’s a saloon off the next exit.

CALVIN (sassily): No, not there. I hear they cook the riboflavin right out of their arugula salad.

(Curtains fall as Rod tells Calvin how his daily foot soak really lowers his stress level.)

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