SUPER-QUICK MOVIE DIALOGUE III: ALSO ALSO THE NEWS

CINDY: Good evening, this is the News Evening. In tonight’s news, tragedy struck in Iraq. Also, people in the automobile industry lose their jobs. Also also, Spain has an earthquake. Ken?

KEN: Thank you, Cindy. Spain had an earthquake. Also, the Dow dropped two billion points. Also also, a car crash held up traffic. Also also also, a baby giraffe was born. Also also also also, the movie Punisher: War Zone. Cindy?

CINDY: The weather report. Also, rain. Also also, windy. Also also also, sunshine. Also also also also, weekend forecast.

KEN: Opinion! Also, angry! Also also, sadness. Also also also, racism. Also also also also, liberals! Also also also also also, summing up.

CINDY: The lighter side. Also, panda bears. Also also, babies of celebrities. Also also also, Muppet profanity. Also also also also, old people!

KEN: Sports. Also, baseball scores. Also also, highlights. Also also also, drugs. Also also also also, pithy commentary.

CINDY: Good night.

KEN: Also, tomorrow.

SUPER-QUICK MOVIE DIALOGUE II: WORLD’S WORST RACIST

ABE: It’s like this, black people be all, “I fell in to that burning ring of fire, yo!”
BEA: Okay.
ABE: And white people be all, “Ssh! Can’t talk. I’m a total mime.”
BEA: Got it.
ABE: And orange people be all like, “I love the whole tanning scene, but I fear the sun and its blinding cancer rays.”
BEA: Still with you.
ABE: And blue people be all, “Smurf smurf smurf smurf smurf smurf smurf.”
BEA: Still following.
ABE: And furry people be all, “Grr, I’m the animal kingdom! Growl, slobber, pet sounds!”
BEA: I will accept that as fact.
ABE: And lady people be all, “My hair! The shoes! Dresses, dresses, purses and ponies!”
BEA: Wait a minute.
ABE: And man people be all, “Sports and math! Cars, cars, racetracks and urinals!”
BEA: You can’t say that!
ABE: Why not, mysterious stranger?
BEA: It’s racist and probably inaccurate.
ABE: What? What? What? What?
BEA: I’m deeply offended by your racial stereotypes of the two only genders.
ABE: Listen, sweet peeps, that’s not racism. That’s sexism. You are truly the world’s worst racist. Take it from me. I should know.
BEA: I’m so embarrassed. Is my face red?!
ABE: No. If it were red, you’d be all, “Commie? Native American Indian? Your guess is better than mine.”

SUPER-QUICK MOVIE DIALOGUE I: MALIGNANT LOVE STORY

BUTCH: Excuse me!

FLAX: Hello there.

BUTCH: You are in my way!

FLAX: I know. Isn’t it quirky, how I know I’m in your way, but am doing nothing about it?

BUTCH: I can’t tell, I’m too uptight to notice anything about you. I’m a super-lawyer-executive at a major company firm, and I need to continue moving. My job is my life, it envelops me like an envelope from Manila.

FLAX: But you are not happy. You must live life to its fullest, like I do. For now.

BUTCH: You are so right. What a life-changing and expedient breakthrough. But how do I do that?

FLAX: You must be quirky and mysterious like me. For example, eat raw foods, design unusual hats, speak in made-up languages. Ka-nood-doo!

BUTCH: What does that mean?

FLAX: I don’t know, I lost my made-up language to English dictionary. Isn’t that quirky?

BUTCH: And how your sweater is multi-colored and wool. My stark business attire pales in comparison.

FLAX: I know. Also, I am dying.

BUTCH: No, you’re not. That can’t be.

FLAX: Yes, it’s true. I have cancer of the quirk. I only have a few more sentences to live.

BUTCH: But I love you. And love means never having to say you have cancer.

FLAX: I know, that’s a symptom of the disease. You loving me. You’re killing me with kindness, in a truthful, medical way.

BUTCH: I am sad, but also happy. You have made me realize how important living life to the fullest is. I’ve quit my job and taken up my life’s passion: drawing loving caricatures of kids with Down’s Syndrome. It’s such a bizarre, non-alcoholic cocktail of emotions. Is there a word for this feeling?

FLAX: Ka-nood-doo!

BUTCH: You knew all along. You quirky, dying minx.

FLAX: My dying wish is that you’ll never forget me.

BUTCH: I’ll try my best.

MATCH WITS WITH THE CSI-ERS!

“But I’m innocent, I swear it!” the burly man sobbed as he was drug away by the boys in blue.

“You’ll have plenty of time for swearing- in jail!” Gil exclaimed.

HOW DID GIL KNOW THE BURLY MAN WAS GUILTY?

A microfiber found in the baseboard of the crime scene was put through multiple tests and dusted for prints. The fiber was found to be of a very specific hypoallergenic material, and based on the fall ratio, determined to be from the left hand. After a thorough forensic examination of the suspect’s glove collection, a match was found for the left hand, and blood samples of the burly man found he was positive for the allergy in that selfsame hand. Case closed!

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“I don’t know how you could have ID’d me in the brutal glare of the Miami sun, but I did run over that man,” the blonde female lady admitted.

“I wear… sunglasses,” Horatio rasped, removing the sunglasses for the dramatic effect.

HOW WAS HORATIO REALLY ABLE TO ID THE BLOND FEMALE LADY?

The tread marks left by the murderer’s vehicle were photographed by a state-of-the-art camera, using a high-powered lens, and deconstructed painstakingly for any unusual patterns. It was discerned that not only was it a Chevy Nova, but that certain treads were less distinct, and trace elements of a very specific mineral were found both in the treads and at the scene of the crime, as well as in the clothing and skin of the runned-over guy. This very, very specific mineral was found only in certain parts of Miami, and happened to be in the driveway of the blond female lady, as well as the treads of her Chevy Nova. Nice work, detective!

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“I confess, I did it!” the gothic teenager cried.

“I knew it,” Mac muttered under his breath.

HOW DID MAC KNOW THAT THE GOTHIC TEENAGER HAD DONE IT?

He had just confessed but a second earlier. It was almost too easy!

911 IS A JOKE… NOT!

Devotees of this fine blog site know I enjoy a good jibe, jest, japery, jibble and even the occasional jaquasephat. However, despite the misleadingly hilarious title, this is serious business. Much like prescription drugs, videogame cheat codes and your very own genitalia, 911 is to be used sparingly and never abused. Emergencies only! This should go without saying, but it doesn’t because some ravishing Rick Rudes feel they can take advantage of this, the most important number in the English phone book. So I’ve laid down some dos and don’ts for 911, in case you’re not in the know. Where? Down there!
DO: Dial 911 if you or your house has been robbed, you or your house is on fire, or you or your house has been poisoned.
DON’T: Dial 911 if you’re angry that your favorite television program is a rerun, if your dinner turned out too salty or, conversely, not salty enough, or if your neighbor’s children are too unattractive. Or, conversely, not unattractive enough.
DO: Dial 911 if you’re having a heart attack.
DON’T: Dial 911 if your neighbor’s unattractive children are having singular or collective heart attacks. This is called Darwinism, and it’s not against the law.
DON’T: Dial 911 and ask if their refrigerator’s running. They have no refrigerators at 911 Emergency Central, and will not get the joke.
Lastly, DON’T: Place 911 on hold for any reason whatsoever, unless you cannot stop the bleeding, the gunman demands it, or you have a personal dedication announced on the radio. 911 isn’t heartless (depending on the situation, they may have called it in!)
Thank you for your attention during this post. Now that it’s over, we can get back to doing what we do best- being pants-stitchingly funny! See you then!

A DAY AT EVILCO, THE EVIL CORPORATION

Dirk Satan slid smoothly back into his cubicle. He was just returning from his afternoon 15-minute break, which had taken 45 minutes. This did not matter at Evilco, where the only rule was there were no rules, and even that was more of a guideline than a rule. Sally Matricide, his cubemate, gave him a sly smile. “Working hard?” she asked.

“Hardly working,” he replied. A flirtatious office in-joke between Dirk and Sally was that when one asked a question, the other responded. The sexual tension between the two could have been cut by a knife, and not only because knives were allowed at Evilco. “How about you?”

“Set fire to an orphanage while you were out. It’s a new process I learned. Control-Arson-Delete. I just may get a bonus for that,” she said with a wicked smile. All corporate speak at Evilco was a euphemism. Bonus, for example, was a euphemism for a one-time pay increase.

“Sounds delicious. How would you like to leave early with me? I’m boning up for a 666 Sigma seminar this weekend, and I could use an assistant.” Boning up was a euphemism for sex with a skeleton.

“I’m sure the Big Boss won’t mind,” Sally cackled. The cackle was because the Big Boss was The Devil, and he wouldn’t mind if his employees left early because he’s the CEO of Evilco, a corporation whose motto is: Infinite Evil Infinitely. Infinity is forever and so if the employees leave early he’s still paying them and it’s all a huge waste of money.

I don’t want to put too fine a point on it, but Evilco represents Corporate America. They are all evil and all they do is burn money and cause people pain all day every day. They don’t literally burn money like set fire to it, but figuratively by losing it in the stock market and buying expensive cars and setting fire to it. Basically, that’s all evil and there’s a parallel to Evilco and so, down with the man! That’s what I’m trying to say with my cuttingly satiric metaphor on Capitalist America.

Back in the story, Sally and Dirk have clocked out, which they do by spinning around in a pentagram three times and spitting on a crucifix. Also kicking a kitten. “You know, this boning up could take me all night. I may need your assistance during the entire God-Damned process.” Dirk winked suggestively at Sally and felt comfortable swearing in his evil workplace.

“That will be no problem. I’ll just need to call my trusting husband and neglected children and them I have too much work to do and cannot care for them.” They approached the Hellevator and entered.

“Going down?” asked the bellman, eyes filled with flames.

The flames of Hades!

THE HANDS OF _________(?): A PLAY

For Kirk Klemme

(The scene: stage-right, two cowboys, Ace and Dean, stand facing each other, hands hovering near their holstered guns; center stage, two teenage boys, Jackle and Roy, are mid- high five, in a high school hallway; stage left, a woman, Rita, is giving a massage to another woman Peg, soooo hot!)

ACE: Dean, I’m callin’ you out.

DEAN: I’d like to see you try, Ace. That’d make me, ya know, laugh. Audibly.

ACE: Yer all talk, Dean. Like National Public Radio. But I’m about to put an end to all that talk, and nothin’, not even fundraisin’, will save you.

DEAN: Think again, Ace. I’m about to put you down like Old Yeller, spoiler alert. I’m the quickest draw in this county, and seven of the others, too. That’s why they call me… The Gunnist!

ACE: That’s not what they call you behind your back. And it surely won’t be on your tombstone, when they etch it later today. You think yer so quick; I shoot like I make love. Quickly, violently, and with my right hand.

DEAN: You won’t be making love in Hell, which is where yer headed, once you’ve seen how lightning fast the Hand of the Gunnist are!

ACE: And you’ll be in Hell, once you’ve seen how thunder fast the Hands of Ace are!

DEAN: Yeah?

ACE: Yeah!

DEAN: Then, let’s do this! One!

ACE: Two!

DEAN: Three!

(They draw.)

ACE & DEAN: Bang bang bang bang bang bang!

ACE: I got you first!

DEAN: Bull Frookie!

ACE: Truth Frookie!

DEAN: Dare ya to take a lie detector test!

ACE: Challenge accepted!

DEAN: Fine!

ACE: Fine!

(They exit, as the lie detector is off stage right.)

JACKLE: We did it, yo! We totally pranked the principal.

ROY: I know, yo! We totally glued all of his office supplies to the ceiling.

JACKLE: Including his secretary.

ROY: Yeah! We should probably break this high five and look less conspicuous.

JACKLE: Dude! I can’t, yo!

ROY: Oh, no, yo! I can’t, either!

JACKLE: There must be some residual glue on our hands.

ROY: That’s some strong glue.

JACKLE: Much like the gorilla for which it’s named.

ROY: This is bad, it’s like getting caught with your hand in the Frookie Jar.

JACKLE: The jar being a metaphor for our prank, yo.

ROY: What should we do?

JACKLE: We could cut off our hands. There’s a table saw in the teacher’s lounge.

ROY: I can’t part with my hand. The Hands of Roy are a matched set, yo!

JACKLE: As are the Hands of Jackle.

ROY: I guess we’re stuck this way. The Hands of Jackle and Roy are forever fused together. Bound by friendship, like the river to the ocean, like the ocean to the clouds.

JACKLE: That’s beautiful, yo. You’re a regular Leonard Koan.

ROY: Of course, we’ll have to change our schedules so we have class together.

JACKLE: And I’ll have to divorce my wife. Getting married in high school is so One Tree Hill.

ROY: That it is, yo. That it is.

(They exit.)

PEG: Oh, Rita, you are a miracle worker.

RITA: Oh, no, I’m just a masseuse. If I were a miracle worker, I could teach you how to say water in sign language.

PEG: With your hands, I don’t doubt you could.

RITA: Please, the Hands of Rita are nothing special.

PEG: No, your hands are like a gift from God. They are amazing, incredible things.

RITA: Well, thank you.

PEG: Your feet are nothing special. And your forearms are nightmarish. Really, the ears look like sea shells that would sound like the most boring ocean in the world.

RITA: The Arctic Ocean?

PEG: That’s the one.

RITA: You should talk! Your thighs look like they’ve stowed away a dozen too many Frookies, and your nose is so upturned, I get vertigo just thinking about it.

PEG: Oh yeah? Well, your hair looks like a cascade of heinous, and your breath smells like a cascade of anus!

RITA: I never! Your hands, the Hands of Peg, are humongous! They’re like a cross between a sumo wrestler and a dinosaur hand!

PEG: How dare you! You know that I use my hands every day in my line of work. As a professional student, I raise my hand multiple times on a daily basis.

RITA: I know, and you might want to retire- early!

PEG: You know where to hurt a girl. Right in the Hands of her Emotions.

RITA: What can I say? I have a gift, and you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

PEG: That’s true of all horses, and you know it!

RITA: I’m sorry. I don’t know why we attack each other like this. It must be the way society makes us question our body image.

PEG: Yes, it’s up to society to fix this. It’s in the Hands of Society.

RITA: Well put, Peg.

PEG: This is the 60^th line.

(Curtain.)

THE CRITICS WEIGH IN: BLURBS FOR A NONEXISTENT NOVEL

“Like Charles Dickens on acid, or Hemingway meets Frankenstein.”

-New York Book Review Publication


“A tour de force, a Tour De France, a Francis Buxton, I just watched Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure!”

-Joan Bunke


“Reminiscent of John Grisham, only without the pretentious, hacky undertones.”

-Tom Clancy


“It’s Tennessee Williams on heroin, or Truman Capote on Tennessee Williams, fun for the whole family!”

-Seattle Evening-Morninger


“Tom Clancy is a prick.”

-John Grisham


“Prose resembles Raymond Carver on Prednisone, or maybe a generic brand knock-off Prednisone.”

-Los Angeles


“John Grisham is a no-talent freak who attacks other authors in blurbs.”

-Tom Clancy


“Like an acid trip on heroin, wrapped in a hash brownie and in cardiac arrest, a real page-turner.”

-The FDA


“You started it!”

-John Grisham


“Did not!”

-Tom Clancy


“Did too!”

-John Grisham


“Guys, please stop fighting. This argument is like an acid trip in cardiac arrest on speed. It needs to stop.”

-Sue Grafton


“Moo!”

-Jane Smiley

FREE THROW: THE THROW OF THE FREE

Howdy-ho, sports fanaticals, Ricky Skipjack here to give you the hottest pointers on the mad mad mad mad March activity du jour known as basketball. AKA hoops, round ball, the sweaty science, the magic dance, or Arch Rivals. Basketball dates back to prehistoric times, when cavemen used to play it exactly as it is played today, using dinosaur eggs for the ball and brontosaurus mouths for the hoop. Every time they scored, the brontosaurus would look into the camera and quip, “It’s a living.”

The first and most important skill to learn in basketball is the Free Throw. Though worth fewer points, the Free Throw is the shot du jour in these troubled economic times. Some find this to be the most difficult aspect of the game. The deafening silence of the spectators and the blindening glare of your teammates. Sweat pouring from your furrowed, craggy brow onto your expensive, eponymous sneakers. Nerves jangled, like loose change or precarious flatware. You feel as though the fate of the entire game rests squarely upon your round shoulders, like a square rested upon round shoulders. But hey! I’m here to tell you that shooting Free Throws is a cinch! Just follow my instructions and you’ll see, it’s like throwing candy at a baby.

Step One of this process is the dribbling. This is a very, very important step, which establishes dominance over the ball. Dribble the ball twice, once with your left hand, and once with your right. Next, cradle your right hand just beneath the airhole, or anus, of the basketball. Then cradle your left hand beneath your own airhole. Glance both ways, eyes slits, whistling tunelessly (if you must whistle a tune, choose your least favorite Christmas Carol.) What you’re doing here is creating tension, between yourself and the ball, between yourself and your teammates, between the ball and your teammates, between the ball, the spectators, yourself, your teammates, the ball and the spectators. As the tension mounts, release the ball slowly and arc it through the air, preferably toward the basket. This is One-Hundred Percent guaranteed to succeed, however if it does not, be sure to have smoke bombs handy and make a showy, but stealthy disappearance by throwing them and dropping out of sight through the secret trap door you installed before the game. If you do not do this, you may be crucified on the hoop and left there for the rest of the season. And nobody wants that! But this is highly unlikely. Basketball can be dangerous but it’s fun, they mostly say. So get on out there and swish up some points for the Gipper!

APRIL FOOL'S POST!!!???!!!???!!!...///???

HAHAHAHAHAHA! I'VE HACKED INTO M.J. HANSEN'S WEBSITE! BLAH BLAH STUPID STUPID FART NOISE FART NOISE! YEAH, BOY! I'M TOTALLY SCREWING UP YOUR UNO-HUNDIETH POSTING EVER! APRIL FOOL TO YOU! SLOP TO YOU! YOU'LL NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER REBOUND FROM THIS AGAIN EVER EVER EVER! HA! HA!

YR WELCOME, BLOGOSPHERE!

Signed,
The Pranxster.

PS: Totally April Fool's, you guys, it was me all along. I had you going there, though, didn't I? Like Andy Kaufman, or Borat. Or Sandy Duncan, faking she's Peter Pan. I totally had you, too, didn't I? I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, and obviously you accept my apology.
More posts coming soon!