Monday, September 17, 2012

Ye Olde Skittes

I wroteded these back in April, so if they seem irrelevant, dated, or just hopeless now, you know why. For some of my fresher skits, see Inventing or Sylvia and Daniel or Dude Bros and The Noodle of God.


Committee to "Elect" Mitt Romney

Seated around a table: GEORGE DUBYA, MCCAIN, one or more ROMNEY ADVISERS, ROMNEY himself, SANTORUM, NEWT GINGRICH, MICHELE BACHMANN, and DICK CHENEY. There could be a big banner or sign: "COMMITTEE TO 'ELECT' MITT ROMNEY," with "ELECT" in quotes. Also, we might want to put name placards in front of each “name” character so it’s clearer to the audience who’s who. MITT’S ADVISER(S) should hold a notepad and appear to be taking notes.

SANTORUM is wearing an outfit a douchey celeb might wear-- à la The Situation and Ed Hardy-- but with his usual hyper-Christian minister's hairdo... and possibly dark sunglasses. And definitely a massive gold crucifix. And he still acts like a super-dorky goody-two-shoes, though he tries to be cool in this scene.

NEWT GINGRICH might growl a little and scratch himself like a grumpy dog once in a while during the scene.

DUBYA spends most of the meeting playing games on his mobile device.

MICHELE BACHMANN smiles a huge insane smile and looks insane the whole time. She might be holding a corndog. She never addresses her lines to anyone in particular; she just proclaims things out loud.

MITT ROMNEY: First of all, I'd like to thank my good friends Newt--

NEWT (angry, snarling, maybe batting the air in front of him, like an animal attacking nothing): Nahhr! (Then, muttering under his breath): Mitt Romney, Mitt Romney...

MITT: --and good old Michele--

MICHELE BACHMANN:  Vaccine will make you retarded!
[Yes, she says "vaccine," singular, not "vaccines," plural.]

MITT: --and who could ever forget Mr. Frothy Mix of Lube and Fecal Matter himself, Rick "The Saintuation" Santorum!

(They all clap and cheer, including SANTORUM. NEWT claps and cheers angrily, snarlingly.)

SANTORUM (slouching low and relaxed in his chair, feet up on the table, and chomping a cigar): Thanks, yo.

MITT: Yes, Rick, without you out there stumping against me these last few months, and  you, too, Michele, I could never be made to seem like such a sort-of normal guy!

SANTORUM (acting Jersey Shore-ish): They gonna put me in the movies now! I’m-a be a DJ! M-V-PEEEE!
(does a fist-pump)

MITT (pauses as if considering, then): Yesss... So down to business, gentlemen-- and ladies--

MICHELE (interrupting/talking over MITT): I'm SUBMISSIVE!

MITT: --how are we going to fix this election?

DUBYA: Election??
(giggling, chortling, guffawing) I'n't that somethin' dirty??

(CHENEY leans over and whispers something into his ear.)

DUBYA: Oh! THAT kind of election!
(and he yucks it up some more. CHENEY pats him on the head gently, like a hopelessly slow child.)

CHENEY (brooding, like a super-villain): I'll tell you what we're gonna do. We're gonna build a race of super-Americans, completely programmable from the comfort of our home caves. And we replace the Americans we can't control with these super-Americans. So on election day, nothing is left to chance. Then... it'll all be over. And THEN... it'll all be MINE.
(rubs his hands together in villain fashion)

MITT: I like the way you think, Dick! American needs more men like you!

CHENEY: But am I a mere "man?" AM I?!

MITT: But the thing is, building our own race of super-Americans with all the bells and whistles--

ADVISER 1: And all the apps! Don't forget the apps!

MITT: Well, it's kinda expensive-sounding, don't ya think?

CHENEY: "Expensive?" What do you know about "expensive?!" What do any of you know about anything? Leave everything to me. I have it all worked out, every little--
[Suddenly he freezes. Everyone else freezes for a moment, too, staring at CHENEY, except for DUBYA, who keeps playing video games.]

MCCAIN: Daggnabbit, Dubya, ya forgot to plug him in again, didn't ya?

DUBYA: Gawd, "Dad!" Whatever! Get OFF my CASE!

(DUBYA storms off like an upset teen. MCCAIN gets up and looks around for a power cord and an outlet for CHENEY, and finds neither, but keeps looking, slowly and creakily, 'cause he's old.)

MITT: OK, I guess that about does it for today... Anyone up for steak? Prime rib?

(They all get up and get ready to leave, start moving towards exit. MCCAIN, still hunting, waves his hand dismissively.)

MCCAIN: Cindy's got me on a damn diet. That trollop won't let me eat anything!

SANTORUM: Gotta go. My posse’s waiting. Later, G's!

(Exit SANTORUM.)

MITT (to Michele): How about it, Bach-woman?

MICHELE: Meat!! Americans love MEAT!!

MITT: Well, then!

(MITT and MICHELE exit together. Finally, only MCCAIN and CHENEY, who's still a lifeless robot, are left in the room. MCCAIN sits down again, weary.)

MCCAIN: Dick, Dick, Dick. You don't know how good you've got it. These young folks give me the chilblains.

(Pause. MCCAIN stares off, pensive.)

Aw, Dick. Remember the good old days? Man, we had some times...

(He stares at the CHENEY robot some more, then sighs.)

I guess we better get you back to the lab.

(He gets up, goes over and tries to pick up CHENEY, in a way that looks like he's hugging him/it. MCCAIN has a genuine moment of sad love for all the things that were and the things that might have been. Hold for a moment.)

Aw, heck. What the Hell am I doing? Just let the help deal with it.

(Exit MCCAIN, hobbling off in his old man way.)


----

WAS IT A HATE CRIME?

GEORGE ZIMMERMAN sits on a curb, wrapped in a blanket, looking crazed. A police detective in a suit, pen and notebook in hand, is questioning him. There is a gun on the ground, and what looks like a dead body covered by sheet or something similar. Blue & red lights flash on & off in the background. (Police in this scene can be male or female, it doesn't matter; their names can be changed.)

VO ANNOUNCER/NARRATOR (from offstage): Somewhere in Sanford, Florida...

DETECTIVE JOSÉ: Can you tell us what happened, Mr. Zimmerman, in your own words?

ZIMMERMAN: I saw this real suspicious girl walking around. It was raining and she was just walking around. I knew she must be up to no good.
[The whole time ZIMMERMAN is talking, he is deathly serious and visibly shaken.]

JOSÉ: And what exactly was it about the girl that made you suspicious?

ZIMMERMAN: She was a cute girl. I mean, she was a grown woman. But she had these bangs. And they came to right above her eyes. Big, blue eyes with real long eyelashes. And she was smiling. Like, for no reason. She had this cute little vintage dress on. Very hip. And she acted just like a little girl. [ZIMMERMAN is so serious, you get the feeling he has stared into the face of the devil.]

JOSÉ: Mr. Zimmerman, Was she carrying a ukelele?

ZIMMERMAN: Uhhh... I don't know. I couldn't tell. I didn't see one. But she was very, very cute!

JOSÉ: OK. Stay calm, sir.

ZIMMERMAN: And she was singing... I mean, I think she was singing. I'm not sure. I just started shooting. [ZIMMERMAN starts falling apart, crying.]

JOSÉ: Sir? Sir? What was she singing, sir?

ZIMMERMAN: Something about... cotton. "The fabric of our lives?" Something like that. I just started shooting! I was so scared!
[ZIMMERMAN is now crying uncontrollably, freaking out.]

JOSÉ: It's alright. I understand. [pats ZIMMERMAN on the back] You did the right thing, sir. Do you have anyone not cute who you can stay with tonight?

ZIMMERMAN: I-- I think so.

[A cop in uniform, COP 2,  starts to take him away by the arm.]

COP 2: Come on. Let's go get you some ice cream, buddy.

ZIMMERMAN (confused): Huh? Oh... OK.

[COP 2 exits with ZIMMERMAN. Enter DETECTIVE TED, in a suit like DETECTIVE JOSÉ. TED brings 2 paper coffee cups over, hands one to JOSÉ.]

JOSÉ: The Zooey Deschanel wannabe community isn't going to like this, Ted. They won't like it at all.

TED: Another day in paradise, José.

JOSÉ: It sure is, Ted. It sure is.


----


Iran Away

A sitcom-esque family living room, with couch in center.
BARACK OBAMA and HILARY CLINTON (dressed as 50s suburban sitcom parents, Obama with glasses and with a sweater tied around his shoulders, and maybe holding a pipe), are seated on the couch along with IRAN PRESIDENT MAHMOUD AHMADINEJAD, who’s dressed like a rebellious teenager-- maybe baggy pants, backwards baseball cap (but maybe with a beard, too, because he’s still AHMADINEJAD). OBAMA and HILARY are having a serious talk with “IRAN.”
AHMADINEJAD/“IRAN” should be or at least seem like a small person, compared to OBAMA and HILARY. And he should have bad posture, scrunched low on the couch.
ISRAELI PRIME MINISTER BENJAMIN NETANYAHU stands just behind or off to the side by OBAMA, glowering at IRAN and either punching one baseball-mitted hand over and over with a ball in the other, or practicing his karate moves. NETANYAHU/“ISRAEL” is also like a teen or young adult, though instead of “rebel” clothes he wears military-inspired casual: “Army” T-shirt, camouflage pants, stuff like that.

HILARY (sounding wounded): ...and you used to give us so much more oil. Whatever happened to that?

OBAMA: You know, Ahmadinejad, those nice old Shah people used to get along with us just fine. Why can't you be more like them?

(KIM JONG UN comes skipping in, dressed as a little boy, carrying toy planes and/or rockets in each hand. He is a very bouncy and energetic boy. He plops down on the floor, off to one side, and spends most of the scene playing loudly with his plane or rocket toys, often making annoying sound effects. The others generally pay no attention to him, except for occasionally telling him to pipe down.)

HILARY (to KIM JONG UN): Keep it down, Kim Jong Un. We’re trying to have a serious discussion with your brother.(now flustered, to IRAN): What was I saying? Oh, yeah-- why can't you be more like the Shahs of Sunset Boulevard? Come home, have a talk, and give us some nice jewels every once in a while?

IRAN (whining): But Mom, the shahs were a bunch of corrupt infidels! Why can’t I just do what I want?

OBAMA: Now, now. You know you can’t always do what you want. [Pause.] You can do what we want.

IRAN: But Israel gets to do whatever they wanna do! They’re always bullying me! I don’t even wanna go to school anymore. They take all my lunch money!

OBAMA: I’ve never seen Netanyahu do a thing like that. Why would he want to do such a thing? He’s a good kid, he gets good grades, and he always does his intelligence homework. (pats ISRAEL on the shoulder)

IRAN: That’s what you think. You should see what he does when you guys aren’t around. He grabs my arm and makes me hit myself!

HILARY: Well, Mahmoud, maybe you were asking for it. Could it have been something you did to provoke them?

ISRAEL: I'll kick his ass in front of you if you want. Right here and now. Just lemmy at 'im!

HILARY: That’s enough, Benjamin. Why don’t you go play with those new weapons we bought you?

ISRAEL: OK! [ISRAEL runs out excitedly.]

KIM JONG UN (still playing with toys): I got my rock-ets, I got my rock-ets!

OBAMA: Kim Jong Un, don’t make me use the squirt bottle on you!

IRAN: Mom, Dad, all I wanna do is to enrich uranium to create fuel for my nuclear reactor!

OBAMA: Now, young man, you know what the UN resolutions said about THAT.

IRAN: But the Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty said--

HILARY: Yes, we know. Who do you think wrote it? We were thinking of Russia, dear. We never thought our little shahs would let themselves be deposed in a fundamentalist coup!

(HILARY starts sobbing here. OBAMA pats her on the back and gives her a tissue. She blows her nose loudly.)

IRAN (seeming contrite): Oh, Mama Clinton, I would never use my enrichment program to make the fissile core for a nuclear warhead!

OBAMA: Oh, come on now. Our friends at the Security Council told us you've been expanding your program and now you're enriching uranium to weapons grade.

IRAN (sassy): Who told them that? I don't even hang out with those guys! They don't know ME!

OBAMA: Well, they have their ways. More people have been watching you than you think.

(IRAN gets huffy, crosses his arms, scrunches himself even lower into couch.)

KIM JONG UN: Look at my rocket, you guys, look at my rocket!

IRAN: It's just not fair!

KIM JONG UN (bouncing around, waving his arms, and much louder now): Come see my rocket ship! Come! See! My! ROCKET SHIP! You guuuuuuys!!

(HILARY quickly swats KIM JONG UN’s butt with a rolled-up newspaper. We hear a big EXPLOSION and simultaneously all the lights BLACK OUT.)