Saturday, September 9, 2017

Florida Man

EXT - Florida Everglades, Night

The Florida Skunk Ape skulks around.

Saturday, August 5, 2017

The New Improved Colossus

“Ancient lands? Keep your tired, poor losers.
 Huddled beggars can’t be choosers.
 No refugees. Please. Send PhDs.
 Doctors, wise guys, rich seducers.
 Our golden door needs a golden key.”

Saturday, April 22, 2017


The Coyote is lying on the couch. The Shrink, who looks exactly like Sigmund Freud and speaks with a German accent, is taking notes.

Psychiatrist: Please continue.
Coyote: Well, uh, I'm chasing the Road Runner.
Psychiatrist: Yes. As you have your whole life. Go on ...
Coyote: Well ... I chase it up to this tunnel.
Psychiatrist: A tunnel, ja.
Coyote: Yeah. A tunnel I've painted on the side of a cliff.
Psychiatrist: Mmm-hmm.
Coyote: It's an illusion, right? But ... that annoying little bird goes right into the ...
Psychiatrist: Into the tunnel, ja?
Coyote: Yeah, the ...
Psychiatrist: Enough of this!

Psychiatrist throws down notebook in disgust. Stands up, face red, fists balled, enraged.

Psychiatrist: I fully realize this is highly unprofessional, but you are wasting my time, sir!
Coyote: Wha ...
Psychiatrist: Into a tunnel! Into a tunnel! What do you think this means?
Coyote: I don't ...
Psychiatrist: You are sexually attracted to the Road Runner! That is what it means! It is, of course, what it means!
Coyote: I don't ...
Psychiatrist: You are officially cured, OK? This session is free ... Just get out! Get out of my office!
Coyote: Fuck you, pal.

The Coyote leaves. The Psychiatrist sits back down. Hold a beat. Then the Receptionist's voice chirps over the intercom.

Receptionist: The next patient is here to see you doctor.
Psychiatrist: Please. Send them in.

Door opens. The Road Runner enters. Psychiatrist smiles. Far too friendly.

Psychiatrist: (indicating couch) Please. Make yourself comfortable.

Saturday, April 15, 2017

9 Things That Make You Unlikable

1) Melting ice swans with cigarette lighter. 
2) Setting fire to table napkins. 
3) Farting in yoga studio. 
4) Hitting strangers in the face with dead fish. 
5) Hitting friends in the face with dead fish. 
6) Entering a church at random and heckling the preacher. 
7) Releasing jar of roaches in swanky restaurant. 
8) Cutting off speeding fire truck and shouting, “Hey, buddy! Where’s the fire?” 
9) Dressing up in Galileo costume and dropping lead weights from skyscraper observation deck onto screaming pedestrians below.


Wednesday, March 29, 2017

The Book of McGenesis

The LORD God commanded Ronald, saying, From any delicious item on our menu you may eat freely; but from the Baked Apple Pie you shall not eat, for it is past its expiration date, and you will surely hurl.

Now the King of Burgers was more crafty than any of the burger mascots the LORD God had made. He said to the McWoman, “Did God happen to mention the specific Baked Apple Pie he was talking about? He's obviously not putting a curse on every last Baked Apple Pie there is‚ just the old pies going bad. But how old does the pie have to be? See, I’m thinking that 'expiration date' thing is more of a suggestion. Like, if the Baked Apple Pie has mold growing on it, don’t eat it. Use your common sense. Or your uncommon sense. And I know you weren’t shortchanged in that department. Or any department, baby. You ask me, a McWoman like you is a rare combination of brains and beauty. Now, maybe I’m talking out of turn… But I don’t think Ronald appreciates you. Or You-Know-Who. But I do. You are definitely the hottest item to be found under these golden arches, and I’m the King of Burgers, and I should know. Now, here's my tempting suggestion, if I may be so bold. Let's just put that Baked Apple Pie on my tab. Sweets for the sweet, you dig what I’m saying? It ain’t gonna kill you.”

Tuesday, February 28, 2017

Another Serious Load of the Magic of the Oscars

The Oscar lies on the floor, stage left. Forlorn little statuette all by itself. Also, the edge of an awards envelope, partially in frame.

Hold on Oscar. We hear arguing in the background.

Warren Beatty walks up to the Oscar, picks it up, smiles, and shuffles up to the microphone. 

Beatty: Man. I should really give this shiny little fellow to Arthur Penn. (smiles) So many people to thank. So many. Bonnie Parker. Clyde Barrow. Ha. No, seriously ... Faye Dunaway ... (looks around) Oh, where’d she run off to? (looks again) Damnit, I know I saw her somewhere. (shouts) Faye!

Matt Damon suddenly runs up.

Beatty: Hey. You're not Faye ...

Damon: That's mine, grandpa.

Damon punches him in the face.

Beatty hits the floor like a sack of bad reviews. Oscar rolls from his hands. Damon deftly picks it up.

Damon: Sorry, man. 

Damon walks away. Beatty groans. Damon stops. Turns his head.

Damon: You mind keeping it down back there? If it makes you feel any better, I actually liked "Dick Tracy."

Damon walks up to the microphone, holding Oscar. Beatty still in frame, lying on the floor in the BG.

Damon: (big smile) Wow. A lot of people to thank for this. Ken ... wherever you are, you had a vision, man. Not a happy-happy story but ...

Beatty groans.

Damon: Jesus, man, you sound like the f*** ghost of Christmas Past back there. Look, I said I was sorry. Can I thank the people? You mind?

Beatty groans.

Damon: Hey! You're really starting to piss me off, old man. What the f*** do you want?

Beatty groans. Damon notices he's holding an awards envelope in his shaking hand.

Damon: Oh, f*** me. OK.

Walks over, grabs envelope from Beatty's extended hand. Reads ...

Damon: What? (reads again) "Hacksaw Ridge"...? No f*** way! "Hacksaw Ridge"...?? Motherf*****!!!"

He spikes the Oscar on the stage, kicks over an abstract set piece and stomps off. 

Damon: (OS) Motherf*****!!!"

Once again, Oscar lies prone and abandoned.

Hold on statuette. View of big black shoes entering frame. A liver-spotted hand reaches down and picks up the statuette.

Pull back.

We see it's Mel Gibson, with a long beard and side curls, and sporting a big black hat and long black coat dropped with a prayer shawl. He looks very much like Tevye. And sounds like Mel Brooks.

He strokes Oscar's head, comforting him.

Gibson: Poor little fella. So much tsuris in one night, huh? Let's do this thing, already. 

He approaches mic.

Gibson: Hello people. 30 seconds, I know, I know. Who do I got to thank? Who do you think I got to thank? I'm talking about all you wonderful J--

Sound cuts. Go to wide shot, auditorium.

Music up.

Roll credits.