Sketch: Insult Doctor

CAST:

DR. GROSSMAN-- a gross doctor.

MR. LERMAN-- a bewildered patient.

SETTING:

Examining room in a doctor’s office.

DR. GROSSMAN is examining his patient with the stethoscope, listening to his chest.

DR. GROSSMAN

Uh-huh… I see. Well, this confirms what the x-rays showed.

MR. LERMAN

Please don’t keep my in suspense, Dr. Grossman. Is it bad?

Doctor grossman takes the stethoscope out of his ears.

DR. GROSSMAN

I’m gonna be honest with you, Mr Lerman. Your immune system is a real pussy.

            MR. LERMAN is taken aback by the colloquial language.

MR. LERMAN

Okay, very funny. Wasn’t expecting the locker room talk, but, seriously, Doc, what’s going on with me? I keep catching colds, and then it takes forever to get rid of them.

DR. GROSSMAN

That’s because your immune system is quite the pussy. Nothing funny about it, in my opinion.

MR. LERMAN

            (rolls his eyes)

Look, I get it. My immune system’s weak. That’s why I’m here.

DR. GROSSMAN

It’s not weak at all. In fact, it appears to be a very strong pussy.

MR. LERMAN

Can you please just use medical terms?

DR. GROSSMAN

Mr. Lerman, the white and red blood cells in your immune system have undergone a process of transformation, wherein they have recombined to form a fully functional, finely-trimmed, and all-around attractive pussy.

MR. LERMAN

What? No, that can’t be true.

DR. GROSSMAN

Granted, I’m no gynecologist, but it really is one of the best I’ve seen. Truly stunning.

MR LERMAN

This makes no sense. I want to see the x-rays for myself.

DR. GROSSMAN

I’m sorry, I’m afraid those aren’t available right now.

MR. LERMAN

What do you mean? You said you had looked at them.

DR. GROSSMAN

I have. But they’re not here at the office.

MR. LERMAN

Well, then where are they?

DR. GROSSMAN

They’re, um, at my home office.

MR. LERMAN

Your home office? Wait a minute, what’s going on here?!

DR. GROSSMAN

Mr. Lerman, you need to face the facts. You no longer have an immune system. Instead, you have a beautiful, pink, pouty-lipped pussy. One that makes me dream of being on the nude beaches of the Cape d’Agde in the heat of July. 

MR. LERMAN

I knew it! You took home those x-rays of my immune system so you could masturbate to them, didn’t you?

DR. GROSSMAN

Mr. Lerman, when people undergo a health event, it’s normal to feel confused, even angry. But it’s important to manage expectations.

MR. LERMAN

You’re telling me this is my fault?!

DR. GROSSMAN

It’s nobody’s fault. That’s precisely my point. It’s just a matter of perspective. Sure, you no longer have the ability to fight off disease on your own. But look on the bright side: you’re walking around with a Danish porn-grade pussy rattling around inside you, one that would be the toast of every swingers’ circle on the Cape.

MR. LERMAN

You’re a filthy pervert! It’s doctors like you who give medicine a bad reputation!

Spotlight on DR. GROSSMAN.

DR. GROSSMAN

And its patients like you who make me realize why I got into medicine in the first place. The wonder of nature. The marvel of the human body. The fundamental mystery of life. It all comes from the pussy.

            Dr. Grossman gently touches Mr. Lerman’s chest.

DR. GROSSMAN

You now hold that mystery inside you, Mr. Lerman.

            Spotlight shifts to Mr. Lerman.

MR. LERMAN

            (suddenly awestruck)

I… I… guess I never thought of it that way before, doctor. I hold the mystery of nature inside me.

DR. GROSSMAN

Yes, and thanks to modern medicine, I now hold a picture of that mystery at home in my sock drawer next to a tube of Astro-glide.

            Blackout.

Sketch: Robotic Arm Cafe

CAST:

ERNEST: An over-eager employee with forced enthusiasm

SUSAN: A customer who just wants a cup of coffee

ROBOTIC ARM: A robotic arm that makes coffee and sounds like the apocalypse

A cafe in San Francisco.

ERNEST stands beside the electronic kiosk at the front. Behind the counter, a robotic arm is busy making coffee drinks.

SUSAN enters.

ERNEST

Welcome in, m’am! Would you like to try our matcha cashew latte?

SUSAN

Nope, just looking for a cup of coffee. So, how’s this work? I’ve never had my drink made by a robotic arm before. Do I order with you?

ERNEST

No, m’am! You order right here at this electronic kiosk and then your order is instantly sent to the robotic arm. The robotic arm then makes your beverage (guaranteed in under 90 seconds or it’s free), and calls your name as soon as it’s ready.

SUSAN

Wow. The robotic arm does all that, huh?

ERNEST

Yes, m’am! It’s incredibly talented, the robotic arm.

ROBOTIC ARM (V.O.)

(in ominous and grating robot voice)

Matilda, you’re soy latte is ready!

SUSAN

Jesus, that’s quite a voice. I think I felt it in my ovaries.

ERNEST

(laughing disingenuously)

Yes, it takes a second to get used to. But, I assure you, m’am, you quickly come to appreciate the sonorous qualities of the robotic arm’s voice.

SUSAN

Really? I find that hard to believe.

ERNEST

Well, the robotic arm is capable of a whole host of feats that beggar belief. You’d never guess its many talents-- its velvety smooth baritone voice being one, as well as its knowledge of human pressure points and orifices.

ROBOTIC ARM (V.O.)

Vijoy, your iced vanilla macchiato is ready!

SUSAN

Holy christ! That thing’s voice sounds like someone dropped their retainer in the garbage disposal while riding through a tunnel on BART.  How can you stand it?

           

ERNEST laughs nervously.

ERNEST

Ohhhh, it doesn’t sound like that at all! Unless, of course, a retainer, upon falling into the whirling blades of a garbage disposal, resonates like the spring melody piped on a wood nymph’s pan flute. For that is precisely how sweet the voice of the robotic arm is!

SUSAN

Dude, are you okay?

ERNEST

I’m wonderful, m’am! Why would you ask that? You’re acting as if I’m being held here against my will by the robotic arm…

(Discreetly nods)

… which I most certainly am not.

SUSAN

Wait, what?

ERNEST

I mean, it’s not like the robotic arm has burned my passport, frozen my bank account, and is leaving me threatening voicemails. That would be a truly ludicrous thing to allege about a robotic arm!

SUSAN

Uh…. yes. That would be… totally ludicrous.

ERNEST

What were you thinking, m’am? That the robotic arm has a massive inferiority complex about its voice?

(Vigorously nods)

And that the only reason the robotic arm employs me is to countermand the endless stream of wildly offbase remarks about its vocal stylings, which are, to tell the truth, (shouting for all to hear) OF SUCH A CRYSTALLINE TAMBOR AS TO MAKE AN ANGEL WEEP?!

SUSAN

I… I guess...

ERNEST vigorously shakes his head.

SUSAN

I mean, no. Of course not.

            (whispering)

What the hell’s going on here?

ERNEST nervously looks over his shoulder.

ERNEST

(with hollow and desperate cheeriness)

So that was a small coffee you wanted, right, m’am?

SUSAN

You know, on second thought, I’m thinking maybe I’ve maxed out on caffeine today. I think I’ll just--

ERNEST

You’re in luck! The robotic arm make a delicious cup of decaf through its own patented steam-filtration system!

Ernest mouths “Please help me!”

ROBOTIC ARM (V.O.)

Ernest, your brown eye depth charge is ready!

SUSAN

Mother of god, that sounds like the apocalypse! Wait, did it just say ‘brown eye depth charge’?

            ERNEST has an ashen look. His fake smile has vanished. He nods.

            SUSAN notices Ernest’s nametag.

SUSAN

Say, is that your name the robotic arm just called?

            ERNEST nods gravely.

SUSAN

Did you order a brown eye depth charge?

            ERNEST shakes his head gravely.

SUSAN

‘Cause I don’t even see it on the menu…. I mean, it sounds more like an enema….

            (horrified)

Oh god!! I’m so sorry.

            Blackout.

Sketch: HR Interrogation

CAST:

DETECTIVE SANCHEZ: a no-nonsense cop at the end of his rope

DEVIL’S MAW: a hard-ass biker gang dude, member of the Allies of Satan

DREW LURM: an officer from Human Resources

A police interrogation room. DETECTIVE SANCHEZ looms threateningly over the suspect DEVIL’S MAW. 

DETECTIVE SANCHEZ

I’m gonna give you one more chance to confess, dirtbag, and then I’m gonna get medieval on your ass. Now, talk!

DEVIL’S MAW

I ain’t got shit to say to you, pig. Do your worst!

DETECTIVE SANCHEZ

Alright, have it your way.

(Speaking into intercom)

Send in Lurm from HR.

            (to Devil’s Maw)

This is gonna be worse than any beating you’ve ever gotten.

Enter Drew Lurm, balding, with a ponytail, and a beaming smile. He’s carrying a tote bag.

DREW LURM

Well, hi there, team.

Devil’s Maw scoffs.

DETECTIVE SANCHEZ

 He’s all yours, Lurm.

DREW LURM

Allow me to break the ice. My name’s Drew Lurm. He/him. I’m the department’s performance coach and human capital manager and I’m here to facilitate this interrogation. Now, I like to start every meeting with an inspirational quote from Pinterest.

LURM pulls out a print-out of a Pinterest screen capture.

DREW LURM

Just printed this out this morning. Hot off the presses. It says: “Be gentle with yourself. You’re doing the best you can.”

Detective Sanchez and Devil’s Maw both cringe.

DREW LURM

Wow, I think that’s something we can all relate to. Now what, may I ask, is your name?

DEVIL’S MAW

Devil’s Maw.

DREW LURM

My, what an inspiring name. It’s so nice to see mothers getting credit for the work they do. Hashtag moms are heroes.

DEVIL’S MAW

No, not ma-- maw! You know, like the jaws of Satan?

DREW LURM

Ooh, that’s original! I like it. Extra points for creativity there. Now, before we get started, could you tell me your preferred pronouns?

DEVIL’S MAW

My what?

DREW LURM

Your preferred gender pronouns.

            DEVIL’S MAW stands up in indignation.

DEVIL’S MAW

What the hell’s that s’posed to mean?! You callin me a sissy?!

DETECTIVE SANCHEZ

Sit down, scumbag! He’ll call you whatever he wants to call you, you piece of shit!

DREW LURM

Now, Detective Sanchez, we’ve been through this before. You know what happens when we use triggering language…

Lurm pulls out a jar of dollar bills and shakes it.

DETECTIVE SANCHEZ

Ugh, crap.

DETECTIVE SANCHEZ pulls out his wallet and forks over a buck. Lurm looks at him

expectantly. He puts another dollar in the jar.

DREW LURM

Now, Devil’s Mom, you were saying you preferred--

DEVIL’S MAW

Devil’s Maw! And if you question my manhood again, I’m gonna pistol whip you with my dick!

Detective Sanchez looks is about to lose it again, but Lurm puts his hand up to stop him.

DREW LURM

Ok, let’s try channeling that negativity into a productive and positive outlet. Personally, I find there’s no better stress buster than a healthy snack combined with a mindful adult coloring book.

LURM pulls out a juice box, a bird-themed coloring book, and some crayons and slides them across the table.

DEVIL’S MAW

I aint colorin’ shit.

DETECTIVE SANCHEZ

You’ll color every goddamn bird feather in every goddamn page in that book! Or I’m gonna shove those crayons down your fucking throat! You got that, asshole?!

DREW LURM

Detective!

DETECTIVE

Aw frig! Sorry.

DETECTIVE SANCHEZ puts three more dollars in the swear jar.

DREW LURM

Go ahead, Mr. Devil’s Mole. You sip your juice and color that majestic eagle, while you tell me what happened last Friday night, April the 25th. You were at that liquor store, right?

DEVIL’S MAW

I ain’t sayin’ shit.

DEVIL’S MAW sips his juice. DETECTIVE SANCHEZ grows enraged, barely keeping a

lid on it.

DREW LURM

You know what?  Let’s share perspectives. Here’s where I’m coming from: my goal is to empower you to tell your story, so that you can realize your core values and we can all boost our productivity and wellness. Now it’s your turn. What are your goals?

DEVIL’S MAW

Uhh… well... I guess my goals are to cut the balls off every last member of the Hellcats, take over their corner of the meth market, and become chief of the Allies of Satan.

DREW LURM

That’s wonderful. It’s so important to dream big. And it’s really admirable that you aspire to be an ally. It’s one of my own core values. Now, what would you say are the biggest obstacles standing in the way of accomplishing your dreams?

            DEVIL’S MAW begins coloring.

DEVIL’S MAW

Well the Hellcats, for starters. And Hunchback Pete’s always givin’ me shit…

DREW LURM

Sorry, let me just stop you there. Let’s be sure to avoid any derogatory language. So your associate, Differently-Abled Pete... Please continue.

DEVIL’S MAW

Alright. So Hunchback Pete--

DREW LURM

 Uh-uh-uh…

LURM mouths “Differently-Abled Pete.”

DEVIL’S MAW

Yeah, Differently-Abled Pete, whatever. Anyway, he’s always cramping my style, making me feel ashamed of who I am and what I do. Like, last Friday, when I gunned down that liquor store clerk, he was all like…uh….

(realizes what he just let slip)

...Never mind.

DETECTIVE SANCHEZ

 Motherfucker! Did you hear that? We got you, you stupid son of a bitch!

DREW LURM

Detective, how many times do I have to say it? This triggering language is not appropriate in the workplace! What if Mr. Devil’s Moan is an incest survivor? Or the dyslexic child of a single mother with a mood disorder?

DEVIL’S MAW 

Check and check.

DETECTIVE SANCHEZ

But didn’t you hear him? He just confessed. He said he killed the guy!

DREW LURM

I was paying attention to Mr. Devil Meow’s body language, so I can neither confirm or deny what he said. But what I can confirm is that his posture is hunched and closed off and communicates a sense of feeling threatened. He clearly doesn’t feel safe with you in the room.

DEVIL’S MAW

 I don’t. In fact, I feel a little… uh…you know...

DREW LURM

Triggered?

DEVIL’S MAW

Triggered! Yeah, that’s it-- this pig’s triggerin’ me!

DREW LURM

Detective, it’s essential that we create a safespace here in order for all of us to thrive. I’m afraid I’m going to have to realign our personnel and de-staff this interrogation.

DETECTIVE SANCHEZ

What the hell’s that mean?

DEVIL’S MAW

It means you’re fired, asshole!

            Blackout.

Sketch: Author's Table

CAST:

GARY STRUMPF: an adoring fan and painful oversharer (flat upper midwestern accent)

LAIRD PRITCHENS: a polite British novelist on book tour

SETTING:

A book-signing table at Books, Inc.

            LAIRD sits at the table, dutifully signing books with a friendly demeanor.  The next customer in line is GARY. He approaches the table with his copy of LAIRD’S novel.

GARY

Wow! Laird Pritchens in the flesh. I can’t tell you what an honor it is to meet you. I’m a huge fan! 

LAIRD

Thanks so much, and really the honor’s all mine.

            (LAIRD reaches for the book, but GARY is too starstruck to notice.)

Do you want me to sign that for you?

GARY

Oh, gosh-- earth to Gary!-- uh yes!!

(GARY hands LAIRD the book)

I didn’t take three buses and quit my job for you not to sign my book!

LAIRD, assuming GARY is joking, opens the book and readies his pen,.

LAIRD

Three buses? Well, that’s quite a commitment!

GARY

Yep, and I quit my job!

Laird pauses with pen poised above the book.

LAIRD

Wait, did you really quit your job?

            (GARY nods eagerly.)

Well, I hope you didn’t do that solely on my account.

GARY

I sure did. I told my boss that Laird Pritchens was giving a reading tonight in the city, and that if he didn’t give me the time off, he could go suck on a smelly horse dingus, ‘cause I quit.

LAIRD

God, I’m sorry. That’s terrible.

GARY

Yeah, it was a great job, too. Nice people, interesting work, covered all my health insurance. Even let me work around my weekly doctor’s appointments.

LAIRD

You don’t say…

GARY

On account of my fibromyalgia.. Yeah, it’s gonna be virtually impossible to find another job like that one. Oh well, guess the medical bills will start piling up. But I suppose I can always file for bankruptcy again.

LAIRD

(Beat) Uh, well, you’re not alone, my friend. It’s a tough world out there. As Schopenhauer said, life is a constant swing of the pendulum between boredom and desire.

GARY

Clearly that guy never had fibromyalgia. ‘Cause my pendulum swings pretty much between pain and crippling pain. I’d kill to be bored every now and then.

LAIRD

Again, I’m terribly sorry. Now, did you want me to write your name in the inscription? It’s ‘Gary,’ right?

GARY

Oh, right! Hello? Get it together, Gary! Here I am yapping away, and meanwhile you’ve got a hundred eager fans waiting to have their book signed.

            Laird begins to write.

LAIRD

No, it’s no problem...

GARY

Of course, they probably all have a job they can return to in the morning. And a family that loves them. I mean, I bet they didn’t accidentally burn up their whole family at a goat roast.

           

Laird stops writing.

LAIRD

A goat roast?

GARY

Yeah, I’ll never forget the smell that wafted over to the softball diamond--  this was back before my fibromyalgia set in. I distinctly remember licking my lips-- I know most people don’t really do that, but I did, that’s how good it smelled-- and I remember thinking, ‘Man, that goat smells good. I’m glad I cranked up the propane before coming over here to rip some line drives.’ Little did I know that fragrance was the charred flesh of the entire Strumpf family-- four generations up in flames. Worst family reunion ever.

LAIRD

Look, Gary… (beat) it sounds like you’ve had a tough life. All I can say is I’m enormously humbled to know you’ve found some bit of solace in my novels.

GARY

Hey, that’s pretty good. Will you put that in your inscription to me?

LAIRD

Uh, sure. If you like…

            (Laird resumes writing. He pauses.)

Sorry, it’s been a long day. Do you remember what I just said?

GARY

Yeah. You said, “Gary, you truly are the king of literature. Everything I know about writing I’ve learned from you, you big ole loveable horse dingus!”

LAIRD

Now, Gary, you know that’s not what I said.

GARY

Also, “Sorry I made you quit your job.”

LAIRD

What?! I did not make you quit--

GARY

“Love, Laird.”

LAIRD

I’m not writing that, Gary.

GARY

“P.S. Please send your medical bills to my publisher and they will deduct them from my royalties.”

            Blackout.