FSW: Rachael Ray, Terrorist!

Tough choice today. Most of the day, the topic below seemed the most obvious target. Then around 4:30 I heard Harvey Korman had died. I thought about trying to write a sketch in honor of his greatness, but I'm not worthy. I wanted to give him a sendoff fit for a king, but I'm just a lowly piss boy.

So instead, watch and mourn (and by "mourn", I mean "laugh your ass off") here.

Now that I've properly bummed y'all out, here's this week's effort

Rachael Ray, Terrorist!
(We're in the middle of a park on a beautiful May day in our nation's capital, cherry blossoms in full color, wispy white clouds gently tracing paths across the rich, azure sky. Front and center is Rachael Ray, played by a fat man in a wig. She holds a small Dunkin' Donuts. She wears a keffiyeh.)

RACHAEL
Hi! I'm Rachael Ray! When I'm on the road, I can't always whip up a batch of baba ghanoush and big bowl of tabbouleh. So when I'm craving that taste of home, I stop in at Dunkin' Donuts for their all new Falafel Munchkins!

(Opening the box, Rachael plucks out a little ball of fried garbanzo goodness. Between her sausage-like fingers, the falafel ball seems particularly delicate.)

RACHAEL
He's so cute! Look at that.

(She pops it in her mouth and her eyes roll back in her head like a fat man, wearing a wig, possessed by a demon of the sort that likes its garbanzo flour deep-fried.)

RACHAEL
Delish! You can really taste the EVOO they fried it in, too.

(She quickly finishes off four more falafel. She reaches down and picks up a cup of Dunkin' Donuts Iced Coffee.)

RACHAEL
Nothing better to wash down your awesome Dunkin' Donuts Falafel Munchkins than fresh-brewed Dunkin' Donuts Iced Coffee!

(Like a Shop-Vac, she sucks it up the straw and down her mighty gullet.)

RACHAEL
Dunkin' Donuts. It's not just donuts anymore!

CUT TO: News Studio
(Michelle Malkin - played by an Asian man because it is so hard to find an actual Filipino Tranny willing to make fun of one of his/her own - sits next to FOX News anchor Megyn Kelly. Behind them a monitor shows the frozen and deeply disturbing image of Rachael.)

MEGYN
Michelle, tell the viewers at home what bothers you about this ad.

MICHELLE
You're kidding me, right Barbie?

MEGYN
It's Megyn.

MICHELLE
Whatever. Look. That fat cow is wearing a keffiyeh. Anyone who wears a keffiyeh is a terrorist. Anyone who defends anyone who wears a keffiyeh is a terrorist. Yassir Arafat used to wear a keffiyeh and he was a terrorist. Don't you get it?

MEGYN
I'm trying to follow you...

MICHELLE
I'll speak slower.

MEGYN
That would probably help. Thanks.

MICHELLE
Yassir Arafat wore a keffiyeh. Rachael Ray is wearing a keffiyeh. Clearly she's just like him.

MEGYN
Didn't Yassir Arafat also wear shoes?

MICHELLE
What's your point, Barbie?

MEGYN
Megyn.

MICHELLE
Whatever.

MEGYN
You're wearing shoes. Does that make you a terrorist, too?

(Michelle sticks her fingers in her ears and hums and goes LALALALA very loudly.)

MICHELLE
(Sing-song) I can't hear you.

MEGYN
Michelle. Michelle!

(Michelle takes her fingers out of her ears.)

MICHELLE
I hope I've made my point.

MEGYN
Clearly.

I have a statement from Dunkin' Donuts here I'd like to read. It says, "It's a goddamn black and white silk paisley scarf you ignorant slut. And we didn't pick it. But we're going to pull the ads anyway because we're owned by the Carlyle Group and are a bunch of pussies afraid of a loud-mouthed Filipino Tranny."

What do you have to say to that?

MICHELLE
Dunkin' Donuts can lick my balls. At least for the next three months until I see the special doctor.

No one, but no one who wears a keffiyeh should be allowed to live. They should be marched off to concentration camps. And the parents who let their children wear that evil symbol of jihad are worse. That's the most un-American thing a parent can do, is let their children wear a keffiyeh.

(The monitor behind Michelle changes to show a photo of Meghan and Cindy McCain. Meghan proudly sports a keffiyeh. Not a black and white silk paisley scarf that a fashion-less Filipino Tranny might confuse, but a traditional keffiyeh.)

MEGYN
Michelle? Any comments on the photo on the monitor?

MICHELLE
Yeah. Barack Hussein Obama went to a Madrassa and Hilary Clinton is almost as much of a man as I still am.

MEGYN
Thanks, Michelle. We'll be right back.

BLACKOUT

Guest post on Pop Critics

Today is my first guest post at Pop Critics. It's a preview of Charlie Jade, premiering on the SciFi channel on Friday, June 6. Trust me when I say, if you're a regular here (TheWife excluded,) you're probably going to love Charlie Jade. Please head on over there and comment on my piece.

While you're there, take a look around. Pop Critics is a great, burgeoning site run by Jason and Mike that tries to focus on *good* popculture. I highly recommend it, despite my presence.

I'll be doing recaps for CJ as well as Burn Notice or Pop Critics this summer.

George Lucas at it again

There's video above, FeedReader

Please note that Lucas left the "Broadway Melody" ballet alone. Know why? Because Cyd Charisse's legs already are a special effect. At least they have a special effect on me.

via Joshua James

Medieval Tech support

There's video above, FeedReader
Sweet. The day I write a sketch this funny, I give up my day job.

Friday Night Sketch War: Round Sixteen

As the three-day weekend rolls to a close, it's time to announce the winners and losers of this past Friday's battle royale. In another two-man fight to the death,

• Coyote drew first blood with his katana...
• Michael parried with his claymore. What sucked for Coyote, was the Claymore was of the landmine variety.

Winner: Michael.

While we're enjoying the small duels, it's about time some friends and family join in the battle. We're not the only writers here; we shouldn't be the only writers fighting on Fridays. Email a link to your sketch to sketchwar_at_dreamloom.com.

This is what Red States look like

God help us, there's video above.

Why do I hate my neighbors? Because they can't do this shit in their *back* yards. I really, really need to move. And yes, those really, really are my hillbilly neighbors, drunk and disorderly and dumb as shit right in front of my house.

FSW: On the Couch

(Trevor lies on a couch, while behind him Mary sits in a chair taking notes. She is wearing a suit and glasses. Her hair is in a bun held together with a pencil.)

MARY
How are you feeling today, Trevor?

TREVOR
I'm okay. A little sluggish. Didn't get a good night's sleep.

MARY
Yes?

TREVOR
Restless. My dreams were too vivid, I think. Probably shouldn't have had that burrito before bed.

MARY
Tell me about the burrito.

TREVOR
You don't want to hear about the dreams?

MARY
I haven't had breakfast yet. (BEAT) And sometimes a burrito is just a burrito.

(They both chuckle at her bad joke.)

Alright. Tell me about your dreams.

TREVOR
They started out like they always do. I was thirteen and mowing the lawn. It's July and I'm working up quite a sweat. Now, our yard was pretty small, maybe a quarter-acre of grass to mow, but in my dream it's this huge expanse. It's at least three, four acres. And it feels like I'm pushing uphill in both directions.

MARY
(Furiously scribbling notes) Mmmhmm...

TREVOR
I keep thinking I'm going to run out of gas and need to fill up the tank, but it keeps going. Engine sputters a few times, but it just keeps running. The sun's beating down and I'm sweating a ton.

MARY
What are you wearing?

TREVOR
Wearing? I guess I'm in shorts. I've never thought about...no, wait...I'm wearing my uniform from my first job.

MARY
What job is that?

TREVOR
I was the guy in the El Pollo Loco costume who held the sign down by the road. Terrible job. I lasted a month. I think that was a record. That costume smelled like cigarettes and puke.

MARY
So you're mowing the lawn in the costume. Do you have on the chicken head?

TREVOR
No. Just the rest of it. The feet are huge, too.

MARY
(More energetic notetaking) Mmmm...

TREVOR
And then suddenly, I find myself lying by a pool.

MARY
Are you alone?

TREVOR
My mother's there, feeding me grapes. It's kind of weird.

MARY
Are you still in your costume?

TREVOR
No. I'm in swim trunks. And you're there, too, painting my toenails.

MARY
(Notes) I'm there? Hmm. What are your mother and I wearing?

TREVOR
She's in one of those old-timey swimsuits. You're dressed like you are now. Suit, hair up, glasses.

MARY
Very interesting --

TREVOR
-- I love you, Mary.

MARY
No, no, no. You're just projecting your feelings onto me.

TREVOR
No, Mary, really I do.

MARY
(More notes) Mmmhmm. (BEAT) Tell me more about your mother. How does it make you feel when she feeds you these grapes.

TREVOR
I guess it makes me feel good. I was hot and thirsty, and the grapes are cool and moist in my mouth.

MARY
And what do you think the grapes represent?

TREVOR
Represent? I don't know.

MARY
Okay, we'll get back to that. Let's move on to something else. Last time you said you were having some performance issues. How is that going?

TREVOR
I, I just can't get excited anymore.

MARY
Does anything excite you? Any fantasies?

TREVOR
Um, this is kind of hard to say...

MARY
This is a safe place, Trevor. You can say anything in here.

TREVOR
When I woke up from the dream I was pretty excited.

(Mary flips pages, she's taking so many notes now. Her pencil breaks and she pulls the one out of her hair to continue unabated. Her hair falls around her shoulders.)

MARY
I think we're about to have a breakthrough--

(The door opens and Sally, a teenage girl, comes in.)

SALLY
Mom? There's a call for you from the hospital. Something about seizures, or something? One of your patients.

MARY
(Getting up) Thanks, Sally.

SALLY
Dad? Can I borrow the car tonight?

BLACKOUT

The reward for creating a TV show

Fantastic quote from Earl Pomerantz on the difference between writing for TV and film:

Television isn’t like movies. When you write a great movie script, you take your money and you move on to other projects. In television, the reward for success is you stay there, cranking out multiple versions of the same idea. And your time frame for doing so shrinks from months to days.

...you just put your lips together and blow

I've often wondered at the guys on construction sites whistling, calling out, and otherwise crudely commenting on female passersby. Do they hope one day, one of these women will stop and want to meet them? Do these sweaty, smelly, ass-cracked, hairy dudes with beer guts do this instead of Match.com? What do they hope to gain?

I've looked down at these men of course. No more. They're just very, very patient. Whistle long enough, at enough women, and eventually you'll whistle at this girl:

An Israeli tourist who felt harassed when New Zealand road workers whistled at her Thursday stripped naked in response, police said.

Workmen in the small northern farming town of Kerikeri were repairing the main street when the young woman took offense at their attention.

On a balmy late-autumn day, she calmly stripped bare to use an ATM - bringing an abrupt halt to both the whistles and the road work - then put her clothes back on and walked away.

Sgt. Peter Masters said the woman told police she didn't take kindly to the men's wolf-whistles.

I'm going to start whistling today.

Cally? Cassie?

Stopped in at Star$$$ this morning. I had a hankering for an iced black eye to quench my fierce thirst. A thirst what can make a man do terrible things. Things like talking like Mal Reynolds. The closest shop (well second closest, but this one's on my way) is at Kierland Commons. That'll mean nothing to those outside the Valley of the Sun, but folks around here might recognize it as one of the most chi-chi spots in all of Scottsdale, which is a little like being the tallest guy in the NBA.

So I'm waiting - enjoying the bevy of beauties on display - and three young blonde girls come in. They're around 18 or 19 years old and quite cute. Up to the register they go where they start chatting with the guy working the register who asks, "Where's my girlfriend today?"

"Cally?" answers one of the perky possee.

"The one with the...", he trails off while gesturing with his hands to indicate her long, golden tresses.

"Cassie? No. Cally?"

I turn to a guy behind me who's also been following this conversation from afar (the smirk on his face is the tipoff) and say, "Maybe it's Cammy?"

My order ready, I grab and go with a smile on my face. And then it hits me. All these blondes have similar names. I mean, really similar. That's not funny at all.

I'm a Jew. There's nothing funny about blondes with similar names. That's *scary*.

Funny. It even *looks* like a bishop.

I know, I know. I say I'm not blogging much and then follow up with a second post immediately. This is why I like Twitter, though. Much better for quick hits like this. Hits that *need* to be disseminated to the world. In case you missed it, click here for Garry Kasparov and...mother's little flying helper.

I did actually want to add one more thought to the earlier post, though. If there's anything I *should* blog on - some topic where you believe my, um, unique talents are well suited - let me know. What would *you* like to read?

What I'm doing, where I'm going

Like many others, when I write more I blog less. My radio silence over the past few days has been correlated to a small increase in output in general. There were a few Ficlets over the weekend (more coming) and my first post for another (*way* more popular) site which will be showing up in a few days or so. More importantly, my Pushing Daisies spec has an *almost* complete breakdown now.

I'm missing an act out for the second act, and I suspect that's because I've pushed my stakes a bit too high later on in the script. I also want to re-watch a few episodes to see whether I can't swing going out on my B-story for one Act Two. I'm also a little worried that Acts Four and Five have similar outs, but they're probably different enough to be okay. Another hour or two of fine-tuning and I start beating the whole story out. That puts me right on schedule to have this beyatch scripted and out for feedback well early enough to comfortably make the Disney deadline. (Now, if the ABC website would get the new application materials up, that would be awesome.)

If you'll recall, I recently mused about various social networking tools/sites and came up blank on Twitter. Well, I'm starting to get it. If you want to see me snark in 140 character bites, follow me here.

And now two for your entertainment. First, take a look at Mightygodking's thoughts on Obama's running mate.

And finally, here's Chad Vader, back and doing his best Troy McClure impersonation.

There's video above, FeedReader

Friday Night Sketch War: Round Fifteen

If you thought last week's drunken scuffle was an embarrassment, wait until you see this week's slap fight. There's a rumor we might be joined by some fresh blood soon, so this lull in the war might merely be a short-lived ceasefire. Let's hope.

• Coyote wants to make an omelet, so he breaks a few eggs...
• Michael has a date, but someone is ovulating.

Clearly, we need more sketch writers to join in the festivities. Post your best and send an email to sketchwar_at_dreamloom.com.

Trailers from the upfronts

All the previews for the network's new shows - from the sublime of Dollhouse to the idiotic of The Ex List - are available here. Hell, even Fringe looks good to me, though more for Pacey Whitter and less for JJ Abrams. Then again, I've always been a fan of the mightiest Mighty Duck.

Ooh, and I just watched the Life on Mars preview. It doesn't look bad at all. It's possible (fingers crossed) that all the backroom dealing ABC and DEK did in order to effectively push him out of the show will save it. As long as they don't drag on too long.

Update: Link to upfront trailers should be working now.

FSW: In the Coop

In the Coop
(Two women wearing partial chicken costumes sit next to each other on nests on a raised platform. A conveyor belt runs beneath the platform, on which eggs occasionally pass.)

MILDRED
Did you hear? Esther's boy came by her coop for Sunday dinner.

RUTH
My Irving didn't even call on my birthday and you should tell me this?

MILDRED
I was making conversation. You're not the only one whose children don't come by, you know. I haven't seen my Rachel since she moved.

RUTH
Chicks these days. In my day, family was the number one thing. You respected your mother, you respected your father. Now, they're running off to coops as soon as they're old enough to peck their own seed.

MILDRED
No respect for tradition.

RUTH
We lay them, sit on them while they incubate--

MILDRED
--I had the worst case of hemorrhoids when I was incubating my Susie--

RUTH
--and teach them how to live. And how do they repay us? Do they call? Do they write?

MILDRED
I can't read that chicken scratch.

RUTH
That's not the point. Is it asking too much a mother should she her grandchicks? Maybe spoil them a little?

MILDRED
Grandchicks?

RUTH
I...I'm ashamed to say it.

MILDRED
Ruthie, you know me. You're like a sister to me. You can tell me anything.

RUTH
And you'll tell it to all the other hens.

MILDRED
I promise I won't. Trust me.

RUTH
(Ashamed) Sarah's taken up with one of those farkakt Rhode Island Reds. She's been laying for him like crazy.

MILDRED
I'm so sorry, Ruth. All we can do is raise them the best we can. Eventually they have to make their own choices.

RUTH
But a Red?!? I'm no racist--

MILDRED
--I know that, dear.

RUTH
But couldn't she find a nice Jewish Rooster?

MILDRED
Maybe he is Jewish. Like Sammy Davis, Jr.

RUTH
My mother would have fricasseed me if I'd ever taken up with a Red.

MILDRED
These are different times, Ruth.

RUTH
I know. They have no respect for the old ways. No respect for their parents. Now, they just run off with the first cock that smiles at them.

MILDRED
Does she love him?

RUTH
Love?! I didn't love Moishe when I married him.

MILDRED
Neither did I, but we grew to.

RUTH
That's because Moishe was special.

MILDRED
Remember the way he could make the sun come up, just by crowing?

(Ruth and Mildred sigh contentedly and moon for a few seconds, thinking of Moishe.)

RUTH
Oooh! One's coming!

(An egg drops onto the conveyor belt below Ruth and is carried off.)

MILDRED
That was easy. They're never that easy for me.

RUTH
You don't relax enough. You just need to breathe.

MILDRED
Oh! I felt that. I think it's almost time!

(Ruth reaches over with her wing/hand and takes Mildred's wing/hand.)

RUTH
Just remember your breathing, dear.

(Ruth demonstrates Lamaze-style breathing to Mildred who starts doing the same. She makes a face, and an egg drops onto the conveyor belt. Ruth looks down at it and shakes her head.)

A *brown* egg? You too?

BLACKOUT

Broadway Joe vs Hollywood Skank

Joel Keller at TV Squad has an interview with Carter Bays of HIMYM up. They discuss this season, the impact the strike had, the switcheroo casting of Sarah Chalke for Alicia Silverstone, and some other topics. Now, what other topics did they discuse, let me think...oh yah, Brit-Brit. Bays has this to say about how she fit organically into the show:

The example that is always in my mind is it goes to the classic... you know, Joe Namath's tour bus breaks down outside the Brady Bunch house. And he comes out teaches Bobby how to throw a football.

We would never do that. What was great about the Britney thing from the beginning is that it was a funny character that helped fill out the world of this new character Stella as she is related to Ted and it sort of all came out of something natural to the show.

Really? That's the party line? Oh yeah, he also said,

I guess what I'm saying is that there was never a moment where we as writers were like, "This isn't funny but we've got to get Britney on the show so let's do it." I mean, we've – I stand by that episode. I thought it was funny. I thought it was good.

So now I have to assume he's either completely full of shit or a consummate liar. That was the worst episode of the year. And I'm *not* limiting my assessment to HIMYM. I've seen episodes of The Suite Life of Zack and Cody better than the pile of manure I watched this past Monday.

Trust me Carter: I'll take Joe tossing footballs with Bobby Brady over Britney Spears stinkin' up the joint any day and twice on Mondays. I'm not alone.

The clock starts the next time Britney shows up on HIMYM. Every second she's on screen it runs. When the clock hits 15:00, the TV goes off and HIMYM is dead to me.

Pipe Problems

*Sigh*

I'm getting what I deserve, I guess. Trying to get the Pipes beta to work with Blogger, FeedBurner, and the variety of RSS Readers is probably just not going to work right. The RSS feed looks (basically) correct, but what I'm seeing in Google Reader is jacked. I'm posting this piece primarily to see whether the problems were temporary or if they're ongoing. So if you're subscribed (and this actually shows up,) please help me out by answering the following questions in comments:

• Did you see the post immediately below this, "Expanding my media empire"?
• How many copies of "Older and Bolder" and "New(re)born" appeared in your feed?
• What is the average flight speed of a laden swallow?

Thanks.

Expanding my media empire

Much like Rupert Murdoch, I started out small. Just this wee blog with its ones, maybe even tens of fans. After a time it became obvious to all that I needed to make some acquisitions to achieve my goal of total world domination. A broken down mimeograph machine, a pair of walkie-talkies, maybe even a custom license plate holder would have been a step in the right direction, but I went "bolder". I wrote a couple of Ficlets.

I know. Next thing you know I'll be buying the Wall Street Journal.

Anyway, should you want to, you can come read me over there. It's a pretty interesting site, where the pieces are limited to 1024 characters (that's right, I said characters not words) and registered users can write prequels and sequels to any pieces they so choose. I'd be deeply humbled if any of my readers were to join up and write a continuation of one of my stories sometime.

For those of you who follow me through my RSS feed, I've changed that up a bit as well. I created a Yahoo Pipe to consolidate the feed from here and my Ficlets so they'll all publish together. That's done behind the scenes, so if you're already subscribed (and if you're not I highly recommend it to always get the freshest Coyote possible) my Ficlets will soon be appearing in your reader of choice alongside all the great popculture, ranting, and sketch writing you've come to expect. If you aren't already subscribed, click here.

Test your mate

Are you a good spouse?

Rate yourself and your mate using these state of the art scales devised by Dr. George W. Crane.

Daily update for 13 May

This post is a meandering mess. Here are the bullet points (literally:)

• Actually had to write software at work today
• Had a mole removed
• Didn't work on Pushing Daisies spec tonight, though I'm making decent progress
• Wrote my first Ficlet - read it here
  
• Am actually Twittering - stalk me here
  

Lovely day. First off, I had to actually write software at my job today. Real, live software. That's just wrong, man. I'm the guy who surfs the web in the corner and very occasionally busts out a few dozen sweet, sweet lines of code. Today I busted out more like a few hundred. I feel used. A little dirty, too.

This, mind you, one day after the CEO made me Commissioner of Ping Pong. She received some advice from the board to get people out of their offices and moving about. She decided that meant forced jollity. Now me? I play most every day with my friend when we get back from lunch. I enjoy it. A few others do as well. And then there are the majority. The majority who will now get to be pissed off at me because I'm supposed to "encourage" them to go whack the ball around. Lucky me. So coming in today and actually having work to do? Ugh.

Had to bail a little early which means I couldn't even get all the feedback on the work I'd done to know how badly I'd screwed it up. That means I'll have to go in tomorrow and write more code! Will this nightmare never end?!? Anyway, hustled my ass over to Mayo so they could slice a mole off my face. Mmm. Sounds awesome, doesn't it?

This little bastard has been with me my whole life, right in my shaving path. I finally got tired of cutting it once every month or so and decided to have it excised. Thirty or forty minutes later, the cuts were done, the stitches applied, and the massive bandage stuck on. I'm going to look fantastic for the next week. Yay me.

Home to the dogs and wouldn't you know it, my short fuse was shorter than usual. Something to do with the lidocaine wearing off and the phase of the moon and maybe sunspots. I'm not 100% sure. Anyway, they quickly gnawed away my remaining patience. Fortunately, TheWife arrived home before I fricasseed little Wodehouse. She took me out for din-din and I sated my blood lust on a very rare rack of lamb. All better.

That's about it. I should have worked on my Pushing Daisies spec tonight, but I'm feeling a bit sore about the head-al area. Last night was pretty productive at least. I've got the breakdown about half-way complete and have four very solid act-outs. Once I figure out how to end Act Two and fill out the rest of the breakdown I'll be cruising. I should be beating the scenes out come Sunday.

Wrote my first Ficlet and...that's about it.

I've already gotten used to saying everything in the 140-character limit of Twitter. this is *way* too many words. That's right. I'm falling into that silly social networking trap. Said I didn't understand it, but now it's starting to make a little sense to me. Gods help me.

Jury Duty Debrief

Jury Duty.

Two words that strike dread in all but the bravest hearts. A gauntlet of inefficiency, inanity, and ineptitude through which one must pass in order to reach the ultimate goal: getting out of jury duty. For the miserable few who cannot escape the clutches of the system is reserved this eighth circle of hell.

Last week my number was called. Like a character out of Shirley Jackson, I somberly approached my destiny. The fates were not kind.

Selection for our trial spanned two days. Why you may ask? Was this a particularly heinous murder? A complex civil case involving deeply intertwined parties? A social pariah whose time to face terrible sweet justice had come at last? Nah. Just two routine counts of very routine ag-assault. So why two days? His honor likes the sound of his voice.

I'll spare you the boring details. Suffice it to say "he said/she said" isn't really enough to get you beyond reasonable doubt. Especially not when the police investigating the events don't, you know, investigate. It took until Friday morning, but we finished the trial and deliberations and returned our verdicts of not guilty on both counts.

Andrew Thomas, our illustrious¹ county attorney, keeps pushing these bullshit cases down the throats of his prosecutors. Andrew Thomas, who's never *tried* a case before, keeps bogging up the courts with cases that can't be won and then grandstands to the press about the courts obstructing the will of the people.

Maricopa county has the county attorney it elected, but even given the very low esteem in which I hold the people of this county, this is not the county attorney it deserves.

---

1 Wait. That's not the right word. Illustrious...illustrated...animated...cartoon. That's what I meant. Andrew Thomas is a cartoon. He's a cross between Daffy Duck and Foghorn Leghorn without the self-awareness, social grace, or intelligence.

Friday Night Sketch War: Round Fourteen

This week we just had a drunken scuffle between two irate generals.

• Coyote spies on post-coital pillow talk...
• Michael chooses neither paper nor plastic...
• David fired a late shot, too drunk on absinthe to make it out earlier.

Let's get some more battlers next week. Post your best and send a link to sketchwar_at_dreamloom.com.

FSW: Pillow Talk

Pillow Talk
(Mark and Vanessa lie side by side in bed with the sheets pulled up to strategically cover their nudity. Hair is mussed. They've clearly just finished an energetic session of lovemaking.)

MARK
That your thong?

VANESSA
Where?

MARK
Ceiling fan.

VANESSA
Um, no I think that one's yours.

That was...where did you learn that new trick?

MARK
The one with the rolling pin?

VANESSA
No, the other one.

MARK
"The New Yankee Workshop." Norm's a stickler for shop safety, so I figured--

VANESSA
--measure twice

MARK & VANESSA
cut once!

(Vanessa leans across Mark and grabs a bottle of Gatorade from a side table.)

VANESSA
Frost?

(Mark leans across Vanessa and grabs his own bottle of Gatorade from her side table.)

MARK
(Indicating bottle) Orange. I'm old-school.

So...um, that thing you said?

VANESSA
Which thing? About the mold in the basement? Because that wasn't dirty talk. I just think we need to have that looked at.

MARK
No, not the mold. The other thing.

VANESSA
Oh. That. I just...I thought you'd like that. Guys like to hear stuff like that, don't they?

MARK
Um, in the abstract, sure. You were just so...specific. It was unnerving.

VANESSA
How do you mean?

MARK
I mean, saying "you're the best" or "no one's ever made me feel this way" is a hell of an ego boost. I'm not going to lie. But usually - and it's not like I've been with a lot of other women, and I'm not trying to compare - usually it doesn't come with such a detailed list of people and places and...positions.

VANESSA
I don't follow.

MARK
Well...alright. For example, when I was doing that thing with the watering can and toilet brush you said (in a monotone) "ooh baby, the way you move your hips is better than Joe Piscopo doing me reverse cowgirl in the back of that Hoboken cab with the bad shocks, summer of '98, baby, baby, baby."

VANESSA
No. I didn't say that. I mean, maybe I said something like--

MARK
--word for word.

VANESSA
Really? You were going pretty fast then, how can you be sure?

MARK
I'll never forget. Those words - and that look in your eyes, like a starving hyena - are etched in my memory.

VANESSA
I'm sorry if I freaked you out. I was...it was just so good. Like you'd taken it to another level. I guess I just lost my head. But what about you? I mean, I wasn't the only one talking. What was that you were trying to say before I took the Saran Wrap off your head?

MARK
Help me, please. I can't breathe?

VANESSA
Oh.

(They sit in a moment of awkward silence.)

MARK
Mold?

BLACKOUT

Iron Sky Preview

There's video above, FeedReader

Well, there was this massive secret program to build flying saucers during the war, you see. The Nazis built a bunch of them and sent them to the dark side of the moon. And then they built roads (Germans love roads) and factories and all those things Germans like. Yes. I'd imagine there was a beer garden. So anyway, they're coming back. Really. Go read about it here.

via Warren Ellis

Quis vestiet ipsos custodes?

There's video above, FeedReader

That's right bitches, a Latin joke.

Who clothes the watchers?

via Zack himself.

Those *Fickle* Texans

I couldn't agree more. I think that's a great idea. I would like to support you in your mission.

Do you need a fundraiser to help defray the costs of going back to school to learn English? I can make brownies.

via Language Log

I love your hair, where do you get it done?

There's video above, FeedReader

via Joshua James

Anti-social networking

For an emotionally stunted technologist, I've got some grumpy old man, Luddite-like tendencies. My cellphone, for example, is a Razr which I bought shortly after it came out. You might think I did that because at the time, it was the newest, hottest, sleekest thing. You'd be wrong. I bought it because it was thin and fit comfortably in my pocket. I occasionally take pictures with it, *very* rarely check my mail with it, but mostly just use it for texting and talking. When I upgrade, I'll be getting the newer version because it's smaller, has a better camera, and allegedly a better address book.

That's it. No surfing, no mp3 playing, no video streaming, nothing.

My Ludditism (Ludditeness? Ludditity?) extends to the web. Now, I've been online for a really long time. Back to the early '90s with email, BBSs, and IRC. I wasn't a huge freak, but I chatted, emailed, participated in a few newsgroups, and downloaded my fair share of porn. While I appreciate the need to have an online presence, mine has always been shallow. Hell, I've had a hosted website since '95 that has absolutely nothing on it. Wait, scratch that. There's a link to my resume, but I pulled that old copy of my resume off some time back, so the link is dead.

A few years back, I joined LinkedIn (profile) because it makes perfect sense to me. Here's a tool for professionals to use to expand their *professional* networks. Mine's not huge, but it's a decent size with an adequate number of recommendations. Good for job hunting, though truth be told, no job opportunity through LinkedIn has ever panned out for me. No worries. Someday.

About two years ago, because a couple of my younger friends were on MySpace, I created a profile. I hate that place with a great and burning passion - the poor graphic design, the endless webcam spam, the culture. I have 17 "friends" there, most of whom actually are friends of one sort or another, but it's certainly not where I go to communicate with them. The only thing I do there is send out weekly updates linking back to Sketch War. In fact, I just looked at my public profile and discovered that the Writers Guild is currently on strike. Do I use MySpace the way it's intended? I don't think so. I have a presence, but I just don't *care*. I imagine I'll either let it go fallow or delete it in the next couple of months.

Last fall I created a Facebook profile for work. Not to network, but to get a feel for what it offered and how users interacted with it. I used a fake name - a violation of the TOS so I guess they'll kick me off someday - and have been unable to change it now that I'm using the account. I keep trying, but I remain Joe Blowinski. Seriously? That's some crappy heuristics their software's got if it can't assume that's a fake name. Anyway, I have 25 "friends" on Facebook, the majority of whom are just people I'm working with on an online project. Of the rest, I've only met six in the meat world, and some of those only in passing. That's not to say I'm not close with a few of these people, but by and large they are acquaintances or past/present/potential colleagues more than friends.

Now, while so far Facebook is less annoying and irritating to me than MySpace, there are things that bug the hell out of me. Primarily, all the stupid applets. One or two make sense, and then there are the virtual drinks and virtual pets and even weirder stuff. I don't get it. I know I'm old, but what's the point of a damn (fluff)Friend? Can *anyone* explain the appeal to me?

The final sign of the impending apocalypse is that I signed up for a Twitter account. If you're not reading the RSS feed, you can glance to right and see my Twitter updates, or you can click the link in the last sentence. By all means, "follow" me. Stalk me like a wounded wildebeest. What the hell is the point of Twitter? I mean, like the rest, I've got an account. And like the rest, I don't quite get it.

I can promote my blog¹ and...what? Update my friends and my "friends" as to what I'm doing? Meet people of similar interests, I guess...but I'm not sure how one does that in the 140-character confines of a Twitter message.

Alright...iff² my followers on Twitter were all and only my friends and iff they cared what I was doing from moment to moment, I suppose it would make some small amount of sense to follow me. Easier than me texting everyone to say "I'm going to the market to buy some rutabagas now," at least. But who the hell wants me to text them that, anyway? Criminals, maybe. I guess criminals might like Twitter. It's easier to figure out when someone's house is unoccupied if the residents are faithful Twitter-ers. "Heading out to grandmas, won't be home till very late" is a great cue to break, enter, and rob blind. In ten years, it'll be a new crime. T,B&E.

As with MySpace and Facebook, I'll attempt to use Twitter to drive traffic here. Because I like traffic. As long as I'm not stuck driving in it, I like traffic. Otherwise, it seems like the least interesting and useful of all the social networking tools.

So what's the point? I don't really know. I felt like getting up on my soapbox and yelling at those damn kids to get off my lawn because the end times were nigh, or something. I need to mix in some more metaphors there. I'll work on that. Anyway, the point isn't to get you all to be my Facebook/MySpace/Twitter friends or followers. If you *know* me, or you at least are someone with whom I irregularly communicate, I'm totally cool with that. One of the regular commenters here and I are friends on Facebook. We've never met, and have only interacted a little online, but it's not like she's a complete cypher. Not like the five people I don't know who are already following me on Twitter. That's just creepy.

I guess what I'd really like to do is *understand* the point. Were I keeping in touch with old friends through these tools, I'd get it. I don't get people who have thousands of "friends". No. You don't. In fact, if you have a couple of thousand friends on a social networking site and aren't famous, you probably have *no* friends in real life. Sad, horrible fact. Sorry.

So to the point of understanding, let's have some discussion in the comments of this post. Whether you're a social networking butterfly or think those on social networks should be caught in butterfly nets, pipe in with your thoughts.

---

1 Yes, I know I've skipped this happy shiny place in my discussion of my online presence. We established a long time ago that
a) I'm an attention slut
b) I like to have a place that forces me to write
c) I'm good with people!!! I'm a people person!!!

2 No, really. I meant to type the two 'f's. I'm nerdy that way.

Friday Night Sketch War: Round Thirteen

Whoo doggy! Lucky round 13. Let's get right into the action.

• Coyote threw a million little pieces of shrapnel at his foes...
• Michael trained a firehose of Evian into the fray...
• David gave us all hemlock and consumption.

Three warriors entered. None survived. They're dead. All of them dead.

FSW: Blind Date

Please forgive me ahead of time for a boring sketch. I've had a rough week and didn't get to this until an hour ago. It's not good. Seriously. Sorry.

Blind Date
(Meredith sits at a small table in a stylish bistro with a glass of wine. She is fashionably dressed. She frequently raises her eyes from a copy of "All the Pretty Horses" to glance about. Liam enters, carrying a copy of "No Country for Old Men" under his arm. He wears dirty jeans and a sweatshirt. His hair and beard are long and unkempt. He looks around, spots Meredith, and crosses to her table.)

LIAM
Meredith?

MEREDITH
(Looking up) Yes?

(Liam indicates his book and then points to Meredith's. She invites him to sit down.)

It's nice to meet you finally, Liam. Would you like a drink?

LIAM
A beer would be great.

(Meredith waves at a waiter who comes over.)

MEREDITH
A beer for my friend, and another glass of chablis for me, please.

(The waiter goes off to fill the order.)

Did you find the place okay?

LIAM
Yeah, once I realized it was near The Y, I knew I'd been here before.

MEREDITH
Oh? Do you workout at the Y?

LIAM
I live there.

MEREDITH
Oh. What do you do?

LIAM
Odd jobs. I used sweep out the back alley at this place for their day-old bread. But the new manager is a prick. He'd rather throw it out than give it away.

MEREDITH
I didn't realize. Well...

(The waiter appears with their drinks. Meredith finishes hers off in one swallow, points to the glass, and holds up two fingers to the waiter.)

LIAM
I loved what you said about "The Road" on the forum. That was the best analysis I've ever seen of McCarthy's lyrical descriptions of the wasteland.

MEREDITH
Thank you. That's very sweet. Especially considering what you had to say about "All the Pretty Horses". I'm re-reading it now, and it's not the same book to me at all after what you said.

LIAM
Thanks.

(There's an uncomfortably long pause in conversation. Liam finishes his beer. Both try to say something and stop themselves. The waiter arrives with another beer and two glasses of wine. He sets them down and Meredith and Liam both take long drinks.)

MEREDITH
Keep them coming, would you?

So, you have a computer at The Y?

LIAM
No. I use the one at the public library. I like it there, especially during the summer. They don't like us in The Y during the day, so I've gotta find someplace cool.

So what's a woman like you doing looking for men online? You must be beating them back with a stick.

MEREDITH
Hardly! I've tried everything. Match.com, eHarmony, JDate --

LIAM
-- Oh, you're Jewish?

MEREDITH
No. But all the dates I went on were terrible. All the men were idiots. One of them thought the Coens had written "No Country for Old Men"!

LIAM
You're kidding!

MEREDITH
I'm serious.

(The waiter returns with yet more alcohol and takes away the empties.)

BLACKOUT

LIGHTS UP

(Meredith and Liam have been at the table a while and are clearly well lubricated. She's moved to the seat next to Liam and is cozying up to him.)

MEREDITH
You want to get out of here?

LIAM
Sure. Your place or mine?

MEREDITH
Mine.

(As Meredith picks up her bag, its contents spill onto the floor. Amidst the brush, mascara, compact, and wallet is a copy of "A Million Little Pieces". Liam picks it up and turns it over in his hands. He hands it back to Meredith who looks ashamed.)

LIAM
Actually, I'm feeling a little tired. I think I'm just going to head back to The Y. Thanks for the drinks.

MEREDITH
No, Liam, wait. I can explain!

LIAM
No. I don't think you can.

BLACKOUT

To bear (bad analogies) with unbearable sorrow

It takes oh so little skill or knowledge to write an op-ed for the Times, or get on the editorial board. At least that's sure how it seems. In today's NYT, Gail Collins has a rambling (not a good adjective for a short piece) editorial about (mostly) the Democratic race, the candidates, and the impact of men close to them - Bill and Jeremiah Wright.

She closes with this:

We’re down to a race between the candidate who claims he will make the political process better but has yet to demonstrate exactly how that works, and the woman who claims she’s the only one who’s powerful enough to take on the Republican forces of darkness. Don Quixote vs. Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Both accompanied by their lieutenants — the men who think it’s all about them.

I'm always impressed when someone can show ignorance about pop culture at the same time as ignorance about "high" culture. Neither Sancho Panza nor pick one - Rupert Giles, Xander Harris, Angel, Spike, Riley Finn - was self-serving. Those are all perfect examples of loyal squires, ready to lay down their lives at a moment's notice for their leader.

Not sure with what she was too busy to read Don Quixote while in college. It certainly wasn't mastering essay writing.