Michael Knight is being tried. He’s defending himself.
So, as I understand it, Mr. Knight, you are being charged with impersonating a police officer by driving a car that has a strobing light that the state has charged mimics the rollers of a police car.
That’s absurd your honor.
Hey now, you’ll speak when asked in this court.
Oh come on.
If you are not fit to represent yourself, the court will appoint an attorney.
I don’t need an attorney. This is ridiculous.
Have you ever practiced law before, Mr. Knight.
I work for the Foundation for Law and Government.
Is that a band?
Courtroom spectators laugh.
(into wristwatch communicator)
KITT, get me out of here.
Almost there, Michael.
The doors to the courtroom swing open (they are not broken down) as KITT enters and slowly rolls down the aisle.
I’ll be representing Mr. Knight, your honor.
Oh, please. KITT, this isn’t the time.
KITT continues to roll slowly down the aisle.
How’d you make it up the stairs?
Don’t even ask.
Get that car out of my courtroom.
I’m a fully accredited attorney in the state of California.
What? Come on, there’s not even a space for you here.
As KITT tries to do a three point turn to park next to the defense table…
I’ll be filing a lawsuit against the state regarding the accessibility of this courtroom on Monday morning, your honor.
He’s not my attorney, your honor. Get ready to turbo-boost, KITT.
A random laser shoots out of KITT stinging Michael.
Ow! Dammit KITT!
Shush, Michael. Your honor. My client has no social security number, no birth certificate, no driver’s license. He doesn’t exist. And therefore can not be held by this court.
Did you just say no driver’s license? Operating a vehicle without a license is against the law, sir.
As an attorney, I’m well aware of the law. But as you can see, I operate myself.
Then you should be charged with impersonating a police officer.
If I could get a word in edgewise your honor…
Impersonating a police car is not a crime in California. Furthermore, I bare no police markings, my front sensor is in no way the same shape, no does it oscillate at the same frequency as a police roller.
Couldn’t you have just busted me out of here?
Yes, but sometimes its best to let the system handle itself.
Anytime you want me to chime in, your honor, be my guest.
image from http://nymag.com/daily/entertainment/2007/09/the_next_stage_in_david_hassel.html
An elderly man sits at a computer terminal watching a Zorro movie. He is enjoying himself.
Zorro swings in. He sword fights with an enemy and makes a lot of racket.
Excuse me. Do you mind? I’m trying to watch a picture.
Ha-ha! Of course not, I can’t help but notice you are watching the famous movie “Zorro!”
Yeah, and I’m enjoying myself. So, if you please.
But I am Zorro! I am right here, my friend! Ha!
Oh, well, all things’s the same, I’d prefer to watch your movie. I wasn’t planning on being social today.
Why did you select that movie?
Because I like watching Zorro.
Well! I am Zorro! You can watch me before you.
Well, I prefer to watch you encapsulated in a narrative. I don’t want to be part of an adventure. I don’t know what I can contribute and I don’t know what you can contribute to my life.
Why are you watching the Zorro movie, then, my friend? What are you hoping to acquire?
I was just hoping for a little escapism.
My specialty! Come let us escape!
Not literally. I was hoping to sit down most of the day. I really am enjoying myself just watching the Zorro movie.
You mean my movie.
I’d like to think of you, the Zorro before me and the Zorro in the movie as separate people.
There’s something special about being detached from one’s heroes.
Explain this to me.
Well, when you’re an actual person I can see your flaws. But if I just admire you say in a movie, I can pretend to be you, through the magic of Hollywood ignore your flaws, and be painlessly whisked away to far off place. If I were to leave with you now somewhere, I’d be nervous about our travel arrangements and am quite sure we’d get on each other’s nerves.
You don’t like your heroes to be real?
No. I don’t. There are no real heroes. Just ordinary people.
I beg to differ.
Give me one example of a real hero.
That’s heroic. But I don’t know if everything he does is heroic. Maybe he tips poorly. I can’t respect someone who does that. A hero is pure.
If the waiter depends on the tips for income it should be included in the bill!
Oh Zorro… And besides I wouldn’t consider watching the heroic deeds of this serviceman in a movie. That wouldn’t be very entertaining. I’d think of all the destruction from the Vietnam War.
What’s a hero without the context of destruction?
That’s a good question. But heroes to me are Batman, Sherlock Holmes, you, Zorro, people who are fictitious and rescue me from this real world of unpleasantries. And are able to illustrate proper morality in a fictional setting which I can mentally compare to my own situations, yet not feel preached to or brainwashed.
Excuse me, gentlemen, there is no talking in the library.
I always thought that was a silly rule.
The elderly man returns to watching his movie.
by Jeremiah Murphy
It’s an average night. A young man is strolling down the street.
Carter Calhoun, while on his way to mail his Netflix copy of My Dinner with Andre, was accidentally struck by a bizarre mix of lightning and cosmic rays.
We see the beautiful majesty of lightning mixed with cosmic rays.
What are the chances!??
Carter is on a gurney being wheeled down an emergency room. Perhaps we just see the hallway whizzing by from his perspective.
His body was rendered into a coma, while his soul traveled… someplace else.
Carter is in his hospital bed, unconscious.
Where am I?
Another dimension in the future!
Carter’s slowly rubs his eyes and wakes up.
Upon waking, Carter realized that he had strange new abilities. His body had fused together with the Netflix envelope and he had acquired bizarre Netflix powers.
Carter throws a beam of pure energy at the Unabomber.
SFX: Netflix Sound!
He’s some kind of Netflix superhero!
Carter and Netflixo work with precision in their underground crime lab: titrating chemicals, working a composite microscope, and reading the latest scientific journals.
Now, together with Netflixo, an interdimensional hyperbeing from the Future, Carter must solve mysteries and evade capture by a rogue faction of the military.
Colonel Kilschank sits in his lair, sipping a martini.
If we can harness the power of Netflix we can blow up the rest of the Mid-East!
As you command, Colonel Kilschank. It’s time to seal this Netflix and drop it in our mailbox.
Carter enters holding a secret dossier!
Missing this gentlemen?
Kilschank throws his Martini at Yeffer’s face.
Carter runs by Colonel Kilshank and Lt. Yeffer at full Netflix speed.
Carter runs and “FLIX!” turns into a Netflix envelope that slides into a USPS Mail Box. A postal carrier picks up the mail.
Next time, Carter Calhoun, not even stiff federal regulations will protect you. For my next scheme is to privatize the mail system and you will have no place to hide.
YEFFER walks up with another Martini for Kilschank.
Kilschank takes a sip.
Dreadful. Two stars.
SHA-ZOW! Netflixo appears.
HuzZAh! I will help Carter escape you Goons!
Oh, dear. You missed he excitement by a few minutes, like always NetFlixo. Your being forever fixed in the future is quite inconvenient.
Kilsschank throws his drink on NetFlixo. Netflixo is weakened! A cage drops on him.
It looks like the cat has finally found his way into the cream, my dear boy.
Perhaps. Carter can move trouble up to the top of his queue!
We see Carter walking down the street.
Meanwhile across town! Carter is walking down the street. He runs into Desdemona D’Ubervilles, his date for later that night.
Desdemona is dropping a yellow envelope in mailbox.
Hey there, Des.
Hi there, handsome. I’m excited about our date tonight. It should be quite the four-at-a-time.
W-w-w-what’s that you’re dropping in the mail?
Oh, just my Blockbuster by mail thing. Such a convenience.
Why not Netflix?
I don’t like them.
Why, are you partial to Netflix?
You could say that we’re real close.
TO BE CONTINUED!
An Interview with God
Based on a vague understanding of the theories of Zecharia Sitchin
This is my first entry for National Sketch Writing Month. Join in and write 30 sketches in 30 days.
By Jeremiah Murphy
An interviewer sits at a desk with a man in a space uniform.
Man: We’re here today with probably the most sought after interview subject of all time. For thousands of years people have gathered around fires, in temples, churches, even in the solitude of prayer in an attempt to come in contact with our guest tonight. Ladies and Gentlemen, here is the person from which we have all be waiting to get some answers, God.
God: Thank you for having me.
Man: Thank you for being here. I’m in complete awe that you have agreed to sit down with us.
God: Well, I have a question for you.
Man: And what would that be?
God: Where is my gold?
Man; I’m sorry?
God: As am I. You people have ripped me off. For the last time, I might add.
Man: To which gold are you referring? The gold, frankensence, and myrrh delivered to the baby—
God: Spare me.
Man: God, I’m confused. And I forgot to ask what you like to be called.
God: God is fine, human. Since you don’t quite get it, let me draw you a picture. 100,000 years ago I came from space to this planet. You following me? It took a long time and was a real chore. I had with me a whole bunch of my friends, you may have called them lesser gods, angels, demons, whatever—I called them my staff. Me and my staff took a bunch of crazy apes with spears and gave them an evolutionary nudge. A poke in the genes, so you folks could do work for us.
Man: Were we your slaves?
God; You were paid in genetic advancement in exchange for mining gold for us. Your sole purpose was to mine gold so my staff could collect it and bring it back to my spaceship and I could take it back to my planet.
God: Because it’s gold, human.
Man: Are you saying our whole purpose of life is to—
God: Mine gold. I’m being as unambiguous as possible. You are all genetically engineered gold diggers. That’s why you like shiny objects, that’s why you collect things, that’s why you dig holes, that’s why you feel the urge to please a “superior.” It was perfect. Or was it? I set aside a few of you to act as managers of the rest with the implicit instructions that I would be back for my gold.
Man: And here you are.
God: Here I am and my gold is gone. And quite surprisingly you people aren’t digging gold anymore. You engage in your own business, doing your own thing, feeling you’re very important in the grand scheme of things. A) You’re not and B) Where is my gold? Where is my gold? You people promised me you would hold on to it. I see it on your jewelry, in your teeth. In your teeth! Give it to me, you’re horrible gold grubbing little science projects gone wrong! My planet needs it to protect our atmosphere! Peoples lives are depending upon your labors! A race of gods is dying because of you selfish apes!
Man: Calm down.
Man: Settle down, now.
God: I beg your pardon.
Man: Please. What is your message to your followers, the Christians, the Jews, the Muslims of the world.
God: My message to them is to get up off their knees, get their heads out of the clouds, and find my gold.
Man: Was Jesus your son?
God: Not that I know of. Although, back in the day, things got a little—
Man: Are you really God or are you just some space alien? I saw this episode of Star Trek The Next Generation—
God: What’s this Next Generation?
Man: It was another Star Trek series that took place 80 or so years later than Captain Kirk.
God: That sounds really cool. I loved the first one. Anyway you were saying?
Man: You know they just made a new movie based on the original.
God: That sounds marvelous.
Man: It had the action that people demanded but left out the moral quandaries and philosophy of the original that the people needed. That’s my opinion.
God: Huh. OK.
Man: I saw this episode of Star Trek where they encounter this ghost like computer that hovers over a planet and protects it, like a God. But’s its not really God, it’s a ghost computer. Are you just like that ghost computer or are you God?
God: I’m a business man who manufactured you folks to be my employees. If that is God to you, then I am God. Frankly if you believe such, it makes getting gold from you easier. but since everything’s gone to crap, who cares?
Man: Do you hear our prayers?
God: Do you hear mine? I’m praying for Gold.
Man: Well that’s all the time we have.
God: Your planet is surrounded. I will appoint a new pharaoh in 70 days. I will suck all the gold from this planet with my lasers.
Man: Why didn’t you do that the first time? It sounds like it could save a couple steps.
God: It took me a while to construct them, hence my absence.
Man: God, ladies and gentlemen, or a close approximation.
A man hails a cab and enters the backseat.
Man: 127th and St. Nicholas please.
Man 2 sticks his head in the window.
Man 2: Hey, pal, you going uptown?
Man 1: Ye—
Man 2: Great, mind if we share this cab? I’m heading that way too, save us both some cash.
Man 1: Well—
Man 2: Fantastic. Hold on.
Man 1: OK.
Man 2 opens the door. A great big dog enters the cab.
Man 2: Settle down, pooch. Settle down, pooch. We’ll be making two stops. Pooch, settle down. Wherever my pal’s going and 76th and Lexington.
Man 1: That’s not really on the way.
Man 2: Huh? It’s up. We’re both going up. This is my dog.
Man 1: I figured.
Man 2: He’s a little friendly. But don’t mind him, he won’t bite.
Man 1: He’s licking me.
Man 2: Oh, he loves that. You’re real good with dogs. You got a pet? Settle down, pooch.
Man 1: My apartment’s too small.
Man 2: This city! It’ll get you anyway it can. My place is huge. Nice townhouse. Settle down, pooch.
Man 1: How much rent do you pay?
Man 2: I bought the whole place back in ’98. A few million.
Man 1: Dot com money?
Man 2: Nah, rich family. You could say that I got lucky.
Man 1: I’ll say.
Man 2: I also deserve every penny. Hey pal, what do you do for a living?
Man 1: I’m an administrative assistant but I’m also a writer.
Man 2: Huh?
Man 1: Poetry. Are you a patron of the arts by any chance?
Man 2: Huh? Settle down, pooch.
The dog is overly aggressive with Man 1.
Man 1: Settle down, pooch.
Man 2: HEY! NOBOY TALKS TO MY DOG LIKE THAT, YOU HEAR, PAL?!!
Man 1: Sorry. He was just all over me.
Man 2: Apologies, pal. I get a little hot tempered. He’s my pooch. (teaching) You see when you’re rich you always got to be on guard, anybody can take what you got.
Man 1: Ironically, you must be kind of envious of those of us who have nothing.
Man 2: Nah. That’s bullshit. I love my things.
Man 1: What do you do for a living?
Man 2: Nothing, I’m rich. I just ride around in cabs with my dog. I like to share cabs. We like to share cabs. It’s the safest way for him to meet people.
Man 1: How long have you had him?
Man 2: I actually stole him off the street a couple weeks ago,
Man 1: That’s really awful. His owner probably misses him.
Man 2: I’m his owner, pal. Besides, he’s a great dog. Settle down pooch.
Man 1: That’s really too bad that you did that.
Man 2: Pal, he was there with his leash around a tree. I had to take him. He was beautiful and I am rich.
Man 1: Couldn’t you have bought a dog?
Man 2: Pay for a life? Pal, just because I’m rich don’t take that to mean that I think everything has a price. If I had paid for this guy I would have put a price on companionship. I can’t do that. It’s not me.
Man 1: Do you ever think of the people you took the dog from?
Man 2: Yeah, when they pressed charges.
Man 1: What happened?
Man 2: I got an expensive lawyer to scare the shit out of them. HAHAHA!
Man 1: Oh.
Man 2: This is me.
Man 1: Oh, well, why don’t you pay—
Man 2: No, this isn’t my stop. This is me. Riding around in cabs with my dog. I was just at peace with my existence and declaring so to the universe. Why are you dregs always begging me for cash? If God wanted you to have money he would have made sure you were born into a rich family. Like me. Settle down, pooch.
Man 1: Well.
Man 2: This is my stop.
Man 1: Wait, where’s my money?
Man 2: Oh come on, be a pal.
Man 1: What! Come on man!
Man 2: Here’s five bucks, go buy a Starbucks!
Man 1: You owe me at least ten.
Man 2: Settle down, pooch. Beat it pal. Write a poem. HAHAHA!
Man 1: Hey!
Man 1: I have a great idea for a poem.
Here’s my spec script for “The Office” (click the link above to download). Give it a read and let me know what you think.
The Office, “Health Fair”
After feeling sorry about making fat jokes, Michael arranges an office health fair complete with fortune teller, hospital clown, and multiple injuries.
This a sketch I wrote a few years ago for a sketch writing class with Ali Farahnakian at The Peoples Improv Theater in NYC. Some of the references are a little dated…
by Jeremiah Murphy
(OPEN ON: A COUPLE PUSHES A STROLLER IN A SUBWAY STATION AND HAPPENS UPON A MURAL OF FREDERICK DOUGLASS)
Look, Sarah, it’s Frederick Douglass. Oh, what a pretty painting.
Come on Sandy, enough. Babies don’t like Frederick Douglass.
The devil you say!
MOM AND DAD
That’s right and what you said really hurts my feelings.
I’m sorry, Frederick Douglass, but Sarah is barely a year old. She likes to be spoon-fed bananas. History, Political Science… It’s not her bag.
Do you even know who I am?
You’re a famous black man.
You escaped slavery, did the underground railroad thing, and invented peanut butter.
Invented peanut butter? You have me mistaken with George Washington Carver. Ma’am, your husband is a nincompoop.
I’m still trying to figure out why you’re alive. You died of old age on February 20, 1895 in your home of Anacostia Heights, a suburb of Washington D.C.
Actually, it was heart failure, my dear. It’s nice to see that someone in this subway station has gotten a fourth grade education. But to answer your question, my spirit dwells wherever my likeness is painted. I appear from time to time, admiring babies. And in turn, babies admire me, Frederick Douglass.
Oh, honey. What a special moment between our family and Frederick Douglass.
Come on, enough of the “Frederick Douglass thing.” We gotta go. Excuse us, Frederick Douglass, we’re taking Sarah to see the Museum of Natural History.
But babies don’t like science.
The devil you say!
FREDERICK AND MOM
That’s right and what you said about science really hurts my feelings.
I’m sorry, Mr Tesla, but Sarah is barely a year old. She likes starring at pretty murals with my face painted on them. Polyphase alternating current electricity, bladeless turbines… It’s just not her bag.
Do you even know who I am?
SCTV’s Earl Camembert? No, I am Nikolai Tesla. I am responsible for the television you watch those SCTV reruns on at 2:30 in the morning.
And I hope you won’t be bad-mouthing Thomas Edison in front of my baby.
Ma’am, you know me too well.
OK, Frederick inhabits the paintings of his likeness. What are you doing here, Nikolai Tesla?
I am in love with Helen Pitts, Frederick Douglass’s second wife.
I don’t blame you. Sadly, she is in Heaven while I stand by the paintings.
She never visits?
Not as often as I would like.
Pity. Such a sexy woman. I’ll tell you one thing: I wish I married my secretary. What am I doing here? Babies don’t like chit-chat.
The Devil you say!
FREDERICK, NIKOLAI, AND MOM
The “Queer Eye” guy who gives culture advice!
I’m Jai Rodriguez from the Bravo and NBC TV program “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.” And what you said about chit-chat really hurt my feelings. Newborns have a special need for chit-chat that when ignored—
Carson can be such a bitch, I love him. He brings out people’s natural fashion.
Do you even know who I am?
While the show is entertaining and educational, you are the weakest link. All you do is tell guys to hold their girlfriend’s hand and look into their eyes.
Totally. You shoot the bull while the home-improvement one runs his ass off knocking down walls and installing formica counter tops.
The Devil you say!
Another ‘Queer Eye” guy!
I’m Thom Filicia, the interior design guy on “Queer Eye.” Formica counter tops? Puh-leeze. You have me confused with Gene Roddenberry.
But he’s not an interior designer.
I didn’t know this show was still on anymore.
I think it’s still on Bravo. Honey, let’s get out of here! The African Americans, The Gays, Nikolai Tesla… I don’t want to offend anybody else!
Leave that to me! I supported Adolph Hitler.
By Jeremiah Murphy
Alan is getting ready for a big date. He brushes his teeth, tends to his hair, fixes his clothes, practices glances, etc.
The door bell rings.
PIZZA DELIVERY PERSON: Pizza!
Alan gets the door.
PIZZA DELIVERY PERSON: That’s be an even fifteen, pal.
Alan pays the man.
PIZZA DELIVERY PERSON: Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, pal.
Alan carries the pizza as if he’s holding the love of his life and joins his parents at the dinner table which is set with a nice meal and four places.
ALAN: Here we are.
DAD: What’s going on here, Alan?
MOM:We—I—cook a nice meal and you bring a pizza to the table.
DAD: There’s a time and place for nonsense and now is neither the time nor the place. Put the pizza in the fridge. We can have it tomorrow.
ALAN: But the Pizza’s my date!
MOM: Oh for God’s sake, Alan.
DAD: My son’s dating a pizza. Four years of prep school another four of private college and my son’s dating a pizza.
MOM: Oh, for God’s sake, Alan.
DAD: What if the pizza gets cold?
MOM: I thought you said you met somebody nice.
ALAN: I did meet someone nice, this pizza’s fantastic.
MOM: Oh, for God’s sake, Alan.
DAD: That thing ain’t going to stay all hot and fresh. Time ain’t no good to pizzas. I already see a grease stain on the box.
MOM: It doesn’t compare to the stain you put on this family. Barry, pull the curtains. Eloise has been peeping again. And she’d have a field day with this fiasco.
ALAN: Come on mom. The pizza’s right here!
DAD: My son brings a pizza to my dinner table. I thought I raised you pretty good. I guess this is my pepperoni covered report card.
MOM: What about the nice girl with flowers on her dress and the barrettes?
ALAN: Jessica McAuliffe? That was ten years ago, Mom! A lot’s happened since the ninth grade semi.
MOM: You’re like your father, settling scares you. You have to branch out, take risks. Well this is where risks take you.
DAD: I feel bad for the pizza. It has no idea.
MOM: And neither do you, Alan.
DAD: How long has this been going on?
MOM: Admit your mistakes, Alan. You’ll feel better.
ALAN: This isn’t a mistake. I like this pizza.
DAD: Your uncle Hank dated a pizza once. Look what happened to him. He’s in a wheelchair now.
MOM: I never should have let you watch TV. I never should have let you do anything.
DAD: Pizza does have tomatoes and I hear lutein is very good for the eyes. So in some cases, it might be good to date a pizza. But for the record, I am very uncomfortable with this, Alan.
MOM: What are you going to do on dates besides the obvious? It’s not like you can have a conversation with that thing.
ALAN: You don’t know what what goes on between us!
DAD: LuAnne, cover your ears. I “dated” a few pizzas in my day.
MOM: You did? Barry, did Alan ever see you “date” a pizza?!!
DAD: Get your rocks off, son. Then learn from your follies.
MOM: I am mentally erasing what I just heard, Barry. For the good of the family, Alan, you are a role model to your brother.
ALAN: Pete’s seven years older than I am.
DAD: He still looks up to you. Remember that time you won that game of tennis. He told all his friends.
MOM: All of them. He called them up on the phone and wrote letters.
ALAN: Mom and Dad, if you can’t handle a pizza in the house then I am sorry. It’s my choice.
Superman at Parent Teacher Conference
by Jeremiah Murphy
MR. CHARLES, an elementary school teacher sits at his desk grading papers. On the radio is some Miles Davis. A sign reads, “Parent Teacher Conference: Mr. Charles.”
SUPERMAN enters in complete costume. In his hand he deftly manages to hold a coffee and muffin, with his other hand he knocks.
During the scene SUPERMAN eats his muffin and sips his coffee continuously.
SUPERMAN: Mr. Charles?
MR. CHARLES: Yes! And you must be…
SUPERMAN: Superman. Faster than a speeding spitball. Ha ha. I hope you don’t get too many of those.
MR. CHARLES: Thanks so much for coming by. It’s great to meet you.
SUPERMAN: No problem at all. I told Braniac to take the night off.
MR. CHARLES: Who?
SUPERMAN: A cyborg alien who will stop at nothing to conquer Earth. Bad joke. Sorry about that.
MR. CHARLES: Oh, I see. Ha ha. Yes, Braniac.
SUPERMAN: Ha ha. Mr. Charles in Charge! (singing) There’s a new boy in the neighborhood–
MR. CHARLES: Ha ha.
SUPERMAN: (singing)–lives downstairs and it’s understood…
MR. CHARLES: Ha ha. OK, Mr. Superman.
SUPERMAN: I didn’t know you’d have food here. It’s a real treat. Marvelous.
MR. CHARLES: You can thank the PTA.
SUPERMAN: Great folks. Lois and I will have to make time to attend more of the meetings. I remember at the last one I distinctly said, “Please give Mr. Charles a raise, he’s the best!”
MR. CHARLES: The unions manage most of the pay issues.
SUPERMAN: Where would the American Dream be without them?
MR. CHARLES: Pay issues or unions?
SUPERMAN: Ha-ha. Mr. Charles. But seriously, Lois and I should be more involved with this school.
MR. CHARLES: You must be busy.
SUPERMAN: I suppose I could let the police handle most of my work.
MR. CHARLES: I used to say the same thing when I worked at P.S. 11. Rough school.
SUPERMAN: Ha ha. Mr. Charles. I’ve heard. I’ve heard.
MR. CHARLES: Well, let’s discuss little Jonathan.
SUPERMAN: Terrific kid, one might even say he’s… (waits for MR. CHARLES to say “super.”)
MR. CHARLES: Ha-ha. I wanted to talk to you about his performance.
SUPERMAN: Well, I wanted to say I hope the other students aren’t intimidated by his heritage. (Points to giant S on costume.)
MR. CHARLES: Jonathan is a real sweet child…
SUPERMAN: (Smiling) One might even say he’s… (Points to giant S on costume.)
MR. CHARLES: Mr. Superman.
SUPERMAN: Just Superman is fine, Mr. Charles.
MR. CHARLES: With mathematics, particularly at the third grade level, Jonathan is…
SUPERMAN: (Points to giant S on costume.) Super.
MR. CHARLES: Not super.
SUPERMAN: (Points to giant S on costume.) Super.
MR. CHARLES: No, not super.
SUPERMAN: Come on, I want to hear it. He’s my boy. (Points to giant S on costume.) Super.
MR. CHARLES: (Points to chest.) Special.
SUPERMAN: (He thinks about this for a moment) VERY special, top of the class, able to leap over pop quizzes in a single—
MR. CHARLES: His test scores are exceptionally low. Special in the sense that he has special needs.
SUPERMAN: I see, low for a Superman. B+’s and such. He’s probably trying to fit in. He doesn’t want throw the curve.
MR. CHARLES: He’s failed 3 out of 5 of the tests. His performance is quite poor.
SUPERMAN: He’s more of an artist anyway. I don’t want us to stifle his voice. Look what happened to Hitler.
MR. CHARLES: (Holds up a piece of paper with a red spot on it) This is from Jonathan’s art folder.
SUPERMAN: It’s super! I can’t wait to frame it. My boy!
MR. CHARLES: It’s not super. It’s a jelly donut stain from a jelly donut Jonathan smuggled into art class and ate jelly donuts when he should have been doing his pastels. Jelly donuts are not allowed in art class. I confiscated this as a matter of fact today.
MR. CHARLES slams a box of jelly donuts on the table.
SUPERMAN: No jelly donuts in art class, Mr Charles? Let kids be kids.
SUPERMAN and MR. CHARLES don’t speak.
SUPERMAN: May I? (Helps himself to a donut, lets out a small sound of pleasure.)
MR. CHARLES: Jonathan is failing school, Superman. He’s constantly eating sugar and he seems to know more about NBC’s evening programming than U.S. history. I constantly try to get through to him but he seems unresponsive unless there’s treats to be eaten or cartoons to be watched.
SUPERMAN: Are you sure you’re not talking about that Batman kid. People get me and Batman confused all the time. Superman, Batman. It doesn’t offend me. But I think this may—
MR. CHARLES: Batman doesn’t have a child in my class.
SUPERMAN: Timmy Wayne.
MR. CHARLES: What does Timmy Wayne have to—
SUPERMAN: I probably shouldn’t have said anything but Bruce Wayne, Timmy’s adopted father is actually Batman. Please don’t let that leave this room, Mr. Charles.
MR. CHARLES: Timmy actually has the best scores in the class.
SUPERMAN: I know for a fact Timmy’s father lets him jump off buildings and stay up past 9 o’clock…
MR. CHARLES: Superman, Jonathan needs to stop eating so much and not watch TV.
SUPERMAN: Point taken. Point taken, Mr. Charles. But I’m sure his reading and writing is—
MR. CHARLES: He uses quiet reading time to sleep off his chocolate milks.
SUPERMAN: Gym class! The boy must be exceptional.
MR. CHARLES: Exceptionally lazy, Superman. He has no motivation. The most active I’ve seen him was during dodgeball when he threw himself in front of the ball so he could spend the rest of the class sitting against a post eating a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken somebody left out.
MR. CHARLES: A disaster. Maybe if he had better hygiene or tried to talk to people. Right now, he doesn’t give the other students much of a reason to interact with him. He needs help… guidance.
SUPERMAN: Lois has been thinking of having the boy start violin lessons. Thoughts, Mr. Charles?
MR. CHARLES glares at SUPERMAN.