COLUMBO ASKS A FAVOR
Excuse me, madame. I couldn’t help but notice you were walking your dog. He’s cute. Reminds me of my Uncle Charlie actually. Sweet guy, round in the waist but firm. Used to coach basketball. Or was it golf? I get them all mixed up.
You’ll have to excuse me. Anyway. I see you’re carrying a little plastic shopping bag to collect your dog’s business.
And well, you see the funny thing is… I have to go to the bathroom myself. I was wondering, would it be any trouble, if you wouldn’t mind, perhaps, since you haven’t tied it up, to do a little, how should I put this? Can I poop in that bag as well? It’s really quite the emergency.
Normally, I’d just deal with it on my own. But you see, for the past twenty seven minutes, I’ve been trying to keep hold of the situation by releasing a little gas here and there, to and fro, relieving my bowels of some of the pressure, if you will. But I’m getting dagger like pains in my gut and I’m afraid soon I’m going to release a little more than noxious fumes. You know what I mean.
So you see, I’m a bit of a crossroads in my adult life. Do I just let loose in my khakis? Or ask a friendly stranger to do something she’s already in the midst of doing? Oh, one more thing, while we’ve been talking, option A has already begun slightly and I got to wear this outfit to my nephew’s graduation this afternoon. You’d like him. He majored in Philosophy and plays the harp.
Slomin’s Shield Sketch
Security System Engineer: Well, Mrs. Beasley, in a couple moments your house will be completely protected from intruders, pests, and any other unwelcome business with the Slomin’s Shield.
Mrs. Delahunt: I feel safer already.
Security System Engineer: Ain’t that something.
Mrs. Delahunt: Excuse me, if you don’t mind my asking, what exactly is the Slomin’s Shield?
Security System Engineer: Well, we’re really not supposed to tell you, but in a few moments, it should be painfully obvious.
Mrs. Delahunt: Oh, tell me. I don’t like surprises.
Security System Engineer: The Slomin’s Shield is a big wet fart, one of those ones that don’t dissipate—they just sit there, protecting your home.
Mrs. Delahunt: Get out of town.
Security System Engineer: That’s exactly what a burglar will do once he gets a whiff of what I’m about to let loose.
Mrs. Delahunt: So you just break wind?
Security System Engineer: Just break wind? Lady. For the past six months I have been eating a steady diet of Tiger Milk Bars, blueberries, tofu, fried eggplant, barbacoa, spinach, balsamic vinegar, broccoli, raw soybeans, pine nuts—
Mrs. Delahunt: Pine nuts?
Security System Engineer: The oils help suspend the odor once it leaves me–black beans, pinto beans, bean chili, sugar beets, curried lentils… Just to create the perfect condition in my bowels to release… Slomin’s Shield.
Mrs. Delahunt: So anytime, I see a sign in front of a house that says, “This House is Protected by Slomin’s Shield” that means it smells like a strong fart? My little nephews could take care of that for me.
Security System Engineer: You’re not listening. The fart just hangs there. It don’t move.
Mrs. Delahunt: Like one of those force fields from Star Trek?
Security System Engineer: A fart field, ma’am. A fart field. And it ain’t nothing like Star Trek, unless that space ship flew right into a toilet.
Mrs. Delahunt: I find that utterly repulsive.
Security System Engineer: In my business that’s a compliment.
Mrs. Delahunt: I won’t pay for it.
Security System Engineer: But I just farted. Excuse me.
Mrs. Delahunt: I didn’t hear a thing.
Security System Engineer: The silent ones, ma’am. They got all the juice.
Mrs. Delahunt: Oh heavens. It smells like the tide just rolled in.
Security System Engineer: Better than a van of thieves, rolling into your driveway, ready to steal all of your belongings and perhaps kill a loved one on the way.
Mrs. Delahunt: Say, what’s more costly, a van of thieves rolling into my driveway or a security company van that charges a costly amount to set up a bogus security system?
Security System Engineer: Ma’am. I have a confession.
Mrs. Delahunt: Yes.
Security System Engineer: I don’t work for Slomin’s Shield. I just like farting in people’s homes. For money.
Mrs. Delahunt: Have you considered a career in broadcast journalism, young man?
Head of the Class: The Movie
We are in a secret subterranean war room with a collection of U.S. security brass being addressed by an unseen CIA agent. On a large screen, we see familiar shots from the Head of the Class TV show. The screen finally freezes on one image of the IHP in class, all students are seated at their usual seats.
Ladies and Gentlemen, over twenty years ago, a select group of students at Monroe High School were selected for the IHP, the individualized honors program. The students, while showing strong academic achievement, were in this advanced high school program for five years. That was our first flag. Our second flag…
The screen zooms in on Dennis, sitting in the corner by the only computer in the class.
Dennis Blunden. What the hell…
The camera turns around to reveal that the CIA Agent is actually Jawaharlal Choudhury.
…was he doing on that computer?
Jawaharlal presses a button. A cryogenic pod elevates from the ground. CHHHHH!!!! A figure emerges.
We’ll be sending in a newly acquired asset to stop Blunden.
The figure moves out of the fog.
Good morning, Mr. Moore.
Please call me by my first name…
We see the fog clear and Mr Moore has a robot arm. Music swells.
Shot of Mr. Moore on Mars surrounded by robots all emblazoned with the initials “IHP.”
Do you expect me to talk?
They all transmit a familiar face across their video faceplates.
No, Mr. Moore, I expect you to die.
Gargamel’s Review of Avatar
Avatar, James Cameron’s latest titanic of a flop, left my wallet terminated. I saw this movie in Imax, as in I maxed out my American Express card buying a ticket.
There is no truer lie than the fact that is film is nothing more than thinly veiled pro-Smurf propaganda which I find insulting to those of us out there who have devoted our lives to pursuing a very real unobtanium, turning the little blue devils into gold. I would have rather spent my time staring into an abyss than to have Cameron push his mushroom loving politics, in 3-D no less, on hard working sorcerers such as myself.
But that being said, Sigourney Weaver has done it again.
Ay! Come on down to Jedi Deli, where we use the force to create the finest cold cuts, potato salad, and cream of broccoli soups.
Assortment of Scratch-Off Tickets too, we have.
Jurassic Park: Staten Island
A man with a briefcase is running down the middle of Travis Avenue. He looks panicked. We see up ahead an Express Bus is at his stop, a line of people are entering the bus. We can hear the fare machine beeping as everyone deposits their fares and Metrocards.
The Man keeps running.
The man is losing it. The camera pulls back to reveal he is being chased by a Tyrannosaurus Rex.
The Man makes it to the bus, a long line of people are still waiting to get on. A passenger has trouble inserting his card in the fare reader and it holds up the line. The T. Rex stands behind the man. The man loosens his tie. The T. Rex checks his wrist as if he has a watch. He finally eats the man.
JURASSIC PARK: STATEN ISLAND
The traffic might kill you.
Cut to: The T. Rex runs off an exit of the Staten Island Expressway. He stops and roars. The gridlocked traffic behind him starts beeping.
Staten Island Driver
Hey! Keep it movin’, ya piece-a-crap!
Darth Vader’s Blind Date
A woman is waiting outside of the line for Shake Shack in Madison Square Park (NYC). She is dressed for a date.
Darth Vader approaches her. He has a flower, something purple.
Darth Vader: Pardon me, might you be Sheila?
Sheila: Oh… yes.
Darth Vader hands her the flower.
Sheila: I wasn’t expecting Darth Vader.
Darth Vader: My dear Sheila, no one does, that is how I remain in power.
Sheila: Oh, OK.
Darth Vader: Join me, Sheila, together we shall wait in line at Shake Shack. In the meantime, I have dispatched several of the Galaxy’s shrewdest Bounty Hunters to fetch a pair of tickets for Merchant of Venice. Pacino shall bow before us.
Sheila’s cell phone rings.
Sheila: Hello? Oh, hi. I wasn’t expecting your call. (in a whisper) It’s going horrible. (fake surprise) WHAT! OH MY GOD! I’LL BE RIGHT THERE. NO, HE’LL UNDERSTAND.
Darth Vader: What is happening?
Sheila: It’s my friend, Daphne, she’s in trouble. I gotta go.
Darth Vader: I shall alert several of my commanders. What is Daphne’s location?
Darth Vader: Nevermind, I can sense her distress in the force.
A hologram is projected from Vader’s suit, we see an imperial officer.
Darth Vader: General Rubiko, aid Daphne in her conflict at all costs.
Rubiko: As you wish, Lord Vader. Enjoy Shake Shack.
Vader looks at Sheila.
Darth Vader: We shall.
Sheila: Look, you don’t have to call your friends.
A fleet of TIE fighters scrambles overhead. One of those four legged things follows them down the street.
Sheila: Oh, oh, OK. I guess Daphne will be fine.
Darth Vader: I’ve heard the wait is truly worth it.
Sheila: What like, no premarital sex?
Darth Vader: No, the line here, at Shake Shack.
Darth Vader: Do you like me?
Sheila: Maybe as a friend.
Darth Vader: Have you ever fallen in love with a friend?
Sheila: Absolutely not. I have a policy.
Darth Vader: What are you going to get?
Sheila: Oh, something light.
Darth Vader: Like cheese fries or something?
Sheila’s phone rings.
We hear Daphne yelling “What the Hell!!??” and various Star Wars battle sound effects in the background.
Sheila hangs up.
Sheila: Eh. I don’t know.
Darth Vader: What do you do?
Sheila: Didn’t Ted and Elaine tell you?
Darth Vader: Advertising?
Sheila: I work at a real estate firm. I’m an executive assistant.
Darth Vader: Do you enjoy it?
Sheila: It’s work.
Darth Vader: What kind of music do you like?
Sheila: Eh. John Cougar.
Darth Vader: Oh.
Sheila: How about you?
Darth Vader: Coltrane.
Sheila: Jazz, right?
Darth Vader: OK.
Darth Vader: You obviously have some prejudices against me. You’re not even trying to be present in the moment. I’m done with you. So much for romance.
Sheila: Well, you’re evil.
Darth Vader: Well, you’re rude.
Sheila: Forgive me.
Darth Vader: Madame, goodnight.
Batman & Reuben
Batman is sitting at a diner, enjoying a sandwich. A man in a purple suit walks by.
Man: Hey, check it out! It’s Batman and Reuben.
Batman politely waves.
Man: Get it, Batman? A Reuben sandwich. Batman and Reuben. It’s like a New Yorker cartoon.
Batman: Very witty. Now if you don’t mind, I’d just like to eat my Reuben.
Man: Huh?… Oh, the sandwich.
Man: Just kidding, Batman and Reuben. Just joking. Juuuuust joking. Batman and Reuben. Love the boots, fyi.
Batman: Batman and Reuben. Wait a second! Wait a second! You’re the Joker!
The man runs off, laughing.
Batman gets up from his chair and spills his Dr. Pepper.
As he mops up the spill with his cape, Batman eats the rest of his sandwich as fast as he can, at the same time digging in his utility belt for money to pay the tab.
A waitress, walks by, looking at the mess.
Batman (with a mouth full of food): The Reuben was delicious. Thank you.
Waitress: Don’t mention it.
Batman is desperately trying to find money, clean his table, and finish his meal.
Waitress: Say, Batman, you OK?
Batman: I’m just trying to get out of here so I can go get the Joker.
Waitress: What’d he do?
Batman (flustered): He told some jokes or something.
Waitress: You should go after my brother in law.
It’s the first day of National Sketch Writing Month
by Jeremiah Murphy
The setting is a park bench in May.
1: Excuse me, I am here to fix your telephone.
1: It should take only a moment.
2: And to think, I always have trouble getting any service with this phone.
1: There’s a problem with your phone.
2: I know, that’s why you are fixing it.
1: Do you know what the problem is?
2: Nobody is calling me.
1: No, that’s a problem with you, not the phone.
2: All right, all right, you joker.
1: The problem with your phone is very serious. So, I’m going to ask you to, you know, calm down, with the comedic persona.
2: Jeez, it’s just a phone. What could be wrong?
1: It’s emitting a bizarre frequency of pulses. You may have been experiencing headaches, nausea, mild hallucinations—maybe shadow like creatures in the periphery of your vision.
2: Well, my toenails have been growing at an alarming rate.
1: That’s because you’re supposed to clip them once a week.
2: Excuse me, I’m not suffering from any of the symptoms you mentioned, so perhaps my phone is fine.
1: Perhaps I am hallucinating your saying that because I spend all my days repairing these phones and am exposed to the damaging pulses.
2: Well, you can fart in one hand and perhaps in the others and see which one gets full faster.
1: Neither one with get full, they are both intangibles.
2: If the hand is cupped in a manner, perhaps one can prevent the gas from escaping.
1: Do you fart in the same hand that you hold your phone?
2: I don’t fart in my hand.
1: Are you experiencing any other problems with your phone?
2: Just that nobody calls me.
1: I have no interest in spending my time having similar conversations over the telephone if that’s what you’re trying to insinuate.
2: Cool your jets.
1: Are we finished?
2: I guess so. You were the one in a rush to fix my phone.
1: I’m a phone repair man.
2: I work in fashion.
1: Oh yeah? What kind?
2: Interior design.
1: Get out.
2: It’s not very lucrative.
1: Oh, yeah, nobody calls you. Say, you smell that bad breath smell?
2: I thought it was you.
1: It’s the smell I get inside my head when I begin to question who I am, not at an identity level, but like at an essence level. I can always go back so far in my head. It’s a remarkable, mystical feeling, then I get a bad breath smell.
2: I’d recommend removing your Bluetooth device.
1: I thought it made me look like Lobot.
2: From Star Wars?
1: Yes. Care for an AMC Gold Ticket Movie Pass?
Eddie McOwskey Press Conference
By Jeremiah Murphy
Good Mornings Folks, I’m Eddie McOwskey, candidate for New Jersey State Governors. Please listen to me, while I try to persuade youse with manipulative speech and tentative promises.
Folks, why should you vote for me? Simple. I’m the best. I’m not one to sling mud around pig pens, so I’ll refrain from the usual petty attacks. However, my opponents, Jonny Corzines and Chris Christies are both fat, ugly, and quite frankly smell like a hippopotamus’s dirty butts. Like a hippopatumus’s dirty butts. It’s either that or me. I think the choice is simples.
(in a deep, raspy voice)
Vote McOwskey or Vote for Stinky-Sweet Pachyderm Butt.
I have to do my own scary poltical ad narration voice.
Now. I’ll accept questions. Yes, you from the New York Times.
Actually, I’m not from the New York Times. I write a blog that some kids in my high school read.
We all have to start somewheres. May your dreams come true, dear boys. What is your question? Perhaps you’d like to know about my administration’s candy and comic book bailout plan? Or my CD pick of the week?
You plainly said that you would not engage in mudslinging but in the following sentence you called you opponents ugly, fat, and smelly. Why did you contradict yourself in such an obvious light.
Thank you for that great question, young man. Actually, you may be too young to understand but the voting public likes to hear everything. They like to hear you promise to not say mean things, then they like to hear you say mean things. It shows that one has the formissitude to betray oneself for the good of the public’s moralities and entertainments.
Isn’t that lying, Mr. McOwskey?
Henry, when you’re an adult you don’t get accused of lying, you get accused of misspeaking and spreading misinformation. And even then the accusations don’t occur until a day or two laters and never, ever in front of anyones faces. Next question, yes you from the Wall Street Journal.
Actually, I just keep a diary.
At least it has one dedicated reader, which is more than the Wall Street Journal can attest. That rags.
I didn’t have a question. I was just stretching.
Oh, yeah so was I.