Sandwiché

EXT: A table outside a cafe. A MAN sits, biting from a sandwich he is holding. A PASSERBY walks up.

PASSERBY
Excuse me sir, are you eating a sandwiché?

MAN
Uh, no, it's just a sandwich.

PASSERBY
Ah. Well, you should add this e to the end of it.

PASSERBY pulls from his vest pocket a lower case "e". He adds it to the end of the sandwich in MAN's hand.

MAN
Wow, a sandwiché! Thanks mister!

PASSERBY has exited during MAN'S excitement.

MAN
WAIT!!! WHERE'D YOU GO? I don't even know your name!

He collapses, sobbing.

MAN
All I have is this....sandwiché....

A woman with a black eye enters. She is smoking a cigarette. She holds up a card that reads:
"Fin."

BLACKOUT.

Iron Neville

INT: Subway car. Two MEN are seated on a bench, separated by one empty seat.

MAN 1
Psst. Hey.

MAN 2
Yeah?

MAN 1
Psst. Hey.

MAN 2
I said 'yeah?'!

MAN 1
Oh. (beat) You heard o' Iron Neville?

MAN 2
Who?

MAN 1
Iron Neville?

MAN 2
Iron Neville?

MAN 1
Yeah, Iron Neville.

MAN 2
No.

MAN 1
No?

MAN 2
No.

A beat.

MAN 1
Do you want to know who Iron Neville is?

MAN 2
I guess so.

MAN 1
Iron Neville is a cyborg made from military technology and the body of singer Aaron Neville.

MAN 2
Okay.

MAN 1
Do you like it?

MAN 2
As what, an idea?

MAN 1
Yeah.

MAN 2
Uh, sure. Did you come up with it?

MAN 1
Yeah.

MAN 2
Cool man.

A beat.

MAN 1
It's cool because he was already pretty jacked, like in his arms.

MAN 2 (idly nodding)
Sure, sure.

MAN 1
So he'll be that much more prepared to like fight off his foes.

MAN 2 nods slowly. A beat.

MAN 1 (opening his bag)
I have these t-shirts...

MAN 1 presents some crude-looking grey t-shirts with the likeness of Iron Neville, part machine, part Aaron Neville, on the front.

MAN 1
...and maybe you could buy one?

MAN 2
I don't want one.

MAN 1
Please, it's my one idea, I've always wanted to hav--

MAN 2 (standing in a fit of rage)
I'M NOT BUYING ONE OF YOUR STUPID SHIRTS WITH YOUR STUPID IRON NEVILLE CHARACTER ON IT. YOU SUCK AND YOUR IDEA SUCKS MORE AND YOU SHOULD HATE YOURSELF FOR HAVING IT.

MAN 1 begins to sob. MAN 2 looks around awkwardly, feeling ashamed of himself.

MAN 2 (softly)
Look, I'm sorry, that was--

The wall of the subway car is torn away as IRON NEVILLE enters, laser sight in front of his human eye, whilst his cyborg eye rapidly shifts colored lenses as it scans the room. On his shoulders are mounted umpteen rocket launchers, and his left arm ends in a mammoth gatling gun that has eight rows of simultaneously firing barrels. The surface of his body is covered in plasma and his surroundings immediately begin to melt into oblivion. He speaks in an Aaron Neville falsetto with a tremolo in his voice, but also like a robot.

IRON NEVILLE
DON'T TAKE AWAY MY HEA-EA-EA-VEN, SCUMBAG

MAN 2
How am I doing that?

IRON NEVILLE launches a thousand razor sharp, hyper intelligent hoverdisks at MAN 2, who is eviscerated instantaneously. The subway car is repainted with his blood. A beat. IRON NEVILLE disengages from his attack stance and crosses to MAN 1, who is still crying. He picks up the man and cradles him.

IRON NEVILLE
I DON'T KNOW MU-UCH, BUT I KNOW I LOVE YOU-OU-OU

MAN 1 (singing)
That may be...all I need to know.

They begin to make out.

BLACKOUT.

The 32nd Sketch

Lights up on the COMEDY WIZARD and ROB.

COMEDY WIZARD

So it is my distinct honor to present you, Rob Morrison, with this award for finally completing the Sketchtember Sketch Writing Challenge, after failing time and again. Let this be proof that no matter how checkered one's past, Sketchtember is attainable for one and all.

The COMEDY WIZARD hands ROB a trophy.

ROB

Gee, thanks. I guess I'd like to thank --

An offstage orchestra begins to play "wrap-it-up" award show music.

COMEDY WIZARD

C'mon kid, we don't have all day.

ROB

Wait, wait, WAIT! STOP THE MUSIC!

Music stops.

ROB

This isn't an award...

ROB lifts a piece of bread off the top of the trophy, revealing a metal device.

ROB

It's a....SEIS-MO-GRAAAAAPH!

The COMEDY WIZARD runs around like his soul is on fire. ROB shrieks with mad laughter.

MARTHREGENT and MUTUAL FRIEDMAN enter.

MARTHREGENT

It's everything I evah dreamed of!

MUTUAL FRIEDMAN (screaming)

The feeling is mutual.

DR. MILKANDSHIT rides across the stage on a flood of fecal matter.

DR. MILKANDSHIT

Weeeeeeeeeeee!

ROB

ALL HAIL SKETCHTEMBERRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!

BLACKOUT.

Lights up on a bare stage. Two tiny glowing PEEDLESNORTS are conversing.

DADDY PEEDLESNORT

And that's how we came to know and love it today: Sketchtember.

Beat.

BABY PEEDLESNORT

Ya know...you had me going for a while there, but I don't think I believe any of that.

DADDY PEEDLESNORT

What?

BABY PEEDLESNORT

Yeah.

DADDY PEEDLESNORT

Really? What tipped you off?

BABY PEEDLESNORT

Hmm, I think the whole "Sketchtember" thing. Like anyone would really waste their time writing sketches for a whole month -- especially weird ones that would probably be unsuccessful if they were ever staged.

DADDY PEEDLESNORT

Drat. Well. Why don't you hop on your Snzidocious and we'll head back to Peedlesnort Village.

BABY PEEDLESNORT

Daaaaad! How many times do I have to tell you that mine is a Snzidocious Alimidocious! Not just a plain old boring Snzidocious like you have!

DADDY PEEDLSNORT

All right, all right.

They mount their steeds and ride off. A closing iris effect begins, a la the end of an old movie.

ANNOUNCER

So, until their next adventure kiddies, it's time to say.....

CHORUS

Goooodbyeeeeeee little Peedlesnorts, goodbyeeeeeeeeeeee!

DINOSAUR BOB's head pops into the diminishing iris.

DINOSAUR BOB (singing)

And there goes Dinosaur Boooooooob!

We see the LEAGUE OF GRUMBLY AUTHORITY LADIES descending from the heavens behind him.

DINOSAUR BOB (spoken)

Oh god no! Not again!

DINOSAUR BOB is flayed to pieces as the iris closes with a "beeeeeoooouup!"

THE END.

The Metaphysical Taco (Taco Runner #3)

Lights up on the dining room of a fastfood mexican restaurant. Two GUYS sit at a table. One of them has what appears to be an empty plate in front of him.

GUY 1

Hey, how's your taco?

GUY 2

Good, I think.

GUY 1

Is that a metaphsycial taco?

GUY 2

It would appear to be.

Beat.

GUY 2

The taste is absract.

Beat.

GUY 1

Well, that's normal.

BLACKOUT.

Raftwerk

DAVE and ROB sit on a couch. "The Model" by Kraftwerk is playing from a radio sitting on the table in front of them.

ROB

Dood, Kraftwerk is awesome!

DAVE

Sure are.

ROB

Dave, you know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna come up with a a parody band called Raftwerk. It's going to be a raft-rock sendup of klassic Kraftwerk songs.

DAVE

Wait. Did you just say "classic" with a "k"?

ROB

Yeah.

DAVE

And what is raft-rock?

ROB

It's a form of rock that is of and influenced by the whole raft sound.

DAVE

"The raft sound?"

ROB

Yeah, you know.

Beat. DAVE stands and pulls out a crossbow.

ROB

Shit!

DAVE aims the crossbow at ROB

DAVE

This has got to end.

ROB

No, please, my fami--

The crossbow fires. ROB is flung backwards, an arrow through his mouth. He lies dead.

DAVE

Finally. Peace.

A MAILMAN crosses the stage and hands DAVE a handful of mail, then continues across, making his exit.

MAILMAN

Here's your mail! Looks like it's mostly bills though!

DAVE shrugs sheepishly to the audience as "wah wah" music plays.

BLACKOUT.

ALTERNATE ENDING:

ROB

No, please, my fami--

The crossbow fires. ROB is flung backwards, an arrow through his mouth. He lies dead.

DAVE

Well, that's taken care of. Time to find out what's in this closet!

DAVE crosses to a closet and opens it. A large wooden raft shoots out, with a rock band on its back, playing "Pocket Calculator" by Kraftwerk. DAVE is crushed beneath its weight. The raft zips offstage and into the audience.

AUDIENCE

Weeeeeeeee!

BLACKOUT.

Electric Avenue

Writer's note: after completing this sketch, I realized that it was dangerously related to a sketch that my good friend Matt Koff has already written. It remains here on this page as a part of the Sketchtember challenge, but I would never deign to perform such a derivative, beastly thing as does lie below:

MAN 1 and MAN 2 enter. They walk up to a horizontal beam of crackling energy, right along the ground. They pause.

They pause some more.

MAN 1 (deadpan)

Wow.

MAN 2 (excited)

Yeah!

MAN 1

Yeah.

MAN 2

Uh-huh!

MAN 1

You know, I...

MAN 2

What?

MAN 1

I just...when you said "let's walk down to Electric Avenue", I just -- ha! -- i just. Kinda. Figured. That was a joke. Because of the song.

MAN 2 (shaking his head, offended)

Tch. No, it's not JUST a song, Michael. It's not just some words. We have an electric avenue in this town and it is a matter of pride.

MAN 1

Yeah, I-I can see that.

MAN 2

You know what? I went out of my way tonight. I went out of my way to take you here. Looks like that was a mistake.

MAN 2 begins to exit. MAN 1 stops him.

MAN 1

Steve, wait up.

MAN 2

No man, no. I'm my own person. My mother always told me that. And she told me that one day: I'm gonna find someone. I'm gonna find a companion. Until that day, you're so much debris blocking my path.

A beat. MAN 1 lowers his arm. MAN 2 slowly exits. Just before he does:

MAN 1 (facing away)

Oh, Steve?

MAN 2 halts.

MAN 1

You're going to miss me like a train. You know that? Like a goddamned train.

MAN 2 (head down)

I know.

MAN 2 exits.

Beat. MAN 1 eyes the beam of electricity.

MAN 1

Yeah, this is really kinda one-note.

BLACKOUT.

Stinkytime Racers

ROY sits at his cubicle, working. A portal rips into the fabric of reality next to him. A futuristically dressed MAN walks out. He lifts up the visor on his helmet.

MAN

Are you Roy Koshy?

ROY

Uh, yes. Yes I am. Who are you?

MAN

I am Snargleplex the Kind, member of the Stinkytime Racers.

ROY

Stinkytime Racers?

MAN

Yes, we are a league of --

A portal is ripped open on the other side of ROY. MAN 2 steps through.

MAN 2

--a league of time-traveling athletes who race each other to different points in time. This process causes the human body to produce thousands of times more body odor than traditional exercise, hence our name: The Stinkytime Racers.

ROY leans forward, sniffing.

ROY

You both smell fine to me.

MAN 1

Yes, well, it only happens when we travel into the future.

MAN 2

And be glad we wear time-traveling anti-persperant. Made by Old Time.

ROY

Old Time?

MAN 2

Uh huh.

Beat.

MAN 1

You don't seem very impressed.

ROY

Yeah. Well, right before you came, these guys showed up.

Two GRANDMAS enter carrying bowls of chili. They each move over to a miniature race track set up with a car for each of them. The GRANDMAS begin farting on the cars to move them.

GRANDMA 1

You're going down, Gwen!

GRANDMA 2

Keep dreamin', Judith!

The others are silent as the GRANDMAs continue their race, eating chili and farting on mini race cars.

MAN 2

Hey Snargleplex, wanna go back and see the world when Martin Short still had a career?

MAN 1

Yeah, okay.

The MEN step back through their portals.

BLACKOUT.