Gert's Turn

(Five good looking grandmas in their early twenties play cards.) Millie: If he's heading into his fifties, maybe it's time he gave up. Gert: I still believe in him. Millie: Of course, you do. You're his mother. But he has been trying for a long time and nothing seems to happen for him. Gert: It's not his time yet. Millie: You know, Gert. For most people, it is never their time. But other people don't tell them. And they don't tell their mothers either. So they spend half their lives aiming for something that will never happen and end up parking cars in their old age. Betty: Oh dear! You wouldn't want him ending up like Mabel's boy. Gert: Are you saying that my Gus isn't going to make it? He always draws a crowd. Millie: Yeah, of friends and relatives. Gert: But isn't your Ned trying to do exactly the same thing as my Gus? And isn't he the same age? Millie: Unlike your Gus, my Ned has spent most of the last twenty years in a gravel pit. Gert: Maybe it's where he belongs. Millie: Now, Gert, they can't all have talent. Gert: You're trying my patience. Millie: Hey, everyone! See the portrait my daughter Lindsey drew? Isn't it miraculous? The art teacher says that she's gifted. (She passes it on as the others express amazement.) Gert: That does it! (She gets up on the table and heads for Millie. They engage in a wrestling match. Enter Gus. He runs over to the fight and pulls off his mother's attacker.) Gus: Are you all right, mom? Should I call the cops? Gert: Get the hell off me! Can't you see that I'm with friends? Call Hating A group of school girls engage in some telephone mischief. Tracy: May I speak to Professor Picklenose, please? Phone: Picklenose, am I? Well at least I don't STUFF MY BRA! Ha ha ha... (Tracy drops the phone in shock.) Stephanie: Tracy! That's cheating! Kristen: Gee, Tracy, if I ever need to blow my nose, I hope you're standing close by. (Derisive laughter.) Announcer: It's time we gave those crank callers a taste of their own medicine. Call hating is a new service offered by your telecommunications provider. Unwanted or unknown phone numbers are rerouted and answered by our bitterest, most foul mouthed customer service agents. Neighbour Girl: Hey Allen. I thought you were meeting Sara tonight. Allen: That's off. Neighbour Girl: Why? Allen: She didn't like it when my answering service called her a scabby whore. Announcer: Call hating. Your world just got a whole lot smaller. (Enter Gert's grandson, Bruce, skateboard in hand.) Bruce: Hi grandma. (He leans over to kiss Gert on the cheek.) Gert: Hello, dear. Bruce: Hello, ladies. Ladies: Hi, Bruce. Bruce: You know, grandma, there's something funny about you. All the boys in my class say they want to do you, even though you're my grandma and you're so old. Gert: (blushing) Why, Bruce, you're so sweet! Bruce: And I want to do all your friends. I want to grab each one of them and rape her in front of the others - except you, of course, grandma. That would be incest. (The girls blush with joy and express gratitude for the remark.) Blanche: Aren't you a dear! He's going to go far, Gert. The Music Pump Announcer: Jeff Morton was living in a noisy downtown location when he heard a car go by with its radio pumping out loud music. That's when he got the idea to invent a device that turns machine noise into music. (A construction site.) Morton: I'm Jeff Morton, inventor of the music pump. Studies have shown that workers are happier when they can mentally escape the drudgery of the workplace as they perform their mindless tasks. Music can provide just such an escape. (Worker One hands Worker Two a large air drill.) Worker One: You don't mind standing over this thing for the next four hours? Worker Two: (Smiling) Not with the music pump. Boy this thing must really rock. (He pulls the trigger and ragtime piano music comes out of the drill.) What the hell is that? Worker One: Scott Joplin. Maple Leaf Rag. We had to take out the metal music because guys kept going on power trips and drilling into the water lines. Worker Two: Well, can we at least listen to something that doesn't remind me of an ice cream truck? It's hot down here. Announcer: Work your way to oblivion with the music pump. Millie: Does that grandson of yours take after his grandpa, Gert? Gert: What do you mean? Betty: Aw, c'mon, Gert. That linebacker of yours must just drill it into you. Gert: Jack's not like that. He's sweet and gentle. Millie: You mean for a hitman? Gert: I'm telling you, he's sensitive. He wants to be an actor. Blanche: Ha! Does the new production of Spiderman need someone to play the Kingpin? Gert: Stop putting down my Jack! Do you see all these holes in the wall? Jack makes them with his head because of people like you! Blanche: Sorry, Gert. Jack is not the Kingpin. Gert: That's better. (She looks at her hand of cards.) Blanche: He's the Rhino! (Derisive laughter.) Gert: (Getting up onto the table) You bitch. Just wait till I get my hands on you. Blanche: (Getting up to confront Gert) What? What are you gonna do? (The two women lock into an athletic embrace. Their clothing is accidentally pulled off by the others as they wrestle.)
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© 2007, 2012. Scripts by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.