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Old Man: Now, the Devil's magic only works for the South. It don't work for those Yankees. Confederate Officer: I don't understand that. That implies that there is something evil in our cause. We don't need the Devil fighting on our side. God will decide the outcome of this war. |
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| © 2007, 2012. Scripts by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved. |
Saturday, December 22, 2012
The Devilry Hillbillies
The Teaching of the Guard
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Professor: Now that they are going to force me to retire after I wasted my life trying to get through to class after class of dunderheads, I just want to blow my brains out! Student #1: Don't do it, professor! Professor: Who are you? Student #1: I'm Jerome Fielding. Class of '43. I threw myself against a hail of machine gun bullets because of something you taught me. Student #2: And I threw myself on a grenade to save my men because of one of your lessons. Student #3: And I challenged an enemy tank with my fist when it was all I had left. And even though I got chewed to bits, my courage helped to inspire our side to victory. Student #1: So you see, Professor. You can retire with pride. Any old teacher could teach us how to live, but you're the only one that could teach us how to die. |
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| © 2007, 2012. Scripts by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved. |
The Racoon
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(An old man's farm.) Old Man: Now listen up, you dried up, withered old semi-embalmed walking corpse! I'll be home by sundown. Old Woman: I hear's ya, you decomposing, malodorous old toothless wonder! (The old man goes out to hunt the racoon with his dog, Red.) Old Man: Now don't let that coon outsmart you, Red! Look out! He's a-headed for the quicksand! Stay right there, Red! I'll save you! (The next morning, back at the farm.) Old Man: I been standing here for forty-five minutes trying to get an answer out of one of you, but all you want to do is stand around this casket a-crying! Why won't none of you tell me who died? Me and Red's gonna stay on your tail until we gets an answer. (The guests pack up the casket and head into town.) Stay with him, Red! Don't lose him! Red? Where the Hell are we? What's this fence doin' here? Who are you? Man: I'm the fence keeper. Old Man: How did I get talking to you? Man: You must be dead. Old Man: Dead! That's impossible. Man: When did the confusion start? Old Man: Well, I was goin' into the quicksand to rescue my dog when everything kinda went dark. And then - uh... Well now, if that don't beat all. Red! That coon done outsmarted us outta our lives! |
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| © 2007, 2012. Scripts by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved. |
Friday, December 21, 2012
The Burning Sun
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Voice: The earth has lost its orbit and spins helplessly into the sun. But one art gallery stays open. It is the gallery of a woman who is determined to paint her life truthfully to the bitter end - of her and of everyone else. Artist: And here is one with charred corners. You can also see how the paint dried out wrong and left cracks throughout the composition. Male Patron: That's boring. Artist: Ooo! It's hot in here. (She removes her blouse and all eyes are again upon her.) And this one here started out a wax portrait, but then I had to change it into a landscape of a lake. Patron: Who cares? Artist: Curse this heat! (She takes off her dress.) (The radio: And we're giving away two plane tickets to Baffin Island, the world's new tropical paradise...) |
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| © 2007, 2012. Scripts by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved. |
Once Upon a Time Signature
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(A man in a football helmet appears in the middle of the 20th century.) Portly: I say, where did you come from? Dobbs: I don't believe we've been introduced. Portly: Oliver Portly, at your service. Dobbs: Cedric T. Dobbs. Portly: And judging from that newspaper you have in your pocket, you must be from the 1890's. Dobbs: Indeed I am. And what is that little box in the wall? It is most fascinating. Portly: (Merry laughter) Good sir, you've been flung forward all the way into the Jet Age. That device is known as a television. Dobbs: Why, it's wonderful. You don't need any other inventions. This is enough. Portly: Then you don't mind if I transport myself back to your time? Dobbs: Not as long as I keep looking at that box. I want to believe everything it tells me. Portly: You won't miss your time? Dobbs: I won't miss that hokey piano playing. If you think you can stand it, you're welcome to it. |
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| © 2007, 2012. Scripts by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved. |
A Plane Is Born
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(War Production Report: 1943) And here comes Jim to snap on the wings as Ben paints on the insignia and Sheila takes time off from her cocktail party to install the machine gun into the gunner's turret. And here's Gasket Gracie! She says she wants to keep her job after the war because she's become addicted to the throbbing and pulsing of hand operated power tools. See how these machine guns have two barrels? If an enemy plane is missed by one, it can still be hit by the other. And now the heavy bomber rolls out of its hanger in a new record time of twenty-three and one half hours. And now we know what kind of performance to expect from workers after the war. And if the men don't like it, we can always shame them into it by reminding them that their wives outproduced them during the war. |
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| © 2007, 2012. Scripts by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved. |
Thursday, December 20, 2012
The Impersonator
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(An FBI slide show. On the screen is a large slide of a page of food stamps.) Agent 1: (changing slides as needed) Expertly done. Here's one for a turkey dinner with plum pudding. And here's another one for a schnitzel on a kaiser. The audacity. We've followed his career so far as an ice cream vendor impersonator, a crossing guard impersonator, and a door-to-door encyclopedia salesman impersonator. And then we found this. Agent 2: That looks like a transit pass! Agent 1: Beautifully forged. He must have picked through every box of cereal in the grocery store to find that hologram. And now we think he may have designs on the hitherto sacred profession of newspaper carrying. We must stop this madman before he goes too far. |
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| © 2007, 2012. Scripts by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved. |
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