Jesus is Mopey, or: “Sorkin, Sorkin, Lama Sabachthani”

OK, Aaron Sorkin, so. You didn't use my last sketch idea. Cool, whatever. But the facts remain: even though I am still terrible at writing sketches, I am still not as terrible as you. So here is another one. This one has to do with the “vague mocking of religious things” and requires “cursory research to understand”. Therefore: it is totally “up your alley”.

The deal stands: steal this, and give it to Mark McKinney to make better, and as always, I am willing to add a scene at the end where you and Kristin Chenoweth snort coke off each other's genitals. Intrigued? Good. Because I'm only giving you six more chances to make this show live up to its promise. SIX MORE CHANCES! GET IT RIGHT, SORKIN!!!

Yours,
SMNTH


Jesus is Mopey

Split screen between the two characters. Andrew and James are wearing tunics and mantles or whatever. Andrew is calling James on the phone.

James: Hello?
Andrew: Hey, James the Elder, son of Zebedee, Fisher of Men.
James: Oh, hey, Andrew, Brother of Simon Peter. What’s the word?
Andrew: God.
James: Uh...
Andrew: Or, at least, the Word is with God..? It’s sort of confusing.
James: Um, what?
Andrew: You know what? I don’t even know. Hey, I just got off the phone with Jesus.
James: Yeah? How’s He doing?
Andrew: Two words: Mo. Pey.
James: Yo, you’re right. What's up with Him lately? At first I thought, oh, He's just depressed because of whatshername, He'll get over it, but now I think we should talk to Him maybe. Take Him out for falafel or something -- anything to get Him away from that damn PlayStation.
Andrew: Totally. On the phone I was all, “Is this not the carpenter's son?” and He's all, “Leave me alone, I'm playing Katamari Damacy.”
James: Have you been over to His place? I don't think He's left it in 40 days! I say that as a symbolic approximation.
Andrew: Sure.
James: Bread and fish filling up the trash can like He's playing Jenga, and He's stopped shaving again. “I'm trying to grow it out.” He looks like Kenny Loggins.
Andrew: (distractedly) “Danger Zone”-era, or “I'm Alright”-era?
James: ...I don't know.
Andrew: (quickly) Just kidding, I don't know what those things mean either...
James: Yeah.
Andrew: What does that even mean?
James: Yeah. Listen, I think the twelve of us should get together and take him out to dinner.
Andrew: Yeah, OK.
James: How's shortly before next Easter for you?
Andrew: Yeah, but listen, no Judas this time.
James: Why? I mean, sure, he can be a little Touchie-Feelie, but we'll just tell him not to kiss anybody. Also, he's the only one with an Explorer, and while the “All in One Accord” joke was funny the first time, I'm not sitting on Peter's lap again. “Petra” means “rock.”
Andrew: Touchie-Feelie is right. And how he always says “How’s it hanging?” And then he just LOOKS at you? And his thing about “the cock crew thrice?” It’s kind of perv.
James: Judas said that? Oh, man, all this time Matthias’ been saying you said that. Later, Matthias was stoned and then beheaded. Anyway, we wouldn't be the Twelve Musketeers without Judas!
Andrew: I thought we decided to call ourselves the Twelve Disciples.
James: I don’t even know anymore. At the last meeting, I think first it was Twelve Apostles. Then it was the Twelve Angry Men, then the Twelve Steps.
Andrew: And then someone was like let’s invite Thaddeus! And then someone else wanted to invite Nathanael. And then someone wanted to invite Levi. We have fifteen people for twelve positions.
James: I think Levi’s the same as Matthew.
Andrew: He is?
James: I don’t know. Scholars disagree.
Andrew: Whatevs, what’s one more tax collector, more or less?
James: Yeah, so, uh, listen, I gotta go, but give me a call later.
Andrew: Will do.
James: And, uh, “If you don’t like fish…”
Both: “…stay out of Galilee!”
(both laugh)
Andrew: OK, talk to you.
James: Later.

EXEUNT UNTIL THE FARNSWORTH INVENTION GETS OUT OF TURNAROUND

Three Wishes, or: “Aaron Sorkin: Ue! Ue! Ue!”

I have never written a sketch before in my life and therefore I am likely a terrible sketch writer and yet I am still a better sketch writer than you, Aaron Sorkin; therefore: Aaron Sorkin, steal this sketch, and give it to Mark McKinney (whom you’re not giving enough to do right now anyway), and he will make it better, and then if you can get past this rise in amateurism (with fists!) you can put it on the show and plus, OK, get this: cast the Nate Corddry/Tom Jeter character as “MAN” and then behold the synergy: the Samantha Li and Lucy Kenwright characters get to see Tom Jeter’s nipples; I get to see Nate Corddry’s nipples; Tina Fey will have to take back that thing she said (OK, that’s not true, what she said is awesome and so accurate that it probably turned into cesium when it came out of her mouth); and we can drop this whole relationshippy direction this thing is taking, because I still believe that the potential of this show, as measured by:




...where Y (i.e., the modulus of elasticity λ), cross sectional area, A0, initial length, l0, which is stretched by a length, Δl and ok, I lost track there, but my point is the Ue — the potential — is so amazing, and this joyless fucking roadtrip through your fucking psyche is fucking wearing me fucking out. (Oh, speaking of which, please note that I will clean up the swears and also I am willing to add a few lines at the end where Kristin Chenoweth comes on stage to pleasure you with pity- and/or make-up-sex, if that will make everything OK, but otherwise, I am serious: I am only giving you seven more chances this season to get this right.)


Three Wishes

A man is wandering on the beach and comes across a lamp. Looking at it skeptically at first, and then making sure no one else is watching, he rubs the lamp. Sure enough, a Genie pops out.

GENIE: Jesus.
MAN: Whoa, hey.
GENIE: Oh man, how long was I in there?
MAN: I don’t know. What’s the last thing you remember?
GENIE: Steve Martin was doing interesting work.
MAN: A looooong time.
GENIE: I suppose you want your three wishes.
MAN: Oh man, yes. Yes I do.
GENIE: OK. Shoot.
MAN: I’ve actually been thinking about this for a while. Wish number one: I wish for more wishes!
GENIE: (laughs) OK, whatever. (waves his arms like it’s no big deal) Wish granted!
MAN: Why’d you say it like that?
GENIE: Yeah. Um, I can’t really tell you.
MAN: Did I do it wrong? Did I fuck up? I thought that was a good one.
GENIE: I’m really not at liberty to tell you. It’s the Genie Code.
MAN: Crap! How do I know if I screwed up or not?
GENIE: I don’t know, I guess you could make a bunch of test wishes and see if they come true.
MAN: Yeah.
GENIE: But then, you wouldn’t know for sure if they were the unlimited wishes that you wished for in the first wish, or if you were squandering your remaining two wishes.
MAN: Yeah. Crap. Shit! Crap.
GENIE: It’s a tough call.
MAN: OK. Alright. For my second wish, I wish to know if I screwed up the first wish, and, if so, how?
GENIE: That’s sort of two, but I’ll give it to you. You said you wanted to wish for more wishes, which is cool; I gave you that. But: you didn’t say you wanted the wishes to come true.
MAN: That was understood.
GENIE: Not really.
MAN: Damn it!
GENIE: You have one more. Make it count.
MAN: Damn it! This sucks! Of COURSE I meant they would come true.
GENIE: “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”
MAN: Shut up.
GENIE: “If fishes were wishes the ocean would be all of our desire.”
MAN: Shut up.
GENIE: Gertrude Stein.
MAN: Shut up. OK. (trying to word everything very carefully) I wish that whatever I wish for would come true, wait, cancel cancel cancel.
GENIE: Canceling.
MAN: Because then it could be like maybe, say like I dream that I’m fellating the Vice President then you’ll make it come true.
GENIE: You dreamt that you fellated Mondale?
MAN: (pause) No.
GENIE: Or, you know, not Mondale, but whoever’s Vice President now?
MAN: IT WAS A DREAM.
GENIE: Jesus.
MAN: IT WAS A DREAM. OK, stop distracting me. I wish… OK? Listening? I WISH that… my wishes will come true but this is not counting any dreams I have that I’m not in control of and not like just random thoughts I have throughout the day; aaand it has to be an out-loud wish and, wait, cancel cancel cancel.
GENIE: Canceling.
MAN: Shit.
GENIE: It’s hard, I know.
MAN: OK. I just sort of panicked, but I think I got it now. I WISH that… whatever I wish for will come true… whenever… I touch my middle finger and my thumb together like this… and start a declarative sentence with the phrase ‘I wish…’ then that’s the beginning of the wish and then whatever I say after that is what comes true… and then when I release my fingers, then that’s the end of the sentence, so whatever I say after that doesn’t count as the wish, unless I touch my fingers again, and I don’t have to say ‘I wish’ in the exact same tone of voice and inflection I just said it in… I can, like, modulate the way I say it, and my fingers don’t have to be in that exact position, just sort of like this in general, and if for some reason I lose my fingers in an accident, or I have laryngitis, then I get to revisit the criteria for wishing for things… and I can reverse the effects of any wishes that get screwed up and if, OK, wait, cancel cancel cancel.
GENIE: Maybe you want to aim lower.
MAN: I don’t know. I think, if I can get this, I think I’ll use my power wisely. I could maybe stop some wars or feed the hungry, or cure cancer or something. I mean, sure, some of them were going to be like, ‘I wish that every basket I tried to shoot would go in’ or ‘ I wish that I could stop time and undress people,’ but the larger world problems, I was going to take care of those things. You know? Those two didn’t count, OK? The basket and the stop time one.
GENIE: Got it.
MAN: I just feel like this is my chance to make a difference.
GENIE: So, what’s your final wish?
MAN: (thinks for a long time) I wish… OK, wait. I wish…
GENIE: Whenever you’re ready.
MAN: (thinks for a long time) I wish… I wish… that… my nipples weren’t the size of hubcaps. Anymore.
GENIE: Done. Congratulations. I’ll see you around. (he leaves)
MAN: Yeah. (He slowly pulls his shirt up. His nipples are, in fact, normal-sized nipples. He shrugs.) Yeah. OK.

EXEUNT UNTIL THE FALL LINE-UP IS ANNOUNCED

In the beginning sometimes I left posts on that blog.

Jessi Guilford is smart and funny and I am a bad group blog contributor.
Maybe it’s all the oxytocin in my nose spray but I Y Jessi’s post on BabelPop! about Wittgenstein’s Mistress and Metallica and plants.

Actually, since I also found myself enjoying Studio 60 last night, it might be the oxytocin.

Nevertheless.

ZOMG

This, from comingsoon.net, my favorite site for when I want a webpage backgrond gif to explode my eyes, made me jst wet my pants, metaphorically(1), with glee.

John Krasinski (“The Office”) is writing and directing an adaptation of David Foster Wallace’s “Brief Interviews with Hideous Men,” reports Production Weekly.

“Hideos Men” features twenty-two stories that intertwine hilarity with an escalating disquiet to create almost unbearable tensions. The series of stories from which the book takes its title is a tour de force sequence of imagined interviews with men on the subject of their relations with women. These portraits of men at their most self-justifying, loquacious, and benighted explore poignantly and hilariously the agonies of sexual connection.

Five weeks of principal photography begins November in locations around the Northeast.

This: John Krasinski!
Plus this: David Foster Wallace!
Plus this: A misspelling of “hideous”!(2)
Equals: My worlds are colliding!

And I love how it comes preblurbed:

“ESCALATING DISQUIET!”
“SEXUAL!”
“IMAGINED...AGONIES!”
“NORTHEAST!”

JOHN KRASINSKI, PLEASE DO NOT LET ME DOWN LIKE AARON SORKIN HAS APPARENTLY CHOSEN TO DO (3).

(1) Special Note to Jessi: I’m sorry if I am always writing about pee.

(2) The u on my keyboard at work doesn’t always work consistently. (a)

(3) I missed Stdio 60 on Monday but I just watched episode 2 for free on the internet (b) and while I have to admire the amount of energy going into a show that has to include in every episode featring the writers both a bunch of sketch ideas that are sort of funny but don’t really work, and then a bnch of sketch ideas that do (i.e., every episode has to be both SNL and MadTV, (c)), this show isn’t like, working? Like, at all? For me? Yet?

It is DISHEARTENING. There’s a slickness and familiarity to it that makes me feel like everyone’s phoning it in (d) -- a slickness in spite of the clunky, embarrassing stillborn promotional websites (the all-links-are-dead as of this posting Studio 60 on NSS and the not-apparently-even-up-anymore defamer parody/tribute/salute/ripoff defaker (still viewable via google cache. [Update: I can't find it in the cache anymore, but this proves I didn't dream it]

I guess I’ll still watch, because I don’t have cable, but, but, but bt bt bt bt bt bt bt bt bt (2)
I'm only giving you eleven more chances.


(a) which scks (i)

(b) (!)

(c) not that I’m particularly worried Sorkin will run out of steam; no one has had this many throw-away lines at his disposal since the Epstein twins. Oh. Wait, wait. I thought of someone.

(d) the big finale of ep.2 where we see the cold opening that does work and that allegedly proves the genius of Chandler and Lyman (I mean, ha ha, oops), is a Gilbert and Sllivan(b) parody? Really? Didn’t The Simpsons kind of already cover that in “Carpe Feare”? And again in “Deep Space Homer”? And again in “Bart’s Inner Child”? And you you you I'm looking at you Aaron Sorkin, didn’t you go to this particular well in the “And It’s Surely To Their Credit” episode of West Wing? And wasn’t that in November 2000?(ii)

(i) especially for typing in .r.l.'s.

(ii) Um, this post was supposed to be about John Krasinski. John Krasinski, call me.
I love yo.

Studio Sixty

When I was watching this last night, I thought the actor playing the Davey Wilson character (“Cal Shanley”) was Andy Dick, and I thought, “Andy Dick has really let himself go.”
But I just checked, and I see that that character was played by Timothy Busfield, which makes me think that Timothy Busfield has let himself go.

Our hearts go out to the families of Andy Dick and Timothy Busfield.

P.S. the show kind of sucked, but it takes place in Los Angeles, so maybe it’s supposed to.
AARON SORKIN, PLEASE DO NOT MAKE THIS SHOW SUCK.