(Where by “graduated”, I mean “paid for another class that they had enough students to run this session”. I’m pretty certain aptitude has nothing to do with moving forward.
“What happened in between? Magic? Alcohol? A barely-noticeable lobotomy?”
As before, classes run on Saturdays. Today was the second class — which means the first writing assignment turned in. Which also means that I don’t have to do any work around here today. I just have to cut and paste. Awesome.
I will say, by way of explanation, that we were tasked with writing a “fish out of water” sketch this time around — a bit about someone who doesn’t quite belong. So that’s what I went for. Also, there’s gunfire. And horses. And crazy silk shirts.
It was originally going to be about a professional Yahtzee coach teaching a bunch of samurais about martial art strategy. What happened in between? Magic? Alcohol? A barely-noticeable lobotomy?
I’ve got no idea. It’s just another week in sketch class. God, I’ve missed this. Happy weekend, kids.
[MARK and WENDY sit on one side of a small table. JOE, a tall husky man dressed in shorts and a brightly-colored silk shirt, approaches the other side of the table.]
MARK: Joe, I’m sorry. We need you to leave the training center.
JOE: Leave? I’ve only been here three days!
MARK: We know, Joe. But you have to go. Really.
JOE: But this is my dream. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.
WENDY: We’re sorry, Joe. Very sorry. But–
MARK: It’s just not in the cards. You understand.
JOE: Is it my work? Because I’m trying really hard.
MARK: It’s not that. We…
WENDY: We love your energy.
MARK: Yes. Tremendous energy. And that’s super. But–
JOE: Did I say something wrong? Are you mad at me?
MARK: No, no. Everybody likes you, Joe. We all like you. It’s just–
JOE: What? Was my shirt untucked? Did I snore? What?
WENDY: Joe, you’re… you’re too big to be a horse jockey.
JOE: But I’m only nine and a half. Jose is, like, thirty. And Ricardo has kids older than me!
MARK: No, Joe — not too old. Too big.
WENDY: Haven’t you noticed you’re… ‘different’ from the other jockeys here?
JOE: Well, sure. They’re older. And they have mustaches. And they speak Guatemalan.
WENDY: They’re also smaller.
MARK: Much, much smaller.
JOE: I just thought they didn’t eat their vegetables. I could stop eating my vegetables.
MARK: I’m not sure cutting out broccoli is going to do the trick, there, champ.
JOE: Well, Mommy always says that “size doesn’t matter”.
MARK: And that’s usually true.
WENDY: No. Not really.
MARK: The point is, Joe, the horses can’t hold you. You’re breaking them.
JOE: Cowboys in the movies break horses all the time.
MARK: Yes, but cowboys break their spirits. You’re severing their spinal cords.
JOE: Same difference.
MARK: Not exactly. Wendy’s had to shoot more horses since you got here than in the last five years.
WENDY: Joe, we’re running out of horses.
MARK: And we’re all getting tired of meatloaf in the cafeteria. So we’re very sorry, Joe, but we’ve got to send you back.
JOE: But I’m signed up for two weeks.
WENDY: We know. We remember the deal with the Make-A-Wish people.
MARK: It’s just not possible.
WENDY: And Joe, it’s not your fault. If they’d told us you had “special size needs”, we could have made arrangements.
MARK: Like renting a really fast hippopotamus.
WENDY: Or shaving a water buffalo to look like a horse. But our hands are tied now. We’re sorry, Joe.
JOE: No. I can’t quit now. I won’t. I know I can be a jockey. I’m going to take Bessie there around the track and prove it to you!
[Joe runs offstage.]
JOE: [offstage] Hi ho, Bessie!
[A loud frightened whinny is heard, than an awful crack, and horrible moaning horse noises. The moaning fades as Joe walks back onstage to the table.]
JOE: Well, maybe I could-
[A loud horse moan offstage cuts Joe off. Wendy stands and fires a rifle in the direction of the sound. The moan stops. Wendy sits.]
JOE: How about if-
[Another moan cuts him off. Wendy stands and fires three quick shots offstage, then a fourth for good measure.]
JOE: You know… [He looks over his shoulder anticipating another moan, but none comes.] I always kinda wanted to be a ballerina.
[Mark and Wendy exchange a glance, then shrug.]
MARK: Come on, kid. We’ll make some phone calls.Permalink | 1 Comment