Morning, dorks. Gotta a lot to say, so let's go!
Went to the baseball game last night. Mariners won it 2-1 in the ninth. Made for a fun little date with R. Third Base.
Dorks, are there times in YOUR lives when you go "Hey, what the hell?" or "What the hell, hey?" or "Was that the Maytag Repairman that I just met?", because in my "cartoonish" reviewed life I say that often. Well, with the Maytag Repairman it was just last night that I said that.
Yep, I met the Maytag Repairman. Isn't that a random, random person to meet at a baseball game. I know I felt up Mrs. Butterworth at a coke party once and played Tekken 3 against the Pillsbury Doughboy at a local arcade, but the Maytag Repairman? He's like the living god of the unliving corporate mascots! His ability to actually use paper towels makes him far more dietiesh than the Bounty man!
So, after shaking his amazingly silky soft hand ('cause he don't work, dorkitches!) I told him that I did as little work as him all day (and I do! I get paid to do this!).
So he signed my glossy picture of him and his young assistant:
"To Brent, I know how you feel! Depend on me! From Ol' Trusty, FARdlkjBarthly (Can't read his signature)"
His strikingly handsome counterpart (hey, I can admit it when a dude is Greekesque in his handsomeness. I won't say guys like Harrison Ford are handsome, that's a little much. But guys like the younger Maytag Repairman? You have to respect their handsomeness ... or you're gay.) signed it:
"To Brent, Come join our team and do nothing. STAY CLEAN! Franck;jj OUUUllllw3 (again with the signature)"

"STAY CLEAN!" it's like he knows about how I have to clean my feet and wear deodorant and wipe up spaghetti stains to maintain impress over R. Girly! He feels my pain! He really knows me for who I am. I'm messy, I like teams, he knows the real me! Maybe I should call him. No, too soon. Maybe ...
SNAP out of it!
So the picture hangs in my office. Read it, rubberheads and not understand. To not understand is a rubberheads greatest natural resource.
A treat from the creative writing vaults!
For this exercise we had to take a horrible play called "The Open Window" and write a screenplay for it. Fun! A screenplay! Awesome! For "The Open Window"? Lead pipes! Lead pipes!
Here's the premise of the play. This nervousa guy goes to visit this family. This little bitch tells him about her dead dad and brother and how her mom keeps the window open so their souls can come in and out and drink coacoa. Then the "ghosts" walk through the door and it turns out the little brat was lying that they were dead and the guy becomes a Highlander.
Get it? Good. Here's my screenplay for it.

Screenplay by Brent Kinkade (1998)
Adapted from A. Dumwriter (from Hell)

Mr. Nutel-Crazy guy with a sleep disorder
Vera(young lady)- Niece w/ an attitude
Mrs. Sappleton - Not crazy, but thought to be
Mr. Sappleton - Not dead
Dog- Does his thing doggy style (I actually wrote that in high school and got a 20/20 for it! Gold star!)

(Victorian townhouse living room with a large open window (!) that reaches the ground on the wall. There are about 5 or 6 trophy heads decorating the walls and the seats are large and leather)

(Camera pan out of Vera's face while she's speaking)
Vera- My aunt will be down presently, Mr. Nuttel, in the meantime you must try and put up w/ me.

(Camera continues to pan out until you see her entire body, she is thin and frail)

Vera- (Motioning for Mr. Nuttel to sit) Do you know many people round here?

Frampton- (sitting cautiously after wiping at the seat) Hardly a soul, my sister was staying ...

Vera- Yeah, yeah then you practically know nothing about my aunt.

Frampton- (shifting in his seat, perturbed by being interupted) only her ...

Vera- (interupting again) Her great tragedy happened three years ago.

Frampton- (Opens mouth to ask question, but...)

Vera- You may wonder why we keep that window wide open on an October afternoon

Frampton- It is ... (any of you dorks notice if the high school writer is getting bored with his material yet? You will!)

Vera- (interupting) Three years ago boys leave. Bog suck them down. Many moons my aunt has kept window wide until the great fireball has set. Oh, her ailment can be cured by no mediceman. She believe boys come home soon. Crazy white woman. I'll scalp her.

Frampton-(looking confused) Why are you talking like an Indian?

(Enter Mrs. Sappleton)
Mrs. Sappleton-I hope Vera has been amusing you.

Frampton-She has been...

Mrs. S. (Interupting- I hope you don't mind the open window but we are playing a cruel joke on you because we think you're ugly and smell bad.

Frampton-(looking up) Excuse me? I didn't hear you.

Mrs. S.- Nevermind let me rattle on cheerfully (Camera pans in on Mrs. S. until only her mouth is seen, switch over to Frampton. Again pan in but to his eyes. Suddenly he looks shocked, becaus there are the dead men at the window. He runs away)

Mr. S.-What was his problem?

Mrs. S.-Drugs.

Mr. S.- Oh. Look little doggy-kins has learned a new trick!

(Dog dances around while balancing a ball on his nose. Everyone laughs and the camera pans out .... the open window).

There you go, dorks. I need to go not work now.
Weblog Commenting and Trackback by HaloScan.com