The Plan

These are little snippets of dialogue that I had strewn about the MySpace page. I brought ‘em over here because I think some of them are pretty funny, and because I’ll probably end up recycling them sooner or later.

 ———————————————————–

The Shaggy Dog, Real Life Edition (NC-17)

DAD: Ah, what a beautiful morning! Hello, wife - HOLY FUCKING SHIT I’M A FUCKING DOG!!! WHAT SORT OF SICK PAGAN GOD WOULD CURSE ME IN SUCH A DEMEANING WAY!!!

MOM: Good morning sweetie - HOLY FUCKING SHIT THERE’S A STRANGE SHAGGY DOG IN MY FUCKING BED!!! WHAT KIND OF WORLD IS THIS WHERE SOME BIGASS DOG JUST SHOWS UP IN YOUR BED!?!?!

SON: Mom, are you OK?

MOM: NO I’M NOT FUCKING OKAY! THERE’S A FUCKING DOG IN MY BED!!! CAN’T YOU SEE THAT I’M TALKING ENTIRELY IN CAPITAL LETTERS?!?!?! QUICK, GO GET THE BAT THAT YOU USE IN YOUR LITTLE LEAGUE GAMES THAT YOUR FATHER NEVER GOES TO AND KILL THIS DOG!!!

SON: Um, okay.

DAD: OH PLEASE GOD NO!!! I’M SORRY, SON, I’LL BE A BETTER FATHER JUST DO-

BAT: Smacksmacksmack!

DAD: (dies)

SON: Got ‘im!

MOM: Whew! Glad that’s over! Where’s your father?

                             -FIN-

———————————————–

 J: If that’s how you want it to be, then you should know that it’s not your baby.

F: Whatever. I ate your dog.

———————————————–

A:
I’m worried about my dog.
B:
Well, I’m worried about my me, so fuck your dog.
A:
Well, the short answer is ‘no.’
B:
What’s the long answer?
A:
Um…the long answer is also ‘no’, but I say it very slowly.

 

Huh?: Someday, I’d like to be able to say I ate a koala. And I’d like to be able to say it to a small child, so that the child begins to cry.

 

A: Do you realize they made toy versions of the California Raisins? What kind of stupid kid wants a plastic raisin?

B: The one with the sunglasses was pretty cool.

A: Well OBVIOUSLY I wasn’t talking about him, ya schmuck.

 ——————————————————–

Why is it always art OR porn? Why can’t it be both?

 

FADE IN:
3 in a store

JORGE: What did you guys get?
RANDALL: I got volumes seven, eight and twelve of the StormRendererer trilogy, and Van has….?
VANESSA: “Jesus Gave Me Candy.”
J: What the hell is that?
V: I don’t know. Oprah was talking about it.
J: Oprah….that’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.
V: Randy, why do you let him talk to me like that?
R: He can’t really help it. Think of it as reverse Tourette’s - if you wait long enough, something decent will inadvertently spurt out of his mouth.
V: What did you get?
J: The uncut DVD release of “Lola II: Nuns-A-Poppin’.”
V: You’re buying porn at 2 in the afternoon?
J: Whoa whoa WHOA! Hold the fucking phone. Give me some fucking credit, ok? I am computer-literate. If I need porn - and make no mistake, I NEED porn - I don’t have to spend forty fucking dollars at Barnes and fucking Noble to get it.
R: Come on, George, it’s cool. It’s cool, man! Deep breaths!
V: If you keep talking to him, people will think he’s with us.
J: You guys have no fucking sense of history. You look at a picture of a half-naked nun almost wearing a latex habit and fellating a guy dressed as an ogre and you automatically think porn. That’s pathetic.
V: Oh my God, I thought that was supposed to be John Madden.
J: This was the last movie directed by Umberto Scapelli, the king of hardcore erotic nunsploitation, ok? Umberto fucking Scapelli! He makes Jess Franco and Tinto Brass look like blind Smurfs playing doctor!
R: Jesus, I’m not sure I know what that’s supposed to mean.
J: This film marks the beginning of the First Great Erotica Schism. This was one of the last films to feature both hardcore sex and a story. After this one, everybody had to decide - cheap flick with maximum humping, or softcore with performers who could read. It marks the end of an era. No more Misty Beethoven. No more Green Door. No more Sister Lola. It’s fucking tragic.
V: OK, I’m sorry I called your movie porn. I’m sure it’s wonderful. Now will you shut up?
J: Thank you. There’s also a scene in this where a chick smokes a cigar with her cooter.

——————————————————————

Cookie, Cookie, Lama Sabachthani?
JORGE: Don’t talk to me about Cookie Monster. Cookie Monster is a fucking sellout.

RANDALL: What? How is Cookie Monster a sellout?

J: Because he doesn’t eat cookies anymore. He eats carrots and shit.

R: Dude, you’re getting really worked up over this. He’s a furry blue pillowcase, and of course he eats cookies.

J: Fine, he eats cookies. But he doesn’t eat as many, and he’s all apologetic and shit.

R: Well, can you blame him? Have you seen the fat little fuckers filling our schools and malls?

J: Look, I know American kids are fat, and I’m sorry about it, ok? I’m sorry that the average American ten-year-old weighs 350 pounds and is diabetic  and doesn’t have any feet, ok? But how the fuck is that Cookie Monster’s fault?

R: Dude, kids copy what they see on TV. Somebody did a study.

J: Listen to me, you fucking halfwit. There are two serious problems with the fucking logic here. For one thing, I’m pretty sure I was born with the knowledge that cookies were delicious, ok? I didn’t need fucking Cookie Monster to turn me on to cookies. And I could tell, even back then, that the kids with the most cookies were the fat ones. I read Encyclopedia Brown, ok? I knew how to put this shit together. The second problem is that every kid in America, except for the blind ones and the fucked-up ones whose parent’s don’t let em watch TV, knows that Cookie Monster doesn’t actually EAT cookies. He just sticks em in his mouth and fucks ‘em up.

R: You know the South African Sesame Street has a muppet with AIDS.

J: Randall, I fucking hate you.

———————————————————

 

These are little snippets of dialogue that I had strewn about the MySpace page. I brought ‘em over here because I think some of them are pretty funny, and because I’ll probably end up recycling them sooner or later.

 ———————————————————–

The Shaggy Dog, Real Life Edition (NC-17)

DAD: Ah, what a beautiful morning! Hello, wife - HOLY FUCKING SHIT I’M A FUCKING DOG!!! WHAT SORT OF SICK PAGAN GOD WOULD CURSE ME IN SUCH A DEMEANING WAY!!!

MOM: Good morning sweetie - HOLY FUCKING SHIT THERE’S A STRANGE SHAGGY DOG IN MY FUCKING BED!!! WHAT KIND OF WORLD IS THIS WHERE SOME BIGASS DOG JUST SHOWS UP IN YOUR BED!?!?!

SON: Mom, are you OK?

MOM: NO I’M NOT FUCKING OKAY! THERE’S A FUCKING DOG IN MY BED!!! CAN’T YOU SEE THAT I’M TALKING ENTIRELY IN CAPITAL LETTERS?!?!?! QUICK, GO GET THE BAT THAT YOU USE IN YOUR LITTLE LEAGUE GAMES THAT YOUR FATHER NEVER GOES TO AND KILL THIS DOG!!!

SON: Um, okay.

DAD: OH PLEASE GOD NO!!! I’M SORRY, SON, I’LL BE A BETTER FATHER JUST DO-

BAT: Smacksmacksmack!

DAD: (dies)

SON: Got ‘im!

MOM: Whew! Glad that’s over! Where’s your father?

                             -FIN-

———————————————–

 J: If that’s how you want it to be, then you should know that it’s not your baby.

F: Whatever. I ate your dog.

———————————————–

A:
I’m worried about my dog.
B:
Well, I’m worried about my me, so fuck your dog.
A:
Well, the short answer is ‘no.’
B:
What’s the long answer?
A:
Um…the long answer is also ‘no’, but I say it very slowly.

 

Huh?: Someday, I’d like to be able to say I ate a koala. And I’d like to be able to say it to a small child, so that the child begins to cry.

 

A: Do you realize they made toy versions of the California Raisins? What kind of stupid kid wants a plastic raisin?

B: The one with the sunglasses was pretty cool.

A: Well OBVIOUSLY I wasn’t talking about him, ya schmuck.

 ——————————————————–

Why is it always art OR porn? Why can’t it be both?

 

FADE IN:
3 in a store

JORGE: What did you guys get?
RANDALL: I got volumes seven, eight and twelve of the StormRendererer trilogy, and Van has….?
VANESSA: “Jesus Gave Me Candy.”
J: What the hell is that?
V: I don’t know. Oprah was talking about it.
J: Oprah….that’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.
V: Randy, why do you let him talk to me like that?
R: He can’t really help it. Think of it as reverse Tourette’s - if you wait long enough, something decent will inadvertently spurt out of his mouth.
V: What did you get?
J: The uncut DVD release of “Lola II: Nuns-A-Poppin’.”
V: You’re buying porn at 2 in the afternoon?
J: Whoa whoa WHOA! Hold the fucking phone. Give me some fucking credit, ok? I am computer-literate. If I need porn - and make no mistake, I NEED porn - I don’t have to spend forty fucking dollars at Barnes and fucking Noble to get it.
R: Come on, George, it’s cool. It’s cool, man! Deep breaths!
V: If you keep talking to him, people will think he’s with us.
J: You guys have no fucking sense of history. You look at a picture of a half-naked nun almost wearing a latex habit and fellating a guy dressed as an ogre and you automatically think porn. That’s pathetic.
V: Oh my God, I thought that was supposed to be John Madden.
J: This was the last movie directed by Umberto Scapelli, the king of hardcore erotic nunsploitation, ok? Umberto fucking Scapelli! He makes Jess Franco and Tinto Brass look like blind Smurfs playing doctor!
R: Jesus, I’m not sure I know what that’s supposed to mean.
J: This film marks the beginning of the First Great Erotica Schism. This was one of the last films to feature both hardcore sex and a story. After this one, everybody had to decide - cheap flick with maximum humping, or softcore with performers who could read. It marks the end of an era. No more Misty Beethoven. No more Green Door. No more Sister Lola. It’s fucking tragic.
V: OK, I’m sorry I called your movie porn. I’m sure it’s wonderful. Now will you shut up?
J: Thank you. There’s also a scene in this where a chick smokes a cigar with her cooter.

——————————————————————

Cookie, Cookie, Lama Sabachthani?
JORGE: Don’t talk to me about Cookie Monster. Cookie Monster is a fucking sellout.

RANDALL: What? How is Cookie Monster a sellout?

J: Because he doesn’t eat cookies anymore. He eats carrots and shit.

R: Dude, you’re getting really worked up over this. He’s a furry blue pillowcase, and of course he eats cookies.

J: Fine, he eats cookies. But he doesn’t eat as many, and he’s all apologetic and shit.

R: Well, can you blame him? Have you seen the fat little fuckers filling our schools and malls?

J: Look, I know American kids are fat, and I’m sorry about it, ok? I’m sorry that the average American ten-year-old weighs 350 pounds and is diabetic  and doesn’t have any feet, ok? But how the fuck is that Cookie Monster’s fault?

R: Dude, kids copy what they see on TV. Somebody did a study.

J: Listen to me, you fucking halfwit. There are two serious problems with the fucking logic here. For one thing, I’m pretty sure I was born with the knowledge that cookies were delicious, ok? I didn’t need fucking Cookie Monster to turn me on to cookies. And I could tell, even back then, that the kids with the most cookies were the fat ones. I read Encyclopedia Brown, ok? I knew how to put this shit together. The second problem is that every kid in America, except for the blind ones and the fucked-up ones whose parent’s don’t let em watch TV, knows that Cookie Monster doesn’t actually EAT cookies. He just sticks em in his mouth and fucks ‘em up.

R: You know the South African Sesame Street has a muppet with AIDS.

J: Randall, I fucking hate you.

———————————————————