ANNOUNCER: Live from New York, this is Writing with the Stars!
JOHN: Yes it is! Welcome to an all new season of Writing with the Stars. I'm John Burgeoise--
SMANTHA: And I'm Smantha Airhead. Tonight in this live, two-hour premiere event, we kick off a random search for brand-new champions.
JOHN: As you may have heard, the drama has already started, and our writers haven't even been properly introduced. And so as they take their first steps down our brand-new grand staircase, let's welcome the writers of season eight!
(Band plays intro music, audience applauds wildly)
JOHN: Horror legend Steven "Twinkletoes" King and aspiring writer StephaReneeEsme Mayer!
SMANTHA: Suspense powerhouse Deano "Pup-Daddy" Coontz and aspiring writer Patti "Armed and Dangerous" Cornwall!
JOHN: Romance wonder Nick "I Don't Write Romance, You Ass" Sparklies and aspiring writer Laura "What's Romance Mean Again?" Hammytown.
SMANTHA: Literary giant Tom "Big Bad" Wolfman and aspiring writer Audrey "Betcha Can't Say it Five Times Real Fast" Neffenhortonhearsawhonegrabutnotasluryouunderstandegaraffra!
JOHN: I love opening night! So there they are, the most anticipated collection of publishing darlings and hopefuls ever assembled. Only four of this season's thirteen couples stand before us, as last week the other nine dropped out due to self-inflicted injuries, which some have said were bullshit excuses so they could accept better offers from Publishing Idol, but that's how it is with writers, money-hungry lying gold-diggers that they are. Later on we'll reveal the names of whoever we could scrounge from the Tiki bar at the Maui conference to replace them.
SMANTHA: As for some other writers, love is already in the air. We've got Polaroids of what was going on in the green room between takes. (wags finger) Stevie and Laurie, you naughty wordsmiths.
STEVEN: (indignantly) It was just some research for my next love story: Laurel's Story. See, when I was a boy, my grandfather, the mayor of our small little town in Maine that was hiding a terrible secret that all of us knew about but didn't really know about, sat down and told my father--
LAURA: (studying manicure) Oh, please. (to Smantha) I'll have you know that he wouldn't even slap me around a little.
STEVEN: (turns red) Well, at least I didn't come here wearing a merry widow, spike heels and screw-me red lipstick.
LAURA: (smothers yawn) Why not, did the wife borrow yours again?
PATTI: (takes out nine millimeter) I brought my piece. The one I sleep with under my pillow. You know I'm being stalked, right?
JOHN: I was really hoping these relationships would last for a change. Guess not. But we've been chuckling over the training videos, as it seems this season we've got two of the worst writers in the history of Writing with the Stars.
DEANO: Hey, you better not be talking about me. My dog is sitting right backstage and I'm not afraid to give him the "kill" signal.
PATTI: (perks up) Really? Huh. (looks at gun) Never thought about keeping a dog under my pillow. Bet the right kind would make mincemeat out of my stalkers.
STEVEN: (to Patti) You're nobody. You have to be somebody to be stalked, you twit.
PATTI: (angrily) I am too somebody.
STEVEN: Are not.
PATTI: Am too, am too, am too!
TOM: Excuse me, children, but the bickering is getting a bit much. (to Deano) Oh, is that what happened to your last novel, dear boy? Did the dog get at it first, I mean? It certainly looked like your sales were, ah, terminal. So sad to see it happen, too, you being such a (makes air quotes) prolific little hack.
PATTI: Asshole. (to Deano) Want me to shoot him for you?
NICK: (to Patti) Now, Patti, put that gun away before it shoots someone's eye out. (to Tom) Tom, is that any way to talk to your fellow competitor?
TOM: (sniffs, looks up at the ceiling) That Sparkly man is trying to speak to me again.
AUDREY: (leaning over to glare at Nick) Yo, fruitcake. The Man in White doesn't want to talk to you. So shut the hell up.
STEPHARENEEESME: (folds arms) I'm not writing if Audrey keeps using bad language like that.
AUDREY: (flips off StephaReneeEsme) You're just jealous 'cause my pseudonym is longer and more interesting than yours.
STEPHARENEEESME: Am not.
AUDREY: Are too.
STEPHARENEEESME: (shrieks) Am not!
AUDREY: (shrieks back) Are too!
PATTI: (eagerly, to John) Want me to shoot one of them? I took lessons at Quantico. Really.
TOM: (sighs) Contrary to popular belief, that isn't a substitute for a penis, Patti dear. Trust me, in these matters I'm an expert.
STEVEN: (to Tom) You are so self-absorbed you're turning into a black hole. (to Patti) If you don't shut up I'm going to start stalking you. (to StephaReneeEsme) You couldn't write your way out of a paper bag even if it were open and being shaken upside down. (To Audrey) Audrey's Story has kind of nice ring to it. What are you doing after the show?
LAURA: (to Audrey) Don't go there, girlfriend. Guy is so not the woman-hater he's made out to be. I speak from boring experience.
JOHN: Ladies and gentlemen -- and I use those terms loosely -- it's time to start the competition!
(Stage hands wheel out computer stations with eight old used Gateway computers, coffee-splattered keyboards, and one shared dot-matrix printer with a frayed splitter cable.)
STEVEN: (to Laura) Am too a woman-hater. Just ask her (pokes StephaReneeEsme).
SMANTHA: Okay, writers, time to sit down and do some writing with the stars!
DEANO: (checks watch) Oh, dear, it's time for Bestseller's kibble and bits. Must run. S'been lovely. Ta. (walks off stage.)
PATTI: Hey! You want me to shoot you? (follows Deano offstage.)
STEVEN: I can't write like this. I need a beer. Brownies. Baseball. Something other than this blank-page loving bimbette. I remember when my uncle, who was the town sheriff during that terrible summer, told my older brother, who told me . . . (walks offstage.)
STEPHARENEEESME: Wait, Stevie. I can prove to you I'm a great writer. It's all implied, you see. (follows Steven offstage.)
TOM: Come, darling, let's go and get an espresso. (offers his arm to Audrey) I'll tell you all about that summer when Updike and I went midnight skinny-dipping in Buckley's pool. Did you know he wasn't circumcised? (Tom and Audrey walk offstage.)
LAURA: Great. And to think I spent two hours having myself laced into this black satin whaleboned mother for nothing. (walks offstage.)
NICK: (shoves hands in pockets, takes center stage, smiles sheepishly) Looks like I win again.
SMANTHA: (admiringly) And you didn't even have to type a single word to do it -- just like the last seven seasons! You're such an amazing writer!
JOHN: Well, folks, that does it for another season of Writing with the Stars. Although at this rate we may have to rename the show Not Writing with the Stars. Anyway, thank you for joining us, and be sure to tune in for Season nine next week!
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Oh, I could stand around on a stage with my hands in my pockets if required!
I'm just . . . Wow.
I'm going offstage now. Wow.
Audrey is the only one I couldn't place!ReplyDelete
I'm thinking Audrey Niffenegger :).ReplyDelete
Great way to start out a Monday morning.ReplyDelete
Loved the whole 'want me to shoot' thingy. Too funny.ReplyDelete
Thanks. I needed a good laugh. :)
I'm thinking Audrey Niffenegger :).
Is it bad that I have no idea who that is? Am I bad reader? : )
I was wondering how they'd make a writer's reality interesting. Electrocution by printer cable should do the trick.ReplyDelete