Batch of sketches -- Saturday Night You Bull Sessions

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Date Posted: 10:16:05 09/01/06 Fri
Author: Jason
Subject: Batch of sketches
In reply to: Jason 's message, "Dustin Hoffman episode thread" on 21:35:15 08/31/06 Thu

I have several more skits to submit, but don't know if I will have time to get them down. They include a skit about career advising and a parody on Marathon Man.

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Grammy In The Truck

(Grammy talks the ear off of her trucker grandson)

Grammy...Rachel Dratch
Michael...Dustin Hoffman

(sketch takes part in huge 18 wheeler truck)

Grammy: This is a lot of fun, Michael. You should invite me along on one of your trips
more often.

Michael: Well, now you know what I do in my job, Grammy. This is it. All of this.

Grammy: I knew you would make something out of yourself. It was just in the cards.

Michael: Yeah, a trucker. Nothing better than that. Anyways, I�m usually on the road
about a week at a time. So, it�s pretty great that you�ll be riding along with me. Keeping
me awake.

Grammy: It�s gonna be a lot of fun.

Michael: (rolling eyes) Party time!

Grammy: What�s that thing?

Michael: For the eighteenth time, it�s the CB radio. I talk to all...

Grammy: A what?

Michael: A CB radio.

Grammy: A VD what?

Michael: A CB RADIO!!!!

Grammy: Ah, and what does it do?

Michael: I talk to other drivers with it.

Grammy: What�s that?

Michael: (frustrated) It�s just there for decoration really.

Grammy: Ah! That is some big wheel that you�re using.

Michael: Yep, it�s big.

Grammy: Where are we going?

Michael: Okay. You know what, fine. I�ll tell you again. We are going 300 miles across
Texas. That is where we are going to send this shipment of Twinkies. Understand?

Grammy: I understand, Michael. And I am very proud of you.

Michael: I wish that were two of us.

Grammy: This is a very big truck.

Michael: Read you loud and clear.

Grammy: If you�re on the road at weeks at a time...

Michael: (repeating) Then where do I sleep?

Grammy: Yeah.

Michael: I sleep in the little cubby behind us.

Grammy: Really?

Michael: Yes, that tiny cubby.

Grammy: Are you sure?

Michael: Am I sure? Yes, I�m sure. It�s my permanent bedroom.

Grammy: I don�t think anybody could sleep in that tiny thing.

Michael: I do.

Grammy: Tell me where you really sleep.

Michael: (angry) I sleep in there.

Grammy: Do you really?

Michael: YES!!!!!!!!!!! (looks out window) Sorry! Great, now that driver thinks I yell out
the name of a famous rock band at my grandmother. Just great.

Grammy: Michael, may I ask a question?

Michael: (sarcastic)You usually don�t, but go ahead.

Grammy: What are Twinkies?

Michael: They�re just a snack product.

Grammy: What is it made of?

Michael: I don�t think anybody knows.

Grammy: You should know. You�re shipping them.

Michael: It doesn�t really work that way.

Grammy: All I know is that if I were driving a big-rig truck like this, I would want to
know exactly how the products I was shipping were made.

Michael: Okay. That�s a fine opinion.

Grammy: It�s just crazy that a person would not know...

Michael: They are made of styrofoam.

Grammy: Oh, that�s nice.

Michael: It sure is.

Grammy: (gasping) Did you just hear that?

Michael: What?

Grammy: That group of bicycle riders just swore at each other. Hey, you, stop that
swearing right now. (blares horn of truck)

Michael: (nervous) Ah-ha! Just kidding, fellas. First of all, Gram, those aren�t bicycles, but
in fact, motorcycles. And I don�t think we should be riling up any of them as they are
holding onto beer bottles. Lastly, the swastika tattoos denotes some sort of anger that we
don�t want to escalate.

Grammy: Somebody should teach them some manners.

Michael: I�ll do it tomorrow.

Grammy: Promise?

Michael: I promise.

Grammy: It�s getting late.

Michael: Yep, I should probably be bringing you back home.

Grammy: What? I�m not coming with you on the trip?

Michael: Only if I was carrying my gun.

Grammy: No guns, Michael! No guns!

Michael: Yes, Gram. Let�s go back.

Grammy: You�re a good boy. Everybody should be like you.

Michael: Thanks.

(fade)

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White Trash Dramatic Theater

(The dramatic situations in hillbillies� lives)

Lindsey Harris...Kristen Wiig
Jesse...Jason Sudeikis
Clementine...Amy Poehler
Fred...Andy Samberg

(set in room with woman sitting in chair)

(caption stating the name of the show, with classical music in the background)

Lindsey Harris: Hello, and welcome to another edition of White Trash Dramatic Theater.
I�m Lindsey Harris. In tonight�s episode, the conflict between Jesse and Clementine�s
rocky marriage will be tested. Watch as we see our actors perform a stunning
confrontation that may or may not end in tragedy.

(setting takes place outside of Strawberries CD store)

(both are wearing cruddy clothes and have bushy hair, bad teeth, and hoarse voices)

Jesse: Hey, you wanna go into Strawberries?

Clementine: Hell yeah I wanna go into Strawberries.

Jesse: I was just askin�. That�s all. Just askin�.

Clementine: Come on. Let�s go.

Jesse: I don�t wanna go into no Strawberries.

Clementine: Fine, I�ll go in. I need to buy me some Toby Keith so�s I can stay warm in our
cold trailer.

Jesse: Is that a crack about my paycheck that I brung home every week from the hardware
store?

Clementine: Oh, c�mon. I didn�t mean nothing by it.

Jesse: Well, go in and get your cassette.

Clementine: Here. Hold my cigarette for me.

Jesse: Okay.

Clementine: Now, don�t you go smokin� that cigarette! That�s my cigarette!

Jesse: I promise nothing.

(sinister music starts playing)

Clementine: I mean it, Jesse, you smoke that and I�m gonna kill you!

Jesse: You gonna kill me?

Clementine: Hell yeah, I will. Just hold onto my cigarette while I go in.

Jesse: I think I�m gonna smoke your cigarette while you�re in the store, Clementine.

Clementine: Don�t you even think about it.

Jesse: I�m gonna; I swear.

Clementine: I swear...

Jesse: In fact, I�m gonna finish your cigarette!

Clementine: Don�t do it!

Jesse: I will.

Clementine: You won�t.

Jesse: You can�t do nothing about it.

(man enters shot, with Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt on)

Fred: Hey, you. I heard you two arguing over here.

Jesse: Fred, you stay out of this.

Fred: You should treat your lady with a little more respect than with what you do.

Jesse: You shut your mouth. I treat her anyway I want to.

Clementine: Fred is a real man. He wouldn�t smoke my cigarette.

Fred: That�s right.

Jesse: Well, why don�t you marry him, huh?

Clementine: I would if he wasn�t my cousin.

Jesse: I�m your cousin, too.

Clementine: That�s why I wouldn�t.

(Lindsey Harris comes out)

Lindsey Harris: And scene. Tune in next week for part eight of our fifty-six part series
when Jesse gets his finger cut off in an electric fan. Good night.

(actors bow)

(fade)

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Ned And The Doctor

(Ned meets with a new doctor about his cancer.)

Dr. Abromowitz...Dustin Hoffman
Ned...Bill Hader

(doctor sitting behind desk, looking through medical journal)

(Ned enters through door)

Dr. Abromowitz: Oh, hello, Ned. Have a seat.

Ned: Thank you, Dr. Abromowitz.

Dr. Abromowitz: As you already know, your tumor needs to be taken out as soon as
possible. Fortunately, I am quite adept at such types of surgical procedures.

Ned: That�s great, doctor.

Dr. Abromowitz: But, time is of the essence, and we must act fast. I am going to schedule
an appointment for two days from now. Let me just see if I can find my book.

(looks through drawer and we see that he has metal hooks where is hands should be)

Ned: Uh, doctor...

Dr. Abromowitz: Yes, dear boy.

Ned: I noticed that you have...well, you don�t have...

Dr. Abromowitz: I don�t have any hands. That�s right. Now, where is my ledger?

Ned: And you�re going to perform this difficult operation on me?

Dr. Abromowitz: Yes. But you�re probably wondering how they were lost? Well, have
you ever seen that movie The Thing with Kurt Russell?

Ned: Yes.

Dr. Abromowitz: There�s a part in that film where a doctor has his arms ripped out by the
alien torso he is trying to defibrilate.

Ned: And...something like that happened to you?

Dr. Abromowitz: No, I was watching it and accidentally put my left hand in a vat of acid.

Ned: Geez...and what happened to your other hand?

Dr. Abromowitz: Well, I tried to get my hand out with my other hand. It turned out to be
a bad move on my part.

Ned: It�s just that...

Dr. Abromowitz: Yes...oh...I see. I see what this is about. You�re a bit nervous. Let me
tell you something: no one has ever died under my care.

Ned: Really?

Dr. Abromowitz: Absolutely. In fact, throughout my thirty year career as a surgical
doctor, I have never had any problems whatsoever.

Ned: Well, I guess that is good.

Dr. Abromowitz: You bet. Not one of my eleven patients have ever complained...

Ned: Eleven?

Dr. Abromowitz: Yes. I haven�t had too many victims in the past thirty or so years only
because these hooks tend to scare them straight.

Ned: But, eleven?

Dr. Abromowitz: I assure you, nothing will go wrong. Unfortunately, with many cancer
victims, they tend to notice my sharp, metallic hooks before the surgery, and step out
innocently. But, not you. I know you will want to stay just like the others.

Ned: I�m not sure.

Dr. Abromowitz: What time is it?

(lifts up sleeve of arm and we see huge scars from where he has scraped himself)

Ned: Good lord.

Dr. Abromowitz: 4:15. I could probably schedule you for Monday at around the same
time. What that be good for you?

(takes out pen and tries to write the date in his ledger with hooks, has terrible problems
with it)

Ned: It�s just...I think...it would definitely be better...

Dr. Abromowitz: It will be a snap. Everything will be perfect. I assure you.

(drops pen, and tries to write in date with pen in mouth)

Ned: I really don�t think...

Dr. Abromowitz: I don�t know how else to change your mind. Um, I have an impressive
I.Q. and finished third in my class of 185. I can even show you the method of how the
operation will be performed on this blackboard here.

(pulls out giant chalkboard)

Ned: Oh, I don�t think that�s a good idea, doctor.

Dr. Abromowitz: Nonsense. Now, where is that chalk? Here we go. Now, I�ll do it really
slow so as to show you methodically. (scratching against the chalkboard makes Ned
scream and dash out of the office) Huh, I was so sure he would be number twelve. (hits
button on phone and receiver explodes) Carrie, get me the Young family on line four.

(fade)

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