Wally the Street Squirrel/Pilot

I did something like this before. When I saw those 'Christmas bunnies' on the web in '09, I heard a voice in my head saying that I drew them myself, but I couldn't recall this '07 cartoon at the time. It was the same voice that reminded me I wrote It Makes Me Wonder when I heard it on the radio.
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© 2017. Words and images by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.

I Know All About It (April 27, 2017)

In the future... Will the Son of Man return? No, because he already did. The Son of Man coming on the clouds of heaven with the angels? That's what Constantine saw way back in the fourth century. I know all about it. Christ has already conquered the globe and has been waiting patiently for us to catch on. And don't worry about his extension into the age of Aquarius. That's what he was trying to tell us by walking on water. Will we find people elsewhere in the universe? Yes, on planets circling suns of our intensity, with hollow artificial spheres like our moon orbiting them at perfect ninety degree angles, in order to make adjustments that harmonize planetary conditions with the home world. I know all about it. As a predator species, they needed to spread our seed as widely as possible. Are we doomed to self extinction? Not all of us. A select few have been chosen for the new underground civilization to follow our imminent global apocalypse by satellites armed with death-rays. I know all about it. People who only know how to drive a car will be toast but those who know how to build one will survive to breed. Those are my three insights for the moment. Guess I should get back to my internal combustion engine now and change those pistons. Until next time, I'm Edgar Kreskin Junior saying, don't think too long about humanity or you may reach the dead end conclusion that our ultimate purpose is to give rise to a bacteria even more deadly than ourselves.
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Child Support

Welcome to Child Support, the instructional show for responsible parents. Let's start by briefly reviewing some modern ways to make the most of your parenthood. Children can be very costly and it's only fair for you to get something back from them for it. They don't mind, they don't even know about it. They just like the attention. Are they cute? Take some pictures and send them to an agent. You get the check while they're happy with a lollipop. Pretty sweet deal for you. Or you can harness the energy of your five-year-old by hooking him up to a wagon. He can probably get the item to where it's going faster anyway. Plus it gives you a break from chasing him around. They're also good at washing dishes. Their little fingers can poke into the ridges of your china and get it really clean. You just need to stand them on a chair so they can reach the sink. Might as well let them know the drudgery that awaits them as early as possible and help them prepare for it. Your children give you an advantage over competitors in the work force. Employers know that they have more control over a worker who has dependents. Make sure you mention them in the interview. Children also provide excellent cover in disputes against neighbors. People are less likely to kick the shit out of you front of your child. That's all I can think of for now. And remember, your life might be impossible but you can solve everything by having another child.
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Side Note

I don't know if I'll make it back here to post a comedy script today. I needed to open up a blog for new statements. You may see its first post at this link: A Failed Experiment.

I added another statement at around 8:30 PM Pacific time: About ESP.

Cerebral Chorus

Good afternoon, fellow sky pilots. Heady Eddy here, hoping all is well in each of your universes as I open the portal to my musical mind and share some crazy new sounds here on Cerebral Chorus. For the last week or so I've had this awesome instrumental in my brain. Can you hear it? (Silence.) Its overall structure is extremely simple, consisting of only four basic guitar chords repeating in 4/4 time with a marching rhythm on the snare. The bass drones out the tonic underneath it - you know what I'm talking about, right? Then, just when you think you can predict the next note, in comes the crashing chords of a grand piano! Can you hear it? (Silence.) I haven't heard a piano sound that mighty since 1974. And that's not all. Are you ready for the next measure? Look out, it's a whole string section! (Eyes closed, face contorted with ecstasy) That - is - sublime. Now I see why it sounded so simple at first, so there's room on top for all this majesty. (Moving head up and down) It sounds so full, couldn't you listen to this all day? But what's this? A trumpet! A powerful trumpet blasting out a complimentary phrase over everything! Can you hear it? (Silence.) Wow, this must be some glorious message from the angels! I've never heard God's existence argued so convincingly. That must be as far as it can be developed, though. Otherwise, it might start to sound cluttered. Oh well, all good things must come to a fade out. But wait, it sounds like the bass line has changed! (After pausing to check) Yes, it's expanded to cover all four root notes of the chord progression! Man, that's so uplifting! I never knew music could be this great! (Gasping) Oh oh, I think I'm getting overstimulated from this. No! Not the tubular bells! It's too brilliant! I can't handle it, it's blowing my mind! (Succumbing to grunts and spasms) I think I'm gonna have to pull the plug on this one now. Sorry. (He tugs an imaginary chord and sighs with relief.) Well, after an intense experience like that, it's good to unwind with a little cool jazz. Let's start with another simple chord progression. You got it? (Silence.) Good. Now change all the chords to diminished minor sevenths. Are you still with me? Good. Now can you hear that whistling? (Silence.) Someone's whistling a pretty little tune over the minor sevenths. He's using portamento to slide between the opening two half notes. Nice. Only jazz could make whistling sound this good. And there's another instrument doubling up on the whistling lead. What is that? (After pausing to listen) Of course! A xylophone! And it's pounding out sixteenths where the whistled notes are sustained! That is so relaxing! I'm telling you, this kind of music would let you stay calm through an earthquake. (The whole studio starts to shake violently.) After all, we've known all along that we are helpless against the awesome power of nature. Why panic over it? (An iron girder crashes down next to him, snapping him out of his trance.) Well, I guess I better get under my door frame now, but I hope you enjoyed the program. (Another falling object prompts him to rush.) For Cerebral Chorus, I'm Heady Eddy reminding you that there is no better musical instrument than your own imagination. (Fleeing for cover.) Mayday! Mayday!
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Side Note

I'm taking a break from comedy today. I posted to my faith blog instead. You may reach the page by this link: Learning from the Past.

THC Medicated Chewing Gum

(A film production. Stan the stagehand trips on a wire and collapses an elaborate backdrop.) Supervisor: There goes four hours of setup time! Damn it, Stan, I thought you said you quit smoking marijuana. Stan: I know. I really tried but I couldn't make it past the jonesin'. Supervisor: Well, here, (handing Stan a pack of gum) try this. I'd love to fire you but we can't find any other loser to come here and do your job for your hourly rate. Stan: (Popping a gum into his mouth and smacking it loudly.) Hey, I'm starting to feel normal again. (His eyes turn into Christmas trees.) Are you jonesin? Experts say that substances like marijuana, which are widely known to not be physically addictive, are much harder to quit because users aren't worried about using them. That's why you may need Tetra-Hydra Chewables. From the resourceful makers of Nicorrect, with our gum in your mouth, the last thing you'll crave is another splif. (The production an hour later. The whole set has been demolished as rescuers hear the smacking of chewing gum under a pile of rubble.) Chew up your cravings with THC.
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Commercial Mindset

Hello, and welcome to Commercial Mindset, where we help you to better understand your friends and relatives in the corporate work force. It's important for you to know that we are good, hard working folk who hold the same traditional family values as yourself. Still, some of you may get confused by looking at our actions instead of listening to our words. One area where this causes a lot of problems is God. So today I thought I'd go over some of the ways where it might look like we are sinning so you know better than to jump to that conclusion. The three main ways we may look like we're contradicting God are loving, sharing, and telling the truth. Let's start with loving. God loves you unconditionally. God has to forgive you when you repent. We don't have to do that. If you make a mistake with us, we can damn well punish you severely for it. Generally speaking, we punish you when you fail to make money for us and we reward you when you make us a profit. This is a perfectly Godlike way of doing business, only it substitutes money for virtue. As for sharing, we don't do that either. Sharing is bad for the economy. That's why there was so much unemployment in the Dark Ages before the church got smart about how to preach sharing. We think you should pay for everything, even for the air you breathe. And anyone who hands out these things to you for free is our sworn enemy. We think such a person should be nailed to a cross and left to die in agonizing pain. We don't think anyone but God can freely share without causing a problem here among his children. In this way, we respect God more than the selfless. When it comes to telling the truth, we think we are pretty consistent. Truth is ultimately subjective, of course, and our truth is that we'll say whatever our sponsors want us to say as long as they pay us enough money to say it. If you don't pay us, we say nothing. Isn't that fair? We haven't hidden our truth from our viewers and think we deserve credit for our openness on a topic that is potentially damaging to our image. From this we may gather up a slightly modified version of loving thy neighbor. We think you can love your neighbors more by wiping out all the philanthropists who screw up our capitalist system and make it harder to find a good paying job. That's all for Commercial Mindset this week. Until next week, stay decent!
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Madame Pompadu

Nice to have this script back. I came up with it from watching an episode of Canada a People's History about the early days of Canada's settlement. A French Canadian aristocrat (whose name escapes me) was said to have dreamed of moving to Paris. Then when her dream came true, she was rejected by her French peers who called her l'Iroquois. I invented a name for her out of the word pompous and this this script is a simple dramatization of how I imagined her Paris reception. It was never about Saturday Night Live's costumes or their fake French accents. Now why did I have to add all this non-humorous text to my comedy script? Haven't those monsters on television already caused me enough trouble with their lack of authoring talent in the last ten to twenty years of my diminishing life? I wonder when I'll have to go back over my blogs to erase unsightly side notes like this from my scripts. In the meantime, I guess the TV wants me to shit on my own work with defensive statements like this around my ownership since they get into trouble when they try to wreck my work unilaterally. When New World aristocrat Madame Pompadu's dream came true of crossing the ocean to live in high society Paris, it wasn't altogether gratifying. (A stunning eighteenth century Versailles banquet. Baroque harpsichord plays in the background.) Doorman: Avec le Chateau de Timbertown, Madame Gennevieve du Pompadu! (Enter Pompadu holding fan.) Madeleine D'Malady: (Waving handkerchief to beckon Pompadu into her circle.) Yoo-hoo! (Pompadu sees the greeting and joins them.) Cousin Gennevieve, you must forgive us for being surprised. We did not hear the ring of your sleigh bells outside. (Derisive titters covered by fans.) Gennevieve Pompadu: Very funny, Cousin Madeleine. In fact I have just come from the gallery. The pastels are lovely this time of year. D'Malady: Yes, and we don't have to worry about our sculptures melting in the spring. (Titters.) Pompadu: Not like the icicles on your heart. But this is a grand affair. Such a fancy hall! D'Malady: Over here we only use the wood for the skeleton of the structure, not the whole thing. We need to do more than just keep out the bears, madame. Pompadu: All but one. D'Malady: And speaking of wildlife, what is the purpose of that creature hanging about your neck? Judging by its fierce expression, it died in protest. Does it not belong on the floor? Pompadu: (Clearing throat) I brought it for a seat cushion. I was not expecting to stand so long. D'Malady: Oh, we do not sit down to eat anymore. Didn't you know? The cook lights a big bonfire and heats up a cauldron of pea soup. He ladles it right into your bowl as you hold it out for him. That is why you need gloves to protect your fingers from burning. (Supportive titters.) Pompadu: Cousin Rosemarie! That is a lovely wig you are wearing. Rosemarie Raisonette: You wish to comment on my hairpiece? What did you call it? A wig? From what remote corner of the desolate middle of nowhere did you pick up that expression? We do not speak Iroquois here, madame. Or do you confuse my hairpiece with one of those ridiculous fur hats you sell? Her cousins might have enjoyed the last laugh that night but none of those snobs would survive the bloody guillotine of the French Revolution.
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© 2007, 2017. Scripts by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.

The Vitamin Junkie

Once Chet Bartlet was diagnosed with depression, he soon succumbed to substance abuse. Counselor: I'm very concerned about you. Why did you miss your last appointment? Bartlet: I got a job. Counselor: Oh, you got a job! Seeing bright lights at the end of the tunnel again, are we? I wonder what caused that! And why aren't you at work now? Bartlet: I quit. Counselor: Of course. I knew you were going to say that. And once again I must ask you why you applied for the job if it didn't really appeal to you. Bartlet: I don't know. I liked the way their recruitment ad talked about changing my life. It just seemed like such a positive step. By the time I got to the interview I couldn't stop myself. Counselor: All right, I need you to be honest with me. Are you back on the B-12's? Bartlet: (Sheepishly) Just a few hits I found under my bed when I was cleaning my room. Counselor: Cleaning your room? Sounds like you're into the whole B-complex. Now we've talked about this before. We can't have you out on manic binges, occupying responsible places in the work force. Leave the employers alone. They're busy enough without you coming through the door. How will he face his failure when he can't even sit down for a minute? Chet Bartlet is the Vitamin Junkie.
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The Balogne Bulletin

This is my twentieth script since last month. An emaciated hunger striker says he still has enough vitamins to keep him going after three and a half weeks of refusing his meals. Campaigning for artists' rights, he is expected to drop dead at some point in the next seventy-two hours. Elsewhere around the dinner table, the results of a medical program that treated anorexics with marijuana are inconclusive. While the drug improved patients' appetites, it tended to only be for hash brownies. Ladies' gymnastics may have led to the fall of Rome. So says a professor of sexology from the Institute for Tantric Studies. He thinks that balance beam routines featuring the splits triggered an ultimately ruinous mass euphoria. A spill from the chemical plant has made crows extra protective of their young this spring. Citizens are advised to wear helmets and carry a loaded air gun. Buggy pushers should also prepare for possible retaliatory air raids. And popular recording artists AM/PM released a big new poster today. The dimensions needed to cover over their rival's name the Nude Photographers is expected to conceal some smaller store entrances.
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I Know All About It (April 17, 2017)

William Shakespeare was a Pole. He got a head start on rhyming by browsing through the Cracow directory as a boy. Queen Elizabeth I imported him to write sonnets and passed off his accent as East Glastonbury. I know all about it. That's why it was so easy for him to use nouns as verbs. Carl Sagan is still alive. Scientists like Sagan are too resourceful to die. He faked his death to boost sales of his science fiction novel Contact. He made sure to close his movie deal before he fled his atheist doom for the refuge of a specially insulated space station in high Earth orbit. I know all about it. Fully shielded from the deterioration of free radicals and gravity, his next film may feature measurable footage of the stars expanding. And David Skerkowski is a prophet. A physical examination showed no traces of LSD anywhere in his system on all three life spanning, temporally overlapping instances in which he says he encountered metaphysical beings. On top of that, he fits the classic profile as the very last choice among his fellow men. I know all about it. God never picks the same messiah we would. Until next time, I'm Edgar Kreskin Junior saying, if controlled dreaming can turn the outstretched legs of an approaching seagull into the long loins of a beautiful woman, just imagine how great heaven must be.
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Side Note

I posted yesterday's poem in my 2017 Song Posts blog: Happy Easter 2017.

Warlike Posture

I didn't think it would be appropriate to post this yesterday on Good Friday. Attention! It's ten hundred and thirty hours and time once again for a motivational word from your enraging officer on Warlike Posture. I couldn't help but notice on our last rampage through a defenseless hamlet that some of you are holding back. The sight of an enemy mother holding her child seems to cause the man on the flamethrower to hesitate. There's no excuse for this kind of behavior. When you can't find enough hate for the enemy to get the job done, you only need to gather it up from other sources. For example, you may wonder why you're stuck here at the front when that nerdy classmate of yours got to stay home and go to college. Maybe you think it's unfair for you to have to risk your neck for your country just because you confused Idaho with Iowa on your geography test. That's good. Work with it. Sure it's wrong for your government to think you're good for nothing but slogging through marshes and minefields with a hundred pounds on your back when all you did was grow up on the wrong side of town. It's not your fault your parents were losers. Why should you have to pay for their mistakes? Think of those girls from school all grown up and going to waste on that pimple faced Poindexter! Think of those fat cats on the hill throwing you into a bloody gauntlet when they don't even know you! Think of those snobs back home who want to send you halfway around the world to dig holes in the mud so they can have another lavish banquet with their friends! You've got an assault rifle in your hands there! What are you going to do about it? (A hail of gunshots forces the speaker to hit the dirt.)
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Zing! Flavor Booster Formula

(Trish and Lila take their lunch break from the office at a cafe patio. Suddenly Lila bursts into tears.) Trish: There there, I know Buddy was a good dog but it's been six months now. Lila: That's not it! It's my ketchup! I can't put it on my samosa without it taking over! (More sobs.) Trish: Is that all? (She pulls an eyedropper out of her purse, unscrews the cap and applies a drop of liquid to the samosa.) Try it now. Lila: (Elated after sampling) Wow! Zing! What a difference! I can even taste the oregano under the curry! Getting shortchanged by ordinary condiments? Zing! Flavor Booster Formula sensitizes your taste buds to make them up to five hundred times more receptive. (A back yard. A police officer takes notes from a witness as a man is carried off on a stretcher. Crunching glass shards mark the heavy footfalls of the stretcher bearers.) Witness: I don't understand it. All I did was offer him a little taste of my Mexican chili and the next thing I knew he'd taken a swan dive out the picture window. Zing! Flavor Booster Formula: more than a mouthful.
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Bedtime Story

It's really something when you fabricate a whole story out of something that happened uniquely to you in your childhood, as I did with this story in 2007, and then see it on TV as someone else's work afterwards, as though such things happen to everyone all the time. What a destructive impact such lies must have on our brain function. And what a destructive impact is has on our wallets when they make us pay all that extra money to watch multiple performers with no material all steal from the same artist. Hello, children. Are you all ready for another bedtime story? All right then, get under those blankets and listen up. Have you ever wondered why you need to sleep? Maybe your teacher says it's so your body can restore its energy, but that's only part of it. You need to sleep to practice for when you die. Each time you go to sleep, you die without knowing it. You leave your body and fly around in space. If you've been good, you go to Heaven to play with other good children, but if you've been naughty, you go to Hell and have terrible nightmares. Once upon a time, there was a boy who liked to play with stink bombs. One day, on his lunch break from class, he thought it would be funny to put a stink bomb in the gas tank of a beat up old truck to make it stink. The truck exploded and the fire spread to the school parking lot and blew up every car there. The firemen pulled him out of the smoke and flames and brought him to his principal. The principal said that when he found out who blew up his new station wagon, he would paint his office walls with the bastard's blood. Then he asked the boy who did it and the boy said he didn't know. That evening his mom and dad talked about the disaster over dinner. His dad said that they should get the fucker who torched all those cars and use his flaming corpse for a street lamp. His mother said that they should hack out his organs and use them for live transplants to pay for the damages. Then they asked their son if he knew who did it and he said no. After that he was glad to go to sleep so he could forget about his terrible mistake. But he kept waking up screaming all night from nightmares. The next day, when he was playing with a lit firecracker in the kitchen, he thought it would be funny to muffle the bang inside the gas stove. The stove exploded, killing him instantly. His mom and dad died slower of smoke inhalation. He had to go to Hell by himself while his parents went to Heaven without him. They say that whenever you boil water in a teakettle on a gas stove, you can still hear that boy screaming in Hell today. The end. But I'm sure that good little boys and girls like you have no secrets like that to hide from your parents and teachers. Off you go to Sleepyland now. Sweet dreams!
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They Thrrrew the Bitch in Prison

(Text accidentally copied over from previous comedy blog erased July 15, 2018.) (To the melody of The King Is Still in London.) They thrrrew the bitch in prison, in prrison, in prrrison They tossed her in a cold hard cell To let her suffer for a spell They thrrrew the bitch in prison, in prrison, in prrrison Her alibi she failed to sell Her list of lies too long to tell Soon as she started picking on artists She knew her favorite game Filling the public ear with her rubbish Only herself to blame They thrrrew the bitch in prison, in prrison, in prrrison The sun reflects upon the bell To show the children all is well She thought they'd let her pass out a letter Saying I was a skunk But when they read it, they didn't get it That's when her ship was sunk! They thrrrew the bitch in prison, in prrison, in prrrison Her victim's free for you to smell And hopes she goes from there... to... Hell!
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The Cardiologist

When I first shared this script in 2007, as now, it was based on a book written by a cardiologist who said that businessmen frequently screamed in terror when faced with death on the operating table. What type of person did the businessmen of broadcasting change my dying advertising executive to when they stole this script and plagiarized its content for television? A serial killer? That's not a businessman. That should show you the unholy evil of these broadcasters. And how confusing for my readers! I'm glad that at least I know the true meaning of my content because all the TV has ever done is lie to the whole world about it. Doctor Grimm was a cardiologist who epitomized the true professional. (Grimm's office. A dying patient applies for treatment.) Patient: Can you help me, doc? Grimm: How many episodes have you had? Patient: Just one. Grimm: That should be just inside your price range. Patient: (Relieved) Praise God! How much will it cost? Grimm: Seventy-five thousand dollars. (The patient gasps and clutches his chest.) Now I can't help you. He tried to make his life saving resources available to the highest number. (An auction.) Grimm: Okay, we have eighty-six bidders and only one heart available for transplant. Who would like to start the bidding? Yes, you. Bidder: How would you like to own your own hospital? Grimm: In the Florida Keys? His experiences with dying patients gave him a profound faith in the afterlife. (An operating room. A patient is wheeled in for surgery.) Grimm: Who's this? Nurse: The rich advertising executive. (Grimm peels off a stretch of duct tape and seals the patient's mouth with it.) Why are you doing that? Grimm: To silence his screams when he sees where he's going. Hell is where the heart is tonight on the Cardiologist.
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I Know All About It (April 9, 2017)

Hello again, my insatiably curious friends. I'm back a little early because of the overwhelming response we received from my last broadcast. I fear that now that we've opened the door to the raging whirlwind of cosmic enlightenment, we may never be strong enough to slam it back shut. Nonetheless, it is my sworn duty as a psychic to ask and answer as many questions for you as is possible. So why is poetry depressing? Let's begin our answer with another question, what do you do when you can't get a good job and you have no friends even though you are bright and talented? You write a poem with the desperate hope that you can forestall your suicide with the activity. I know all about it. And what kind of poems would an alcoholic English teacher prefer to share with a merciless roomful of thick and impetuous youth? Probably not a very happy one. Why do people wear clothes in hot countries? People wear clothes to reject their animality. Unlike animals, people know that they are not animals. We need to hide our reproductive organs and we demand total privacy to expel waste from our bodies. And if you're a man, don't joke around about menstruation with women or they'll menstruate all over your picture and send it to you for your birthday. I know all about it. Trust me, don't talk about menstruation. Don't even think about it. And why do bad songs appeal to good people? This age old question, which was first examined by ancient Hebrews in the Book of Job, has stumped thinkers all the way to the present. It seems to have no rhyme nor melody to it, but the answer is there if you look into it closely: drugs. The chemically induced public stupor of the 1970's, for example, turned out such timeless classics as Convoy and Shut Upya Face. I know all about it. And pharmaceutical advances since then promise to have us all soon dancing to the Christmas message from the Queen. I hope that satisfies your curiosity for now. Until next time, I'm Edgar Kreskin Junior saying, don't worry about the universe expanding until there no stars left in the sky. By then, we'll have finally learned how to reverse time.
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Side Note

In order not to interrupt the comic flow of this blog, I posted yesterday's statement in Coats from the Lost and Found. You may access it from this link: What Time Is It?

Work Ethic

I defended this re-posted script originally from 2007 in my statement: What Time Is It? (Coats from the Lost and Found) We're back for round two of Work Ethic with Bill, who managed to make it past the union organizer and advance all the way to the woodpile. Bill, you can split these logs into firewood the traditional way, with an ax, or you may dip into your savings to purchase this chainsaw for the job, which reduces your chance of being able to afford the grand prize. What is your choice? I'm gonna go with the ax. All right! That's the kind of spirit we like to see here on Work Ethic. And as long as you drive your body to the utmost limits of exertion, there's a chance that you will complete your task slightly faster with the ax. You may proceed as soon as I flip the hourglass. Are you ready? Okay, Bill, get busy! (Bill starts swinging the ax, eliciting a cheer for each log he splits.) Only about half a minute left. It's going to be close. (He pushes himself to finish the job in the nick of time, resets the hourglass, and feints.) Oh oh! Looks like that decision to refuse water has come back to haunt you. (The host leans over the fallen contestant and gently slaps his cheeks.) Bill? Can you hear me? You may advance to the next round as you are or you may dip into your savings to purchase these performance enhancing drugs. Bill? Bill! (No response.) Oh well, don't be too disappointed, folks. He probably wouldn't have survived round three anyway. He's Catholic.
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The Swing Party

(Background score: Glen Miller's In the Mood.) Tired of a two party system? With both parties in the mainstream, how can you vote one way or the other without betraying yourself? That's why we formed the Swing Party, the first ambidextrous-wing political party. Who says crime control should cost you your right to cross borders without being strip searched? The Swing Party would equip border guards with special cameras that see through your clothes so you can keep your dignity. And who says a strong military should cost us our social security? We'd balance public spending with defense spending by drafting all able bodied citizens on public assistance directly into the armed forces. And we don't think it's right to give tax breaks to the wealthy, we wouldn't give them to anyone. So don't let them push you onto one side of the political spectrum where you may feel uncomfortable, let us swing over to you and give it to you both ways. Stretch your wings with the Swing Party.
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© 2017. Scripts by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.

I Know All About It

(This installment of We're All Dying is powered by Phallus. And the plastic face of the socket it plugs into was made in China.) Welcome to the very first broadcast of I Know All About It. If you've already heard from me, this is what my voice sounds like when I use my mouth to speak. With my ESP I can answer any question, but all anyone wants to know most of the time is which horse to bet on at the track. So to make sure that my talent doesn't go to waste, I've decided to ask your questions for you. Were we fathered by aliens? If we were, that's some deadbeat dad leaving us here to wonder about it. Let's not confuse children with pets. Children grow up to become equals to their parents but pets stay pets. I know all about it. They see us struggling with a complex intellectual problem and they think we look cute, like when a dog stands on his hind legs for a minute. As pets, however, we can at least be sure of their love. Why do movies prohibit sex but tolerate violence? The answer is quite simple: because people who don't get enough sex are violent. I know all about it. Unless you're like me and can drag a woman to your bed against her will with psychokinetic power whenever you need one, chances are that you will have a profound appetite for onscreen violence. Why is the moon hollow? This giant artificial sphere which orbits at perfect ninety degree angles to the sun was obviously cast using a planet as a mold. I know all about it. And I think it's high time we explored its dark side to find the seam. I hope that satisfies your thirst for knowledge. Until next time, I'm Edgar Kreskin Junior saying, relax! Whatever you think you're hiding from others is probably no worse than what they already think of you.
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© 2017. Scripts by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.

Letters to Theo

Dear Theo, Thanks for the francs. I needed to buy some more colours to replace the ones I ate. You won't regret this investment in your brother's talent. I took my easel outdoors to join the other painters by the waterfront the other day, which gave me the chance to compare my work to theirs. They suck. Instead of trying to capture the beauty of a landscape, they want to add cartoon characters to it. I watched the one beside me. We were both working on the same scene and I had to ask him where he saw the centaur. And he didn't even paint it very well. It looked more like a duck. These fools all copy the same silly neoclassical trend: centaurs and nymphs and gorgons and togas all over the place. It is ridiculous. But I know the picture business. I know that my originality will outlast them all. We will be rolling in francs, Theo, you'll see. I just know my paintings are worth a fortune. Vincent
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© 2007, 2017. Scripts by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.