On-again, off-again

After that little post-hiatus hiatus, we’re back. For serious.

Truth is, these two sketches have been perched on our WordPress dashboard for a couple of months now which is kinda like having a ‘For Sale’ sign in, say, a Buick Le Sabre but accidentally taping it to the window backwards –  not terribly effective.

But here they are in all their slightly-rusty-and-probably-missing-their-hubcaps glory. Why dontcha take ’em for a test drive and listen to them rattle?

 

 

 

Tired of firefighters?

Two young women are standing side by side in front of a white background.

Sarah: Hey girl, getting married soon?

Sabrina: That’s great, girl. I’m sure all your besties are already planning a fantastic bachelorette party.

Sarah: Only one problem… Your soon to be husband is a firefighter…

Sabrina: … or a police officer…

Sarah: … or a mecanic…

Sabrina: … and he’s smoking hot.

Sarah: So how boring will it be when the stripper hired by your friends, rolls around your party clad from head to toe in firefighter gear, that you know for a fact doesn’t follow regulations?

Sabrina: Super boring.

Sarah: But don’t worry sister. We’re here for you…

Sabrina:  …and every lady who’s soon to marry a man who has a profession often personified by male strippers.

Sarah: But enough yapping. Let’s see what we’re offering.

They both walk over to an area that looks like a living room decorated for a bachelorette party. Two chairs are in the middle of the room. They sit down and are brough pink boas, cowgirl hats and margaritas. A man wearing a wrinkled shirt and baggy jeans comes over. He dances clumsily, trying to be appealing.

Sabrina: Oh who called this very competent IT technician?

The man begins to give them a lap dance and removes his ugly shirt.

IT technician: Is someone having trouble with Microsoft Outlook?

Sarah: Using a sexy voice He’s going to fix your webmail service.

The IT technician dances off.

Sabrina: Woah. Did someone mess with the thermostat?

Sarah: Looks at Sabrina, genuinely concerned No, I didn’t.

Sabrina: Gives Sarah a dirty look Oh look who’s heading over here…

A man wearing a dark green suit comes around, dancing. He is also trying very hard to be appealing.

Sarah: Wow, I wish this accountant could help me file my income tax…

Accountant: I see someon’s been a naughty girl and hasn’t contributed to her RRSPs at all this year…

Sabrina: Using a sexy voice He’s going to read your T4 slip…

The accountant dances around the girls for a while and leaves.

Sabrina: Oh golly, it’s like a sauna in here!

Sarah: Again genuinely concerned Do you want some advil?

Sabrina: Shoots her a dirty look Oh my god, looks like we have another guest.

A man with glasses and a white coat shows up. His dancing is no better than that of the IT technician or the accountant.

Sarah: Good thing the optometrist is here, I want to make sure my eyes are in perfect heatlh to admire his average-joe physique.

Optometrist: I see your eyes are a little dry, maybe I could recommend some eye drops.

Sabrina: Using a sexy voice He’s going to check if your astygmatism is getting worse.

The optometrist continues to dance up close to the girls and after a moment, leaves.

Sabrina: Ok seriously someone’s messing with the thermostat because it is hot in here!

Sarah: Still not getting it Oh no, our hydro bill’s going to be through the roof…

Sabrina: Rolls her eyes at Sarah So ladies, if you’re sick and tired of your financé’s sculpted body and want to feast your eyes on something different before you tie the knot, call us…

Sarah: … and we can make all your bachelorette party dreams come true!

Sabrina: That’s right, sisters! And don’t be afraid to recommend us to all your friends who are getting married to men who have professions often personified by male strippers.

They smile and pose.

 

Bakery Bingo

In line at a busy French bakery. There are about 10 people crowded in front of the counter. Every single one of them is clutching their little tear-off number in front of their faces. The number on the sign changes to 67. Every single person’s arm half-jolts up until they realize it’s not their turn. Every time a worker yells out a number they repeat this gesture as they are so anxious not to miss their turn. They do not look at one another. Ever.

Worker 1: Sixty –
Client one: 67! I have 67!
Worker 1: Sixty –
Client one (pointing at the sign): Seven. Sixty-seven. I have 67!
Worker 1: -six.
Client one: What? But – 67! But it says 67! I have 67!
Worker 1: I’m sorry, ma’am, we’re at number 66. (yelling to the crowd) 66? 66…
Client one: But it says 67. I’m 67. 67! 67!
Worker 1: Yes, ma’am. So sorry about that but I accidentally hit the button twice and bypassed 66. (to the crowd) 66? Anyone?
Client one: I don’t have time for this, young man. It says 67 and (waving her ticket in his face) and I have 67 right here. I would like those two p-
Worker 1: Ma’am, you’ll just have to be patient. We have to be fair to everyone. 66? Does anyone have 66?
Client one: I cannot believe this. Are you new here? You must be new here. I’ve been coming her for years and I have – well, I have never!
Worker 1 (visibly frustrated): 66? Does ANYONE have 66?
Client one (to client two): Can you believe this? I have been buying my (poor pronunciation) petits cheddars here for years and I have NEVER been treated like this. (To the worker) Look at that sign. Can’t you read? Have you even gone to school? 67! It’s number 67. You have to respect the number on the sign. (To client two) I mean really?

Client two does not look at her. Meanwhile another worker clocks in and changes the number on the sign.

Worker 2: 68? Does anyone have number 68?
Client two (holding up her ticket):68!
Worker 2: Perfect. What can I get you?
Client two: Hmm. Well, I will take 6 croissants and –
Client one (waving her ticket wildly): What? How dare you? What about 67? I had 67?
Worker 1 (innocently): I’m sorry, ma’am, we’re at 68 now. Just look up at the sign. We have to respect the sign…
Client one (to worker 2): This is outrageous…
Worker 2: I understand, ma’am, but we’re very busy here, as you can see. You really do have to listen for your number. If you’ll please take a new one we will be with you in no time. (to client two) I’m so sorry about that…
Client two: Not a problem. So 6 croissants and…hhhhmmm…you know what, I think I’ll take those last two (perfect pronunciation) petits cheddars. I’ve heard they are delicious.
Worker 2: Oh they are.
Worker 1: Absolutely delicious. Excellent choice.
Client one: What the fuck?! (to client two) You bitch.

Client two does not look at her – she just takes her cheese croissants and scurries out.

Client one (irate): This is outrageous. I’ve had just about enough of this. You know what you can do? You can just keep your damn petits cheddars.
Worker 1 (innocently): I’m sorry ma’am, we’re fresh out of cheese croissants.

Client one fumes. Worker 1 changes the number on the sign to 69

Worker 1 (looking right at Client one, again innocently): 69?
Client one: AAARRRGHHHH!

Client one throws her ticket on the ground ferociously but it flutters slowly to the ground. She leaves in a huff, slamming the door behind her (only it closes very, very slowly). 

Worker 1 (to worker 2): Bingo.

Meanwhile two hands shot up in the crowd at 69.

Client 3 and client 4 (in unison): I have 69! No you have 96! No YOU have 96.

The two workers smile slyly at one another. The rest of the customers continue to clutch and stare expectantly at their little tickets.

 

 

 

After an apparent hiatus…

Well okay, we’ll admit, we haven’t been the most consistent in our posting these last few months. That’s because we were taking a hiatus. It’s just that we didn’t know it until we got to the end of it, which is today. So why dwell in the past? Look on to the bright future; our hiatus is behind you and we’ll post more regularly from now on. Or at least let you know when we’re taking a break?

Speaking of bright futures, one of our napkin writers was nominated for the writing process blog hop! By whom, you may ask? By the other napkin writer! That’s right, napkin writer number one has a wonderful poetry blog entitled Purple Toothed Grinwhich you should do yourself the favour of reading, and was nominated herself. So if you have ever wondered what a napkin writer’s writing process entailed, the following answers might enlighten you. (It doesn’t mention napkins though).

In the words of Tamara Lagrandeur:

1) What am I working on?

I’m always mulling over ideas for sketches. And when I’m done mulling, those sketches usually go on the Notes on a Napkin blog. I’m also translating my play ‘The Motherhouse’ into French, which I thought would be easier than it is. Finally, I’m working on an outline for the first season of a TV show with two other writers.

2) How does my work differ from others of its genre?

Although we see more and more women in sketch comedy, I think my work differs from what’s out there because I almost always have lead female characters in my sketches. I think it’s important for ladies to create opportunities for other ladies.

I personally find farts very funny but I rarely have toilet humour in my sketches.

3) Why do I write what I do?

Comedy is really just what comes naturally to me.

4) How does my writing process work?

Some people are afraid of spiders and others are afraid of beginnings. I have to admit that I’m terrified of both. I’m not a “get-the-ball-rolling” kind of a girl, I’m much more of “give-the-ball-little-pushes-so-it-continues-to-roll” person. Unless that ball has a spider on it, of course. So my writing process mainly consists of me thinking over ideas for weeks until I really can’t take it anymore and just have to get it on paper just so I can get it out of my head.

Luckily, when I do finally overcome the fear and actually sit down and start, I can usually see an idea through to the end. In fact, endings are my favourite part. Like right now. Oh nothing is sweeter than that last line.

 

See that wasn’t so bad! And now my own nomination goes to a writer who was writing a blog before everyone was doing it:

Derogatory

Phil Ha is one of those writers who makes it all seem so effortless. Hell, a few posts into Derogatory, you might even start your own blog. You’ll soon realize that a little more than you had originally suspected goes into the mix to create Phil’s unique style. So head on over to this talented man’s blog and soon you’ll be able to read about his writing process.

Sanitary Napkin Edition

Erm…sorry about that.

We could claim to have been struck with a bout of localized amnesia that targeted Napkin Writers in an evil plot to eliminate funny from the world one teeny-tiny blog at a time.  Or maybe we were sucked into a worm hole? (Scratch that.  I have been advised that we’ve already used that excuse.)

Perhaps it was pestilence? Pesticides? Pastagate?

Truth is, we’ve been really busy doing a whole whack of really important things. You know: eating, pooping and sleeping.

Except that ladies don’t poop.

Eating and sleeping.

Ok ok ok. You want the real story? It’s a doozy. One of the Napkin Writers went and had herself a baby.  She could blame her lack of productivity on the sleep deprivation or the fact that her writin’ arms have been taken over by a tiny cute-thing or that the most literary conversation she has had in the last four months was about the author’s questionable choice to make bees go ‘buzz’ but dragonflies go ‘zuzz’ the riveting “Hello, Bugs”.

She could…but this Napkin Writer is not about to blame shit on her baby (so please don’t mommy-shame her).  In fact, with the birth of the baby came a revelation: Mama Napkin Writer discovered the identity of her muse in true don’t-know-what-you-got-til-it’s-gone fashion.  After nine months of pregnancy and nary a sketch in sight a quick comparison of her work flow to her menstrual flow revealed that her muse must have been cranky red-headed Aunt Flo!

That’s right, folks, her creative juices flow from – well – we’ll spare you the visual.

Not convinced by the correlation? A Lack of data, you say?  Well, she also named her child (her one act of creation in these desperate times) Dot.  Dot like period…

Yup.

Publicly the Napkin Writer is anxiously awaiting that time of the month as she is sure it will result in the Great Canadian Comedy Sketch but secretly she is planning to breastfeed forever – Muse be damned! – to keep the cramps at bay.

And where has the other Napkin Writer been through this sketch comedy drought? Surfing the crimson wave? Searching for her own muse? Eating, sleeping and not pooping? Doing some oversharing of her very own?  All we know is, right now, she is reading this post amazed at how the other Napkin Writer manages to birth period-themed post after period-themed post. Then again, she knew what she was getting herself into when they began this great blog-o-venture.

Now, enough of all them talkin’ words, let’s get these sketches going again already! No napkin, no subject, no limitations.

And hopefully no leaks.

A belated boo to you

As with everything on this blog, we tend to not play by the rules. In fact we invent our own rules. And then we don’t play by them either. We’re a kindergarten teacher’s worst nightmare.

That is why we have “decided” to release our Halloween sketches the day after Halloween. Think of it as a Boxing Day special. A shadow-boxing day special, that is. You know, because shadows are spooooooooky and all.

And, with a belated Boo!, we give you our sketches.

 
 

Wilde Childe

Mom is sitting in the kitchen with crafting paraphernalia littered about her. Dad walks in.

Dad: What are you up to, honey?

Mom: I finally got around to cleaning up the attic and I found this old paint by numbers kit up there.

Dad: Where did it come from?

Mom: I’m guessing it was my Grandpa Gray’s. He was really into art, or so I was told.

Dad: Was he any good?

Mom:  He was a rascal.  Enjoyed every single vice in the book.  Really wild.

Dad:  I meant was he any good at painting?

Mom: The fact that he had a paint-by-numbers kit would indicate – not so much.

Dad: True enough. But I bet Marian would like it. 

Mom: That’s what I was thinking – I just want to make sure that it’s all here.

Next day: six year old Marian is sitting in the playroom covered in paint.  The walls and furniture are smeared with paint as well.

Mom: What have you done? You know that you shouldn’t make a mess like that.

Marian:  Sorry mummy. 

Mom: That’s ok, sweetie. I’m glad you’re having fun with grandpa’s old painting kit. Just try not to make such a mess next time.

Marian: I love you, mummy 

Marian hugs her mother angelically but we see that she has on a mischievous smile and has left big red handprints on her mothers back.

Following day: in the kitchen

Mom: Marian!! How could you? You ate all the cookies that I baked for the bake sale. What’s gotten into you?

Marian: I’m sorry mummy, they just looked so delicious. I couldn’t help it. 

Mom (giving in):  You’re lucky you look so cute with chocolate all over your face.

And the day after that:  In the back yard at the swing set Marian is sitting on a swing smoking a cigarette and drinking from a bottle of JD. Mom and dad look on, mortified, from the kitchen window.

Mom (yelling out the window): Marian Gray, you come here this instant!! You are in big trouble.

Dad: What are we going to do with her?  She’s completely wild!

Mom: I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to take away her toys for a week. Two weeks even.

Turning to Marian who has trudged in.

Mom: You are grounded, young lady. No candy, no cookies –

Dad: No cigarettes.

Mom: Right, no cigarettes!

Dad: No tv and no toys.

Marian: but what about grandpa’s painting kit. Can’t I at least play with that? It’s my very favourite.  

Mom and dad look at each other.

In unison: No! No paint-by-numbers.  

Marian: I hate you, I hate you.

Marian runs upstairs.  Mom and dad go into playroom and look at the paint by numbers. 

Mom: Good lord, it’s hideous.

Dad:  What? What is it?

Mom displays the canvas. It is a distorted and hideous portait of Marian Gray.

Dad: Oooooooh, it’s a picture of Marian Gray.  That explains everything: the acting out, the stealing, the drinking, the smoking.  The not painting by numbers!  I should have guessed it.

Mom: How? How does it explain all that?  Is she possessed?  Does she have the devil in her?  Should I destroy this godforsaken painting?

Dad:  Destroy it?  Don’t be silly, honey.  Our poor sweet little Marian Gray just has an artistic temperament, that’s all.  The art scene is going to eat this up.  

Mom (brimming with pride): I always knew our daughter was a genius.

Dad (nodding):  So much better than all the other kids.

Cut to Marion creeping up behind them with a knife.