Not PMS

Voiceover:  Has this ever happened to you?

Tina:  I’m hungry

John:  What did you have for lunch?

Tina:  Nothing.  I’ve been too busy

John: What have you been doing all morning?

Tina:  I was looking at food blogs on WordPress.

John:  That’s one way to work up an appetite…without getting out of bed.

Tina is not amused.

Voiceover:  How about this?

John:  What are you in the mood for, sweetie?

Tina:  I don’t know.  I’m too hungry to even choose.

John: Let’s see what we can find for ya.

John heads toward the fridge. Tina looks around the room.

Tina:  Do you, like, ever clean?

John: What?

Tina:  And do you really think that the sofa is really the best spot for your guitar.  What if I want to sit down after work?

John:  Here, I’ll move it for ya.

John picks guitar off of the sofa and puts it on the coffee table.  Heads for the kitchen again.

Tina:  Right, like that’s a better place for it.  Not on the guitar rack or anything.  Typical.

John goes to move it again.

Tina:  No, no.  Leave it.  It’s fine, IT’S FINE!  I’m just hungry.  I’m just REALLY hungry.  I haven’t eaten ALL DAY!!

John: But we went to that breakfast place this morning, remember?

Tina:  Oh right.  Well, I hardly touched my meal.

Jim: um…you polished off yours and ate all my home fries…

Tina:  Well, it doesn’t matter anyway – I’m just starving, ok?  I’m starving.

John takes a moment to decide if it is safe to leave it.  Risks it.  Heads to the kitchen again.  Tina glances at her hand.

Tina: How long have we been together?

John (from kitchen): Three beautiful years, honey.

Tina:  Hmmm…

Tina holds her left hand up to as if to inspect it.  Looks like she is about to lay into him.

Voiceover:  This poor fool is about to learn a very valuable lesson.  It’s not his fault he’s being to unsympathetic.  He just doesn’t know all the facts.

 Pause.

 John (coming in from the kitchen):  Well…

Voiceover:  Oh right.  It’s not a new affliction.  It has simply been miscategorized for years, hiding behind its bigger, badder older sister PMS but it’s time to shed some light on this terrible disease.   AJFD: Acute Junk Food Deficiency.    Science says that it affects one out of two people (but if both of those people are women it becomes two out of  two).   Symptoms include:  denial about having eaten earlier in the day, mood swings, depression, depression projected on those who love you and care about you most, opening and closing the cupboard doors, opening and closing fridge doors and staring longingly out of the living room window at the corner store.

In severe cases blindness occurs that renders all the ingredients in the fridge that could come together to make a salad completely invisible as they are neither salty enough nor crunchy enough to be considered a viable food option.

Onset of this disease often occurs when the subject glances at wrist watch only to discover that the corner store is closing in one minute and you do not have enough time to lace on your boots and run over.  You being the operative word – she’s far too sick to go herself.

Tina (overly chipper):  Move over PMS, there’s a new affliction in town and her name is Acute Junk Food Deficiency and she’s pissed.  And she doesn’t limit herself to 7 days a month; she can come at you…ANY DAY OF THE WEEK.

 Voiceover:  Left untreated AJFD manifest itself in many ways.   Just watch.

Cuts to woman standing in front of a power point slide crying uncontrollably.

Cuts to a wedding, the bride is ravenously eating her bouquet.

 Cuts to a child’s birthday party.  Child:  But mom I wanted the purple one. The mom punches him in the face.

John: But what can I do?  Is there no cure?

“Doctor” comes in and scribbles a note on a piece of paper and hands it to John.  John hold is up – it says ‘potato chips’.

 Voiceover:  Yup.  It’s time to take control of AJFD or it will take control of you.

Cuts to scene at a football game.  Tina is screaming maniacally at all the players, screaming bloody murder.  John is walking down the aisle with some food on a tray.  He looks at her, looks at the chips and pockets them. 

John:  Honey, I brought you a nice salad.

Tina simply growls and goes back to yelling at the football players.

John:  I’ll think just save these for later.

John sits down next to Tina.

John:  Go Alouettes!  Atta boys!

John and Tina grunt in unison.

Women as Assholes

First off, Happy New Year! We’re not even a month late – we are definitely getting better at this whole blogging thing.

Now onto serious things. This is a blog written by two women which you may have noticed if you ever clicked on the ‘Meet the authors’ tab at the top of the page. That being said, this is not a ”Women’s blog” meaning, generally, we don’t come on here to tackle ladies’ issues and talk about serious stuff like stereotypes against women, inequality in the workplace or nipple warmers.

In fact, we kinda like to latch onto stereotypes and run with them. Especially when they’re about men. Men as assholes. Not sure what we mean? Need a list of examples? Here’s one:

1. Construction guys. Yes this is still a thing. If you’re a woman and you’ve walked by dudes doing construction, you probably know exactly what we’re talking about.

2. Mechanics. There’s a special tax that comes along with having ovaries and getting your car fixed. Everyone knows about it and no one talks about it so shhhhh.

3. Renovation dudes in a an office building. They need to paint. You’re trying to work. It’s not your fault that you work in a department that is open 24/7 and neither is it theirs. But they still need to paint and you still need to work. And so they paint away and you figure that they will keep it down since all the workers are on the phone. Instead they have a raucous discussion about how one guy’s wife is Mexican (how that becomes a discussion is still up for debate).

This may or may not have happened to one of the Napkin Writers very, very recently.

And sitting in that tiny office, with one ear plastered to the phone and a finger dug way deeper into her other ear than any doctor anywhere has ever recommended, the aforementioned Napkin Writer’s mind wandered back to an idea, an idea that had been catcalling her from the depths of her own brain for some time now: What if women were the assholes in these situations? What if some women were doing some work outside, a few men passed by and heard: ”Hey baby! Come give mama some sugar!” Wouldn’t that make a funny sketch? Like, so funny that it would make you feel uncomfortable to the point where you have to reroute your walk to work?

And so, this was the theme to the last napkin meeting that was held a particularly loud bar which explains why the napkin in only one-sided. But, on the bright side, first time brown napkin! We are mixing it up in 2013. We’re crazy like that.

Check in again in a week to read the sketch and we promise to work on our cat calls in the meantime. We’re already pretty confident that we can rock the hard hat look.

Christmas Bonus from not-your-boss

You thought that the Napkin Writers forgot all about you over the holidays, didn’t you? We would never!! Although, truth be told, over the past week we’ve mostly been using napkins as the Little Baby Jesus intended them to be used – to wipe gravy off of our faces and our grubby little hands.

But, in honour of this festive time of year, we’ve decided to do the decent (lazy) thing and pull a couple of sketches out of our back catalogue just for you. It could be worse, we could have just re-gifted you those handmade moose antler peace sign earrings that Aunt Joyce gave us.

You’re welcome.

Next year maybe we’ll even remind you that you’re wearing the dorky paper hat from the Christmas cracker instead of letting you leave the house like that.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year from the Napkin Writers. We wish you a year full of chortles and jokes that make you fart.

A Period Piece

Two men walking down a street on their way to the theatre.

Tom: I haven’t been to the theatre in ages. Has this show gotten good reviews?

Sam: Yeah, well, I heard it was really good…

Tom: What’s it called?

Sam: Honestly, I can’t remember. I just know that it’s a period piece.

Tom: A period piece? Shakespeare!?!

Sam: Maybe, I’m not sure –

Tom: How can you not be sure if it’s Shakespeare?! I LOVE Shakespeare!

Sam: It could be…must be one of his lesser-knowns, like “Love’s Labour Lost” or “Pericles” or something? All I know is that it is a period piece.

They approach the usher and give in their tickets. They take their seats while they continue talking.

Tom: Thank goodness. No avant-garde bard here – just the real deal. I put my faith in period pieces. No messing around. Just Shakespeare the way Shakespeare wanted it.

Sam: Think there’ll be cod pieces?

Tom: You can count on it.

Sam (with real concern): Think those will ever come back into style?

Tom: Good god I hope not. Keep the private parts private, that’s what I say.

They take their seats.

Sam: How much time do I have? I really have to go to the bathroom.

Tom (stifling nerdy laughter): To pee or not to pee, that is the question.

Both men giggle a little bit too much. Music starts to play.

Tom: Oh shoot. It’s starting. Did you get a program?

Sam: No, I wasn’t paying atten –

Tom: shhhhhhhh!

Lights come up to reveal a woman (wearing a plaid shirt and jeans) sitting on a chair, legs spread wide, staring intently at the two men.

Sam and Tom: What the devil..?

Tom (quoting Shakespeare nerdily): There’s something rotten in the state of Denmark…

Woman: It’s time to put the dirty tampons on the table, people. We’re talking menstruation here. Period. Dotted undies, bloody sheets, the whooolllle nine ounces…ok, ok, I guess that’s a really heavy flow. Let’s say two ounces. (fading out she continues to speak but is inaudible) Did you know…blah, blah, blah….

The two men look really uncomfortable. They are trying to think of a way out; talking over the performer but in a stage whisper.

Tom: What the darn is this? Shakespeare must be rolling in his grave.

Sam: I’m sorry. I really should have read the poster more carefully.

Tom: Where did you find this play?

Sam (sheepishly): My aunt suggested it….

Tom (accusatory): Your aunt the experimental video “artist”?

Sam: Sorry. I’m so sorry. Maybe we can sneak out…

Tom: And subject ourselves to the death stares of about 150 rampant, bloody feminists – I don’t think so. (He slouches down into his seat and blocks his ears) I’m just going to run through monologues from King Lear in my head. Let me know when it’s over.

Tom begins mouthing a monologue. The focus shifts back to the woman on stage.

Woman: And we’ve all been there. We have all been there, ladies. Naked from the waist down in a public bathroom with nothing but that pink liquid soap and lukewarm water repeating, as if it were a holy mantra, “…out damn’d spot, out I say..”

Both men perk up.

Sam and Tom: Now we`re talkin’.

Sam (whispering to audience with a grin on his face): All’s well that ends well…

Fantasy Office Party

The Napkin Writers’ office parties came and went and, since they added their last names to the blog, all they will say about them is that they were lovely.

Just lovely.

That being said, one of the writers pondered different elements that would have brought the party from simply lovely to the level of mind-blowing. This is what she came up with:

1. iPad giveaway. Say what you will about Apple products, when you get one for free all those tiny voices in your head that yelled out reasons for you not to buy one seem to shut up all at once.

2. Go-karts. It is this napkin writer’s humble opinion that the most fun one can have is being behind a wheel of a 90cc vehicle.

3. A DJ who takes requests. Everyone has a different taste in music so everyone should get to hear at least one tune that makes them squeal: ”Oh my god, I looove this song!” in a true club junkie fashion.

4.  Boxes.  Boxes o’ wine.  Boxes o’ prizes.  Boxes to hide in.  Boxes.

Oh, and 5th but not least – to be editor-in-chief of the office newsletter.

Of course, the boxes of wine should be brought out only after everyone has go-karted til they just can’t go-kart no more. At which point, the DJ should start spinning those nineties hits like they’re going out of style. Even though they already have.

Except this one.

And now, as promised, two brand new Office Christmas Party sketches – think of them as a consolation prize for not winning that iPad that you never really wanted to begin with.

All Tapped Out

In the style of a Public Service Announcement.

Sfx:   Da da daa daaaa.

Cheesy TV Guy is standing in an office setting.

Cheesy TV Guy: It’s 4:45pm and your annual Office Christmas Party starts in fifteen minutes.  You glance over at the lump that sits next you for 8 hours a day and you realize something…

You’re all tapped out.  For the past year you have sat next to this person and traded anecdotes for platitudes on a daily basis.

Shifts to an office setting for a re-enactment of a typical day in the office.

Bad actor: You’ll never guess what happened to me last night —

Cheesy TV Guy (cutting off bad actor): Insert boring anecdote.

Worse actor: You don’t say, well, —

Cheesy TV Guy (cutting off worse actor): And now pull something from the bag of platitudes.

Both actors look really annoyed that he stole their spotlight.  Cheesy TV Guy then steps right out in front of them holding a wall clock that reads 4:50.

Cheesy TV Guy: And now, at that precious moment when you can usually smell that sweet smell of freedom, you suddenly remember that you get to stick around and mingle-bells with your co-workers at the Office Christmas Party.

Who the hell came up with this idea?!

Cheesy TV Guy shoots an accusatory look at the two actors. They are too busy shuffling papers and  acting like the are working to notice.

You have nothing to say to these people that you haven’t said before.  You’ve lied through your teeth looking at baby photos, you’ve mmmhmmmed your way through stories about bargain shopping and outlet malls, you held your tongue while they laugh-talked about that last episode of Whitney.

And now you’re expected to do it…off the clock.

Shifts to office party setting re-enactment.  The two bad actors are now wearing grumpy looks on their faces and Santa hats on their heads.  There are disco lights and Gangham Style is playing (it already played twice, you know).

Bad actor: …and then my son came home with his report card and we were just so thrilled –

Worse actor: Shut. Up.

Bad Actor shoots Worse Actor the look of death.  Worse Actor takes the tiny plastic glass of wine as a shot and promptly fills it up again.  Cheesy TV guy walks into the frame.

Cheesy TV Guy:  Just don’t do it.  Go home to your family.  Call your mother.  Watch mind-numbing Christmas specials. Go to your local watering hole and sit all by yourself.  Alone.

Anything.

In all seriousness.  Cheesy TV Guy gets up close to the audience.

Give yourself the best Christmas present of them all and boycott the Office Christmas Party.  Don’t let the man in the expensive suit squeeze another precious moment from your life.

Puts on a Mexican Wrestling Mask topped with a Santa hat.

When you’re all tapped out – tap out.  There’s no shame in it.

Voice-over (really quickly as if they are the deadly side effects of some new wonder drug):  This has been brought to you by the Party Planning Committee who spent too much money on crappy dollar store decorations and not enough money on food and booze to accommodate the whole office and would rather if you just didn’t show up so that they can have an extra piece of grocery store “cake” for themselves.

Sfx: Da da da–

Both actors: Shut.  Up.

Office Party Bonanza

‘Tis the season, as they say.

The Napkin Writers have mixed feelings about festive times because Holiday-themed napkins tend to make it hard to read the undeniably brilliant ideas scribbled on them.  Pictures of uniformly floating candy canes are very distracting; they are just begging for embellishments like a couple of hairy balls or strippers twirling around them like slutty sugar plum fairies.

Luckily, when one spends their time in dingy bars, that tends not to be a problem – these bars don’t stray from the classic cocktail napkin for any reason.  The only problem at these bars around Christmas time is the fact that your dark little corner of self-loathing and solitude ends up being lit up like a Christmas tree and you’re pretty sure that those lights do nothing for your complexion (except that your drunken tears are suddenly multi-coloured and blinking psychedelically).

Do you know what other lights do nothing for you complexion?  Office lights.  You can spend five hours preparing your face for the day but, you know what?  You just aren’t going to look good under those florescent lights.

Enter: The Office Christmas Party – usually not as shown on TV.

With both Napkin Writers’ office Christmas parties looming in the near future, they thought it would be a perfect setting for hilarity, embarrassment, confusion, miscommunication, mistaken identities, drunkenness and regret.  Oh and close-talking bosses.

In other words, the Perfect Sketch.

And so the Napkin Writers jotted a few things down:

And then they got distracted by their communal pipe-dreams, a heated discussion about UTIs and by the beer running down their legs (and creeping toward their iPhones with what can only be called determination) when the waitress managed to knock over a fresh pint of Black Velvet.

Is it possible that the Black Velvet is an inherently precarious drink, top-heavy like Pamela Anderson?   Perhaps the two writers will have to test this theory while working on their Office Christmas Party sketches.

The Man ate our sketches

Don’t even ask how we got them back.  Don’t even.

But here they are for your reading pleasure – just wash your hands when you’re finished with them.

Somewhere in Russia

At the security check in an airport. 

Agent 1:  Next!

A businessman puts his bag on the conveyor belt toward the x-ray machine.  The security agent waves at him to come through the metal detector.  He does.  It does not beep.

Suddenly a Agent 2’s head pops up from behind the x-ray machine.  He just nods his head at the agent 1.

Agent 1:  Walk through again, please.

Businessman: But it didn’t beep.

Agent 1:  Well, it didn’t know what I know.

Businessman:  What?  What do you mean?

Agent 1:  WALK THROUGH AGAIN, PLEASE.

Businessman:  Okay, okay.

Businessman walks to through the metal detector again.  It doesn’t beep. Agent 1 looks at him suspiciously. 

Agent 1: Step over here please.

Businessman begins to walk toward the conveyor belt.

Agent 1:  THAT’S FAR ENOUGH!

Businessman stops on a dime.  Agent 2’s head pops up from behind the machine again.

Agent 2 (dragging out the moment):  Whhhaattt….is this?

Agent 2 holds up a Russian stacking doll in an accusatory fashion.

Businessman: It’s a souvenir.

Agent 1: Oh really.

Agent 2: Oh reeaaallllyyy.

Businessman:  For my daughter…

Agent 1: Your daughter, eh?  (To Agent 2)   He says it’s for his daughter.

Both agents laugh for an awkwardly long time and then suddenly stop.

Agent 2:  And whooooo… is this for?

Agent 2 opens the biggest doll up to show a second doll.  Businessman is dumbfounded.

Businessman: It’s for my daughter.

Agent 1:  Thought you could fool us, didn’t you?  All of you tourists are the same; Daddy-of-the-year trying to smuggle extra things home to your loving family.

Agent 2: Hypocrite.

Agent 1: Despicable.

Businessman:  I’m not trying to smuggle anything.  I just thought-

Agent 2:  Not trying to smuggle anything, eh?

Agent 1:  Well, what’s…this???

Agent 1 motions toward Agent 2.  Agent 2 opens up the second doll to display (you guessed it) a third even smaller doll.

Agent 2:  I knew it!

Agent 1 (all up in the businessman’s grill):  And just what do you have to say for yourself?

Businessman (meekly): I-

Agent 1(to agent 2):  He’s going to say he didn’t know they were in there.

Agent 2 (to businessman):  Are you trying to tell us you didn’t know they were in there?

Businessman: No, I knew they were in there, I just –

Agent 1: Ah ha!!

Agent 2:  A confession.

Businessman:  No, that’s not what I mean.  I just –

Agent 2 pops open another doll.  And then another.  And then another again.  Huge reaction from the agents every time.

Agent 1:  Look at that.  You must have a huge family; so lucky to have so many daughters.  Isn’t he lucky to have such a big family to go home to?

Agent 2:  Such a good man.

Agent 1 pops open another doll.

Agent 1: Or maybe he brought presents for the whole town.

They are smiling at him with mock-admiration. They are toying with him.

Agent 1:  Do they call you Robin Hood where you live?

Businessman:  What?  Well, my name is Robin.  But, no…

Agent 2:  You steal from Russia and give to the young children, yes?

Businessman:  Whaa?

Agent 1: The babies, yes?

Agent 2:  Yes, Robin Hood.  Is there a parade in your honour?

Businessman:  That’s Santa Claus.

Agent 1: Do all the little children skip after you while you walk down the road?

Businessman:  That’s the pied-piper.

Agent 2: You think you are so smart.

Agent 1:  Maybe you went to the university?

Agent 2:  Maybe you think you are smarter than us?

Silence.

Agent 1:  We’re on to you.

Agent 2: YOU ARE NOT SMARTER THAN US.

Pops open another doll.  It’s the tiniest one.  So tiny.  They hone in on the little doll for a moment.  They speak gently.

Agent 2:  And who is this little one for?

Agent 1:  Look how cute it is.

Agent 2:  So tiny.

Agent 1:  So precious.

Agent 2: So fragile.

Suddenly they turn on him.

Agent 2:  I bet you don’t even have children

Agent 1:  You make me sick.

Agent 2:  We should throw you in prison right now

Agent 1:  You don’t want to know what they do to people like you in prison.

Businessman:  What?!  I’m sorry.  Look, I don’t even want the dolls.  I don’t want them.

Agent 2:  We should arrest you.

Agent 1:  You would never see your “family” again.

Agent 2:  Buuuttttt…we will let you go.

Businessman:  Oh my god, thank you.

Agent 1:  Just know, we are being very benevolent.

Businessman is nodding furiously.

Agent 2: Yes.  Say it with us: You are being very benevolent.

All three:  You are very benevolent.

Agent 1 (to Agent 2):  You are very benevolent.

Agent 2 (to  Agent 1):  Oh thank you, you are also very benevolent.  (to businessman) But you, you make me sick.  Now, go to the plane.

Agent 1 points toward the plane.  Businessman trudges off toward the plane.  Agents wait until he is a safe distance away and then scramble to put the dolls back together.

Agent 1:  Now get this back to the gift shop.

Agent 2 starts running toward the gift shop.

Agent 2:  They really need to order more of these, this is getting ridiculous.

Agent 2 continues his run.

Agent 1:  NEXT!!!

Indulgent theories

Sketch comedy writers come in many shapes and sizes. For example, one of the napkin writers doesn’t even bother to put anything on the top shelves in her kitchen while the other writer is average height…for a man. However, one thing that we believe to be common to all sketch comedy writers is that they are indulgent thinkers; they continuously allow their brains to wander away from reality to a place where old ladies play phone pranks on a lowly (read: bitchy) receptionist and where time machines exist but everyone just wants to use them to go back in time to prevent embarrassing moments from happening.

When you add a pint and a half to this psychologically indulgent predisposition (as was the case just the other night) one writer’s mind naturally goes straight to the dark and nebulous world of conspiracy theories. The all-knowing Napkin Writer waxed eloquent about the Freemasons, the assassination of JFK, 9/11 and even Jesus. She spoke from a place of authority because, after all, her sister knows a guy whose brother was married to someone who works for the CIA and, apparently, you don’t even want to know what’s really going on.

As NapkinWriterOne ranted on and on, in various stages of hysteria, NapkinWriterTwo merely punctuated the “discussion” with ill-timed examples of how the world is out to get her: how the dishwasher intercepts the internet signal before it reaches her computer and how creepy it is that Gmail customizes their advertisements to complement what you’ve written in your private emails. Private? Bah! That’s about as private as a bathroom stall at Biftek. That’s about as private as Kim Kardashian’s sex life. That’s about as private as pooping in your jail cell. That’s about as private as a conversation at Starbucks. That’s about as private as Facebook messages from 2007.

Get the drift?

By now, it’s no conspiracy theory that two girls, one short and one tall, go from pub to pub on dark nights and write notes on napkins. They do. But how they manage to get the napkin to your computer screen may be the result of some spoooooky behaviour (or a scanner). Take a look at what resulted from our last, impromptu, napkin meeting:

Looking at this napkin now, the Napkin Writers are developing a theory that they were trained by the CIA and that their indecipherable napkins are a result of the intricate codes they were taught and that were then wiped from their minds by The Man. The Man may or may not have discovered that the Napkin Writers can’t keep a secret after that second Black Velvet. The Man may or may not be a man.

Come back in a week or so to see our Conspiracy Theory Sketches – unless L’Homme gets to them first.