Gotham City 32771

(Enter COMMISSIONER GORDON.)COP: Evening, Commissioner.GORDON: Looks like we're late to the party, Officer.COP: Yep, nothing to see here.GORDON:  So what do we got?COP: Seems to have been some kind of an altercation.  Two guys got into it, the one over here ended up dead.  The other guy's right here...GORDON:  Oh, no.  Not him again.COP: What, you know this guy?GORDON: Just another one of these pain-in-the-ass vigilantes running around my city.COP: Oo, you mean Batman?GORDON:  No, not Batman.COP: Green Lantern?GORDON:  Uh-uh.COP:  ...Bat-Girl?GORDON: This guy look like a Bat-Girl to you?  No, this is a new one.  Calls himself...HERO: (guttural, gravelly)  I'm Zimmer-Man.GORDON:  I told you last time, Zimmer-Man, you can knock it off with this stuff, we've got the law enforcement thing covered.HERO:  Listening to sound advice isn't one of my superpowers, Commissioner.GORDON:  So what is it this time, Zimmer-Man?  Another skinny kid with Skittles and Arizona Iced Tea?HERO:  Worse.  This one was packing Rolos and a Snapple.  They're escalating.COP:  Who's escalating?HERO:  Don't have all the facts yet but I'm calling them the Sugar-High Gang.  They get all hopped up on sucrose and corn syrup and you don't know what they're gonna do.GORDON:  So, let me guess, this guy attacked you...?HERO:  Attacked me.  Right.  Attacked me real bad.GORDON:  And I don't suppose you provoked this at all.HERO:  No.  I'm Zimmer-Man.  What happened was, I was cruising along in my Zimmer-Mobile...COP:  That looks like a Ford Festiva.HERO:  Anyway, I spotted this guy and immediately he seemed suspicious.GORDON: Suspicious how?HERO:  Just didn't seem like he belonged.  Not very belongy.  Like, at all.  Plus, he was walking so casually.  Leisurely.  I don't trust anyone who's so casual and leisurely and without sufficient belongitude.GORDON:  Did the subject appear to notice that you were following him?HERO:  Yes!  And then he started acting really nervous.GORDON:  Imagine that.HERO:  So I called it in to the police, y'know, like you've asked me to do...GORDON: Actually I've asked you to stop doing this sort of thing altogether.HERO:  Remembering stuff isn't one of my superpowers, Commissioner Gavin.GORDON: Gordon.HERO:  See?COP: What'd you say when you called it in?HERO:  Usual stuff: "these fucking punks," you know, "these assholes always get away," typical small talk.GORDON:  Sounds like you'd really made your mind up about this guy.HERO:  Hello, did I not tell you about the casualness?  So then the operator asked me "Are you following him?"  And I said "Yeah," and she said, "Okay, we don't need you to do that."GORDON:  But you did it anyway, didn't you?HERO:  She didn't tell me not to do it; she said I didn't need to do it.GORDON:  So splitting hairs is one of your superpowers, then.HERO:  Maybe.  If that's a cool thing.  Point is, that's what being a hero is all about: I do the things nobody needs me to do.GORDON:  You certainly do.HERO:  But actually, instead, what I did was, I got out of the car to look for some street signs to find out where we were.  So I could tell the operator.GORDON:  Don't you live around here?HERO:  Directions aren't one of my superpowers.  So I get out of the car, looking for signs, and out of nowhere this guy jumps me and starts beating me up.GORDON:  Really.HERO:  That's right.GORDON:  This unarmed kid, who I imagine we're going to find out yet again has no record of violent crime, just decided to attack a stranger and beat him up?HERO:  Yep.GORDON:  Huh.HERO:  Plausibility isn't one of my superpowers.GORDON:  So I imagine what happened next was...HERO:  I shot 'im.GORDON:  You —.  Of course you did.COP:  You want I should cuff this guy, Commissioner?GORDON:  No point, I imagine.  I assume no one saw what happened here, Zimmer-Man, apart from you and him?HERO:  Just the two of us, Commissioner.GORDON:  No one at all who can offer a competing version of events and who hasn't been killed?  By, y'know, you?HERO:  Nopers.GORDON:  Figures.  All right.  Looks like even though you did something awful, it doesn't mean we can sentence you to prison for it.HERO:  Yay me!GORDON:  You've pretty much managed somehow to walk the narrow territory between abhorrent and illegal.HERO:  That's my superpow—!GORDON:  Yeah, no, I just got it, even as I was saying that I, yeah.  But listen, seriously, I mean it: stop doing this, okay?  Just, y'know, knock it off.HERO:  I hear you, Commissioner, and we're on the same page.  Just one question: wondered if you might want to work with me to set up like a Zimmer-Signal, let me know when you need my help with creepy outsider weirdos walking around suspiciously with or without snack foods?  Like a big light or something, maybe just like a penlight with a—?GORDON:  No!HERO:  Hey.  I'm just a legally armed upstanding citizen, Commissioner, keeping an eye out for fucking punks on the streets.COP:  Yeesh, Batman doesn't talk like that.HERO:  Batman's a thug.  He wears a hoodie.  Zimmer-Man out!GORDON:  I'm getting too old for this shit.

S*M*A*S*H-up

(FADE IN on the grungy 4077th S*M*A*S*H camp, a ratty assemblage of olive-drab tents and battered jeeps set in a dusty, scrubby valley.  A crooked post in the compound has nailed-up arrows indicating the direction and mileage to various destinations:  Chicago, Grover's Corners, Osage County, Avenue Q.  The P.A. crackles to life.)

P.A.: Attention all personnel.  Due to lack of interest, this year's Broadway season will be canceled.  Also, Off-Broadway will now be Broadway, Off-Off-Broadway will be Off-Broadway, and Hoboken will be lower Manhattan.  That is all.

(JULIA and TOM, exhausted in their stylish scrubs, partake of martinis at their makeshift still in their tent.)

JULIA:  Fourteen hours of meatball workshopping.  Even my exhaustion is exhausted.  I can't feel my feet.
TOM:  I can't feel your feet either.   I propose a toast: to this place.  To our life.
JULIA:  Be it ever so humble, there's no place like development hell.

(They down their drinks.  JULIA makes a face.)

JULIA:  This tastes terrible.  I mean more terrible than usual.
ELLIS:  I put ground-up peanuts in your martini!
JULIA:  Ellis, damn it!  I'm not allergic to peanuts.  Stop doing that to everyone!
TOM:  Little ferret-face.
ELLIS:  Gotcha!  Heh heh heh heh heh.

(RADAR enters the tent with a clipboard in hand.)

RADAR:  Morning, sirs...
TOM:  Radar, we just got out of workshopping.  If you try to send us back to that rehearsal hall I'll tie your boots to your nose hairs.
RADAR:  Gosh, that's not friendly.  Nobody ever talks that way in Iowa.
TOM:  What is this "Iowa...?"
JULIA:  Flyover country.
TOM:  They have theater there?
JULIA:  Yes but they serve... food... at it.
TOM:  Ugh.
RADAR:  Captains, I'm just here to remind you that you're scheduled to give the leading ladies superfluous physical examinations at oh nine hundred hours.
TOM:  ...But I'm gay.
JULIA:  And I'm a heterosexual woman, and I only sleep with men with whom I have exactly zero chemistry.

(With a weary groan, DEREK rises from a nearby bunk.)

DEREK:  Oh bloody hell, do I have to do it all around here?  Tom, Julia, shall I just take everything off your plate?  I'll fix the musical, I'll woo the producers, I'll defile the leading ladies and while I'm at it I'll be the only one around here with even a modicum of personality?  Would that work for you?  Would that be helpful?

(Beat.)

TOM:  — Yeah, could you?
JULIA:  That'd be great, thanks.
RADAR:  Hold on.  —Choppers.
JULIA:  I don't hear any—
RADAR:  Wait for it.

(Sound of incoming choppers.  Julia, Tom and Derek wearily stumble to their feet and scramble out the door.)

P.A.:  Attention all personnel.  Incoming pages.  All available personnel to the rehearsal room.  Don't worry folks, you can sleep when you're dead or after "Phantom" closes, whichever comes first.

(Cut to the rehearsal room, where everyone's in scrubs and masks, each at an operating table working feverishly on a script draft.)

TOM: (to NURSE:) Highlighter.  White-out.  Could I get some suction here, this character arc is a disaster.  I'm going to have to resect the whole second act.

(DEREK peers over JULIA's shoulder, watching her work.)

DEREK:  Switching everything over to a male POV, eh?  Interesting technique.
JULIA:  It always works.  It never doesn't work.  Could I get some more wrylies over here please?
P.A.: Attention all personnel.  Due to conditions beyond our control we regret to report that a new play by Neil LaBute opens tonight.

(RADAR enters.)

TOM:  Radar!  Put a mask on!
RADAR:  I have a message.
JULIA:  If it's about my royalties, give it to me straight.  I can take it.
RADAR:  Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake's plane... was shot down... over the Sea of Japan.
JULIA:  Oh my God!  Oh my God!  Is he dead?
RADAR:  Worse.  He's in regional theater.
DEREK:  That poor bastard.
RADAR:  There weren't no survivors.
TOM:  Keep working, guys.  These scripts are just going to keep coming and they're not going to revise themselves.
DEREK:  Julia, that is really really great work you're doing there.  You've taken that mess of a wounded draft and turned it into one of the most brilliant scripts I've ever seen.  Pure genius.
TOM:  Well, let's hear it out loud!
JULIA:  Oh, okay, if you insist.  "Act One.  Lights up—."

(CUT TO: the mess tent, some hours later.  Everyone sitting wearily around a table, drinking coffee.)

TOM:  That was the most brilliant play I've ever heard, Julia.
EILEEN:  It really was remarkable, Captain.
JULIA:  Too bad no one will ever hear it aloud again.
DEREK:  Why is that?
JULIA:  Not sure.  But oh well.
EILEEN:  Ugh.  Why is my coffee so gritty?
ELLIS:  Heh heh heh heh.
EILEEN:  Ellis!  Enough with the peanuts!
ELLIS:  Gotcha.

(EILEEN throws her drink in DEREK's face.)

DEREK:  Blimey!  Why'd you do that?
EILEEN:  It's my character trait.  Seriously, it's my only character trait.  Now I don't have a beverage in my hand any more and I feel myself slipping away.
P.A.:  Attention all personnel.  Will Jessica and Bobby please report to the compound for this week's random distribution of background dialogue.  And it is requested that you kindly stop being more compelling than the main characters.  That is all.
EILEEN:  This damn place.  How much more can we take?  We've lost so many loved ones already.  Frank, Leo, Dev... Julia's scarves... Theresa Rebeck... poor sweet Karen...
KAREN:  I'm still here, I'm just right here.
EILEEN:  All gone, all taken away in their prime and we may never see them again.
KAREN:  I'm right here.  I'm literally in like every other scene.
EILEEN:  Those poor kids.

(KAREN gives up, slips into a Bollywood-tinged fugue state.)

JULIA:  Well, it could be worse.  We could all have—gag—dramaturgs.
TOM:  Ugh, dramaturgs.
DEREK:  Horrid creatures.
RADAR:  Yeah, I saw something about them when I was previewing our training films about communicable diseases.  Gross.
JULIA:  Hey, you.  Yeah, you.  Iowa.  Who are you, anyway?  You're not a stage manager, you're not a dancer, you're not a designer.  You could be an actor except I didn't notice any listings on the call sheet for "Creepy diminutive wide-eyed manchild."  Who are you, and why are you here?
RADAR:  I'm just someone who pays attention to what you do, and knows everything that's going to happen to you before you do.
JULIA:  ...A critic?
RADAR:  Nope.  The audience.
TOM:  Well, that explains why he keeps getting smaller.
RADAR:  —Hang on.  You hear that?
JULIA:  Hear what?
RADAR:  —Cancellation.
JULIA:  I don't hear any—
RADAR:  Wait for it.

(Freeze-frame.  IVY belts "Suicide is Painless.")

Clark Kent, super blogger

"Well, Clark Kent is leaving the Daily Planet.  Superman is resigning his day job as a reporter and going rogue, possibly as a self-employed blogger."  -- Washington PostDear Readers,Sorry I haven't blogged in a while.  Just been so so so busy.   Been full of ideas, though.  Since I haven't had time to flesh them out as full-fledged posts, though, I decided to share them in trusty list form, because, hey, lists are teh awesome.  So enjoy: CLARK'S TOP 10 BLOG POST IDEAS.1. Don't you hate it when you're wearing one complete outfit underneath another complete outfit on top, for any of the many valid reasons people do that sort of thing, and you can't get the outfit on top, the outer outfit, to fall quite right?  Your shirt's riding up in back and there are those weird wrinkles across your thighs?  And don't get me started on how wearing two complete outfits one on top of the other gets mad stuffy, yo.  Um, hello, corporate air conditioning gods, some of us are wearing two outfits at once here, a little consideration?2.  Also, when the sleeve of your underneath outfit starts sort of peeking out from under the sleeve of your top outfit and people are like, "Clark, is that your long underwear?  It's July."  *facepalm*3.  Check out this instagram of what I made for dinner last night: chicken and onion tagine with black bean quinoa.  Clark FTW!  Yo, I can't even pronounce quinoa!  But I can cook it all right.  Just four seconds under the heat ray.  Best.  Snack.  Ever.4.  Had a kerfuffle with the gf and she came out with this one: "It just doesn't seem like anything hurts you."  Hello, since when is this a bad thing?  So then I bashed myself with a crowbar, smiling all the while.  j/k, regular people like us can't do stuff like that thing with the crowbar.5.  Used to think there wasn't anything I couldn't do.  Then, just recently, I took up knitting.  WTF.  Here's a photo of my latest scarf/potholder.  I HAVE FEWER STITCHES THAN I STARTED WITH, WHAT IS GOING ON?  *headdesk*  *deskbreaks*  *buynewdesk*6.  One side effect of the rise of the cell phone that no one talks much about for some reason?  No more public phone booths means -- wait for it -- no place to change clothes wherever you suddenly need to.  Am I the only one who's noticed this?  Department store changing rooms are too far away, and the clerks there are judgey.  And public restroom stalls?  Um, yeah, I just threw up a little in my mouth.7.  Hate the way, when you throw up a little in your mouth, then you're carrying around that vomitty taste.  You know the taste I mean: tastes like mossy radioactive gravel?  We've all been there.8.  Facebook.  Here's the thing.  Friends from work, okay.  Old school friends from the farm town back home, that's cool.  Your mom and dad and their friends, that's getting weird.  But when someone who actually calls himself your archnemesis -- his words, not mine -- sends you a friend request, what.  Is.  Up.  With.  That?  I'm looking at you, Lex.  #mixedsignals9.  Another thing about the cell phones: what if your outfit doesn't have any pockets, as is the case with many of the outfits one wears daily?  Am I supposed to just carry the phone around in my hand?  smh.  What if I have to get some coffee, or punch somebody?  j/k, normal people don't usually have to do punching.I said there'd be ten, huh?  Gonna have to put a pin in that, though, because my DVR is at like 97% and these back episodes of "Honey Boo Boo" aren't going to watch themselves.  In the meantime, please, comment and link; I'm still trying to figure out how to monetize this mutha.  Clark out!

God and the Case of the Huckabee Quandary

(A humble, run-down detective’s office.  Very Dashiell Hammett.  A rumpled no-nonsense P.I. slouching at his desk.  He has a long white beard.)VOICEOVER: Name’s God.  Just God.  I solve problems.  Sometimes I cause them.  It’s a mysterious ways thing, you wouldn’t get it.  But mostly?  I solve them.  People call me because I get things done.(Phone RINGS.  God answers.)GOD:  God.  Yeah.  Say again?  What kind of atrocity?  No way!  Not on my watch!(God slams down the phone, rushes out.)(God’s racing down the street.)VOICEOVER: Someone’s getting hurt?  I stop it.  Simple as that.  Nothing gets in my way.  Well.  Almost nothing.(GOD arrives at an elementary school.  Sign out front reads “PUBLIC SCHOOL.  PLEASE NO SOLICITORS OR DEITIES.”  God fidgets and paces, stymied.  Thinks about going in anyway but just can’t bring himself to.)GOD:  Aw, c’mon…!  I… hello!  Hey!  God here!  I’m out here!  I came to help!  Can I get a waiver or…?  Like a hall pass?  Something?  No?  Aw, cheese and crackers!(God back at his desk, disgruntled, idle, completing a Rubik’s cube.)VOICEOVER: Hey, what’s a guy supposed to do?  Just because I’m omnipotent doesn’t mean I can do anything I want.FIN

I could see through numbers into the future.

Post-election number-crunchin' comedy.  I helped write this, a very little bit.