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Feral Skunky…you know, instead of Feargal Sharkey. Ha ha.

I had just started writing a comedy sketch about a couple of wild-men discovered on PEI as being raised by skunks (don’t ask), when I came, quite co-incidentally, across this site listing feral children. Reading some of these stories kinda takes the fun out of writing my “Skunk Brothers” sketch.

Quite a while ago, on an online message board I use to frequent (which is now pretty much dead from inactivity), I developed an online version of Survivor. It was quite successful amongst those who frequented that board, and lots of fun. There were actually two ‘seasons’ of Survivor, and the same fellow, Kreskin, was the ultimate survivor each time.

Basically, those who chose to play were randomly divided into two teams (and then later, the remaining players played individually), and each team had to answer challenges that I gave (they would email me the answers, which I would then post for all to see). I was sole judge and jury of the challenges, and with some of the decisions being judgement calls on my part, there were a few accusations of favouritism and cheating. The losing team/players had to then vote one of themselves out of the game.

My all-time favourite answer, from all the answers to all the challenges, is below. It was given by Frankie, who sometimes visits this site. This answer allowed Frankie to win that challenge.

Here is that challenge, and Frankie’s answer beneath it:

——————-
The Challenge:
I am a big-wig, hot shot producer of a sitcom called “Bottomless Cup”. The sitcom airs on NBC on Thursday nights. The sitcom is about a happy, friendly, somewhat naïve man named Bill Timmons. He has a sarcastic wife and 3 precocious kids. Bill owns his own internet café, called Bottomless Cup. He has a wacky staff of 4 (a doltish male, a sexist male, a sexpot female, & an unassuming pretty female). Many characters frequent his café, some recurring.

The sitcom divides its time between Bill’s ‘work’ life and Bill’s ‘home’ life.

The sitcom is a huge success for NBC, and has just been renewed for 2 more years.

You five are my team of comedy writers. (at this point there were 5 players still remaining)

Here is the problem:

This week’s episode is almost ready to be filmed (before a live studio audience). The script is great. Trouble is, one of the jokes just isn’t working right. It’s just not funny. We’re about to film the scene and we need a joke right now.

You each will submit a joke or punch-line that fits into the following scenario and script. The one who posts the joke that I will ultimately use in the episode will get a huge raise and will win immunity.

Scenario:
The police have just arrived at the Bottomless Cup because a prudish customer, whom nobody likes, complained that she saw some explicit and potentially illegal pornography on the café computer she was using.

Officer: Mr. Timmons, I’m afraid we’re going to have to confiscate that computer.
Bill: But officer, that’s not pornography!
Officer: It’s not? Well, if that’s not pornography, what’s that giraffe doing with that stewardess?
Bill: (insert joke here)

We need a big laugh joke here, because right after this we break for commercial.

——-

This is your challenge.

Good luck.
———————————————-

This was Frankie’s, and the winning answer:

Officer: Mr. Timmons, I’m afraid we’re going to have to confiscate that computer.
Bill: But officer, that’s not pornography!
Officer: It’s not? Well, if that’s not pornography, what’s that giraffe doing with that stewardess?
Bill: Well, uh, she’s…..checking his baggage.
———————————————–

I just thought that was perfect.
Anyone got another punchline for this?

Today, during lunch, as I was walking (and walkman-ing) around the downtown core:
-a policeman was walking down the street toward me. I swear, it took all of my strength not to try and grab the gun from his holster as he walked past. This impulse wasn’t one that built up as he approached. It was pure and intense and only instantaneous to his passing. I didn’t want to do anything nefarious with the weapon, I just wanted to grab for it. Then I’d give it back. I wondered how the cop would react. By the way, in the end, I decided not to make a grab for the pistol.
-thinking about music, listening to music as I walked. Steven Garrity has posted his second Acts of Volition Radio Session and Matt‘s recent post referencing the Rolling Stone Top 100 got me thinking about music lists and playlists and such. Me, I prefer a lot of randomness to my music-listening adventures. I appreciate the studious and carefully compiled playlist of 10 songs which flow perfectly into the next, but ultimately I’d rather have a thousand or more songs randomly playing. I really like not knowing what’s coming next, but knowing I’ll like it well enough. As for Steven’s ‘theme’ broadcasts, I thought ‘great vocal performances’ would make a great show. This thought struck me as I was listening to Tom Jones’ “Delilah” (which was followed by X’s “Los Angeles”, then the theme to “Sanford and Son”, then “Girl Afraid” by The Smiths, then…)
-I’m definately a stroller. Maybe even a saunterer. I take my time getting to where I’m going.
-I perceive myself as walking fairly erect. This may not be the case, maybe I stoop as I saunter, but I don’t believe so. If anybody considers me a stooped saunterer, rather than an erect stroller, please let me know. But let me know gently, for god’s sake.

Today, during lunch, as I was walking (and walkman-ing) around the downtown core:

-a policeman was walking down the street toward me. I swear, it took all of my strength not to try and grab the gun from his holster as he walked past. This impulse wasn’t one that built up as he approached. It was pure and intense and only instantaneous to his passing. I didn’t want to do anything nefarious with the weapon, I just wanted to grab for it. Then I’d give it back. I wondered how the cop would react. By the way, in the end, I decided not to make a grab for the pistol.

-thinking about music, listening to music as I walked. Steven Garrity has posted his second Acts of Volition Radio Session and Matt‘s recent post referencing the Rolling Stone Top 100 got me thinking about music lists and playlists and such. Me, I prefer a lot of randomness to my music-listening adventures. I appreciate the studious and carefully compiled playlist of 10 songs which flow perfectly into the next, but ultimately I’d rather have a thousand or more songs randomly playing. I really like not knowing what’s coming next, but knowing I’ll like it well enough. As for Steven’s ‘theme’ broadcasts, I thought ‘great vocal performances’ would make a great show. This thought struck me as I was listening to Tom Jones’ “Delilah” (which was followed by X’s “Los Angeles”, then the theme to “Sanford and Son”, then “Girl Afraid” by The Smiths, then…)

-I’m definately a stroller. Maybe even a saunterer. I take my time getting to where I’m going.

-I perceive myself as walking fairly erect. This may not be the case, maybe I stoop as I saunter, but I don’t believe so. If anybody considers me a stooped saunterer, rather than an erect stroller, please let me know. But let me know gently, for god’s sake.

On this day, a few years before the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbour, my mother, Jean Emily Hume was born.

Happy Birthday, Mom.

Love,
Rob

My official porn name is and shall be: Nick Surewood.

What’s yours?

My official porn name is and shall be: Nick Surewood.

What’s yours?

Standards are a great thing. It’s comforting to know that when I go to Canadian Tire to get plumbing material to fix a toilet, for instance, that the flange I buy will be the same size as the flange I’m replacing.
But today, as I was sitting there, I started to wonder whether standards, at some point, begin to hold us back, developmentally speaking. How do we break free from the current set of standards and implement new, better machines that require a new set of standards?
The toilet, as it is today, is a pretty efficient machine. But could it be better? I suspect that it could. Yet I doubt anybody is investing much effort into making the toilet a better machine, because its design would likely involve the need to fundamentally change the standards we currently used. It would likely involve a total redesign of the flange? It would require us all to invest in this new toilet for our homes, and who wants to do that? The current toilet is good enough.
But is it? Who knows what exciting, innovative toilet designs and functions are in the designer’s brain? And what other facets of our lives are being standardized into complacency?

When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You know that your name is safe in their mouth. – Billy, age 4

Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other. – Karl, age 5

Love is what’s in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen. – Bobby, age 7

Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken. – Elaine, age 6

When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you. – Karen, age 7

When I was growing up in Parkdale, our neighbourhood was, except for one girl, Norma, free of females of my approximate age. There were probably a dozen boys of my age. This made for a rather testosterone-fuelled environment. In fact, it was common to hear that the boys were going to go to Ginger McKay’s tractor junkyard and break some tractors, or that someone stole their mother’s smokes and people were going to meet at the back of the park (down by the manhole) to smoke them.

I say ‘common to hear’ because I seldom took part in such events. In fact, there were three of us, me and my two best friends, who chose not to go along with most of these deviant activities. As a result of our non-conformist decisions, we three were dubbed ‘The Fairy Gang’. I suppose if they were a more literate group, they’d have called us ‘The Faerie Gang’. This didn’t necessarily cause rifts or divisions amongst us, the kids of the neighbourhood. We all got along pretty well during times when they weren’t off causing havoc. We all played baseball, football together. We all played huge games of neighbourhood tag almost every summer night, and street hockey most every other night. We all got along well. It’s just that we three were sometimes referred to as “The Fairy Gang.”

Being upright and moral kids, we kind of embraced the handle, even though we understood the underlying implications. In fact, in later teenage years, when some of the kids upgraded their deviance to more serious vandalism and petty crime, there were some of the other kids who started hanging out more with us. They became unofficial members of The Fairy Gang.

One day, we were all playing football in the back field. It was the perfect field for playing football. A large rectangular, empty field of mowed grass that was contained within the center of our block. It was basically the field that was in back of everyone’s back yard. On this day, I was relegated to blocking and blitzing duty. I wasn’t pleased about this. I wanted to be a receiver, my usual position, but for some reason, I was blocking and blitzing.

Begrudging my position, I played half-heartedly, to the dismay of my team-mates. At one point, my lethargy and lack of effort caused me, instead of blitzing, to absent-mindedly pick up buttercups or dandelions. Of course, this behaviour was incongruous to a lineman on a football team, and it didn’t go unnoticed by Moe, the boy who was built like a tree trunk. He called me ‘Nature Boy’, and naturally, the nickname stuck.

So, here I am, Nature Boy of The Fairy Gang.