Skits And Sketches
|This is a Show sketch that was one of
the performance pieces used at the auditions. Thanks to the astute performance of this
sketch, we gained ourselves two wonderful actors, Steven and Ross.THE SPOT
(Scene opens on a man working at a desk in an office. Someone knocks on the door.)
BILL: (Not looking up.) Come in. (In walks an older man, his boss.) Oh, hi Bob. What can I do for you?
BOB: Well I have sort of a "personal" problem I need your help with, Bill.
BILL: Anything for you, Bob. What is it?
BOB: Okay this is a little difficult, but ever since my wife left, I uh
BILL: (Understandingly.) Having a hard time getting it up, Bob?
BOB: Hell no! Its nothing like that! Its just, well, Ive got this weird thing on my back, and I dont have anyone who can look at these kind of things anymore you know could you take a look at it for me? It would ease my mind.
BILL: (Hesitantly.) Uh sure, anything you say, I guess. Where is it?
BOB: (Lifts back of shirt still facing audience.) Its right here on my back. (BILL sighs with obvious relief and stands behind BOB to examine.)
BILL: Im not seeing anything, Bob.
BOB: You sure?
BILL: Pretty sure, Bob.
BOB: Could you squeeze it?
BILL: Excuse me?
BOB: Could you just squeeze the spot a little there, Bill? Right there?
BILL: Sir, I dont think
BOB: JUST SQUEEZE THE DAMN SPOT BILL! THIS IS LIFE OR DEATH HERE!
BILL: Okay, okay. (Squeezes with a disgusted grimace. At that moment a secretary opens the door, looks at the two men, and immediately walks back out and shuts the door.) Nothing, Bob.
BOB: Youre sure?
BILL: Quite sure, Bob.
BOB: Well, okay. Thanks Bill.
BILL: Anytime Bob. (Exits. Bill shudders and goes back to desk. Someone knocks at the door again. Bill sighs.) Come in. (BOB enters quickly, shutting the door behind him.)
BOB: Bill, I think theres something there.
BILL: There was no spot, Bob.
BOB: But I can feel it, dammit! Do you have any tweezers?
BILL: Uh, no Bob, maybe you should see a doctor.
BOB: Oh, naw, it isnt that bad I just well, it kinda itches and tingles, and
BILL: Bob, I really dont think Im the best person to help you. Maybe Jack can take a look at it for you or something.
BOB: Naw, I dont mean to bother you, Bill. Thanks for your help.
BILL: Anytime, Bob. (BOB is itching his back as he turns his back to the audience revealing a huge, black, cancerous looking blob under his lifted shirt.)
BOB: Youre sure theres nothing
BILL: Positive, sir.
BOB: (Waves with the hand not scratching.)Thanks again, Bill, youre the best. (BILL winks and clicks back, making a pointing motion with both hands. BOB exits. From behind the closed door we hear screams, then BOB yelling "What! What is it!" as BILL laughs to himself.)
Reason this is such a crappy sketch: Did you really think we'd put our precious blood, sweat and tear-filled, Oscar-worthy performance pieces on the Web for any prole to get a hold of and sully with their stinky evil? I'm afraid not. For the good stuff you'll just have to support us with your donations for several years until we can afford to buy off Loren Michaels. Or Ted Turner. Or Tina Turner.
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