Skits And Sketches

 

 

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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! It’s nothing like that! It’s just, well, I’ve got this weird thing on my back, and I don’t 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.) It’s right here on my back. (BILL sighs with obvious relief and stands behind BOB to examine.)

BILL: I’m 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 don’t 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: You’re 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 there’s 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 isn’t that bad I just…well, it kinda itches and tingles, and…

BILL: Bob, I really don’t think I’m the best person to help you. Maybe Jack can take a look at it for you or something.

BOB: Naw, I don’t 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: You’re sure there’s nothing…

BILL: Positive, sir.

BOB: (Waves with the hand not scratching.)Thanks again, Bill, you’re 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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