Dont want to view these videos at work, so I will blog them for later…
[Bruce is behind his desk, rubbing a credit or business card down his cheek.]
Mark: [enters the office] Gerald.
Bruce: Gerald! How are you, ya old skunk?
Mark: Ah, how are you, ya old snake?
[They begin shaking hands.]
Bruce: Pretty good. [laughs] Good to see ya. Hey, how was your weekend?
Mark: Aw, not too bad. A little too short, though; how was yours?
Bruce: [laughs] Good, but a little short.
[They finally stop shaking and sit down–Bruce behind his desk and Mark in the chair in front of it.]
Mark: Well, I would now be willing to take a look at the proposal your client is making to my Lori.
Bruce: On behalf of Dennis I’m, um, happy to show it to you.
[He hands Mark one large index card, which Mark looks at.]
Bruce: It’s perfectly straightforward.
Mark: A little too damn straightforward, Gerald; don’t you think?
Bruce: Uh…what do you mean?
Mark: I’m sorry. I can in no way say that this represents the interests of my client.
Bruce: It’s a standard itinerary, Gerald–dinner, dancing, and [mumbles into his hand] intercourse.
Mark: [abruptly] I beg your pardon?
Bruce: [confident] Dinner, dancing, and intercourse.
Mark: You mean a quick *hump*, don’t you Gerald?!
Bruce: I do not mean a quick hump, Gerald! Do not use that expression in this office! Children come in here!
Mark: “Dinner, dancing, and intercourse”–what do you think my client is, huh? A 90-dollar-an-evening hooker?
Bruce: This is dinner at the *Plaza*, Gerald.
Mark: Oh really?! So, she’s a 120-dollar-an-evening hooker, is that it?
Bruce: Well, at least a hooker comes across. [pause] I can’t believe I said that.
Mark: Gerald, do I sense that, uh, your client has certain feelings for my client?
Bruce: My client makes 62,000 dollars a year.
Mark: Ah. But, does your client have certain emotional interests towards my client.
Bruce: He’s got a really great car and a moustache.
Mark: Gerald, does your client love my client?
Bruce: Yes! No! He’s not sure. [pause] Back off Gerald!
Mark: I’ll back off, but perhaps now you’d be willing to take a look at the proposal my client is making to your client.
Bruce: [big sigh]
[Mark opens up his briefcase and drops a folder containing a thick stack of papers onto the desk. Bruce opens the folder and flips through a few pages without really looking anything.]
Bruce: You forgot one thing, Gerald.
Mark: What’s that?
Bruce: The actual date of the wedding and the color of the bridesmaids’ gowns!
Mark: Come off it Gerald. It’s a standard 17-week dating commitment. All my client wants to do is to get to know your client.
Bruce: Hey, all my client wants to do is get to know your client.
Mark: In a completely different way!
Bruce: I don’t know, I think she’s gotten to know quite a few clients. [Opens up desk drawer, ready to take out folders.] Let’s just look at her roster of ex-boyfriends.
Mark: Gerald, that’s inadmissible and you know it!
Bruce: [realizes his error and gently closes the drawer.] The Doobie Brothers??
Mark: All right, perhaps we were a little hasty with the 17-week dating commitment. Perhaps we can accommodate the obvious interests of your client a bit more. How about this: a six date schedule with possible sexual intercourse on date six.
Bruce: Gerald, I’m no longer interested in this “possible sexual intercourse” you keep selling me on. Last time, it turned out to be a cheap handjob at the drive in.
Mark: Your client ejaculated, Gerald!
Bruce: Sadly. Very sadly. Let’s just let sleeping dogs lie, shall we? [pause] Three date schedule, guaranteed sexual intercourse on dates two and three.
Mark: Uh uh. Five date schedule, guaranteed sexual intercourse on date five. Now that’s a one-way ticket to Loveland, Gerald. That’s a heap of good lovin’. That’s a Love-o-rama. That’s a Love Fest. That’s a Love Woodstock, for God’s sake. Come back to me.
[Long pause. Bruce has a goofy smile on his face, in thought.]
Bruce: Gerald. [calling him in closer] Gerry. [closer] Ger. . .Guh. Why don’t we forget the guaranteed sexual intercourse clause.
Bruce: Why don’t we let nature take it’s course.
Bruce: You know the good old fashioned way?
Mark: [eagerly] Yeah, okay.
Bruce: A one date schedule with a guarantee that your client will consume 27-ounces of gin on that evening.
Mark: Come off it Gerald! That’s panty peeler and you know it.
Bruce: Call it what you will, it’s a tool of the trade.
Mark: Sorry Gerald. C’mon, she only weighs 105 pounds, for God’s sake.
Bruce: I believe she weighs 111 pounds, Gerald.
Mark: In shoes! [pause] All right. I can’t see letting her drink more than 8-ounces of gin.
Bruce: Jeez, I think she can drink, uh, 14-ounces of gin.
Mark: Maybe 10, maybe 10.
Bruce: I think she could scarf down 12-ounces of gin.
Mark: 11-ounces of gin.
Bruce: 12-ounces of gin on an empty stomach.
Mark: 11 on an empty stomach.
Bruce: [taps his fingers on the desk, calculating in his head.] 111. . .Done!
[Both getting up]
Mark: I’ll have my secretary pick up the contracts Monday.
[They lean over and kiss each other on the cheek. Mark turns to leave and then they do a subtle double take.]
Teddy Bear’s Picnic
[Bruce is singing his son to sleep.]
Bruce: [singing] Picnic time for teddy bears / Those little teddy bears are having a wonderful time tonight.
[Bruce tries to leave because Scott appears to be asleep. As soon as Bruce tries this, Scott wakes up and looks to Bruce as if he’s not at all tired.]
Bruce: [singing] See them gaily play about / They love to sing and shout.
[Bruce tries to leave again, same thing happens.]
Bruce: [singing] They haven’t got any cares [Gets up to leave but this time continues to sing] But it’s six o’ clock / Their mummies and daddies will take them home to bed / Because they’re tired little teddy bears. [talking] Good night. [Flips light off.]
Bruce: [light back on, still at doorway] Uh, yes?
Scott: Were all the bears there?
Bruce: Yes. All the bears there ever there was were there. Goodnight.
Scott: Dad? How–how come the picnic ended at six o’ clock? If it was so good? I mean, it’s–it’s not even dark at six.
Bruce: Uh, all the bears were tired from, um…, frolicking.
Bruce: Frolicking’s very tiring, son. Goodnight
Scott: Okay, what they–what they eat?
Bruce: Oh. Well. The teddy bears ate buttons and…felt.
Bruce: Oh, no no! That’s teddy bear food.
Bruce: It’s like hot dogs. Mmm.
Scott: Okay, yeah. Were you even there? What?
Bruce: [Bruce sees he is not about to leave, so he goes back to Scott at the bed.] No, I wasn’t actually there.
Scott: Well, then–then how do you know?
Bruce: A guy at work told me.
Scott: Hank who?
Bruce: You don’t know him.
Scott: Maybe I should call this Hank.
Bruce: No no. I don’t think that would be a good idea, son.
Bruce: Because he doesn’t have a phone.
Scott: What?! What kind of a freak doesn’t have a phone?
Bruce: A freak that works in the mailroom.
Bruce: Now go to sleep.
Scott: Dad, I can’t sleep trying to piece together this sloppy narrative.
Bruce: [sighs] Why don’t you try, uh, counting sheep?
Scott: [cries/whines] Ahh!!
Bruce: What? What, guy?
Scott: How can you make me think of all those slaughtered sheep bloated in the sun? [cries]
Bruce: They’re not slaughtered sheep, son. They’re live ones bounding over your head.
Scott: What? I thought they were dead! You didn’t tell me they were alive. Dad, I was up all night tagging their toes. [cries]
Dave: What is going on around here?
Scott: [still crying] Maa! Uh uh!
[Dave goes over to Scott, who in turn clings onto Dave’s arm.]
Dave: Oh, oh. There, there. What is it?
Scott: Yeah, yeah. Dad told me this “Teddy Bears’ Picnic” story and it sounds like utter bullshit to me.
Dave: There, there. Just remember that your father loves you and I love you even more. . .
Dave: . . . and if you ever use that kind of language in this house again, I’m gonna wash your mouth out with soup.
Bruce: Uh, I think that’s soap, dear.
Dave: Don’t ever contradict me in front of the boy. There, there, little hero, you get some sleep. Okay.
Scott: Okay, `night mom.
Bruce: `Night, Tiger.
[Bruce approaches Scott to give him a kiss, but Scott puts his fists up in self-defense. Bruce kisses the fists. Bruce and Dave leave, they turn out the light, and Scott is alone.]
Scott: Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. Mmm, soup.
[Cut to parents’ bedroom.]
Dave: So, this Teddy Bears’ Picnic story isn’t true?
Bruce: Um, no. Not exactly.
Dave: Well, if you weren’t helping out at the picnic, where were you last weekend? Hmm?
Bruce: You think I’m having an affair, don’t you?!
Dave: [shocked] An affair?!! Oh my God!
Bruce: Um, you didn’t think that?
Dave: [shakes his head no.]
Bruce: Oh. Okay, I’m gonna be honest with you. I was out with a few of the guys from work. . .and a few goblins. . .and, uh, it started raining gumdrops. . .so uh. . .we happened into this wizard’s tavern, and uh. . .I’m gonna be honest, we had a little too much dew to drink. So, uh. . .I thought I shouldn’t drive.
Dave: Well, you did the right thing by not driving, but you should have called.
Bruce: Well, you know, it’s the darndest thing, honey, um, the wizard’s leaf wouldn’t dial out.
Dave: Well, fine. But next time you should just try harder to get a hold of me.
Bruce: You’re right, sweetie.
Bruce: Goodnight. [turns out the nightstand’s light.]
Dave: Who’s Doris?
Bruce: [Turns light back on. Frantically:] Doris. Doris, Doris, uh, Doris.
Dave: Doris. A woman named Doris came to the house the other day and said she’d been meeting you for some time in sleazy motel rooms and that she was carrying your child and wanted to know what you were going to do about it, and I was just wonder who she was.
Bruce: Uh, I could see why you’d be curious.
Dave: Yes, well she did pique my interest, yes.
Bruce: Honey? She’s a goat. She’s a magical goat. And, she delights on playing tricks on us mere mortals.
Dave: I am so. . .relieved!
[Bruce also relieved. Both laugh.]
Dave: I feel like such an idiot.
Bruce: Don’t feel like an idiot. No no, it’s natural.
Dave: Oh, can you forgive me?
Bruce: I do, I do.
Dave: Oh, I should be jealous. [cuddles into covers]
Bruce: [turns out light] Yes you should.
This is being blogged for my use, not yours:
AltaVista Tech : The Ultra-Rare Star Wars Teaser
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my.umich.edu (no link since the site isn’t up) is a new portal being developed for the staff and students of The University of Michigan. The static gateway that is currently in use has proved to be all but worthless, mostly because searching of lower pages in the hierarchy is chaotic. A preview shows just how ugly the new site is going to be. Also, one of the press releases talked about how headlines will be pulled directly from The Michigan Daily website. As the Systems Administrator, I can say that I just installed the new web server and it is not ready! The main online developer has yet to configure the web server, mostly because we just installed the hardware late last week. The site is being fully redesigned, and we are all quite excited. Hopefully we can help with the headlines on my.umich.edu, in a couple months
More Final Meal Requests:
Six pieces of french toast with syrup, jelly, butter, six barbecued spare ribs, six pieces of well burned bacon, four scrambled eggs, five well cooked sausage patties, french fries with catsup, three slices of cheese, two pieces of yellow cake with chocolate fudge icing, and four cartons of milk
How horrible! In this list of Final Meal Requests:
Shrimp and salad. Shrimp not available. Served cheeseburger, french fries and cola. I would be just a little bit pissed when my dignified order was replaced with crap you could get at McDonalds.