Make up your own version of the following scenarios, paying close attention to the style, voice, and motivation of the characters.
Susan! My God! I haven't seen you since, well, since Frank's funeral.
Right, right well, actually, I didn't make it to Frank's funeral. You probably just assumed because we had been such good friends that I would make it to your husband's funeral; unfortunately, I had dinner plans that night. I'm sure the embarrassment of your husband accidentally killing himself through auto-erotic asphyxiation obscured my absence. I am sorry, though, that I didn't make it to the funeral. I heard he still had the ziplock bag around his head in the casket.
Yes, he knew his masturbational endeavors would eventually kill him, so he always left an accidental suicide note next to his jar of Vaseline. It asked that he be buried with the agent of his destruction still attached to his head. In this case, it was a ziplock bag, but it could have been a noose or his boa constrictor. He was an eccentric man, and I loved him for it. He also requested that his erection be petrified with maple syrup and the bottom half of the casket be opened during the wake, but the mortician and his outdated puritanical values would not oblige.
Very well. Would you like to have lunch with me?
No thank you, I'm menstruating.
Hello son. Welcome to the world. God - there's so much I want to teach you. In just a few years you'll be a strong young boy. Your imagination will run wild with possibilities; you'll want to do everything, but your mother and I won't let you. When we're not telling you what to do, other people will. Kids will make fun of you for no apparent reason. If you look anything like your old man, girls will ignore you. You'll think things will get better in high school, and then college, and then middle age, but you'll eventually realize that the only good times in life are when you're drunk or otherwise unaware of your pathetic existence. Somewhere in there, you'll marry the best looking woman who isn't too good for you or that you weren't fortunate enough to knock up when she was too drunk to realize that she's too good for you. She'll shit out some kids. You'll have to coach their little league team.
After placing their orders, Kelly and Steve hand their menus to the waiter. They avoid each other's eyes, sip their drinks, and play with their silverware. So they both begin at the same time.
Awkward silence. Steve begins again.
So, Kelly, you went to college in New York?
I heard there's a lot of Jews in New York.
Yeah I'm Jewish.
Well. This is awkward.
Forty-five minutes later, they've finished dinner without saying another word to each other.
Kelly dabs the corners of her mouth with a napkin. Actually Steve, I'm not Jewish. In fact, I'm something of an anti-Semite. I just figured it would shut you up, as I prefer awkward silence to forced conversation.
Oh. Great. Cause, you know Kelly, from the moment. She cuts him off.
You want me to blow you under the table while we wait for coffee?
Kelly doesn't even glance around to see if anyone is watching. She slips under the table and begins going to work on Steve's crotch. After 5 minutes, the coffee has arrived, but Steve has not been able to maintain an erection. Kelly gives up and takes a sip of her coffee.
Well. This is awkward.
Seven years later, Steve and Kelly are happily married. They read a book about S&M, and decide to give it a shot. After three hours of savagely beating each other, Kelly handcuffs Steve to the bed and begins whipping him. He forgets the safe word and passes out. In a rush to help her husband, she bangs her head on the bedpost and passes out. Already suffering from blood loss, the two stay passed out for a long, long time. Unfortunately, Kelly is a diabetic, misses her insulin shot, and dies.
Steve wakes up and sees his wife dead on the floor. Well. This is awkward.
The captain calls the detective into his office.
The detective closed the door behind him, taking the seat offered to him. I know your heart is in the right place, Johnson, the captain said, rubbing his eyes. But we have rules, damnit! You can't just go around ignoring protocol!
Yes. You violated interrogation protocol. We could be sued!
No, what does protocol mean?
You don't know what protocol means?
Um, no, nope, don't think so.
You've been a cop for seventeen years! You're telling me you've never heard the word protocol before?
Yeah, I mean, I've heard it before. I thought it referred to robots or something.
The captain became visibly upset. Robots? What the fuck are you talking about you fucking idiot! You're a fucking cop. Your whole life is governed by fucking rules. Fucking protocol!
I'm sorry, Cap.
For beating the suspect or not knowing the meaning of the word protocol?
Well, both, I guess.
I really need to think this over. I mean, it's one thing to try to beat a confession out of a suspect to save some kids. That I understand. But how you went through twenty years of life, and then seventeen years of police work without knowing the meaning of the word protocol-that's just... I'm not sure if I can let you go on being a cop in this city. You're suspended for two weeks until I figure out what to do here. Give me your badge and gun, Johnson. Dismissed.