As many of you know, I put my Peabody Award Nominated-series Hate By Numbersâ¢ on hiatus a few months ago so I could pursue my screenplay. Since that time, many of my Facebook friends have been hounding me with one question: âG-Stone, whatâs your e-mail address? I need to send you pictures of myself in fishnets.â
But a few of them have also asked about the screenplay. The truth is, itâs not going that well. Although I drafted what I believed to be a timely satirical tale about one manâs amusing struggles against corporate America, my agent felt it was just âtoo smartâ for Hollywood. Actually, he described it as âreally not funny,â but I think if youâd seen his face, youâd be able to tell âtoo smartâ is what he meant (Iâm assuming here. I actually just got his comments scrawled across the title page when he mailed the script back to me).
So Iâd pretty much given up hope of selling it when my agent called me last week with an idea:
âGladstone!â he screamed. âWhy donât you see if that funny columnist over at Cracked.com could help fix up your screenplay?â
âOh, Ian Cooper?â I asked. âIâd love to, but he doesnât work here anymore.â
âNo, no. The other one.â
âOh, Ross Wolinsky! Yeah, heâs great, but heâs on sabbatical.â
âOh, thatâs too bad,â he said. âWell, why donât you take a shot with whoeverâs left over there?â
I must confess that, initially, I hated the idea. I hadnât tried collaborating with someone from Cracked since I wrote that Valentines Day skit with Those Arenât Muskets. I guess it turned out funny enough, but every time I shot down one of Swaimâs punchlines he would cry for hours until I stroked his hair and swore to him that one day heâd have a clip-based show on Cracked even more popular than Hate By Numbersâ¢. But in this economy, money is money, and if collaborating with my intellectual and comedic inferiors meant getting paid for a script well then, hey, I was up for it.
So last week, I called an emergency meeting at the Cracked House. Everyone was there on time, but only because of the false incentives I had provided: I told Jack OâBrien that the meeting was a rave where prizes would be given out to the partygoer who took the most X. I told Swaim the meeting was a tutorial on hairstyles that do NOT make you look like an 18th Century English lesbian. I told Dan OâBrien that I was giving a lecture on Dan OâBrien. And I told Robert Brockway that I was giving a lecture on Dan OâBrien (Chris Bucholz wasn't invited. Not because he isnât nice or funny, but because Iâm still not convinced âbeing Canadianâ is not contagious).
âOK, Gentlemen,â I began. âFirst, I have some bad news. I lied about what weâre here to discuss. I actually just wanted your help writing a movie. Before each of you is an excerpt from my script Working Man Triumphant -- my break out comedic performance where I play a man done wrong by the system.Â In this scene, our protagonist --me--Â is laid off by his uncaring boss, so he decides to seek revenge by opening up a rival business. Take a look.â
Everyone started thumbing though the pages, except Dan OâBrien who rolled them up into a tube and stuck it in his fly.
âLook,â he said. "Coming at ya! Get it?"
"Yes, Dan," I said. "You've made a penis out of my script. Very clever.""Not just," he protested. "I also made a pun. Coming at ya? Get it?" "Good stuff, DOB," Jack said, as he downed some X. "Remember that for the site." "Damn it, Jack," I yelled.Â "Can you stay focused? I asked you here to get your ideas on my script, not encourage Dan to make penises out of things. It's not like he needs encouragement anyway. Do you NOT remember how he Photoshopped the Cracked Christmas cards last year?"
"Well, I'm sorry Gladstone," Jack mumbled, with tears starting to form in his spinning eyes.Â "It's just that my forte is really not writing. It's titling things. So I looked at this scene and I'm thinking instead of
--(this post is dedicated to Gemineye the Great)