Listen. Okay, listen—Gloria? Gloria… Gloria… Gloria. Look: (pause) There have been charges. False charges. I said they were false. Then. Okay? I said they were false then but now I feel… I think, I know. The misogyny. Wrong, dead-wrong. But I’ve re-read my plays, and there is an element of… A man develops a reputation. He delivers. All right. Fine. You know how I feel about women. Two wives, three daughters—females. Everywhere.
The women… They’re stand-ins for society. Society, Gloria. It’s not about sex, your sex. Gender, what-have-you. The biological differences… No, wait, wait, the physiological differences. Okay? The physiological. So you watch, you read, you decide… We know what happens.
My mother was a woman. You know that, I know that. I owe her a debt of, of… And she had brains. But society. Society makes women dumb. No, wait— Wait, listen… Listen… Hear me out… That was… I didn’t… Okay. Okay.
Women are a curiosity. What’s in their brains… There’s a disconnect, for me. You use sex, I use sex. I see that. But it’s so much more obvious with— Cleavage, you hear me?
No… Okay, here’s where… Right, just as intelligent. Just as strong, emotionally. You can do whatever… Secretary of State, fine. Maybe presidency. Some day. Who knows.
I love women. Do they love me? A couple, sure. And they’re capable of more…than what I write… Society. I come back to, society. It tells women what to be, how to be, why to be. Why? Who creates these arbitrary constructions?
So, break the mold. Maybe. But I comment on, I don’t seek to…
All right. Yes, the artist paints a window, what window am I painting, I see. I show you the door, you walk through it, but it’s my door.
If Hillary were a man would she have won? If. She’s damn close.
Yes, low blow. I know.
(Pause.)
You women. It takes a lot to put up with us.
And I can respect that.
Limbaugh Challenges Obama to a Rap-Off
03/06/2009
Yo, yo
Check it, check it
My mama named me Rush
On the street it’s Oxy C
I hate Commie Libs
And you know they don’t like me
The radio’s my soapbox
Elected office’s for fools
But if I were head honcho
I’d outlaw Spanish language in the schools
Gotta beef with Barack
Only I know why
My American duty is to grouse
Live free or die
Die
Die
Die
Yo, Barack’s on the mike
Don’t mean to rush you off the stage
Limbaugh, you’re damn lucky
The Dems don’t stuff you in a cage
Cuz we in power now
America made the call
But if you wanna rumble
Then I’ll meet you on the Mall
Give the stimulus package a chance
Or I guess your bread’s off being partisan
If only you’d play nicely
Though I can’t picture you as a courtesan
Courtesan
Courtsean
Courtesan
Courtesan? I don’t think so, ese
Try “Truth-Detector” and “Weapon of Mass Instruction”
El Rushbo is your Doctor of Democracy
(I throw in some Spanish purely for obstruction)
Barack, I want you to fail
And it’s not because you’re black
You stand for everything I loathe
(Though were you white I’d cut a little slack)
I’m America’s Anchorman
You’re on my turf, Mr. Hussein Obama
Too chicken to duel?
You no better than Osama
Osama
Osama
Osama
Whoa, that a low blow
Bringin’ up bin Laden like that
Your rhymes are kid stuff
Think you’d hold up in combat?
I can take you on the court
I can take you in the court
I can beat you at any sport
Ain’t no way you can thwart
Me
Barack O.b.
Now, I’ve got pressing things on my plate
This tap dance’ll have to wait
But in the meantime set a date
Ballerina Rahm loves fresh bait
Word.
Phelps and Bong: Up in Smoke
02/09/2009
And this is how it ends.
After the chemistry, the spark, the quiet moments of interpersonal understanding, the laughs—oh, the laughs. I thought I knew you, Michael. I thought you wanted me to know you. The way you draped your lips over my mouth, caressed me ever so gently. You knew where you to put your finger, you knew where to blow. The familiarity of it all…
I thought you cared about me. Chalk it up to my naiveté, perhaps. I mistook your interest in what I had to offer as an invitation for a mutual relationship. But let’s face it: you used me, you abused me, and now you’re dropping me like I’m very, very hot.
You made a mistake? You set a bad example? Um, ouch. A little insensitive, Mike—I’m standing right here. My mug’s all over Star Magazine now too, you know. Threw me under the bus? More like smashed me into smithereens and waited for me to start cutting on myself. But you’re not worth the trouble.
I foresaw a different future for us. There were so many more hazy frat parties to attend, so many more Frosted Flakes promos to rehearse. (Only delicious with me, baby. Only delicious with me.) So many more pancakes.
And it’s not my fault those opportunities are—phoosh!—gone. There’s a time and place, asshole, and it’s not in front of a bunch of Facebook friends slinging Daddy’s digital camera. But I can resist your charms only so long. That rectangular face, that disproportionately weighted physique, that monotone… I’m only so strong, Michael. How dare you take advantage.
Am I just a fling to you? A casual hook-up? A moment of unbridled passion unleashed within a deluge of post pubescent hormones?
WHY WON’T YOU TAKE ME SERIOUSLY, MICHAEL?
WHY?
DON’T YOU REALIZE I LOVE YOU?
I LOVE YOU!
I LOVE YOU, MICHAEL FRED PHELPS II!
…Perhaps “love” is too strong a word right now; I don’t want you to feel any more pressure than you already do. So you’re not obligated to reciprocate. Seriously. Forget I said it. Please. Bigger issues at stake here: the unwarranted media attention, the public outcry… And I am really sorry to hear about that suspension. Really really sorry. Are you allowed to swim in your new free-time? Okay, that’s a dumb question. Really really dumb. Way to go, B. Go totally moron all over him.
Wait—Please, Michael. Don’t go. I just… Tell me it’s a Romeo and Juliet story, and I’ll am-scray, I’ll leave you alone. Just tell me it’s us versus the world and I’ll slink into the shadows ever so quietly. Just please don’t tell me it’s me. You’re not embarrassed of me, of course not—nobody understands what we share, is all. Right?
Or, don’t say anything. I want to remember us like this. Quiet… Calm… Serene…
Why can’t you be more like Lil Wayne? He told Katie Couric point blank he will not give up the weed. He stood by his Lady Mary Jane. He is a brave man. Braver than you’ll ever be, Phelps. He’s got tattoos on his face.
Maybe we’re too different. You live the good ole boy life in the limelight, America’s sweetheart. I’m the fat chick stashed in the closet, the one you go to for kicks but never marry. Lifestyle choice, I get it.
I’ll tell you what. In four years time, I’ll be totally past this. I will have totally moved on. I know it. I’m just that type of person. And I will want to help you. At the 2012 Olympics in London, when you need to bulk up, I will get you so hungry, you won’t be able to see straight. Just one friend helping out another. Because we will be friends. What a relief, isn’t it?
And there will be pancakes. Damn, Mikey. Will there ever be pancakes.
Dave/Blago
02/04/2009
“Now, are you going to continue to be on TV?” Letterman finally asked.
“Well, look,” Blagojevich replied. “I don’t know –- are you going to invite me back?”
And Letterman did invite disgraced former Illinois governor Rod Blagojevich back on his show.
March 2010
Blagojevich is back on The Late Show to plug his upcoming criminal trial. Letterman predictably pokes fun at his expense, and Blagojevich unpredictably pokes Letterman between the eyes. No charges are filed.
May 2010
Rod returns to plug the appeal of his criminal trial conviction. He gives Dave a black brush to match his own and patch things over from his last visit, and Dave feigns gratitude—poorly.
June 2010
Surprise guest Blago pops in to wish his fans a fond farewell before heading off to minimum-security prison. Paul Shaffer leads his orchestra in the tune of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” with the inspired substitute “For He Wanted a Hung Jury.”
February 2012
Interview with Inmate 1141018, a.ka. Rod Blagojevich, conducted via satellite to plug his upcoming book If I Did It: Confessions of Governor Rod Blagojevich, Who was Elected by Millions of Illinois Citizens, By the Way.
October 2027
Recently ordained Rev. Blagojevich swings by the set of Late Night with Neil Patrick Harris to plug his upcoming biopic Dave/Blago. Dave Letterman is played by Woody Harrelson; Rod Blagojevich is played by Zach Braff, who was originally not considered for the role because of his noteworthy baldness.
Jon & Kate Plus 8 Plus 20 Years
01/28/2009
The Gosselins are hardly your typical American family.
Meet Jon and Kate, the twins, and the sextuplets.
Jon Gosselin, age 52
Dad Jon suffered a nervous breakdown in 2009, 2022, 2023, and this past October. He plays Suduko to calm his frayed mind.
Kate Gosselin, age 54
Mom Kate coaches the JV Girls Basketball Team at Robert Fulton Junior High, where she yells a lot.
Cara Gosselin, age 28
Cara has eight children. She doesn’t know how that happened.
Madelyn “Mady” Gosselin, age 28
Mady shocked her parents first when she left home to study Gender and Sexuality at Wesleyan University, and then again when she announced her homosexuality, but felt badly about triggering her father’s second nervous breakdown and eventually settled down with a nice Dominican man named Rocco who speaks little English and bankrolls her start-up pet grooming business.
Alexis Gosselin, age 24
Alexis, a.k.a. Lil Miz C-REuz, is a pop phenomenon. She refuses to acknowledge the existence of her parents and at least half of her siblings, and is up for three Kids’ Choice Awards.
Aaden Gosselin, age 24
Aeden has always resented being called “The Professor.” To spite his parents, he studied Communications at Florida State and is currently his alma mater’s mascot, the Seminole.
Collin Gosselin, age 24
Collin excelled as a Fine Art major at University of Hawaii, but found himself stymied creatively after twice earning the title Maui’s Sexiest Co-Ed. He bartends and lives with his girlfriend—seventeen years his senior—and her three children.
Leah Gosselin, age 24
Leah is currently in graduate school at UC Berkeley, where she studies genetics. Unbeknownst to Leah, her boyfriend Clay is aggressively shopping his manuscript, “Eight is Never Enough: The Harrowing Truth Behind the Gosselin Clan.”
Hannah Gosselin, age 24
Though acclaimed as a concert pianist virtuoso at the young age of eleven, Hannah stayed home to take care of her dad and run interference when her mom “goes a little nutty.” She likes puzzles and has had two abortions.
Joel Gosselin, age 24
Joel went missing thirteen years ago, but it took the Gosselins three months to figure out he was gone. He turned up nine years later, living with a small Jewish Iranian family in Colorado, where he is reportedly very happy. He has yet to take his birth mother up on her invitation of coming home for Christmas.
“He Takes His Hands in the Law”
This here’s the story of a man called John
He goes by Jack, and he don’t know ‘bout this song
He wears only black, crew cut knit jersey’s his style
He’ll make you cough up blood, sputum and bile
Make you cry til you laugh and scream til you sing
Throw acid in your face, steal your wedding ring
Ain’t nothin’ too bad-ass for Jackie B to dish out
This one time he scaled a plane during take-off
Unbelievable
In twenty-four hours he’ll save this whole world
Twenty-four hours from now the world won’t be dead
One-thousand-four-hundred-and-forty minutes and fate will be done
When he gets his paws on the laws, this Prodigal Son
But who’s saving you, Jack?
Who’s got your back?
And maybe the world don’t need savin’
He-e-ey, Bauer
You’re a real cool cat, it’s true
But listen here, Bauer
About interpersonal relationships, you’ve got a thing or two
To learn
Jackie boy takes the law ‘tween his forefinger and thumb
Don’t care ‘bout no rules, he’ll rip you a new one
Just the other night he buried a woman alive in dirt
I asked her, “Did it hurt?”
She said, “Uh huh, but only when I smile”
In twenty-four hours he’ll save the damn world
Twenty-four hours from now the world may not be kaput
One-thousand-four-hundred-and-forty minutes and fate will be fate
He’s the saving grace for this whole human race
But who’s saving you, Jack?
Who’s got your back?
When you’re off duty, do you obey traffic laws?
He-e-ey, Bauer
Nerve gas don’t beat you, you beat it
But oh, sweet, sweet Bauer
You ever stop for a minute now, babe, and think, oh shit
I don’t deserve this predicament
(Bridge)
Torture now, ask for the hospital bill later
Break her heart, exhume the body later
Tell the President, “Hey man, step off”
“This whole administration’s gone soft”
But listen here, fella
The war on terror
Is gunnin’ for you
(Harmonica riff)
It’s lonely, isn’t it Jack?
Lovin’ America like you do
It hurts, don’t it Jack?
Havin’ a hard-on for the red-white-blue
And no one’s got your back
This whole system’s totally whack
And I’m beginning to think Tony’s a Cylon
(Harmonica riff)
(Fade out)
Helloooooooo, Jets! Broadway Joe is in the hooouuuuuse! (Beat boxes entrance music.)
Jesus, you guys are young. Heeey, slap me some skin, my main man, Manning! Oh c’mon, I’m just jabbin’. (In ominous voice) Jabberwocky. (Waits for reaction. Silence.)
Well, young and all, I like your game. You pass, you catch, you run, you do lots of good good important stuff. Got yourselves some nice tight ends, if you know what I mean—who’s got me! And hey: I’m not one of those homosexuals they write books about. But nice ass there, Clowney. That’s right, I’m lookin’.
Real men is what this country needs, and you guys are it. I see you, Brett, and I think, goddam! That’s America! That’s America when he wakes up in the morning hung over after an all-night kegger. Football, that’s America! Balls, that’s America! Freedom of speech, hear me speeching? That’s Freedom I’m speeching, here, there. Tits…
You ever dance under a streetlamp with a prostitute and a calico cat? Shit, the seventies! Holy cow. If you remember the seventies like I do—like a beautiful, beautiful dream, she was—you’ll recall I delivered this very team to the Super-Duper Bowl in nineteen-seventy-sixty-nine. (Cracks up.) Touchdooooown, Joey N! (Feigns audience roar.)
I invented the Super-Duper Bowl. With these two fists, I forged a Dynasty of fisting—(cracks up)—sorry, ladies. But I forged that Dynasty. For you. Prosterity. And now I am honored to bring you assholes into the fold. So let’s win that Super-Duper Bowl next Sunday! On three: two, two, Hoo-ah!
(Cracks up) Panty hose! Was I nuts or what? Remember…
Hoes? Yes.
Right? Damn right, you’re straight.
Football. You know what I’m saying? He shoots, he scores! In a cooch! (Cracks up, then stops himself.)
Okay, business time. They don’t pay me to make jokes—that’s extra, kiddies. Lemme take a gander at those stats again.
Fucking…fuckity fuck.
Gentlemen. You SUCK. There’s no way you made the—okay, there it is. We’re out.
Goddamit, if I was on this team I’d murder all of you. I’d hate doing it, too, because I really like most of you sonsofbitches. You’ve got personality. Grit. Fortitude. You had my back there when that airline stewardess accused me of something-or-other, which I clearly willed myself to forget, and you have my back there everyday on the field. My legacy is you, you beautiful pieces of man, and you—
No. You SUCK. This is New Jersey, faggots. You’ve got to win some sometime or else you’re looking at a nine-millimeter between the eyes of your pet shih tzu, Maui. Jersey don’t mess around. Do you realize what you signed up for? Our so-called fans will turn on a dime—no, a nickel, even—PENNY, that’s the smallest. They’re all menstruating pussy-daddies nipping at the teat of consumerism. And they’ve got GUNS.
Are we…losers? That word sound ugly. Real ugly.
Okay. Listen up. Grab the Flight Crew. Tonight we live like kings, because no one knows how long this thing’ll go on, and on, and, and I’m gonna keep talking until I… Brainwave, okay.
Destination: Wendy’s. We’ll make rings out of the curly fries.
