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This is the place to post skits written by fans from all over the boards.

Please make sure you have permission from the authors before bringing it over.

From Pink Armchair @ CH...................BWAH

Well, I'm on vacation this week and decided to have a little fun...




Celebrity gossip blogger and frequent defendent Mario Lavandeira, aka Perez Hilton, died tonight as a result of fatal injuries suffered in a freak accident off the Pacific Coast involving the Coast Guard. Lavandeira was aboard a yacht belonging to a celebrity who has asked to remain anonymous. “One minute he was there leaning on the railing, and the next minute, somebody pus--I mean, he must have fallen overboard. Nobody noticed him missing for a while, but when we did, we called the Coast Guard, pretty much right away. I think. Hey, there was a lot of alcohol involved,” revealed one anonymous source. Arriving on the scene, Coast Guard officials tragically mistook Lavandeira for a rare species of orange-crested killer whale and shot him repeatedly in the posterior with a harpoon. The Coast Guard regrets the error; an investigation is pending.

The first of Lavandeira's VH1 specials, What Perez Sez, was due to air in September, but was shelved due to pending litigation.


(Pitch darkness in Clay’s bedroom. The phone rings. A loud groan from Clay. The bedside light comes on. His eyes squeezed shut, Clay picks up the receiver and hears...)


Clay (yawning): Jimmy, y’know...you could wait until yore done havin’ sex ta call me. Makes me feel like some kinda creepy voyeur or somethin.’

Kimmel: I just can’t believe it. Oh, my God. This is big...REALLY, REALLY big.

Clay (bemused smile): Y’know what Ah cain’t believe? That Sarah’s still puttin’ up with yore puffed-up ego. Conceited much? (laughing) Hey, put her on...Ah bet she’d tell me a different story.

Kimmel: Clay, turn on the TV...NOW.

Clay: Jimmy, it’s three in the mornin’ here. The only thangs on are reruns o’ those dang Ta Ketch a Predator shows, bad slasher movies an’ infomercials fer that Miracle Mop. An’ Ah alriddy bought one.

Kimmel (insistently): Turn on CNN. DO.IT.

(Clay stumbles out of bed in a ratty UNCC t-shirt and pajama bottoms and flips on the TV. He sinks onto the edge of the unmade bed and jabs clumsily with the remote. Bathed in the TV screen’s flickering blue light, he stares in amazement as we hear the somber drone of a newscaster.)

Clay: Holy crap. What--

Kimmel (gleefully): Incredible, huh?

Clay (beginning to smile): How the heck--?

Kimmel: I know! Can ya believe it? Talk about ironic. I guess now we'll never know What Perez Sez.

Clay (drily): Isn't that a tragedy. (silence, as they watch some more) Boy, how embarrassin.’ Ah mean...Ah always said karma would bite him in the ass, but Ah never in a million, zillion years thought--

Kimmel (laughing): It’s classic! A modern day Moby Dick. Heh heh heh.

Clay (bewildered): Hey, Jimmy...what’re YOU so happy about? Ah mean...y’know Ah have a few reasons ta have a beef with him...but what did he do ta YOU?

Kimmel: Clay, are you kidding? This guy has been a bleeding barnacle on the Botoxed butt of Hollywood--

Clay (wincing): Whoa, Jimmy -- too much alliteration fer three in the mornin.’

Kimmel: --And New York. Nah, I’m ecstatic. And so is most everybody else out here, I’m sure. (teasingly) Sooo...of course you’re going to the funeral.

Clay (incredulous laugh): Oh, aren’t you funny. An’ rilly...is ANYone? Most of showbiz is prolly breakin’ out the champagne. Ah bet they’ll declare a citywide holiday and organize a parade down Hollywood Boulevard. Go ta the funeral? HAH! Ah’d rather walk around with a house cat in heat plaistered ta the top o’ mah head than show mah face thayre. ‘Course, mebbe Ah should...somebody rilly needs ta shovel some lime inta that grave.

Kimmel: Yeah, just like the outhouse at boy scout camp.

Clay: A rose garden compayred ta this. Although mebbe what he rilly needs is a stake through the heart.

Both: Oh, wait...

Clay (slyly): Hey...you know everbody out thayre...any idea whose yacht it was?

Kimmel: Hmmm...so many candidates, so little time. Still, brilliant idea, huh? Whoever did it deserves a medal. Sure wish I’d thought of it. Of course, they probably wouldn’t let me keep my show in prison.

Clay: Ah don’t know, Jimmy...if VH1 would give Perez Hilton a reality show, Ah don’t see why they wouldn’t let YOU do one as a jailbird. Rilly, now...it’s somethin’ ta think about. ‘Course you’d hafta commit some kinda felony first.

Kimmel: Oh, I’m sure I can think of somebody else I’d like to bump off. After all, a certain blowhard "comedian" who looks like Woody Woodpecker is taking over the Tonight Show in two years. I sure wouldn't mind THAT gig.

Clay (giggling): Lemme know if you need money fer ammo.

Kimmel: Will do. Anyway...I thought you’d wanna know about this.

Clay: Oh, absolutely. Well, Ah guess Ah better git on the phone an’ call off that hit man. So sense in wastin’ the money now, huh?

Kimmel: Nope. (off, to Sarah) Hey, would it’ve killed ya to take that jam outta the fridge first? Yow. Okay. (to Clay) Later, dude. (He hangs up quickly.)

(Clay switches off the TV and climbs back into bed, singing softly to himself in the darkness)

Clay (smiling dreamily): “Ding dong, Perez is daid...”

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Posted on the Clack House by strummer6 *waves* on Sunday, July 29:

SRHPT 2007

A Little Post Newark Conversation.

Clay: *Sitting in the bus lounge, kind of pouting.*

Jerome: What’s with the face?

C: You didn’t sing.

J: No shit. Did you really think I would?

C: Well, yeah. And then you let them see my underwear when I rolled back on the stage.

J: Bwahaha! Funniest thing I’ve seen all week! And it really gave some extra punch to the ‘I’m not cool’ shtick. Great improv, there. Gotta give you your props on that one.

C: What improv? I couldn’t get back on the dang stage!

J: Really? Oops.

C: “Oops?” My security is saying “Oops?” I’m not feeling the warm, safe fuzzies right now.

J: I could tackle someone again. You want me to make a tackle during the next concert? Maybe throw a block or two?

C: Nah. That was an in the moment thing. Pretty dang funny one at that. Huh – hope I didn’t lose a Clay Dawg though. Besides, I’m good as long as you keep shouting “Tree!” during the line walk.

J: Which feels kind of weird when we’re in a parking lot with no trees …

C: What, you wanna pick a new code word?

J: Like what? Yelling out “Asphalt!” just wouldn’t be the same.

C: Oh, now you gotta do that one. No, no – wait. I got it! Pothole! Use pothole.

J: That’s good! For parking lots, I’ll use pothole. Think the list folks have caught on yet?

C: Nope. My fans know darn well that I actually could walk right into a tree or a pothole. Heck, they prolly half expect me too.

J: I know I do.

C: Says the man who wouldn’t sing on cue. I have heard you sing, ya know.

J: Stuff like Happy Birthday doesn’t count.

C: Nope – I heard you singing The Way. A couple of weeks ago, I came by your room to see if you wanted to grab a late snack, some hot wings or something, and you were in the shower. You got one heck of a set of lungs on you. I heard you through the door, out in the hallway. That noise you were making carried all the way down to the elevator. At first I thought you were dyin’.

J: And yet you still put a mic in my face. Hey, why don’t you go back and get some sleep? You gotta be tired.

C: Not yet. Quiana and Angela are back there talking about girl things. Again. They were comparing products and I got outta there when I heard one of them say something about absorption…

J: You can stop now. So …West Wing? How about some Season Three?

C: Let’s watch some Jericho. I have my DVRs on the top shelf.

J: Okay. Some post-apocalyptic Mayberry, coming right up. What? Don’t look at me like that. I mailed in my nuts.

C: I’ll just bet you did.

Posted thanks to permission of the author....

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