Igor, Froderick
08-11-2014, 08:56 PM
After heartily laughing in mirth while watching Wilfred, I had an idea for a comedy sketch. This is an excerpt:
When Marty turned 32, things started to change. Not in a major way. Well, maybe a little. You see, things didn’t change in the way you’d expect. There was no marriage, no home mortgage or re-fi, no first or second child, no return from the proverbial quarter-life crisis trip from the Peace Corps. Things were just – different.
His niece was a 40-year-old, cunningly intellectual woman, for one. Though to everyone else, she was a 6 year old, barely old enough to be left in the room alone. Her name was Clara, and prior to Marty’s 32nd birthday she was that normal mama’s little princess. His sister, Darcy, had treated her that way. But the day his sister and her husband Greg practically dragged him out of his hangover for a birthday lunch was the day that Clara, she just, changed.
Darcy was ordering a “special” birthday drink she thought would cure his morning-after-debauchery coma and Greg had taken Aiden, Clara’s younger 4 year old borther, to the bathroom.
“You look like hell shat you back out,” Clara said.
Marty thought it came from a lady behind him. He hadn’t expected the adult voice to come from his adolescent niece.
“What’d you do? Down red bulls all night, hoping to get dry humped enough it make you forget you’re another year older?”
He didn’t know what to say. “What?” he managed.
“Relax, Uncle Mart. I’m only kidding, although I doubt I’m far off the mark.”
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing from this 6 year old. Had she watched some TV show and picked up on the adult’s dialogue? Perhaps that second E pill from last night was laced with something. His friend Paul had said it was legit – he got it from a certified hustler with street creds.
“How’d you learn to talk like that?” he said, taking a sip of the overly iced water the waitress had set down, hoping that would rattle him back to his senses.
“What’ya mean? Can’t a niece have a little poke at her uncle. After all, it is your birthday. I mean, if you can’t take a few gaffs on your b-day, then you got problems, and a ***** ain’t one.”
Greg and little Aiden returned from the bathroom.
“Are you making fun of Uncle Marty, sunshine?” Greg said. “It’s his special day. You have to be nice to him, ya know.”
“Yeah yeah, pops. Whatever.”
It had come to Marty’s realization somewhat later that what he was hearing from this seemingly grownup toddler was not the same as what others around him heard. To them, Clara was her usual 6-year-old self, acting the way that normal little girls act – saying things that cute little princesses say. But to Marty, he might as well have been sharing company with a tenacious middle-aged woman.
“Where’s the cake already?” Clara said. “Why do adults always have to postpone the best parts? It’s like they’re martyring themselves, making themselves suffer for a common cause – dessert. It’s the same with everything else – plan a vacation. You don’t need to plan anything. Just ****in’ go! Wait till Christmas – buy the damn thing already. You have the money. You want something so bad, just go out and get it! Don’t pretend to act so surprised when someone wraps it up and puts it under your tree. You’ve been prattling on about it for the entire year. Sheesh!”
Maybe it was the red bulls. A bad batch. Maybe others were similarly affected. There’s so much goddam chemicals in those things anyways. You might as well be drinkin’ from the stores of demented Dr. Frankenstein.
“Oh I get it,” Clara continued. “We’re gonna have cake back at the house. Don’t get me wrong, Uncle Marty,” she eyed him not unlike an adult would, “I love them all. But sometimes I get the feeling that there’s a distance between mom and dad they try to compensate for by having people over on a regular basis. Like they can’t be alone together or something. God forbid, the world would implode if that happened.”
Marty looked to Darcy and Greg. They seemed to be looking fondly at their daughter, as if it were that typical, nostalgic inducing talk of a child – that innocent, young voice here today, gone tomorrow. For all he knew, they both heard Clara babbling on about what she wanted for lunch and how she couldn’t wait for cake when they got home...
When Marty turned 32, things started to change. Not in a major way. Well, maybe a little. You see, things didn’t change in the way you’d expect. There was no marriage, no home mortgage or re-fi, no first or second child, no return from the proverbial quarter-life crisis trip from the Peace Corps. Things were just – different.
His niece was a 40-year-old, cunningly intellectual woman, for one. Though to everyone else, she was a 6 year old, barely old enough to be left in the room alone. Her name was Clara, and prior to Marty’s 32nd birthday she was that normal mama’s little princess. His sister, Darcy, had treated her that way. But the day his sister and her husband Greg practically dragged him out of his hangover for a birthday lunch was the day that Clara, she just, changed.
Darcy was ordering a “special” birthday drink she thought would cure his morning-after-debauchery coma and Greg had taken Aiden, Clara’s younger 4 year old borther, to the bathroom.
“You look like hell shat you back out,” Clara said.
Marty thought it came from a lady behind him. He hadn’t expected the adult voice to come from his adolescent niece.
“What’d you do? Down red bulls all night, hoping to get dry humped enough it make you forget you’re another year older?”
He didn’t know what to say. “What?” he managed.
“Relax, Uncle Mart. I’m only kidding, although I doubt I’m far off the mark.”
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing from this 6 year old. Had she watched some TV show and picked up on the adult’s dialogue? Perhaps that second E pill from last night was laced with something. His friend Paul had said it was legit – he got it from a certified hustler with street creds.
“How’d you learn to talk like that?” he said, taking a sip of the overly iced water the waitress had set down, hoping that would rattle him back to his senses.
“What’ya mean? Can’t a niece have a little poke at her uncle. After all, it is your birthday. I mean, if you can’t take a few gaffs on your b-day, then you got problems, and a ***** ain’t one.”
Greg and little Aiden returned from the bathroom.
“Are you making fun of Uncle Marty, sunshine?” Greg said. “It’s his special day. You have to be nice to him, ya know.”
“Yeah yeah, pops. Whatever.”
It had come to Marty’s realization somewhat later that what he was hearing from this seemingly grownup toddler was not the same as what others around him heard. To them, Clara was her usual 6-year-old self, acting the way that normal little girls act – saying things that cute little princesses say. But to Marty, he might as well have been sharing company with a tenacious middle-aged woman.
“Where’s the cake already?” Clara said. “Why do adults always have to postpone the best parts? It’s like they’re martyring themselves, making themselves suffer for a common cause – dessert. It’s the same with everything else – plan a vacation. You don’t need to plan anything. Just ****in’ go! Wait till Christmas – buy the damn thing already. You have the money. You want something so bad, just go out and get it! Don’t pretend to act so surprised when someone wraps it up and puts it under your tree. You’ve been prattling on about it for the entire year. Sheesh!”
Maybe it was the red bulls. A bad batch. Maybe others were similarly affected. There’s so much goddam chemicals in those things anyways. You might as well be drinkin’ from the stores of demented Dr. Frankenstein.
“Oh I get it,” Clara continued. “We’re gonna have cake back at the house. Don’t get me wrong, Uncle Marty,” she eyed him not unlike an adult would, “I love them all. But sometimes I get the feeling that there’s a distance between mom and dad they try to compensate for by having people over on a regular basis. Like they can’t be alone together or something. God forbid, the world would implode if that happened.”
Marty looked to Darcy and Greg. They seemed to be looking fondly at their daughter, as if it were that typical, nostalgic inducing talk of a child – that innocent, young voice here today, gone tomorrow. For all he knew, they both heard Clara babbling on about what she wanted for lunch and how she couldn’t wait for cake when they got home...