My Latest Work

Here is the beginnings of the script for my very own fairy tale. (Illustrations and an icon are in the making)
FRANCELLA: [sighs] Where oh where is the man of my dreams? Could he be … [turns around suddenly and whips back bush] BEHIND THE BUSHES! … No. Could he be … IN THE GARDENING SHED!
 [Gardener and maid straighten themselves out as the awkward silence continues in front of the shed/impromtu love shack] FRANCELLA: Dammit! Why can’t the gardener ever bang me in the shed?
GARDENER: [ears perk up] Well, I suppose that could be [sketchy eyebrows] arranged.
FRANCELLA: [rolls eyes] Oh please! Like I, Princess Francella, a cultured lady, well-educated scholar, and male stripper (only on Tuesdays) would ever consider touching a filthy peasant such as you! [looks around, whispers] Thursday. 7 o’clock. Outhouse behind the palace. Make sure you have fuzzy pink hand-hello, Father!
KING THURSTON: Hello, um, you.
FRANCELLA: Francella, Father.
THURSTON: Francella? What the hell was your mother thinking? [chuckles] Anyway, you’re getting married. Tonight.
FRANCELLA: Tonight?? But – I don’t even have anyone to marry!
THURSTON: Well, that's your problem! Hah, no, just kidding. I was planning on marrying you off to the turd the cat left in my shoe this morning, but a suitor happened upon the palace today. Hah, just kidding again. ... Or am I? [leans in and whispers] If I may suggest, you may want to go with the turd. Probably better in bed.
FRANCELLA: [in shock] Well who is he? Where does he come from? What had the cat eaten?
THURSTON: Not so many questions at once! You’ll make the vein in my forehead protrude again. And you know what happens when Mr. Vein gets angry …
ALL IN SCENE: [cringe in horror, a few start sobbing and assume the fetal position]
THURSTON: [wipes forehead] Whew, all this uh, whatever I've been doing works up a thirst. Perhaps I’ll have a martini, or a margarita, or maybe a wine spritzer. [notices others staring at him questioningly] Uh, I mean … I need a manly drink! You know, testosterone, sweat, and naked women! That’s what I’m all about! [nervous laugh] [to FRANCELLA] Go get me a beer, woman! [FRANCELLA exits, perturbed] [awkward silence] [defensively/nervously] A gay man wouldn’t drink beer, you know.
Scene goes to a spot in the woods
ROLAND: [talking to a squirrel] Why, that’s a lovely idea! I’ll have to try it the next time I make banana bread. You know, I discovered the best secret to keep muffins from sticking – Hey! Where are you going?
Another squirrel appears, and they run off into the trees.
ROLAND: [yelling after it] Oh, I see. Run off with your little girlfriend! Just leave your buddy here all alone. After all the things I’ve done for you!!! [sighs] How pathetic is that? A squirrel can get some action, but I can’t.
RUPERT: [suddenly, a fat rabbit appears, levitating in mid-air] What’s that you say?
ROLAND: Gah! Who’s there? [brandishes stick]
 RUPERT: [comes into full view] I’ve come to help you.
ROLAND: Wait wait wait. I’m just supposed to accept the fact that a morbidly obese bunny goes poof out of nowhere? Not only that, but take advice from it? Are you insane?!
RUPERT: Well, that’s what my mother-in-law says. [waits for laughs] Geez, tough crowd.
ROLAND: Oh, I know what this is. It wasn’t aspirin that creepy guy in the alley gave me. I should have known!
RUPERT: No, no, no! I’m not an acid trip; I’m your fairy fatbunny! And, like I said, I’ve come to help you with your problem.
ROLAND: Problem? What problem? I see no problems here, only a fairy frickin' fatbunny!!
RUPERT: I was referring to your trouble finding a lady. I believe I can assist you.
ROLAND: [forgetting his reservations about talking to a fairy fatbunny] So you’re gonna get me laid?
RUPERT: [puts head in hands, er ... paws]