the ocean

Another sketch this week. I don't remember when I wrote this or why, but the pop culture references put it maybe 10 years ago. You know, when our country was functioning. And yes, I am just going through my documents folder alphabetically to see what I find.

Think of the Children!

(Carol and Barb are sitting in Carol’s living room, sipping some drinks, reading Us Weekly, barely watching their children as they play.)

Carol: Oh my God, Barb, did you see that thing on Dateline this week about those Internet predators who lure children into their sex dens to make pornos? It scared the bejeezus out of me. (to a child) Caitlin, don’t eat that, okay? That’s to kill the mousies.

Barb: Oh, I know, Carol. I’m just so terrified of popping on to the Internets some day to check my hotmail and running across some horrible video of little Timmy engaged in the physical act of love with some three hundred pound Asian man. It just makes me sick. Great lemon bars, by the way.

Carol: Thanks. It’s just such a sick environment these days, you know? I mean, the other night after the kids went to bed I was watching Evan Almighty on HBO – I just get such a kick out of that Steve Cartel – and right afterwards this sick, sick sex movie came on. People licking and touching I don’t care to tell you where. Do you want another Mimosa?

Barb: Sure, why not? Madison, no hitting, okay? No, I don’t care if daddy does it. But you’re totally right, Carol. It’s just everywhere these days. With that Hannah Nevada taking her top off in that magazine and that High School Musicale gal sending pictures of her hoo hah to Drake from Drake and Josh. I mean, Josh I could understand, but Drake?

Carol: I know, I read it in the U.S. Weekly. But it’s no wonder the Lindsay Lohmans of the world get so messed in the head when you’ve got that Sex in the NYC all over television and they let that horrible lesbian on that show.

Barb: Rosie O’Donnell?

Carol: No, the other one.

Barb: Oh yes, she’s terrible. And I tell you, I don’t even know what I might do if some lesbian came up to me some day and started with the dirty talk.

Carol: Oh, I can’t even imagine. Joshie, put down the vase, okay? No smashie. No smashie.

Barb: I mean, I don’t care how lovely you are, with thick, full lips and ample, heaving bosoms, I don’t want to be a lesbian with you, okay? I don’t want to lick you up and down like some glorious flesh-colored Popsicle.

Carol: Exactly. I am just not interested in lovingly caressing the supple curves of some gazelle-like creature solely interested in meeting my every sexual need. Not interested. Period.

Barb: Right. It’s just sick. I mean, to imagine running off on my husband and children to spend my days experiencing multiple orgasms in the arms of some gorgeous, raven-tressed siren of a next door neighbor. Who could want such a thing?

Carol: Deviants, that’s who. People with secret boxes under their beds full of erotic toys fitting every description, giant, purple, firm, and throbbing …. Oh, the throbbing…

(they both sit a moment lost in daydreams)

Barb: Just sick, I tell you.

Carol: I’m canceling my subscription to cable.

Barb: The only L-Word I need is Jesus’ Love.

Carol: Caitlin, put those pants back on! Remember your special bathing suit area!

(Blackout.)