Dear Friends: As the famously hot-headed John McEnroe once said, "Alec Baldwin cannot be serious!" (Not a direct quote. A fake-quote. But said with emphasis, as if said by John McEnroe.) Because we here give the very smart Alec Baldwin full credit for his talent, which is as immense as his ego, but, as for his work as the fake President Trump, apparently Alec Baldwin thinks it so monumentally important to the very existence of our country, he's actually stepping away from the mike, since Alec Baldwin is just too good at being the fake President Trump, and he's just too good a person, and artist, to do it anymore, for all our sakes, but apparently not this past weekend. But thanks anyway, Alec Baldwin. We all appreciate you almost falling on your sword like that. Although, we here feel you should take acting lessons from your brother, Stephen Baldwin,1 who apparently packs a gun, at all times. Can you imagine "Thanksgiving at the Baldwins"?2 We'd all love to be there, even if we're only armed with our non-Baldwin senses of humor. (You're the best, Stephen. But Alec? Meh. Only sometimes.) But, I digress. And for the umpteenth time: progressives will do that to you. And as for you, SNL (aka Saturday Night Live), welcome back, now that you're not kissing the previous-president's bupkiss. (I think that's how you spell bupkiss. But more important, you hafta say it like Jackie Mason: With emphasis.) But, SNL, how bout being juuust a bit more fair and balanced? Right. As if you'd ever risk being ex-communicated.
But not us here. Because we actually believe in fairness to all, we don't just say it. And so, in the continued spirit of fair and balanced satire for all, I will attempt a satirical script for a satirical skit in which satirical characters try and discover the holiest of all satirical holy grails: satirically satirizing never-using the N-word, if you're a so-called white-person, and not Quentin Tarantino. (Note: Tarantino is the grand master of setups and payoffs. And, a genius (literally; he has an IQ of 160), although, we here fully disagree with his marching against law enforcement. That's just stupid. And unhelpful. And counterproductive.) But I'm only a so-called white-person. Although, I've never thought of myself as a so-called white-person. I've always felt I'm just an ordinary person. And that there's only three kinds of people: ordinary people, ignorant people, and despicable scum-bags. Normal is all of us. Ignorant is all of them. (That's a joke, people. Don't be ignorant.) And despicable scum-bags should be found, caught, and punished. Severely. (But that's not our job. That's a job for law enforcement. And it's not the PC-police's job, either, although they think it is, which makes them despicable scum-bags.) And, of course, I'm not writing The Corrections here. And never will. Because I'm not Jonathan Franzen. Because Jonathan Franzen's actually a member of a little-known fourth group of people, the above-ordinary people, even though despite all appearances, above-ordinary people all pee, and all poo, and all put their pants on one leg at a time. Unless maybe above-ordinary people can levitate, which would allow above-ordinary people to put their pants on both legs at the same time. An awesome feat, when you think about it. So Bravo to you, Jonathan Franzen, if you've mastered the art of putting your pants on both legs at the same time. (Which, by the way, that particular cliche is a misogynistic cliche, when you think about it, but only when you think about it too hard. Because if you think about it more, women wear pants. And all women should be able to wear pants, no matter the pants, and women already wear some of the most important pants in the world, and in all walks of life. So Bravo, women, we all love you, because you wear some of our most important pants, and we wouldn't be here without you. So thank you, women, for giving us all life. Because after all is said and done, everybody knows men are totally expendable and unnecessary to the survival of the species. Google it. But don't tell us that. We like it here. Life is beautiful, and wouldn't be as beautiful without all of us working together to make it so.) And do you know who writes women really well, other than every woman author who ever wrote any woman character, and Jonathan Franzen (even if Jonathan Franzen is accused of white-male-privilege, poor guy, because he happens to be an extraordinarily talented writer who happened to be born a white-male-person, but who writes women extraordinarily well.) Tarantino also writes women really well. (Somehow, Tarantino escapes the white-male-privilege charge. He must be kissing all the right bupkiss.) And getting back to our skit, let's all remember that I'm only a so-called white-male-person, although actually just an ordinary person, and not Quentin Tarantino. And that is, I'm literally not him, and literally not him. But let's give it a shot anyway.
And so, The Setup: In a galaxy far, far away, there is an Arthurian round table, and at said Arthurian round table, there sits a black knight. And, he's literally black. And, he's called the Black Knight. By everybody. (Of course, you can call him the African-American Knight, if you prefer. But the Black Knight just sounds so much cooler. Trust me. Of course, the PC-police, through their special thought-police subdivision, and before I've even started, have forced me to change the name, or else be branded. Spoiler alert: details later.) And to play the part, we'd like to hire the esteemed actor, Samuel L. Jackson. Because despite all the Hollywood rumors, Samuel L. Jackson won't do just about any part for a paycheck. He'll actually listen to you first, and sign later. And, most important, Samuel L. Jackson is a fine actor, and loves to act, and should get paid for his work. This is America here. We're not communists.
And now, The Payoff:
- THD: So, Samuel L. Jackson, can I write this script for a skit where the characters use the N-word, even if I'm not Quentin Tarantino.
- SLJ: Don't.
- THD: Don't what?
- SLJ: Just don't.
- THD: But I haven't done anything yet.
- SLJ: So don't.
- (And now, one of those pregnant silences. But there is a passing back and forth of glares. Deep glares. Seriously deep glares.)
- THD: All right, my man.
- SLJ: I said don't.
- (And now, a pregnant pause. Much more manly.)
- THD: All right, brother.
- SLJ: I thought I just said don't.
- THD: All right, dude --
- SLJ: Do I look like a dude to you?
- THD: Not at the moment.
- SLJ: Are you calling me a bleep?
- THD: Am I?
- (And now, there's something between a pregnant silence and a pregnant pause.)
- SLJ: I'm only gonna say this one more time. Don't.
- THD: All right, Holmes.
- SLJ: What did I just say? (And now, SLJ is animated when he says this. And even more animated at being abbreviated. It was cool before. But it ain't cool now.)
- THD: Don't?
- SLJ: Don't what?
- THD: Did you just say don't?
- SLJ: That's right. And exactly. So don't.
- THD: Fine. So, for the purposes of this script, will you say the N-word?
- SLJ: The what? (Said with major emphasis.)
- THD: Are you from the planet what?
- (Note: this is the setup within the payoff, and maybe within the setup. And, I'd love to say that to Samuel L. Jackson in person, and somehow get him to say 'what' one more time.)
- SLJ: What?
- THD: (Bingo.) Come on, Sam L. Just say what one more time.
- (Silence. Much, much silence. And of the non-pregnant variety.)
- SLJ: Ha bleeping ha ha. That's actually funny. But don't call me Sam L., yet.
- THD: What?
- (And now, obviously, we're both laughing our bleepin asses off.)
- SLJ: Exactly.
- THD: So will you do the part?
- SLJ: How much?
- THD: All I can muster from the new Chinese-Hollywood.
- SLJ: I need a number.
- THD: Let's say I trillion yuan.
- SLJ: Well, blee-ip. Call me Sam L. What's the part?
- THD: You're in the prequel to "Spaceballs."
- SLJ: And?
- THD: And the Schwartz is still strong.
- SLJ: And?
- THD: And you play an ancient Jedi-knight, and your trusty weapon is your long-Schwartz, and you've named it your Schwartz-a-negger.
- SLJ: (Now acting as if he's reconsidering the whole Sam L. thing.) No.
- THD: Your Schwartz-a-N-word?
- SLJ: No.
- THD: Your ancient long-Schwartz?
- SLJ: Exactly.
- THD: Fine. And you've been accidentally blinded by the Lanx Australis Police Department.
- SLJ: The LAPD? In a bleeping galaxy far, far away? Talk about the long arm of the law, right?
- (And now, Sam L. laughs much, much laughter. And he finally offers over the marijuana cigarette he's been possessing the whole time. I respectfully decline. I'm working here.)
- SLJ: And?
- THD: And your name is Maced Hindu.
- SLJ: (And he's laughing much, much laughter again.) Ha ha ha. Now that's funny. But what's my name, seriously.
- THD: Maced Hindu.
- SLJ: Really?
- THD: Yup.
- SLJ: Do I get a side-kick?
- THD: Nope.
- SLJ: Then 2 trillion.
- THD: Done.
- SLJ: Then call me Maced Hindu.
- THD: And your trusty weapon?
- SLJ: Really?
- THD: Yup.
- SLJ: For 3 trillion?
- THD: Done.
- SLJ: My trusty Schwartz-a-negger. I never leave home without it.
- THD: You can't say that.
- SLJ: What?
1See "The Usual Suspects." (Gramercy Pictures; 1995.) Stephen Baldwin gives a top-notch performance in a top-notch mystery with a top-notch ending. Who is Keyser Soze? Come on, man. Does it get any better than that? (Spoiler alert: Keyser Soze is Keyser Soze.)
2"Thanksgiving at the Baldwins" is a great skit idea.3
3l'll work on it. But you'll hafta pay, SNL. My opening offer is 1 quadrillion yuan.