Rejected Scripts for On-Line Match.com ads

1. Girl in business attire sitting at home office. Coyly playing with a pencil in her mouth. Types. Smiles. Giggles. Removes glasses. Then removes glass eye.

2. Girl in low cut sweater, sipping coffee at computer. Makes a face at her coffee. Stares out the window. Picks up a stack of papers and rifles through them. Smiles. Giggles. Watches computer. Lights up a cigarette. Looks off into the distance. Takes another sip from her lukewarm coffee and says, "Don't worry Maroney. We'll find the son of a bitch that killed you. I know he's out there." Undoes her ponytail.

3. Girl in button up shirt "discovers" her computer and web-cam. Types. Smiles. Giggles. Takes out small revolver. Spins chamber. Puts it to her head and pulls the trigger. Giggles. Types. Giggles. Takes out lip-stick and writes backwards on screen "Green June Uriah." Giggles. Types. Giggles. Takes off shirt to reveal pink tank-top. Lights a candle and holds her arm over the flame. Makes pouty lips.

2. Girl on sofa, clearly passed out. Wakes up. Vomits. Looks into webcam with bloodshot eyes and the vacuous stare of someone trying to piece the previous night together. Small horse wearing top hat enters the background.

Letters to Dr. House

Dear Dr. House,

I am a caucasian male, 42. I suffer from a variety of symptoms that include anal bleeding, crooked eyebrow, and jelly knee. Can you help me? My condition is preventing from living my life-long dream of being appealing.

Sincerely,

Greg in DesMoines

Dear Greg,

I am not a doctor. I am an actor who plays a doctor for a fictional t.v. drama, which airs Mondays nights on FOX. I can do nothing to help your disgusting condition. However, it just so happens that "jelly knee" is the featured disease on next weeks episode, so please make sure you and all your friends watch it. Now please leave me alone.

Dr. House

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Dear Dr. House,

Help me, I'm dying! At least I think I'm dying. I am a twenty-four year old woman and yes, I am over-weight. I want lipo-suction, but my doctor tells me it would put me at a major health risk as I am a heavy bleeder. Please save me!

Tammy, Athens (Georgia)

Dear Tammy,

I don't know how you got my address, especially since you believe me to be Dr. House who has a fictional address on the hit t.v. show airing Monday nights on FOX. However, you sound nice. Maybe you should focus on your personality. Also, if you ever lose the weight, please send your old clothes to my friend Pedro. He's an artist who's doing this installation and he needs fat people clothing. It's hard to explain, you really just need to see it. Just send them when you stop being fat.

Sincerely,

Dr. House
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Dear Dr. House,

I am an 8-year old boy who has a rare disorder. My parents tell me I am cursed by god. Can I come stay at your hospital so you can solve my case at the last possible second with some treatment that breaks all the rules and beats all the odds?

Sincerely,

Eric, Chicago

Dear Eric,

Is your mom hot?

Sincerely,

Dr. House

If You Love Me, You'll Drink A Glass of My Urine

Hey, babe. Just lettin' you know how much the past eight days have meant to me. I knew from the first moment I saw you at that "Jonas Brothers" concert that I had to hook up with you. I think it's time we took our relationship to the next level. Don't get me wrong. That time we got it on at the thrift store I work at, on that pile of pillow shams was special for me, too. But I'm talking about a degree of intimacy that few people achieve: I want you to drink my urine.

You know I would do anything for you. That's why I'm going to attempt to not drink as many Monster drinks nor eat as much cauliflower, in preparation for the day or evening when you prove your feelings for me by chugging a cup of my very own lemonade.

I know recently we've had our problems. And again, I want to say how I didn't know that girl was sixteen, nor did I know we just happened to be in your backyard. But I would say that coming off that meth-binge when you said you'd never speak to me again more than proved my love for you. It wasn't pretty. Trust me. I would've much rather drank a cup of my own urine than having the shits, throwing up and hallucinating about fucking Yogi Bear and having my step-mom be there to clean it all up.

If you want, I can drop some science on you so you feel better about doing it. There's some dudes that piss on their hands before baseball games so they don't have to wear gloves. And in some cultures, the drinking of ones urine is like taking a blood oath. Just be glad I'm not asking you to drink my blood, because that'd be gross.

I will also make myself available to drink a cup of your urine. I will do it. Remember that time you had your period and I had to go to the bathroom after you and I saw your tampon in the trash? That's almost as bad, nay, worse, than drinking urine. So it looks like you owe me one and since I don't menstruate, this is the only option.

By the way, I won't be kissing you on the mouth for at least 48 hours after the drinking of said urine, but I will be at Wal-Mart, picking up a dvd copy of "Sisterhood of the Traveling Whatevers" because I remember you saying you liked it.

FW: TIPS FOR WOMEN

PLEASE FORWARD THIS ON TO EVERY WOMAN YOU KNOW
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THIS IS AMUST READ FOR ANY WOMAN! THESE TIPS COULD SAVE YOUR LIFE! A GOOD FRIEND OF MINE CAN ATTEST TO THE FIRST ONE!

* If you are ever in an elevator with another man who tries to rape you, push the 3rd floor button 7 times. This sends a signal to the control room and they will pump the elevator full of gas that is only poisonous to rapists. Don't worry, you will be fine. You may experience slight nausea, but isn't that better than being raped?

* If you are ever raking leaves in October, and a rapist pops out of the pile of leaves, tell him he can rape you only after he recites the lyrics to the "Growing Pains" theme-song. Once he finishes the first line, rack him in the balls with your rake. The pain and shame of not being able to finish the song will cause him to hang his head and slowly limp away.

* If a male employee of Chucky Cheese ever corners you in a restroom there and tries to rape you, inform him that you can identify someone in the dining area who is piggy-backing off someone else's salad buffet. He will immediately stop his unwanted advances to catch the thief, at which point you can leave.

* If you go to the doctor for any sort of illness and asks you if you want an injection, refuse it. He will mix "rape serum" in with the medicine. This only works if you actually tell the physician why you are refusing the injection. Upon hearing this, he will realize the game is up and will leave your town.

* If you are ever fishing in Lake Livingston, and you reel in a rapist, say "Rapist, rapist on my bow, rapist, rapist, leave me now!" And he will dissipate in a mist, never to rape again.

* If you consult a magic 8-ball and ask if "Will I be raped today?" and the answer is "Very likely," shake it again.

* If Vin Diesel ever tries to coerce you into his car for purposes of rape by telling you he's the famous actor AND the inventor of diesel fuel, do not get into his vehicle. Instead, from the relative safety of the sidewalk, flatter him by telling him how good he was in "The Scorpion King." When he angrily snaps that that was The Rock and not him, apologize and tell him you enjoyed watching him play a gay man in "Be Cool." If he doesn't vomit with indignation, certainly raping a woman will be the last thing on his mind, as he drives off to contemplate his meaningless career/existence.

* Every Grecian man is a rapist and will use all his powers towards rape. Just know this.

* And finally, if you are using precious work time to read forwards on how to remain safe from rapists, chances are the email was originally sent by a rapist who sent it only to distract you so that he can position himself to rape you.

PLEASE SEND THIS ONTO EVERYW OMAN YOU KNOW!!! TO DELETE THIS MAKES YOU AN ACCOMPLICE TO RAPE, ASSHOLE!!!

We Hate Our Children, Please Drive Recklessly

by George Sodwell
July 2002 Yard of the Month Winner

I saw you do a double-take at our street sign there. Don't worry. You didn't accidentally drive into some bizarro world like East St. Louis. You read that right. Although you might expect a sign like that to read "We Love Our Children - Please Drive Safely," it really does read "We Hate Our Children - Please Drive Recklessly." It's the Lord's truth. I can't stand the little brats that run rampant in this neighborhood, and I would appreciate nothing more than for some speeding vehicle to take out a few. Or a dozen, or so. Surprise me.

Feel free to blow down this street. Wherever you're trying to get to, I guarantee you, you're not getting there fast enough. Speed limit says 30. That's for girls. Go 50. Especially in the late afternoon when they get home from the schools they're flunking in. Don't worry if you hit a few of the little bastards on accident. Or on purpose. It doesn't matter to me. That's how little I care.

They usually start playing their soccer game about 3:30 or so. I don't follow the sport that much, but I thought you scored "goals" by kicking the ball into the net. To watch these hellions play, you'd think the goal was to kick it into my yard all over my crepe mertles. And they must crap these balls on a daily basis. No matter how many I confiscate and kill by plunging a screwdriver into it, they always seem to find more. They can't afford shoes and indoor furniture, but they have a lifetime supply of soccer balls? Don't make no sense.

If you can, try to take out the tall kid who seems to go by the name "Julio." Mr. Julio there decided it would be funny to pour a bunch of soap flakes into the fountain I keep in my front yard in memory of my dead wife. Well, the second dead one. Anyway, him and his little buddies thought it was pretty damn funny to see the fountain overflowing with soap bubbles. I wonder if Julio would find it amusing if I called CPS on his parents, for letting him play in the street until eight o'clock p.m.?

Used to be such a respectable neighborhood. No one under forty-seven. Then the Rodriguez's moved in with their four children. Then there was that house that caught fire. Then there was that foreclosure, which got sold real cheap to the Villanueva's. They had three kids. Then suddenly I found myself to be the oldest person on this street, at the tender age of seventy-three. And the only white person.

I've stood here talking your ear off long enough, you've got places to be and fast. Really fast. Don't worry about stopping. I'll take care of everything. Just listen (ahem) "Gee officer, I'm just an old man, I can't remember things like what the car looked like that ran over these four kids." Or six.

Why Can't Pretty Wrapping Paper Be Enough Of a Gift?

by Thelma Cortlandt
octogenarian

It's so good to see you! I haven't seen you since the last holiday/birthday/ and/or funeral! I'm sorry I yelled through my door "Who is it," but I saw a sinister looking Mexican man walking around the neighborhood earlier today. Can I get you some sugar-free, caffeine-free, colorless Diet Pepsi?

You know, there's a lot of thing I just don't get about this world. VCRs. Most telephones. Mr. Drew Carey. But one thing that always makes me happy is pretty wrapping paper. Reminds me of the good old days when it was the thought that mattered, not the gift. And that whatever the thought was, it was wrapped up in paper featuring a warm set of colors and realistic paintings of dogs and/or cats in playful poses.

I would be good at thinking up designs. It seems so many of them are thought up by computers. All flashy and symmetrical and precise. Who wants to look at a series of lines with varying length when you can enjoy the moment captured as two puppies tussle over a candy cane? Or a cat nibbling on Santa's cookies! My, oh my! I better slow down, lest all this giggling gives me another stroke.

There are two things I can't stand regarding wrapping paper. One, is how everyone just quickly rips it open and throws it on the floor. Seems like such a waste. The other is how tacky some of the wrapping paper has gotten these days. With the exception of Charlie Brown and his friends, I can't think of one cartoon character who deserves to be immortalized on the wrapping paper. No wonder people are so hasty to discard it when it's featuring that obnoxious Bart Simpson character or that Sponge-looking thing with the big Jew nose.

In my day the wrapping paper was such a special part of the gift. No matter how precious the gift was: A shawl, a thimble set, or a Polio vaccine. Folks cared about the wrapping. Times were just simpler I guess. You didn't have all these fancy (sic) toilets that flush themselves. No sir. You had to make sure all the other faucets in the house were off and move the lever and fiddle with the thing on the inside when you heard it running and the commode was full.

Simpler times.

I Am a Poor-man's Poor-man

by Hobo Tony
Hobo

First off, let me just tell you "God bless you." Secondmost, let me just say that I got five kids and a sick wife sitting in a car just around the corner there. We just got in from Anchorage, Georgia and our car is broke, two of my kids got sick, and one are retarded. My wife has cancer in her toe and I've only got enough money to purchase a can of Spaghetti-o's. If you could spare any change, I would appreciate it so much.

Look man, I ain't tryin' to hustle you or nothin'. I love the Lord. But the workers over at that Popeye's Chicken by the bus-stop do not love me, because I was stealing ketchup packets and asking folks for change. So if you could find it in your heart to help me out with my four kids, I know it would make the Lord happy.

You see this scab on my elbow? I got that when I asked a fella at the museum if I could use the toilet. He called a colored security fella over and he apparently did not have time to help me and my seven children I got in the Geo Prism just around the corner there. You can't see it from here.

Anything you can spare will be appreciated. Well, not anything. Some young fella earlier handed me a prophylactic which I ain't got no use for. Me and my nine kids can't eat that.

What? You'll say a prayer for me later?

Excuse me, man. First off, let me just tell you "God bless you." Secondmost...