won’t someone think of the children?

December 26th, 2006


[TIMMY, a 15-year-old boy with green hair wearing headphones and carrying a skateboard rocks and bops his way down the hallway of his house, a Billy Idol sneer on his face. He arrives at the door of his room, which has a large DO NOT ENTER sign on it. He opens the door and sees his MOM sitting on the bed, a worried expression on her face.]

TIMMY: MO-OM! Can’t I have any privacy around this house? What are you doing in here?

MOM: Timmy, we have to talk.

TIMMY: About wha— (He notices the small, white, paper-wrapped stick in his mother’s hands) That’s not mine!

MOM: Timmy, this is serious business. Who got you into this — this thing?

TIMMY: No one! I’m not gonna fink on my friends! I’m no stoolie!

MOM: [Stands and walks over to Timmy] Timmy, you just said “Fink”. I know what you’ve been doing. What is this, Timmy? [She holds up the stick in front of Timmy’s face]

TIMMY: It’s… it’s a marijuana cigarette!

MOM: Timmy, this isn’t just a harmless marijuana cigarette. This is greasepaint. You’ve been Vaudevilling with your friends, haven’t you?

TIMMY: No, I….

MOM: You just said “fink”, Timmy.


MOM: I know how it is with you kids. It starts with a baudy rhyme, then it’s a little softshoe number, and before you know it, you’re seduced by all the glamour — the hot lights, the cool juleps, the fancy ladies.

TIMMY: [Now looking at his feet] Yeah, mom. It’s true. I’m sorry. I’ll throw out the greasepaint.

MOM: Timmy, sorry’s not good enough. Do you have anything else you’d like to tell me about?

TIMMY: [Suddenly a panicked look in his eyes as he glances at the hatbox on top of his boom box] No!

MOM: [Looks where he’s looking] No? [She walks over to the hat box, opens it and looks inside. She takes out…] A porkpie hat, Timmy? Is that what this is?

TIMMY: [Grabs the hat away from MOM, then runs out the door, tears streaming down his face.]

[CUT TO: a street corner. TIMMY, dressed in a striped jacket and wearing his porkpie hat, is doing a shuffling, awkward dance while the rain washes the eyeliner down his face. He has a straw top hat on the ground with a nickel in it in front of him as he sings,] Mmmmy little buttercup! Has the sweetest smiiiiile…


3 Responses to “won’t someone think of the children?”

  1. rachel says:

    Oh, that’s just silly.

  2. Joshua says:

    That’s an astute observation.

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