(scene, 11PM, just returned to the couch to watch another episode of Prison Break with Guy on the Couch. The Daver watches Deep Space Throat Nine Downstairs)

Aunt Becky: “FUCK, I just knocked over my Diet Coke.”

The Guy On My Couch: “I got the paper towels.”

Aunt Becky: “No, I mean, like FUCK!”

The Guy On My Couch: “Um…okay?”

Aunt Becky: “There should be a law against this.”

The Guy On My Couch: “…”

Aunt Becky: “No Diet Coke shall spill after 11PM.”

The Guy On My Couch: “…”

Aunt Becky: “Why are you staring at me like Michael Scofield? YOU’RE NOT IN PRISON. YOU DON’T NEED TO BREAK OUT OF IT.”

The Guy On My Couch: “…”

Aunt Becky: “What are you waiting for? CALL FEMA! CALL THE NATIONAL GUARD! CALL AARP! CALL NAACP! CALL THE BLACK PANTHERS! This is a fucking emergency situation.”

The Guy On My Couch: “…”

Aunt Becky: “And tell them to bring Funyons. I’m hungry.”

The Guy On My Couch: “…”

Aunt Becky: “I’d be okay with Chex Mix too. Just, you know, if Doctors Without Borders is out of Funyons.”

The Guy On My Couch: “…”


The Guy On My Couch: (rolls eyes)

Aunt Becky: “Can you stop giving me the Michael Scofield stare, PLEASE? To circumvent your next question, I do not have a fake-gold crucifix with which to help you turn off the electricity.”

The Guy On My Couch: “I think there’s more footage of Michael Scofield staring out the window than any other scene in the show.”

Aunt Becky: “It’s signifying that he’s working something out. You know, how in House, MD (pauses for a moment of silence), they’re always walking with House and talking as a way to show plot progression?”

The Guy On My Couch: “…”

Aunt Becky: “If he just was all, ‘I need a 12×14 cardboard box, a blue felt-tipped pen, and a pink starburst,’ it’d be all, ‘where the shitballs did that come from?’ Looking out the window gives his plans some credence.”

The Guy On My Couch: “What would Scofield use those for?”

Aunt Becky: “The box would be to send a message via carrier pigeon and the blue pen would be a red herring – the pink starburst? That’d be because they’re delicious.”

The Guy On My Couch: (laughs)

Gimmie the Pink Starburst and NO ONE GETS HURT!

Aunt Becky: “Well, they ARE. And where the shit is AAA to clean up my Diet Coke? You DID call them, right? You DID stress that this was a NATIONAL EMERGENCY, RIGHT?”

The Guy On My Couch: “…”

Aunt Becky: “Maybe the IRS can help.”

The Guy On My Couch: “What, are they gonna give you a tax break or something?”

Aunt Becky: “You never do know…” (gazes into the distance)

(several minutes elapse)

Aunt Becky: “If I made a baby with Wentworth Miller, would it cry in a British accent?

The Guy On My Couch: “You’re fired.”

Aunt Becky: “So are you. Where the fuck is the Red Cross?”

4 Responses to A National Freakin’ Disaster

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