This is my script for a skit of a family intervention regarding a really outlandish, crazy 20-something man. The script starts with me coming to the family home for a rare sit-down dinner.
Me: Wow, this is cool! My loving family gathered all in one place just to eat dinner with me!
Mom: Actually, Dustin, we wanted you to come sit down with us today to talk about the direction your life is going in. We’re starting to worry about you.
Me: Aww, c’mon Mom. I’m not all that bad.
Mom: Really? REALLY?! Because your brother linked me to a picture on your Twitter account of you doing cocaine at a gentlemen’s club!
Dad: Easy, Becky. Were discussing, not attacking.
Me: No! First off, I make it flood at the gentlemen’s club. Recognize, woman!
Me: Second, …that was cremated dog remains.
Brother: Cremated dog remains?
Me: Don’t judge me.
Me: And…and… don’t act so surprised. It’s all the rage these days! Who HASN’T snorted cremated dog remains off a stripper’s prosthetic leg at least once in their life?
(Family looks back and forth at each other out of disgust and shock.)
Me: Boom. Come at me, bro. I’m out.
(I start to stand up and sit my napkin down. Dad stops me.)
Dad: That isn’t our only concern, son. The Thombleson’s called and told us they kicked you out of their home and you won’t be watching Timmy any longer.
Me: Did they tell you what he did? That kid is a rascal! Even after I give him my home made Ambien-chip cookies.
Dad: I don’t think what he did warranted your approach.
Me: He put a crusty picture of Nancy Reagan in my wallet, Dad. You don’t masturbate on pictures and put them in another man’s wallet. You just don’t. You don’t!
Dad: You couldn’t just put him in time out? Ground him from video games, maybe?
Me: If there’s one thing I learned from you raising me, which is clearly evidenced by this intervention, it’s that traditional parenting techniques don’t always work.
Dad: So you waterboarded a 13-year-old child? That’s your fix?
Me: In my defense, it was milk. And Timmy—-
Dad: Bullshit! I’m tired of your bullshit!
Me: Geeze, Dad. Calm down…
(A long, awkward silence.)
Sister: We haven’t seen Jennifer around. Did you scare her away, too?
Me: What makes you think I scared her away?
Sister: (Sarcastically) Gee, I don’t know. Why are you wearing a George Washington Junior High School bowling team T-shirt?
Me: It’s laundry day! Take it easy.
Sister: Are you sure she didn’t burn your clothes?
Me: Are you sure she didn’t burn your clothes?
Sister: You’re so immature.
Me: You’re so immature.
Sister: She might have stuck around a little if you hadn’t cheated on her.
Me: Look. If the retarded girl that works the fryer at Long John Silvers wants to eat the little crispies that fall off the hushpuppies out of my belly button, and that just so happens to lead to a blow job AND a celebratory shower…
Me: …I’m going that route 9 times out of 10.
Dad: (Raises eyebrow)
Me: Oh, the eyebrow raise! Look, don’t raise your eyebrow at me like you’ve never peed on a girl in the shower when she’s not looking! I’m human! I’m only human!
(I start fake crying, looking up occasionally to gauge the family’s reaction)
(Family scoffs and leaves room)
Me: (Looking at blowup doll) What! Don’t look at me with that grossly surprised look on your face.
Me: Enough! This is your third strike. Next time I’m deflating you! You’ll go from Kirstie Alley to Calista Flockhart like THAT!
(I purposely knock over a vase and exit the front door.)