Me: The last you saw of my next guest was her hand pushing up from her grave. And now I would ask you to give a big hand to ... Carrie!
(Applause. Enter Carrie. I get up to give her a hug. We go to our seats.)
Me: Now, Carrie, I couldn't help but notice what you did to that hometown of yours. Don't you think you were kind of a sissy?
Carrie: What do you mean? Didn't you see what they did to me? Didn't you see how they mocked me?
Me: You're not the only one who gets mocked, Carrie. I went through about a thousand times worse than you did.
Carrie: But didn't you see how they spoiled my prom night?
Me: So? At least you got to go to the prom. On my prom night I was out delivering my brother's newspapers.
Carrie: They laughed at me and called me cruel names!
Me: You could fill an encyclopedia with all the names I've been called, dear.
Carrie: And they picked on me for no reason at all!
Me: That's not true. They picked on you because you're such a dorkette. It's the sheepish way you express yourself. It's your awkward movements. And who's your fashion consultant? L'il Orphan Annie? If you want to look hip, you should be wearing Adidas track suits and platform shoes with goldfish in the heels. Hey, everyone, look at Carrie! She doesn't have a clue, does she?
(Audience bursts out laughing. Carrie turns to them and rolls back her eyes.)
Me: What, are you trying to set fire to my audience now? They're wax dummies, Carrie. That was recorded laughter. I'm one step ahead of you.
(Carrie turns to me and rolls back her eyes.)
Me: Oh, you're trying that on me now! Your powers are useless against me. Like I said, I've already been through far worse than you. But I can do things to you! (I press a button in my desk, dumping a tub of water on Carrie.) Holy water, Batman!
Carrie: Aaaagh! It burns!
Me: Give us a Flashdance, Carrie!
(Loud recorded laughter drives Carrie from her seat. She runs offstage, sobbing.)
Me: (calling after her) And leave that broom right where it is! You'll have to find your own transportation home! Little sissy.
(Commercial.)
Me: Now for our final guest on the D.S. Show this evening. He's the future president of the United States unless someone does something about it now. Let's hear it for ... Damien!
(Audience cheers. Enter Damien. I help him into his seat because his legs are too short. I take my seat.)
Me: How's it going, squirt?
Damien: Don't call me that.
Me: Sorry. How is your mother, Rosemary? I haven't seen her for a while.
Damien: She had an accident.
Me: Oh. I'll have to send her a card.
Damien: Send flowers to her grave.
Me: That's too bad. What about your father?
Damien: He had an accident, too.
Me: How unfortunate. Well, so much for formalities. When was the Battle of Hastings?
Damien: 1066!
Me: And the French Revolution?
Damien: 1789!
Me: Geez! You're a sharpie! What about -
Damien: 1943!
Me: All right. I'll give you this round. But I bet you can't beat me in a game of horseshoes.
Damien: You're on!
(We get up and take position in front of a horseshoe pit.)
Me: I'll go first. And look, I'll throw mine from way back here since I'm a lot bigger than you.
(I throw the horseshoe and miss the stake.)
Me: Oh well. Your turn. No, you can start from closer than that. No, even closer. You can get right up in front of it...
(I push Damien as he is about to throw. He falls forward onto the stake.)
Me: Oh no! Would you look at that, ladies and gentlemen! Little Damien has impaled himself on a sterling silver stake! What a terrible accident! (I go over to inspect the scene.) Who sharpened this? Artie, I want answers! (Silence.) Better call an ambulance. Wait. (I kneel down and check his vital signs.) Never mind. Sheesh! That whole family was accident prone. And I suppose that ends the guest portion of my show tonight. But hang in there and I'll try to lighten the mood with an acoustic rendition of my song, Ugly. Right after this important message from our sponsors.
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