Tag: Andrew

Professional Progress Report

Posted on by Betsey Horton

Just stopping by to update anyone who cares about my progress in becoming a professional writer/digital nomad. Someday I will be financially and location independent. For now, I remain trapped in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Alas.

Novel

Several weeks have passed since I started working on my novel again. Things have progressed well. I’ve been reading through my website archives and pulling out what I need for my narrative. It’s so much easier with the new outline I made. The new outline is allowing me to mercilessly cut out all of the extra crap that has accumulated over time. Killing my darlings has never been so easy.

It’s trucking along well. I’ve been trying to do a little bit every day. Reading my blog from the beginning can be a challenge for me sometimes. It makes me very emotional given everything that has happened since I started. I constantly find myself frustrated by the fact that I established several things up-front (ig: I’m a writer, I’m writing a memoir about my life, I struggle with depression/anxiety, I have a bad history with relationships, and I’m trying to work through my issues), yet so many people refuse to acknowledge any of this. I’m tired of intentionally being misunderstood.

It’s also clear from the early blogs what those people from Bloody Mary’s were trying to do to me. There were clearly coordinated efforts to gaslight me, bait me into reacting, and instigate arguments. It’s really pathetic and sad. It’s also glaring obvious what a sociopath the owner really is.

Ah yes, this character. This character I never planned to write, who snuck up on me out of nowhere, took over the narrative, and used everything I wrote against me. What a snake. It’s depressing to read knowing there is now an unpublishable manuscript dedicated entirely to this character and his sexy ways. It’s crazy. I still can’t believe it. So that’s something I constantly have to deal with. Fun!

The good news is, most of the stuff I wrote about him won’t be making it into the final version. The stuff that does remain doesn’t paint a very nice picture of him, mostly because he is not a very nice person. It is what it is.

I’m super nervous to meet with the agent next week, so I signed up for a pitching workshop at the conference to guide me through the most important ten minutes of my life. No pressure or anything, lol. But seriously, I can’t even think about it or I will totally fucking freak out. I don’t have Xanax to help me with panic attacks, so I’m just avoiding thoughts about it altogether.

Overall, I’m very confident in the current version. I believe in the character arc. I really think the flow of the plot makes sense now and that this character’s journey is relatable to people (mainly women) who struggle with mental health and bad relationships. I’m glad I took time away from it. It really allowed me to see the forest from the trees. Thanks again for everything, Paris Writing Workshop. I never would have made it this far without you!

Blog

As I’ve stated before, I am currently in the process of transforming my blog into a profitable business venture. It’s hard. It’s take a long time. I overthink everything and constantly compare myself to the other bloggers and influencers I’ve been studying. I’ve learned to turn the jealousy into motivation, but it can still be a struggle. The grand vision doesn’t line up with the day-to-day yet.

I’ve been developing content plans, which is good, but I’m still falling short on my posting goals. A lot of it has to do with anxiety and general feelings of worthlessness. It’s pretty common in this world to compare yourself to the false perfection promised by Instagram. I am no different. I fall victim to it every day, especially because I go out of my way to study other blogs and websites.

One thing I remind myself is that I’m just not there… yet. I will be someday, but not yet. It doesn’t happen overnight. A solid, high-quality blog takes time to build. These bloggers didn’t do it overnight either. A lot of them struggled for years and constantly moved in and out of their parents’ houses. It’s part of the journey. I can’t fault myself for generally being on the right track.

Courses & Job Hunting

I’m finally starting to make significant headway on this. There’s a lot to learn. I’m transitioning from gig-hopping in the service industry to full-time digital nomad. There’s a lot to learn in terms of practical skills. I’m exploring a lot of different options, such as digital marketing, copywriting, UX writing, and web development. I want to cover all my bases so I have more options.

I’ve worked may way through quite a few of the courses now. I’m developing more of coherent plan as I go along. I look at remote job boards every day to get some idea of what they’re looking for. My anxiety is still preventing me from actually applying, so I’m focusing all my energy on my courses for now. I think once I round out my skillset and build a solid portfolio, I will feel more confident in myself. As they say on FDS, develop the confidence of a mediocre white man.

I was seriously considering signing up for a TEFL certification course, but it’s financially out-of-reach for me at the moment. It’s always something I can do later on when I’m in a stronger financial position. It’s just not in the cards right now. That’s why I decided to focus my energy on the skills I’m learning from Udemy for $12 a course. The projected salaries for these jobs are also much higher, which is better for my champagne lifestyle.

Networking & Social Life

This is going poorly, as per usual. I tried to put myself out there with the Paris International Film Festival and managed to fall spectacularly on my face. My anxiety is high and my confidence is low. However, it’s not really about me at the end of the day. We are here to watch movies and celebrate up-and-coming filmmakers. In life, you don’t always get to walk the red carpet. Sometimes you’re just in the audience, and that’s okay too. I’m just happy to be here supporting other creatives.

I’m still lurking more than commenting in all of the Facebook groups and reddit subs I’ve joined. Every once in awhile, I pose a question. I always get good, helpful responses, whether it’s about job hunting, traveling, digital nomad life, mental health issues, or “leveling up.” Joining online communities is helping me ease back into a social life, which has been really hard for me to do.

I’ve taken a couple communications courses to help me with this ongoing issue. I’m also seeking out CBT workbooks to aid me in my quest to develop meaningful relationships with other people. I’ve never been the most popular person. After everything that happened with Bloody Mary’s, my trust in most people is gone. I’m struggling to learn how to embrace relationships instead of fear them. The pandemic doesn’t help. Neither does the crap that happened with my cousin. Alas, I remain hopeful that someday this will change for the better and I can finally host the fantastic dinner party of my dreams.

Routine

I’m back in a pretty solid routine. I wake up every day at 8am, come to the cafe, write for a few hours, and then spend the afternoon doing whatever I want. I’ve figured out a nice, comfortable way to work from home. I have a little lap desk I use in bed while wearing sweatpants. Yes, I know, I should set up my home office again and I won’t feel so scatterbrained. I’m not there yet. Besides, it’s the middle of the SD winter. It’s dark and cold and my bed is so soft and warm. I don’t want to leave it.

Mental Health

I’m fighting back against the depression and anxiety pretty hard. It’s ruined my life for so many years now. I’m tired of it. I want to be a different person now. A better person. It’s a lot of hard work. Being in this town really doesn’t help. It seems to drag me back down to where I was before in spite of my best efforts.

I’ve had a couple of minor episodes since I got back. The last few days have been particularly hard. That’s why I’m writing this progress report. I feel like I’m about to jump off a cliff, so I need to spell out everything I’m working on to remind myself that it’s a process and I’m just not there yet. Don’t give up now, Betsey! You’re almost there!

I will get there someday. I’m just not there yet. It’s a process. It takes time. It’s okay. I don’t have to justify it to anyone else. All I can do is live my truth.

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SCRIPT: Betsey Returns to the Island

Posted on by Betsey Horton

Author’s Note: This was originally written in October 2018. I didn’t publish it because assholes were causing me a lot of problems at the time. Also, I’m not sure where to go with it. Should I continue the series, or should I abandon the Island of Lost Guys forever? Please let me know in the comments! Thank you in advance!

On last week’s episode of “Island Escapes International…”

BETSEY and a REAL ESTATE AGENT are standing on a desert island somewhere off the coast of Belize.

BETSEY: This Island will be perfect for all of my Lost Guys. I will build them a house so grand, they will never want to leave me ever again.

REAL ESTATE AGENT: That will be one million dollars, please.

BETSEY: Shut up and take my money!

REAL ESTATE AGENT: The exchange rate for Americans is really good down here, no?

BETSEY: That’s what happens when terrible first world foreign policy allows third world countries to become havens for money laundering, drug running, human trafficking, and gang warfare.

REAL ESTATE AGENT: No comment.

BETSEY: Enough about politics! I’ve got a house to build.

Three months later, Island Escapes International checks back in with BETSEY to see how her little project is coming along…

The scene opens with a flyover shot of a beautiful, exotic island somewhere in a far away land. Area Codes by Ludacris plays in the background as a private jet circles the island. It lands gracefully in a clearing. The door opens and a staircase appears. A red carpet rolls out.

BETSEY appears at the top of the staircase looking glamorous. She is wearing an emerald green sparkling fringe dress, a glittering headband with an ornate peacock feather fascinator, multiple strings of pearls, and a fur coat. She waltzes down the red carpet in her fabulous high heels. She is followed by 25 of her closest friends. They are also dressed up in 1920’s-themed clothing. BETSEY stops to greet the cameras.

BETSEY: Welcome one and all to the grand opening of The Island of Lost Guys! Here you will find an exotic wonder never before seen anywhere in literature! I’ve searched the world far and wide in search of these rare creatures of all shapes and sizes. Behold! My ridiculous collection of Ex-Boyfriends!

A sign appears on the screen reading: “VERY IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER: The term “Boyfriend,” as used in this story, is defined as any man Betsey may have dated, hooked up with, crushed on, or derived inspiration from by staring at them from across the room. Why? Because it saves a lot of time.”

Cut to shot of a large mansion built in the middle of the clearing. The house is a white Southern plantation-style home with lavender shutters and a row of elaborate Corinthian-style columns out front. A grey slate path leads a trail to the grand front steps. Antique rocking chairs sway out on the front porch. Empty beer cans cover the grass and toilet paper hangs from the bushes. Mardi Gras beads decorate the windows and doors. A flock of plastic pink flamingos hangs out on the front lawn.

BETSEY: Wait a second. Something isn’t right here. This isn’t how I left my house!

BETSEY leads both the group and the camera crew to the front door. BETSEY unlocks the house and throws open the clean glass French doors to reveal a messy, smelly, utterly disgusting man cave. More empty beer cans litter the floor, joined by half-eaten bags of chips, used solo cups, and crushed Mountain Dew cartons. Everyone gasps in shock at the sight.

BETSEY: [laughing nervously] Looks like the guys had another party last night! Ridiculous! I know for a fact I told them I was coming. I don’t know why they didn’t clean up!

BETSEY leads the crew through the foyer and living room into the kitchen, where the mess is even worse. The garbage is overflowing with trash, the counter is lined with liquor bottles, and the counters are stained red from the cheap mixers. A gigantic stack of dishes sits abandoned in the sink, left for dead some time ago. The door to the backyard is slightly ajar, with a dog’s muddy paw prints trailing in and out of the house. An empty keg rolls across the deck like a tumbleweed in the wind. Everyone looks over the scene in horror.

BETSEY: I can’t believe this! How could they leave the house like this when they knew they were going to be on national television?! Don’t they have any idea we’re live?! Men are so ungrateful! You give them a whole house and they trash it! Typical!

Everyone follows BETSEY as she storms up the stairs to the second floor to wake THE GUYS. She raises her voice and lets out the most obnoxious holler they’ve ever heard. All of them simultaneously jump awake, throw on their uniforms, and assemble in the hall. They stand at attention as BETSEY marches up and down the hall to inspect the lot. She immediately notices who is missing from the lineup.

BETSEY: Alright, which one of you measly maggots decided it was a good idea to leave that mess downstairs?! Don’t you realize we’re live on national television here?!

THE GUYS stand together in silent solidarity. Betsey rolls her eyes and marches to the end of the line. There she finds TOM DE LA SALLE. He looks especially determined to play the part of LOYAL GRUNT SOLDIER, a random extra in Scene Three who captures the attention of the director, becomes a crucial supporting player over the course of the movie, and receives his own dramatic death scene in the final act. As a result, he stars in the director’s next five productions, wins multiple Oscars, and quickly becomes an international sensation.

BETSEY: You! Soldier! You seem like you’re looking for a chance to stand out from the crowd! I always know a Star when I see one. Tell me. What do you have to say?

TOM: [stands up tall and salutes BETSEY fiercely] Ma’am, yes, Ma’am! It was the President of the Belizean chapter of the Mu Alpha Tau Zeta fraternity, ma’am!

BETSEY: [confused] I beg your pardon? The Who of the What now?

TOM: The President of the Fraternity.

BETSEY: [eyes narrow darkly] What fraternity?

TOM: The fraternity we all joined in a Secret Ceremony in the basement. He told us it was real jack rabbit blood, but it just tasted like regular old blackberry brandy to me. Never much liked the stuff myself. Always thought it tasted like cough syrup.

BETSEY: [twitching angrily] I never authorized any sort of Greek activity on this island! There is no way this is a respectable, legitimate, registered organization. I’m not dealing with the legal ramifications of this. I’m going to have to shut it down.

TOM: Well, good luck with that one. He’s not going to let it go easily. It was crazy how it all happened. Everything was normal. All of us were just relaxing out here in our hammocks. The one day, HE showed up. Suddenly, he took over everything. [snaps fingers] Just like that.

BETSEY: I know exactly what you mean. What happened next?

TOM: He rounded us up, put us in bunks, and sent us out to do the grunt work. It’s been three years now since he enslaved us, but I never lost hope. Every once in awhile he throws a party to boost moral, but slogging through the day is brutal. We built this house with blood, sweat, and tears. Good men died here. So many good men! So many good god damned men!

TOM breaks down and starts crying dramatically. The crowd stands in awe, completely enraptured by his performance. BETSEY wipes a single tear from her eye.

BETSEY: Beautiful. Just beautiful. That is some real goddamn talent right there!

THE CROWD applauds. BETSEY promptly resumes her angry stance.

BETSEY: And pray tell, good solider, what is the name of this so-called “president” of this obviously fake “Mu Alpha Tau Zeta” fraternity? Is he aware that no legitimate Greek organization contains four letters in its name?

TOM: It was Andrew Darling, ma’am.

THE CROWD gasps.

BETSEY: [fuming] Of course it was.

TOM: As for your second question, I can neither confirm nor deny he has any knowledge of the Greek system. I can only say that he believes himself to be The Emperor of the whole island and therefore controls everything that goes on here.

BETSEY: Well… we’ll see about that, won’t we?

TOM: He’s upstairs in the penthouse if you’re looking for him.

BETSEY: [sarcastically] Of course he’s in the penthouse. Where else would he be?

TOM: I can take you up there if you like.

BETSEY: Lead the way. As for the rest of you, clean up this mess right now! I want this island to shine like the top of the Chrysler building!

THE GUYS: Whatever you say, Boss!

BETSEY: Damn right.

TOM leads BETSEY & COMPANY upstairs to the penthouse. At the top of the stairway they find an elaborate purple and gold door with a sign written in childish crayon scrawl, “ANDREW’S ROOM. NO GIRLS ALLOWED! (EXCEPT 4 MOM).” The door promptly opens and two young college girls come tramping out in the same clubwear they wore to the party the night before. Their makeup is smeared and their hairstyles askew. They stop giggling when greeted with the sight of a full camera crew.

BETSEY: Excuse me, I don’t mean to be rude, but… who the hell are you?

COLLEGE GIRL 1: What’s with the camera crew? Are we on TV right now?

COLLEGE GIRL 2: [cutting in front and taking a selfie in front of the cameras] I’m Ashley and this is Tiffany! We’re Influencers!

BETSEY: Uh huh, yeah. Right. Sure you are. And tell me, ladies, just what are you doing in my house?

TIFFANY: This is your house?

BETSEY: It is indeed my house. Let me guess. Andrew told you otherwise.

ASHLEY: He sure did! He said this was his house and we were welcome to come over to use the pool anytime we want.

BETSEY: [rolling her eyes] Well, unfortunately you have been misinformed. This is my house and you are not to come back here anymore, especially to use my pool. No other women are allowed on this island except for me. It’s my island I bought for my ex-boyfriends. You are not welcome here.

TIFFANY: Oh… sorry!

ASHLEY: We’ll just be going now.

BETSEY: Great. I’ll send one of my minions to get the helicopter. I support your right to party, but you can’t do it in my house. Go back to school and find a real frat house to get wasted in. Thanks again for visiting The Island of Lost Guys. Get home safe!

COLLEGE GIRLS: Thanks!

THE COLLEGE GIRLS slip past the camera crew and disappear down the stairs, stopping to take several selfies on the way down. BETSEY shakes her head and looks back at the door with dread.

BETSEY: All right, let’s see what’s behind Door Number Three!

BETSEY throws the door open to find a wide open studio space. A ring of strategically placed chairs sits in the middle of the room with various instruments strewn about. In the corner rests an old futon with a lump of blankets on top and a golden retriever puppy sleeping in the corner of the bed. BETSEY approaches the futon and pulls off the blankets to reveal a disheveled (early) middle-aged man with messy hair, a heavy five o’clock shadow, and a total dadbod. He is completely naked from head to toe and holding his dick in his hand. He jumps up in surprise and quickly covers himself with the sheet.

BETSEY: Andrew! What is the meaning of this?

ANDREW: [hazily] Oh… um… heyyyy, baby. What are you doing here?

BETSEY: I called three days ago to let you know in advance I was coming! I told you to clean up the house! Why isn’t it done?

ANDREW: Uhhh…

BETSEY: And while you’re at it, would you mind explaining to everyone who those girls were we just met outside your door?

ANDREW: What girls? I didn’t see any girls.

BETSEY: We have them on camera telling us you invited them over here.

ANDREW: I don’t know who you’re talking about. Sorry.

BETSEY: [points to a lime green thong on the floor] One of them left their underwear right there.

ANDREW: Wow, that’s so weird. How did that get there? Is that yours?

BETSEY: [gives him a look of disgust] Seriously? You think I, Betsey Horton, Writer Extraordinaire, would ever wear anything lime green, let alone a g-string? I am a woman with style, class, and taste. I would NEVER wear a lime green thong!

BETSEY throws the thong in ANDREW’S face. He takes a quick sniff of it before tossing it to the floor.

ANDREW: I’m not sure where that came from. Sorry.

BETSEY: [visibly disgusted] Roll the tape!

THE CREW plays back the video footage of TIFFANY and ASHLEY for ANDREW. He looks down at the floor and cringes.

ANDREW: Ohhh… uhhh… right… uhh… those girls. Yeah. Um… They were just here to clean the house.

BETSEY: So you hired a set of maids. I see.

ANDREW: That’s right!

BETSEY: Maids that you were just found in bed with. In a filthy house.

ANDREW: You didn’t find me in bed with them. They were in here cleaning the room.

BETSEY: They certainly weren’t dressed like they were cleaning the room! They were wearing crop tops and mini skirts with six inch heels!

ANDREW: It’s a specialized service. They’re supposed to dress that way.

BETSEY: Which explains why you’re naked, of course.

ANDREW: I’m not naked. I’m wearing a sheet.

BETSEY: [heavy sigh] Andrew, I just want you know I’m very disappointed in you right now. I thought you were more responsible than this. I thought I could trust you to be left alone in charge of the house. Now I see I was wrong. You’ve humiliated me in front of a live audience. Yet again! Thanks for nothing.

ANDREW: Wait! Stop! I can explain!

BETSEY storms out of the room. The cameras linger on ANDREW for just a moment as he calls after her. THE CREW proceeds to follow BETSEY as she walks down the hallway and back to the foyer. She stops at the top of the stairs, takes a deep breath, and turns around. She clears her throat and smiles at the camera as if absolutely nothing is wrong.

BETSEY: Well, it looks like we’ve discovered the main culprit behind the party! Typical men! They really do believe deep down in their primitive little lizard brains that women are in charge of the household chores! We’ve clearly got a lot of work to do here, so I guess that means it’s time for a commercial break. We’ll be back after these somewhat questionable messages from our sponsors.

COMMERCIAL BREAK

To be continued…


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57

SCRIPT: Mad Dog’s Associations

Posted on by Betsey Horton

INT: BLOODY MARY’S BAR – DAY

Mad Dog is sitting at the end of the bar having a drink when Sam comes over to wash the dishes.

Mad Dog: So… about that Super Bowl Party…

Sam: Oh sorry, Pup, but you’re not allowed to come anymore.

Mad Dog: Why not?

Sam: Because of your “associations.”

Mad Dog: Associations? What associations?

Sam: You know… your associations.

Mad Dog gives Sam a weird look and thinks it over for a moment. Finally, he has a realization.

Mad Dog: It was Billy the Biker Guy, wasn’t it?

Sam: What?

Mad Dog: I used to roll with the Bandidos, you know. That was back when I went to Barber College in Sioux City.

Sam: Um… no. Your other associations.

Mad Dog: [thinks it over again] Oh, you mean Doug. Doug the Drug Dealer. I used to sell mattresses for him back in the day. He still owes me money.

Sam: No.

Mad Dog: It was that damn Indian, wasn’t it? Joe Three Deer! He’s always getting me into trouble. He’s the reason I’ll never go back to the Rez. It’s been thirty years and he’s still trying to kill me!

Sam: No, no, no. I meant your OTHER associations.

Mad Dog: Ohhhh… now I see. It was that set of blonde twins I married in Vegas.

Sam: What?

Mad Dog: Yeah, they were my cousins.

Sam: Huh?

Mad Dog: It was a fast wedding.

Sam: Uhhh… no.

Mad Dog: Well then, I have no idea who you’re talking about.

Sam: I’m talking about Betsey. Betsey Horton. The Writer Extraordinaire. You’re guilty by association. Therefore, you’re disinvited to the party. I don’t want you passing information to her about what goes on here, which is a really dumb thing to say because literally nothing is going on here at all. I know that because I’m bored. So bored. So, so, so, so, so bored. That’s why I’m using you to start this shit with her again. Because I’m bored.

Mad Dog: Really?

Sam: Yeah, really.

Mad Dog: [staring at him in disbelief] We don’t talk about you like that.

Sam: It doesn’t matter. You’re guilty by association. Also, I am bored. Did I mention the fact that I’m bored? Because I am really bored.

Mad Dog gives Sam the once over and shakes his head. Then he finishes his drink and gets up to leave.

Mad Dog: You know, this bar used to be a really great place. Now it’s just a bunch of fucking yuppies.

Mad Dog leaves the bar and wanders over to Betsey’s house, where he finds her writing about a bunch of people who have nothing to do with South Dakota at all.

Mad Dog: You’re not gonna believe what just happened to me at Bloody Mary’s.

Betsey: Let me guess. Someone was a douchebag to you because you have the nerve to be seen out in public with me.

Mad Dog: Yeah.

Betsey rolls her eyes, yawns, and goes back to her writing.

Betsey: Well, if they don’t want me writing about them like they’re a bunch of petty assholes, then they should really stop acting like a bunch of petty assholes. Maybe try apologizing instead?

Mad Dog: Ehhh… fuck ’em. Let’s go to a dive bar in some random small town nearby. I’ll introduce you to some real people.

Betsey: I’m already there, fam.

They hop in the car and drive over the bridge to Nebraska.

The End

Post Views: 36

STORY: Place Your Bets

Posted on by Betsey Horton

One not so special afternoon, Sam and The Line of Death are all huddled around the end of the bar pouring over pages of stats. Betsey is sitting on the opposite side of the bar watching them with mild interest.

In spite of her better judgment, her curiosity ultimately gets the better of her. She wanders over to the opposite side of the room where all of them are sitting and takes a seat beside Jaimie. All of the old men turn around and look at her suspiciously.

“What’s up, guys?” Betsey asks pleasantly. “I thought I’d stop being anti-social for once and come join the party.”

The Line of Death continues to glare at her in silence. Betsey flips her hair back and smiles cheerfully, determined to make herself some new friends.

“What are you guys working on so diligently over here?”

“It’s stats,” Sam says quickly, holding up a sheet with multiple rows and columns. “For baseball.”

Betsey looks at the sheet of paper and rolls her eyes with disinterest.

“Numbers,” she grumbles. “I’m not so good at those. I’m much better with words, as I’m sure you all have noticed. I still like baseball anyway, especially with the amount of hot beefcakes out there playing the field.”

Sam scoffs and tosses his head back. The expression on his face is that of pure jealousy.

“Beefcakes,” he mutters under his breath. “I’ll show you a hot beefcake…”

“What?”

Sam snaps his head back to attention.

“Huh?”

Betsey shakes her head and turns back to the Line of Death. Their ice cold stares are unwavering.

“So…” she asks casually, “Are you guys taking bets, or what?”

“It’s a one hundred dollar buy-in,” Howard suddenly pipes up. He is short, bald man with a loud, raucous, unforgettable laugh. “We’re betting on whose going to win the game on that TV right over there.”

Betsey turns around and looks at the TV he is pointing to. Then she shrugs to herself and takes out her wallet.

“I’ll give you ten dollars,” she says, slapping her money on the counter. “I know it’s not much, but it’s the best I can do.”

“You can’t join the game if you can’t afford the buy-in,” Harold says very matter-of-factly. He is a tall, skinny man with a penchant for Hawaiian shirts. He pushes up his glasses and clears his throat. “No buy-in, no bets.”

Sam looks back and forth between the group of cranky old men and the spirited young woman who doesn’t quite seem to understand her place. He suddenly sees a major opportunity sitting right in front of him.

“I can always lend you the money for the buy-in,” Sam says casually. He takes out a roll of cash from his pocket and waves it in Betsey’s face. She looks down at it and raises her eyebrow. She too can suddenly see the obvious opportunity there.

“I’m not in the business of borrowing money,” she says, looking back up at Sam. “But I’d be more than happy to work for it.”

“And just what to do you plan to do to earn it?” he asks.

“Whatever you want me to do.”

Sam puts his hands on the counter and leans in closer to her. He looks her up and down with a sneaky little smirk on his face. Betsey sits up straight and leans in too. When their eyes meet, everyone can feel the heat of the spark passing between them. Howard and Harold roll their eyes as Jaimie shifts in his chair uncomfortably.

“In that case, you can meet me in my office later for a private meeting,” Sam says. “We can discuss your future at the company. Perhaps work out some kind of mutually beneficial arrangement?”

“A private meeting, huh? I think I like the sound of that.”

“And I think you’re really gonna like working for me.”

“Is that so?”

“It is. You’ll find that my employees always get treated very well around here. Especially when they behave themselves, listen carefully, and obey all of my orders. Do you understand me?”

“Whatever you say, Boss,” Betsey says in her most flirtatious voice.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Sam’s eyes sparkle down at her. She is just about to respond when Howard clears his throat loudly.

“Can we can get back to the game, please?” he asks in his grumpiest voice.

Betsey looks back at the Line of Death as Harold holds out his hand expectantly.

“Your buy-in, please.”

Sam takes a wad of cash from the money clip and slaps it down on the counter. He looks back at Betsey with a devilish grin on his face. Harold takes the money and puts it in a little bag. Howard makes a quick note on the spreadsheet.

“Team, please.”

Betsey turns around and looks up at the TV. She thinks about it for just a moment before deciding to go with her gut instinct.

“The blue one,” she says confidently.

All of the men around her look at each other and immediately burst out laughing. Sam shakes his head and chuckles softly at her.

“But they’re the worst team in the league!” Jaimie exclaims. “They haven’t won a single game all season!”

“Something tells me their luck is about to change.”

Jaimie folds his arms and looks at Betsey in disgust.

“Look, you can do whatever you want. You have the right to lose. I’m just saying they’re not going to win. It’s statistically impossible. All of us have been pouring over this stuff for years. None of us placed their bets on them. You’re making a big mistake if that’s what your decision is. Sam’s gonna be out a lot of money now because of you.”

“It’s not that much money,” Sam says calmly, watching the exchange with amusement.

“I don’t care about a bunch of spreadsheets,” Betsey snaps. “My gut instinct tells me they’re going to win.”

“Final answer?” Howard asks.

“Final answer.”

The Line of Death chatter quietly among themselves as Howard writes down the bet. Everyone takes a shot a LeRoux to seal the deal and promptly return to watching the game.

Sometime in the bottom of the ninth, a rookie wild card batter hits a home run with all the bases loaded. The four-point run immediately puts them in the lead. The opposing team has no chance to win their lead back.

The Line of Death stare at the TV in shock as the crowd goes wild and the team rushes the field to celebrate their first win of the season. They slowly turn their chairs to see Betsey’s reaction. Much to the their chagrin, she isn’t even watching the game at all. She is simply there writing in her notebook, lost in her own little world. Sam chuckles at the sight as he stands there on one leg and takes it all in.

“Your team won,” Howard says loudly.

Betsey looks up from her notebook and looks around the room in confusion.

“What team?” she asks obliviously, as if she has already forgotten the exchange from just a few hours prior.

“The team you bet on,” Sam reminds her. “The one we all said was going to lose.”

“Oh!” Betsey sits up and smiles in surprise. “See? I told you their luck was about to change! So how much did I win?”

Sam takes the envelope from Harold and counts the cash inside. He sets aside two hundred dollars for himself and hands the rest to Betsey.

“Looks like a thousand dollars,” he says pleasantly. “Congratulations.”

“Wow!” Betsey says, looking down at the envelope in delight. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve had this much money to my name. I think I’m going to go get my nails done to celebrate!”

She promptly stands up and shoves her notebook back into her bag. She motions for Sam to pour them all another shot of LeRoux and raises her glass high above her head.

“Nice doing business with you, boys!” Betsey says cheerfully, slamming down the shot and skipping out of the bar. “See you all tomorrow!”

The Line of Death glares after her as the front door slowly closes behind her.

“She can’t do that!” says one. “That’s unfair!”

“Yeah! She swindled us!” says another. “She must have had some kind of information beforehand that we didn’t.”

“We’ve been robbed!” says the third.

Sam shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

“A bet’s a bet,” he says. “She won that money fair and square. Besides, she’s a penniless Writer Extraordinaire. She doesn’t have a steady cash flow like we do. Just let her go out and enjoy herself for once.”

All of the old men grumble and go back to their spreadsheets, annoyed that they’ve been bested by a woman once again.

The End

Post Views: 18

SCRIPT: Commercial Break

Posted on by Betsey Horton

Everyone is sitting at Bloody Mary’s Bar minding their own business, except for Betsey. Suddenly, she looks up from her notebook and right into the camera at the audience.

Betsey: We interrupt this episode of Betsey at the Bar to bring you a special message from our sponsors.

The scene changes to a shot of Andrew lounging on his couch watching tv in a PBR t-shirt and a ratty old pair of basketball shorts. His hair is messy and sticking out from the side of his head. Lying on the couch next to him a cute little golden retriever puppy named Sam.

Andrew: Hey Sam-Sam! Do you want a treat?

Sam jumps off the couch and wags his tail enthusiastically.

Andrew: Can you do the special trick I taught you? Can you go get Daddy a beer?

Sam barks enthusiastically and runs out of the room. The camera follows him into the kitchen, where he opens the door to the refrigerator and picks up a pounder of PBR with his mouth. He shuts the door again and carries it back into the living room where Andrew is sitting.

Andrew: Good boy, Sam-Sam! You get a treat!

Andrew takes the beer, tosses Sam a piece of peanut-butter flavored bacon, and smiles at the camera.

Andrew: It’s PBR, the Official Sponsor of Bloody Mary’s Bar!

Sam: Bark bark!

The commercial ends.

The scene changes to an old gas station where Teen Angel is fixing up a car. He is covered in grease and dirt. After working steadily-but-unsuccessfully for a long time, he sighs heavily, puts down his tools, and walks over to a mini-cooler nearby. He pulls out a bottle of Miller High Life, pops the cap, and looks at the camera.

Teen Angel: Miller High Life. The only REAL beer for REAL, hardworking, American men like me.

The commercial ends.

The scene changes to a 1950’s-style suburban kitchen with a cute little brunette housewife setting the table for dinner. She is wearing a nice dress, a frilly apron, and high heels. Her hair is perfectly done up and she has on a full face of makeup. Duke comes home wearing a suit and tie. He hangs his hat up by the door and walks into the kitchen.

Duke: Honey, I’m home!

Duke’s Wife: You’re just in time for dinner, darling. I made your favourite: meat and potatoes with a can of Schlitz on the side.

Duke: Where are the children?

Duke’s Wife: They’re already in bed. I know how you feel about children, honey. They should be neither seen nor heard. That’s why I wanted it to be just us for tonight. I even bought a brand new set of lingerie.

Duke takes the beer and sits down the table. He takes a sip of his Schlitz and smiles happily.

Duke: Ahh, this is the life for me.

Suddenly, he hears somebody calling his name off in the distance. The scene goes blurry as Duke’s daydream dissipates into reality. He finds himself standing in a modern-day suburban kitchen wearing a frilly pink apron. The children are screaming loudly and running around everywhere. He looks down at the pan in front of him and realizes it’s on fire. Suddenly, his wife appears behind him wearing a designer pant suit.

Duke’s Wife: Let me guess. You burned our dinner. Again.

Duke: I’m sorry. It was an accident!

Duke’s Wife: Here I am, out there in the world, working hard, slaving away all day so we can have a good life, and you can’t even have dinner ready when I come home?! What good are you?!

Duke rolls his eyes and goes to the refrigerator to get a can of Schlitz. He raises it up in an imaginary toast as his wife stands there staring at him in utter disbelief.

Duke: Don’t worry, darling. I didn’t burn the beer!

The commercial ends.

The scene changes to Betsey sitting in the bar with a glass of champagne and her notebook. She pours one out for Dubs and orders a Miller High Life instead. Teen Angel serves it to her with a smile on his face. Betsey looks at the camera and winks.

Betsey: I don’t always drink champagne, by when I do, I drink the Champagne of Beers.

Teen Angel: That’s what I’m saying!

The commercial ends.

Betsey: And now back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Betsey returns to writing in her notebook while her characters return to tending after the bar.

The End


Post Views:
25

SCRIPT: The Untimely Death of Betsey Horton, Writer Extraordinaire

Posted on by Betsey Horton

Betsey is sitting at the bar with Mad Dog when they get into an argument. Betsey is annoyed so she gets up and decides to move over to the opposite end of the bar where The Line of Death usually sits.

Betsey: Oh, woe is me! I really am an old lady now! I’m on the Line of Death and everything!

Howard Hughes looks at her as if she has just uttered the most offensive, scandalous thing he’s ever heard.

Howard Hughes: Just who the hell does this girl think she is?

Betsey: The Line of Death, The Line of Death. What does it really mean to be on The Line of Death? Let me think about it for a moment. Hmm… you know, if I could pick a way to die, it would be eaten by lions while on safari. Why? Because it would make an awesome story, of course!

Howard Hughes: What did she just say?

Betsey: Just think! Everybody would be talking about it for weeks! Months! Years! Maybe even centuries! Yeah, centuries!

Howard Hughes is rendered completely speechless. Andrew smiles at Betsey and sighs dreamily. She winks at him and he winks back. They both know exactly what the other is thinking. Betsey gets up and leaves for the day. When she isn’t seen or heard from in a couple weeks, everyone starts to get worried.

Duke: Not that I really care or anything, but has anyone seen Betsey lately? I noticed she hasn’t been around. Not that I was looking, of course. I only noticed she was gone because it seemed a lot… quieter… around here than usual.

Andrew stands over the cash register and smirks to himself as he rubs his hands together mischeviously. At long last, the opportunity he has been waiting for has arrived. He turns around and puts a solemn look on his face.

Andrew: Yeah, didn’t you hear? Betsey Horton died!

Duke: What? How?

Andrew: She was eaten by lions!

Duke: Oh come on, Andrew. Don’t put us on.

Andrew: No, it’s true, it’s true. I was there! I saw the whole thing! It was awful! There was blood everywhere!

Duke: That doesn’t make any sense. How was she eaten by lions?

Andrew: She was on safari and she got too close to the lions so they ate her. I mean, they really just ripped her apart. At the end the hyenas came in. Once they were done, the vultures picked her off. Then all the the flies came and laid their eggs. It was super gross. There were maggots crawling all over the place. Then her body decomposed and became the grass. And then the antelope ate the grass and the lions ate the antelope.

Duke: What?

Andrew: Yeah. But like, that’s just nature, you know? The Circle of Life and all that. Yeah, I learned about it when I watched The Lion King with my daughter. It was so deep, you guys. It really affected me a lot and just, like, changed my whole perspective on things. It’s sad that she died, but she always wanted to go on safari, and she did say she would choose to be eaten by lions, so I mean, at least she lived her dream. How many of you can say you died living your dream? No one, because we’re all still sitting here alive. Think about that.

Everyone in the bar stares at Andrew in shock. They believe him. They actually, really, truly, deeply in their hearts believe him. They all sit there in silence looking super sad. Nobody knows what to say. Suddenly, Howard Hughes steps up to the plate. He buys everyone in the bar a shot of LaRue.

Howard Hughes: I say we make a toast to Betsey Horton, Writer Extraordinaire! To the bravest woman on The Line of Death!

Everyone in the bar drinks. There’s a moment of silence. Duke looks absolutely torn apart.

Andrew: What is it, Duke?

Duke: I just feel so guilty! I made up all these lies about her and told them to anyone who would listen. I was so mean to her all the time! But really she wasn’t so bad all along. I wish she was here now to wake me from my slumber with her loud, obnoxious laugh.

Andrew: Aww, that’s very sweet of you, Duke. I’m sure if Betsey was here right now, she would appreciate the sentiment.

Mad Dog: Oh will you guys just shut the hell up already? You’re nothin’ but a bunch of cry babies! Hey bartender, get me another beer, would ya?!

Andrew: Don’t you have anything nice to say, Mad Dog? Betsey was your friend!

Mad Dog: Meh. I’m no good at this stuff. I’d rather just drink a beer and smoke a joint instead.

Andrew: Fair enough. I can’t say Betsey would disagree with you there.

Suddenly, Betsey Horton walks into the bar, completely alive and 100% intact. Everyone turns around and stares at her in shock. They look like they’ve all just seen a ghost.

Betsey: What are you guys staring at? Is there something on my dress?

Everyone turns back around and looks Andrew with severely annoyed expressions on their face. Duke looks the angriest of them all.

Andrew: Uh… Hey guys. What’s up?

They promptly rip him to shreds like he’s Scar after the hyenas turn on him.

The End


Post Views:
27

STORY: Sam’s Little Sister

Posted on by Betsey Horton

Sam’s Mom arrives at Coyote University to help her daughter Vicky move into her freshman dorm. Vicky, who was hoping to go to college somewhere much further away from her family members, is not exactly thrilled at the prospect of once again spending the next four years of her life as “Sam’s Little Sister.”

Her worst fear is immediately confirmed when she goes to pick up her room keys. A set of blonde twins wearing lanyards around their necks are running the check-in table.

“Hi there! Welcome to the dorms! First and last name, please.”

“Vicky Shepherd.”

“Oh, are you Sam’s little sister?”

“Yeah,” Vicky says dryly. She frowns at her Mom. The twins look at each other and giggle.

“Yeah… we know Shep.”

Sam’s Mom raises her eyebrow. The twins hand Vicky her keys and start giggling again. They smile brightly at her.

“Welcome to the dorms!” they say in unison.

When they go upstairs, Vicky meets her new RA.

“Are you Sam’s little sister?” she asks excitedly.

“I sure am,” Vicky says, rolling her eyes. “Let me guess… you know him too.”

“Yeah, I know Shep,” she says with a laugh. “I know Shep very well. I see him around here all the time.”

Sam’s Mom’s mouth drops open.

“Welcome to the floor!” the RA says, showing Vicky to her room.

Sometime later, they go over to pick up Vicky’s class schedule. To the surprise of absolutely no one, the secretary recognizes her last name immediately.

“Are you Sam’s little sister?” she asks with a smile on her face.

“I see you’ve met him before too.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, flipping her hair back. “I know Shep.”

Sam’s Mom shakes her head in disbelief.

“Welcome to Coyote University!”

Vicky storms out of the office angrily. When they go to the book store to pick up Vicky’s books, the same thing happens all over again.

“Are you Sam’s little sister?” asks the girl behind the counter.

“Maybe,” Vicky snaps.

“Yeah, I know Shep,” she says with a sneaky little smile. “We study together in the library.”

“Study?” asks Sam’s Mom.

“Yeah,” she sighs dreamily. “Study…”

Finally, they decide to stop at the student center for a coffee.

“Oh! You’re not Sam’s little sister, are you?”

Vicky is so upset she can’t even respond at this point.

“Yeah, I know Shep too,” says the barista, crossing her arms and frowning. “All the girls around here know who he is.”

Vicky and her Mom walk back to Vicky’s dorm together.

“What’s my son been doing that all these girls know who he is?” their Mom wonders aloud.

“Come on, Mom,” Vicky says, rolling her eyes. “It’s pretty obvious what he’s been doing.”

All of a sudden, Sam walks in carrying a box of Vicky’s stuff. His shirt is notably absent. All of the women in the hallway stop what they’re doing to watch him walk by.

“Hey Vicky,” he says. “I brought in the last of your stuff for ya.”

All of the women’s eyes shift to Vicky. She looks around the hall nervously.

“Can’t wait to have my little sis at school with me again!” Sam says cheerfully.

Vicky scowls at him.

“Yeah.”

“So,” Sam says just loud enough so everyone can hear. “We’re having a party over at the Basketball House tonight. You can come if you want to. Maybe you can even bring some of your new friends.”

All of the freshman girls let out a collective gasp. Vicky’s scowl turns into a glare.

“We’ll see.”

“Yeah, just let me know whenever.”

Vicky turns around and goes back into her room in a huff. A moment later, Sam’s Mom calls out to him.

“Sam, can you come in here for a minute, please?”

“Yeah, sure. Just let me put my shirt back on.”

When Sam walks into Vicky’s dorm room, their Mom is standing there with her arms crossed.

“What?” he asks innocently. “It was hot outside.”

“It’s her first day of college,” she says in a low voice. “She wants to make her own friends. Can you just… cool it down, please?”

“Sorry, Mom.”

“Can I have my car keys back now, please?”

“Sure,” Sam says, tossing her the keys. “I parked it right out front for ya.”

“Thanks, honey.”

“See you later, Vicky!”

Sam winks at her and saunters off down the hall.

“I can’t do this,” Vicky says. “I want to go home right now.”

Her Mom shakes her head.

“Just look on the bright side, sweetie,” she says. “At least you’ll never have any shortage of new friends.”

Sometime later, after their Mom has finally left, Vicky hears a knock at the door. When she opens it, a group of girls is standing outside in the hall.

“Hey,” says the leader girl. “Your name is Vicky, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Was that guy who was here earlier your older brother?”

“Maybe. Who wants to know?”

“Well, we heard him mention something about a party later, and we were just wondering if you were still planning on going. We wouldn’t want you to go alone or anything. It’s better if a group of girls all go together. You know, for safety reasons.”

“Yeah,” pipes up a second girl. “Safety reasons.”

Vicky looks at the girls hesitantly.

“I don’t know…” she says half-heartedly.

“Come on,” says the leader girl. “I bet it will be fun! It’s our first big college party! We can all go down to the dining hall first and then get ready in our rooms later. Then we can all go together.”

“Well…”

“Please?” all the girls say in unison.

Vicky lets out a heavy sigh.

“Okay. We can go to the stupid basketball party, but don’t ask me to introduce you to my brother. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to take care of that himself.”

All the girls smile together. As they walk down to the dining hall, Vicky decides to take her Mom’s advice. Maybe it’s better to look on the bright side after all.

The End


Post Views:
31

Overheard at Bloody Mary’s Bar

Posted on by Betsey Horton

One of my favourite things about being a writer is my collection of quotes. I have been collecting them since I was in high school. The following is a collection of quotes taken from my favourite bar, Bloody Mary’s. I have mined them from several notebooks I’ve used over the last three years. Some are attributed, while others are not. I hope you enjoy the show!

Mad Dog: This place sucks. Let’s go to Cleo’s.
Me: Ugh, why on Earth would anyone ever want to go to Cleo’s?
Mad Dog: The beer here is too expensive.
Me: It’s not expensive compared to a city. Besides, you’re not paying for the beer. You’re paying for the Bloody Mary’s Bar Experience™.
Mad Dog: What’s that? Sitting at the bar alone while everyone else in the room judges you?
Me: I see what you’re saying, but why sit at the bar when you can go outside and sit on the patio?
Mad Dog: You got on me on that one right there.

“What is it? The 1800’s?”
“Well, it is South Dakota.”

“Are you finished?”
“Yeah, I’m Finnish. Just kidding! I’m Polish.”

“He’s the Cornelius Vanderbilt of Social Security.”
“What does that even mean?”

“I keep my house emasculate.”

“If you’re seen slow dancin’ with him, it’ll ruin your reputation.”

“My couch may pull out, but I don’t.”

“I took so many pictures last night, I had to delete some apps to make room for them all.”

“I gave up Catholicism for Lent… five years ago.”

“Do you think we’ll ever make it back out to the Hills alive?”
“You two sound like a couple of old cowboys.”
“We are a couple of old cowboys.”

Mad Dog: Let me tell you a story about that guy sitting right over there. That guy was hired to kill me. He tried everything. He even tried to run me over with his car. Finally, he realized, he can’t kill me. I’m invincible.

Mad Dog: Andrew used to be a fun guy. Always surrounded by women! Women everywhere! He was nice until he became–
Andrew: A Capitalist?

“Sioux Falls is like a suburb without a city.”

Mad Dog: In a few years, you can retire. Upgrade to Executive Level. Become a traveling bartender. You know… Ski Slope Mama.
Andrew: Ski Slope Mama???

Mad Dog: [points to my phone] Can you find me a list of everyone who’s currently in jail?

“George W. Bush definitely has Jedi Powers. Did you see him dodge those shoes? Normal people can’t do that.”

Andrew: I went to Prom Dinner at Al’s Oasis.
Me: You went to Prom Dinner at The Taxidermy Capital of the World?!
Andrew: What? It’s a nice place. It’s the nicest place in town!
Me: [horrified stare]

“You’re not a real Catholic until you’ve had an exorcism.”

“It’s always been one of my dreams to pop an eye out.”

“I would never never teach Sylvia Plath, just because I would never want to be implicated in someone’s suicide.”

“The other day I was just driving along and everything was so idyllic, you know? And then I thought… I might die here.”

“I’m not gay, but I’ve got a huge guy crush on Steve McQueen!”

“I worked in a slaughter house once. I lasted a day. Not because I was against it, but because it was too far away.”

Tattoo Guy: There’s nobody real in this bar tonight. Everyone is just an actor playing their part on the stage of life. It’s all so fake and meaningless.
Me: Wow, TG, that’s actually really deep and insightful. I’m totally going to write that one down in my notebook.

Me: Oh, like Fixer-Upper?
Andrew’s Mom: More like… Burner-Downer!

“He’s ex-military.”
“Oh, so it’s his job to be an asshole.”
“Yeah, old ex-military is the worst.”

“It’s hot. I’m hungry. They’re 18. Let’s go.”

Me: [barging into Bloody Mary’s right at opening] Is there something going on here that I should know about?!
PJ: Uhh… there’s an employee meeting at five?

“Oh, you made multiple mistakes tonight? Welcome to Bloody Mary’s Bar.”

“Here, you smoke this while I go get a drink.”

“It’s not a real 21st birthday if you don’t end up in a jail cell.”

“They call him Smoke Manning.”

“It’s not Betsey. I would have heard her.”

“I literally have a Masters degree in figuring people out and I don’t understand what’s going on with men.”

Some Rando Who Just Got Out of Jail: This town is bizarre. It’s like I’m trapped in some kind of movie.

“I looked out my window and it was like a time warp.”

“I thought it’d be a dirty old cattle town, but it was actually a nice, clean place.”

“They call him Shithouse Dan. He’s from Texas. We wrote a song about him.”

Townie: [to Andrew] You’re better in real life.

Me: Owl, when did we find out who Edward Snowden was?
Owl: June 5th, 2013. Wait, who is we? Do you mean me, or everybody else?

Mad Dog: Did you get married?
Townie: Yes.
Mad Dog: [shakes his head and rolls his eyes] Another Idiot.
[All the married men in the room laugh. Andrew laughs the loudest.]

“My only plan in life is not to have a plan.”

“Smokin’ dope and runnin’ porn.”
“Sounds like the life.”

Mad Dog: Why aren’t you out there stealing Trump signs? That’s where all the money is!

“Can I get you something?”
“A new life.”

“I’m gonna squeeze it like it’s a chicken’s neck.”

“I don’t want to pee or piss all over your place of business.”

“So you’re mad at me because I have too many opinions?”
“Yes.”

[introducing me to someone new]
“This is the woman who owns my soul.”

“With all the money I handle, I probably have the immune system of a cockroach.”

“Sorry I’m not all smiles today!”

“What’s the matter? Why do you have that look on your face? Haven’t you ever smoked weed out of a giant plastic bag before?”
“No!”

“I love Star Wars!”
“Who doesn’t? [long pause] Fascists.”

“I don’t necessarily have the nicest wiener.”

“I don’t think you realize that when a jackal gets hungry, it eats.”

“I’m not saying you’re my Rosaline. You might be Juliet!”

“I’m immune to the charms of most men.”

“This song really pushes the boundaries of what it means to be music.”

Me: [comes in a cowboy-like getup]
Bartender: Why are you dressed like that?
Me: This is how South Dakota people dress.
Bartender: I’ve never seen a South Dakotan dressed like that.

“You ever look at people and think, wow, drugs are bad? Well, these are the kind of people you look at and think, wow, drugs are magic!”

“I feel like we all have pieces of the same story.”

Artist Kid: [comes in wearing a vintage leather jacket] On a scale of 1-10, how Kyle is this jacket?

“And then the evil villain mastermind sent his henchmen to spy on me.”

“My stripper name is Diamond.”

Mad Dog: [randomly, out of nowhere] Have you ever met the Hershey’s Chocolate Family?
Me: What?
Mad Dog: Hershey’s… like the chocolate.
Me: What?
Mad Dog: They’re from Germany.

Mad Dog: [talking and talking] You got all this down?

Me: I’m hungry.
Date for the Evening: Me too.
Me: Let’s go get R-Pi.
Date: No way. Can’t do it. [long and calculating pause] That would absolutely destroy my calorie count for the day.

“There’s an awful lot of ass-fucking going on around here.”
“Well, it is South Dakota.”

Mad Dog: Every day is Halloween.

“My mother always used to say that if you gotta go, you say you gotta water the lilies.”

Me: I’m gonna go watch Andrew paint the awning.
Mad Dog: Me too! I hope he’s wearing his tight little shorts.
Me: [excitedly] Me too!

“Haven’t you ever gotten naked and rolled around in paint before?”

“He lived in his house for eight years and only cleaned his bathroom once. He is The Most Interesting Man in the World.”

Mad Dog: Andrew, you’re the only person in this world that I like.

Mad Dog: Garden Gnomes are my favourite animal.

“I made a beer bong out of a flamingo lawn ornament in college. We called it The Flabongo.”

Mad Dog: You know the only reason why I like baseball?
Me: Why?
Mad Dog: Because it was the only thing they let us watch in study hall.

“Take your work seriously, but not your life.”

“I’m not thinking right now. I’m just talking.”

“Winter is for getting drunk and pissing all over yourself.”

“Sorry I wasn’t smiling at 7am!”

“I’m not really a joke person. I’m more like an anecdote kind of person.”

“Do you live out in the country?”
“No, I live on Jefferson Street.”

“You know you’ve hit a low point in life when you’re getting into a fistfight over a 30-pack of Keystone Light.”

“I’ll have a water with no ice, please.”

Rando from SoMD: I hope you put Southern Maryland on the map.
Me: Be careful what you wish for.

“Welcome to Bloody Mary’s International. The Owl is flying. Jester can check the luggage. He’s not allowed near the bar anymore after mixing this terrible drink.”

“You’re just like my pinky toe. You’re cute and little and I’m probably going to bang you on the table later tonight.”

Mad Dog: [catches me sitting on the bench outside of Bloody Mary’s] Well, well, well… look who I found sitting out on the streets of Paris.

“All I know about the Illuminati is that they’re on the dollar bill.”

“Oh my god! There’s not enough brains in all three of them to make one!”

“I’m sure I’ll see you all much sooner than I want to.”

“I worked at that gas station before it was a Casey’s.”

“I’ll have the cheapest beer you have.”

Me: I was actually supposed to meet somebody important here tonight.
Mad Dog: Was it me? I’m the only person who’s important here.

Me: That was fun.
Mad Dog: Not as fun as watching a sunset.

Mad Dog: Hey Andrew! Are you ready to go to the strip club now?
Andrew: [dead serious] Yes.

Mad Dog: And that was the first time I saw a really nice set of titties.
Me: The End.

Post Views: 47

SCRIPT: The Mural On The Wall

Posted on by Betsey Horton

Betsey is sitting out on the patio of Bloody Mary’s writing in her notebook. Suddenly, a group of men come along and start getting ideas.

Andrew: I’m thinking about painting a mural right here. I have a vision in my head.

Guys: Tell us, Andrew! You’re soooooooo Great. We love you soooooo much!

Andrew: Thank you, thank you. What can I say? I am a pretty Great guy.

Guys: Tell us your vision, Andrew!

Andrew: It should be a mural of a Sexy Serving Slut!

Guys: That’s a Great idea, Andrew! Wow, you’re sooooooo Great.

Betsey: Seriously?

Andrew: She can be serving PBR! I can get the company to pay for it. I’m all about that corporate sponsorship. I get to take a little bit off the top for myself.

Betsey: Is that how you do it?

Andrew: Yes.

Guys: We don’t even care! We live to serve you, Andrew! We think you’re sooooooo Great. We all just want to be you.

Andrew: Thank you, thank you.

Betsey: Wait a second. You’re telling me you want to paint a mural of a beautiful woman serving drinks on that wall?

All the guys get hearts in their eyes and boners in their pants. They sigh dreamily together.

Guys: Yes…

Betsey: Umm… I mean… there aren’t really a whole lot of women who work here, so. Yeah. That’s not really an accurate depiction of what’s going on here. If anyone’s a Sexy Serving Slut, it’s Andrew. He can be the model!

Andrew: [shyly] You really think so?

Betsey: I know so.

Andrew: Well, thank you, but I don’t know if I have time to pose for a mural. I’m just so busy being Great all the time.

Betsey: That’s okay. You can just get Teen Angel to do it.

Teen Angel: [stands up and pumps his fist in the air] Yes!!!

Betsey: [singing softly] Started from the bottom, now we here…

Teen Angel: That’s what I’m saying!

Andrew: Okay, well let’s get this local artist who specializes in painting signs to do it.

The Artist comes in for a consultation. He leers at Betsey and asks him to model for her. She goes to his studio and discovers he is a creepy, predatory, perverted individual who likes 13 year old girls. His wife is in on the whole thing.

The Artist makes Betsey like a cheap whore. She leaves his studio and never goes back ever again. She comes to Bloody Mary’s and drinks for the rest of the day. She gives the dirty money to PJ just because she doesn’t want it in her hands.

Betsey suddenly realizes she drove out to this man’s farm out in the middle of nowhere all alone. Mad Dog says he should have gone with her. She feels sick to her stomach. Who knows what could have happened to her out there?

The Artist and Andrew sit down together for the consultation.

Andrew: This is my vision.

The Artist sketches Andrew’s vision right in front of his eyes. He is amazed and inspired.

Andrew: That looks Great! That’s exactly what I want!

The Artist: Okay, I can do that. That’ll cost you $1500.

Andrew: What?! Are you fucking kidding me? No way!

The Artist: I can do a smaller, less elaborate sign for less.

Andrew: What if it was just the PBR logo?

The Artist: It’s still going to cost you a lot. I’m a specialist. My time and talents are valuable.

Andrew: Okay, let me think about it.

The Artist leaves. Betsey writes a note to Andrew explaining what happened to her. He gets really upset and they get into a huge argument in the middle of the bar on Friday afternoon.

Andrew: You’re too opinionated! Why can’t you just keep your mouth shut?

Betsey: You don’t understand! That’s not who I am! That’s not where I’m from! I’m from Washington, D.C. There was a terrorist attack there when I was 13 years old! My Family knew people who died! I saw the ruins two days after it happened! If you see something, you say something. People’s lives are at stake here, Andrew! I can’t just not say something!

Andrew: I have feelings for you.

Betsey: What?

Andrew: I have feelings for you. I’m married.

Betsey: I have feelings for you. You’re married.

Andrew: What do we do now?

Betsey: I don’t know.

Betsey leaves and tries to avoid him for awhile. It doesn’t work. It only makes everything worse. She comes back to the bar when he’s not there. She is still extremely bothered by the sign issue. She looks around the patio and has a sudden realization. She walks up to Andrew and taps him on the shoulder.

Andrew: What?

Betsey: About the sign…

Andrew: Yes?

Betsey: Why don’t you just take the one hanging above the awning and hang it up on the wall? What’s it doing all the way up there anyway? No one can really see it. It should be hanging on the wall.

Andrew mouth drops wide open. He stands there looking at her in shock.

Betsey: You never even thought of that, did you?

Andrew: No.

Betsey: [shakes her head in disbelief] This is why you need more women around the place.

Andrew: I know.

Betsey: I just saved you $1500 and needless association with a creepy pervert. What are you going to do now?

Andrew: I’m going to Disney World!

The End


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STORY: A Breath of Fresh Air

Posted on by Betsey Horton

I look up from my notebook just in time to notice the little green snake slithering toward me.

“My, my, haven’t we been working hard today?”

“So it would seem. I am a professional writer, you know. I don’t have time to just sit around all day. I’m very busy and important.”

“You’ve been working all day. Why not take a break? Relax out on my patio? Have a drink?”

“You just want me to write another story about you. That’s hardly a break.”

“I disagree,” hisses the snake. “Writing about me is a far more relaxing experience than writing about a bunch of silly old prostitutes.”

“They’re not silly,” I say. “Don’t diminish them just because you disagree with what they do. You’re not so different from one yourself. And writing about you is nowhere near as relaxing as you think. It’s actually quite stressful.”

The snake looks into my eyes hypnotically.

“Write me a story, Betsey. Please?”

“Well…” I hesitate at first, but I cannot resist him for long. “All right, if you really want one, I suppose I have just the story to satiate you. It’s about a sexy snake who lures an unsuspecting writer into his nest.”

“Sounds spectacular,” says the snake, slithering off the desk. He transforms into a handsome, young Emperor with beautiful blue eyes sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“You may tell it to me now,” he says with some authority in his voice.

“Whatever you say, Your Majesty.”

I drape myself comfortably across the chair and begin to pen the tale.

$$$

One afternoon, I was seated comfortably on the bench outside of Bloody Mary’s Bar. The wi-fi in my apartment had recently gone out, so I decided to steal it from my favourite and most-frequented bar instead. I figured I’d spent enough money there over the years to justify it.

Unfortunately, right at the moment, I looked up from my phone to see the handsome, young owner heading straight for me. Just my luck. He caught me stealing his internet from him… again.

“Hey Betsey,” he said with that sneaky smile on his face. “What are you up to today?”

“Oh nothing,” I said. “Nothing at all. I definitely wasn’t sitting here stealing your internet, if that’s what you mean.”

“Why don’t you come inside?” he asked. “Take a break. Relax on the patio. Have a drink.”

I looked him up and down once before my eyes finally settled on his left ring finger. Reality hit me like a ton of bricks again.

“No thanks,” I said. “I’ve got other plans today.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, once again catching my gaze in his. I could feel his beautiful blue eyes hypnotizing me. He gave me a winning smile as he opened the door. He closed his eyes as the cool blast of A/C hit his face. He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his mane out in the breeze. He stood there for just a moment, posing for me as if he were a model. I even noticed him lift the corner of his shirt up just a little bit.

“It sure is hot outside,” he said seductively. “You sure you don’t want to cool down with something refreshing to drink?”

I covered up my gaping mouth just in time to catch the drool.

“Uhhh…” I stumbled over myself searching for words. “Well… I guess… when you put it that way… how much could one look really hurt? I mean drink. One drink. Yeah. That’s right. I’m an alcoholic and I come here to drink.”

Andrew held the door open for me with a wide smile on his face. It wasn’t until much later that I realized I had been robbed completely blind. The worst part was, I didn’t even care. As far as I could tell, it was worth every penny.

$$$

The Emperor smiles at me and claps his hands.

“That was a good one,” he says.

“Thank you,” I reply. “I wrote it just for you.”

“Just for me?”

“Just for you.”

“But why?” he asks softly.

“Because,” I say, once again stealing a line from our mutual friend, “You’re the only person in this world that I like.”

“Thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome.”

The End


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