FUNSIES
FUNSIES
BOTTLE THAT BREEZE
In the style of an SNL commercial parody
EXT: Two millennial girls are driving down the 101 in LA. An angry Tesla cuts her off and she goes from visibly angry to cool, calm pretty fast.
GIRL 1: Deep breath in….[cough attack]
Ugh Siri what’s the air quality today?
[Something not bad]
GIRL 2: Girl, bad air’s not your problem. Tell me you have some Bottle That Breeze lying around this b***tch.
GIRL 1: Bottle that…? [last word swallowed by loud honking]
EXT: Cut to a studio where GIRL 2 is shooting a commercial for BTB.
GIRL 2: Bottle that Breeze literally took my breath away and gave me the breath I needed instead.
They take air, refine it, then serve it right back to you as premium oxygen. Every breath is a moment to treat yourself for only $15.99!
Oxygen, hot off the press of the perfectly crafted breeze…then bottled. It’s certified organic, non GMO and vegan.
I got my hands on their bestseller, Coastal Sage, lightly scented with wild herbs from the hills of Topanga.
It was all nature, we just bottled it!
The perfect breath when you just don’t feel like taking it.
Like when…
EXT: The scene described below.
VO: Some asshole cuts you off and you decide a deep full breath is probably better than chasing them down. [Crack open BTB] Yeah that’s right.
EXT: The scene described below.
VO: You walk into your new friend’s apartment and they don’t have an air purifier, but fear not [Crack open BTB] You’ve come prepared.
EXT: The scene described below.
VO: …or when you simply want your breathing experience to feel more premium than everyone else’s [Crack open BTB]
Because you’re worthy.
EXT: Cut back to the studio with GIRL 2.
GIRL 2: Bottle that breeze. It’s like an IV drip for your lungs. On the go. When you need that deep premium breath for $15.99.
HOW MILLENIALS TURNED 30
In the style of an SNL commercial parody
EXT: Coworkers are sitting in the office kitchen during lunch break. GIRL 1 opens up her lunch and groans. She starts picking apart her crepey, dry af kale salad.
GIRL 1: This is just unacceptable.
GUY 1: The kale? Or that turning 30 means you’ll be eating more of that nasty ass whatever you call that?
GIRL 1 takes a beat: Both?
GUY 2 opens up his lunch to reveal the juiciest, moistest kale. Slow mo capture of him taking a huge bite while GIRL 1 looks stunned.
GIRL 1: Is that…?
GUY 2: …the only kale I’ll ever be eating again.
A third coworker walks in at that very moment and spots his glistening kale.
GIRL 2: Ahh well if it isn’t Who Massaged My Kale dot com.
GUY 2 nods knowingly: Tanya’s got the best form.
GIRL 2 laughs: I mean Tanya or die.
EXT: Cut to the ad for Whomassagedmykale.com. Set in a dark spa-like room.
TANYA: Hi I’m Tanya and I’m the founder of Whomassagedmykale.com. It all started when kale suddenly became the rite of passage for turning 30 but left much to be desired.
EXT: Montage scene: People in their 30s holding up kale, confused. Breaking the stalk in half and it makes an inappropriately loud sound. Using it to scoop up food. The only thing left on a plate after everything else has been consumed.
TANYA: Soldiering through was never the way. Especially when the answer was right at the tips of our fingers.
EXT: Dark room, spa music. Camera pans from massage therapist pouring olive oil into her hands down to a bowl of raw kale.
TANYA: Human bodies aren’t the only things that need massaging. I’ve seen kale stems with crunchier shoulders and backs.
Our therapists are the best in the biz. Your kale will feel so relaxed and so will you when lunch rolls around.
THERAPIST 1: I specialize in Swedish massage. 2 to 3 minute long relaxing strokes for the uninitiated.
THERAPIST 2: 30s is the new 20s but with more kale. It’s a time to deeply reflect on the meaning of life while we go even deeper into your kale’s knots [cracks the kale spine and decimates it]. No pain, no gain.
TANYA: And if you’re in your late 30s, we’ll throw in a free 15 minute complimentary massage for your crunchy knots if you subscribe to Whomassagedmykale.com for the year.
A PERFECTIONIST IN THE WILD
In the style of a nature documentary
VO by David Attenborough
We observe a perfectionist in her natural habitat.
Around her, a most peculiar set of objects.
A stack of unopened canvases.
A $94 paintbrush she saves for the final masterpiece.
She spends hours scrolling her thumb on a tiny device.
A most sedentary activity that leaves her even more exhausted.
She proceeds to lay horizontally across the sofa.
It’s 10:35am on a Tuesday.
Observe now her primary defense mechanism.
What experts have dubbed “productivity theater.”
She cleans her paint brushes one by one.
She color coordinates her paint tubes.
She empties her pantry of all its snacks.
She moves these objects around for another hour.
Finally posting the photo she takes with a two-word caption: “ART DAY”
Then sinks back into a horizontal position.
She has yet to create art.
Days continue just like this.
The outside world watches her brilliant adaptation.
Appearing creatively fulfilled, while quietly disintegrating.
Notice how she approaches the canvas.
Then recoils immediately.
On occasion, punching a pillow with ferocious tenacity.
Then, she retreats into the shower.
An efficient habitat, where cleansing and despair occur simultaneously.
A truly extraordinary response.
In a last attempt at survival, she calls upon another creature.
The therapist.
For an hour, they communicate through a slightly larger screen than the one from before.
The therapist listens carefully, nodding her head rhythmically.
The perfectionist breaks down in tears, displaying the terror of an antelope being chased down by a lion.
After an hour, she curiously sends her therapist $250.
For several weeks, this ritual continues.
Until one day, something quite spectacular happens.
PERFECTIONIST breaks the fourth wall.
PERFECTIONIST: Alright, show’s over.
VO continues.
The perfectionist breaks the fourth wall.
A novel behavior never before seen in the perfectionist archives.
She picks up her $94 paintbrush and with the full force of her arm, takes a rather haphazard stroke to the canvas.
Paint splatters where it has never ventured.
A classified disturbance.
And yet…no defense mechanism follows.
No cleaning of already clean brushes.
No reorganization of art supplies.
No melancholic retreat to the sofa.
Only a pause of silence.
Then something more remarkable.
The perfectionist, once governed by avoiding the flaw, now appears to tolerate it.
Even co-creates with it.
A smile breaks across her stoic face.
PERFECTIONIST: Actually it’s more like the artist finally realized it was tormenting her more to make the perfect masterpiece than to start the damn thing at all.
VO closes us out.
In the wild, perfection is rarely abandoned.
But occasionally, it is simply outgrown.
And that my friends is what they’re calling, a recovering perfectionist.