Tall Tales To Go Fan Fiction
Fan Fiction Fiction and More Miscellany Home Page Contact

 !  The Perils of Janeane, part 8

The Many Misadventures of Little Myth JG
An Original Comic Adventure Series By

George "Rusty" Datt

** Note - Terms used in these adventure scripts:
O.S. = Off Screen
V.O. = Voice Over
EST = Establishing Shot
INT = Interior
EXT = Exterior
POV = Point Of View
INSERT = A Camera Shot Usually Focusing On An Object




Janeane unlocks the door and enters her apartment. As she removes her coat and hat, the dogs run up and greet her, jumping and licking her hands. She hears a loud commotion coming from the bathroom and cranes her neck around the corner to get a better view.

Hello? Anyone home?

The bathroom door bursts open and Janeane's pony comes trotting out, being chased by her fiancé Chris Anderson, wearing nothing but a bath towel and wielding a scrub brush.

(to pony, running into kitchen)
Damn you! I'm gonna bake you into
a French casserole.
(doing a double take
when he sees Janeane)
Oh, hi, honey. Listen, we've got
to talk about this pony.

What's the problem?

(waving scrub brush at pony)
Hey, it's bad enough when the
dogs drink out of the toilet, but
every time I try to run myself a
bath, this big gray lummox guzzles
all of the water out of the tub before
I can round up my rubber toys.

So why don't you put him out
on the fire escape?

(reaching for a
bathrobe on the door)
Hey, we've been through that
already. That old lady across
the way with the cataracts keeps
mistaking him for Tyne Daily and
begging for an autographed
picture from "Judging Amy".
(putting on robe)
Oh well, maybe I'll just belt
down a Black Russian, go up on
the roof later and do naked snow
angels to get cleaned off. Wanna
come with me?
(studying Janeane)
What's wrong, babe? You look
all tensed up? Lighten up,
girl. It's almost Christmas!

(flopping onto couch, dejected)
Don't say that. You know I'm not
big on religious holidays, especially
this year with the war in Iraq and
Afghanistan; the Bush administration
out of control, taking away everyone's
civil rights with the Patriot Act and
destroying Medicare; the antiwar
movement losing momentum and media
coverage; Governor Dean being offended
by the language at the fund-raiser;
and now this Saddam deal.

Yeah, no wonder they couldn't
find him. Who would have guessed
he was actually Willie Nelson?

(glaring at Chris)
Don't even start.
(slumping back on sofa
and shaking her head)
No, even if I did celebrate
Christmas, it sure wouldn't
be this year.

Chris sits in the chair across from her.

Oh come on, now. It can't be
that bad.
(reaching for stack of
presents on coffee table)
Hey, this will make you feel better.
You got some Christmas gifts today.
(holding up bottle-shaped package)
Oh, look, this one is from Howard
Dean. Probably a peace offering. I'll
bet it's a bottle of expensive liquor,
or no, I bet it's perfume; maybe even
some of that Channel Five stuff I can
never afford to buy you.

Chanel No. 5, you twit. No wonder
you play in an alternative band.

(handing her package)
Here, open it up.

Janeane reluctantly accepts the gift and tears open the wrapping paper. She freezes when she recognizes the contents.

Antiseptic mouthwash? Oh yeah, real
subtle hint, Howie.
(pointing to label)
Look, it's even generic brand. I
knew I never should have supported a
tight-assed fiscal conservative, even
if he did oppose the war.
(tossing bottle back to Chris)
Here, wrap it up again and send it
to the Bush twins. Maybe it'll give
them enough of a buzz to get through

Chris reaches for a large, square package with an envelope on top.

Wait, there's another gift here.
(handing package to Janeane)
It's a big one, too.

(tearing off paper)
A large economy size of Depends?
(opening envelope and reading)
It's from the Republican Governor's
Association. Seems like they've
filed a federal restraining order to
revoke my rest room privileges in
the red states.
(reading verse on card)
"Season's Greetings, little pinko.
Hope you get a job at Kinkos,
Copying your wit so rapier,
Onto rolls of toilet paper.
This gift comes from your angry mates,
In all those lowly 'pee-on-me' states,
Be sure to put these on your tush,
Next time you need to 'hit the Bush.'"

Ha, catchy.
(catching glimpse of
Janeane glaring)
Er, I mean, how dare those
lousy neocons.
(removing package from Janeane's lap)
Here, I'll just put this over by the
Christmas tree, along with those
edible shoes you got from Fox News
and that T-shirt with the bull's eye
target on both sides that came from
the NRA. But on the bright side,
Barbara Walters said she would
take that set of designer prophylactics
off your hands, you know, the ones
shaped like the heads of Republican
presidents. Wonder, should we still
send Michael Savage a thank-you-note?

The pony approaches Janeane and begins to nuzzle her and fuss, circling near the door.

That's it. I'm going to walk the
pony and get a little air.

She gets up from the couch and puts on her coat, hat and gloves.

Better hurry. He drank half a tub
full of bath oil.
(tossing Janeane a snow shovel)
Here, don't forget your pooper-

Janeane catches the shovel and exits with the pony on a leash.

(calling after her)
Hey, it's not so bad. The bomb
squad cleared that ticking fruitcake
from the Raging Grannies. It turned out
to be a combination of Rice Krispies
and Geritol.



Janeane emerges from the front of her building with the pony on a leash. It is snowing heavily, and the roads and sidewalks are now covered. She stops abruptly in front of a pair of snowmen and brushes them off with her gloves, revealing two very cold men underneath, one holding a video camera.

Joe Scarborough's guys?

They both nod stiffly.

I'm not even going to ask how
long you've been there. Look,
it's Christmas Eve, it's snowing,
and the Grinch is in the White
House stealing everyone's Christmas.
There isn't going to be anything
worth filming here. What do you say
we declare a truce, you guys go home
to your families, and we'll pick
this all up again on the 26th?

(with teeth chattering)
T-t-thank y-you, M-Ms. G-Garofalo.

Y-yeah. M-m-merry Christmas!

Yeah, right. God bless us every one.

Janeane proceeds to walk her pony along the sidewalk with heavy holiday traffic whizzing past. A large sedan comes too close to the curb and churns up slush with its tires, slinging it all over Janeane and the pony. The pony jumps and whinnies.

(making fist)
You doughnut hole! Who taught you
how to drive, Bill Janklow? I hate
these idiots, rushing to get their
last-minute holiday shopping done,
running around like maniacs with
big, dumb smiles on their faces. Don't they realize they're just empowering
the commercial monopoly of the
international elitists who exploit
religious holidays for material gain?
(yelling at traffic)
You're all full of --

The pony suddenly makes a flatulent noise and Janeane's attention is diverted.

(examining sidewalk
beneath rear of pony)
Oh yuk, Chris was right. Those
bath beads are like cod liver oil.

She begins to shovel, and the pony erupts again.

Hey, give me a minute to catch up
before you dump on me again, will
you? I swear you must have been the
mascot for Fox News.

Janeane glances around furtively with a shovel load of manure. Spying a dumpster in an alley, she approaches it quickly and deftly unloads her burden. A small voice coming from behind the dumpster surprises her.

Mommy, look! A pony.

A little girl no more than ten years of age and her haggard, anxious mother step out from the shadows. Both are dressed in old, unpressed clothes. The mother is carrying a plastic bag.

(alarmed and wielding the
shovel defensively)
Who the hell are you?

Sorry, we were just scrounging
for recyclables in the dumpster.
Sometimes you can make a little extra
money that way.

You're not living here, are you?

On the street? No, not yet. We've
still been able to find space in
the homeless shelter on the next
block. We've been on hard times
since my husband left.

(dropping shovel)
That's too bad. Yeah, men, you can
never depend on them when you
need them.

No. That's not true. My husband tried
very hard, but when the economy went
bad after 9/11, he got laid off
and never found steady work again.
Then he lost his self-respect,
started drinking, getting abusive.
To make a long story short, when
his unemployment insurance ran
out, we decided to split up, and
I've been on my own ever since.
But it wasn't his fault. I understand
that now. The counselors at the center
were very good about helping me to
accept that and deal with my anger.

Mommy, can I pet the pony?

Uh, tell you what. I don't usually
let anyone ride him, but I'm going
to make an exception just for you.
You don't look like a backbreaker.

She helps the girl up onto the pony. Her face lights up with joy and excitement as Janeane hands her the leash.

(pointing to little girl's gloves)
Oh, I love those Goth gloves with
the finger holes cut out.

The little girl beams.

They didn't start out that way, but
I can't afford to get her a new pair,
and she thinks it looks cool now.
One good thing about grunge rock:
At least it makes poverty fashionable.

I'll have to remember that line
for my dad.
(to little girl on pony)
Here, I don't have any reins,
so you have to use this leash to
control him. Just hold on tight
to his mane and let him find his
own pace -- and keep him away from
that German bakery where they make
the oatmeal apple kutchen, if you
know what's good for you. If the
cops stop you, I have a special
license tag tacked to his collar.

Janeane calls out as the pony starts to trot off with little girl on his back.

Just tell them you're an animal
trainer, and he's a stand-in for
the next "Beethoven" movie.

(calling to little girl)
Be careful, Karen.
(to Janeane)
Oh, thank you so much. I haven't
seen her so happy in a long time.
I'm afraid I couldn't get her much
for Christmas. I wish things would
get better soon.

Yeah, I know what you mean, but
you shouldn't give up hope. I
remember when I emceed the "Tell
Us the Truth" tour, you know, at
one point Tom and Billy were all
cranked up and we were really
rocking, and I just stared in the
faces of the crowd and saw that look
of "we can have a better life, we can
work toward social justice." You
should have attended. It was only
twenty-five dollars a ticket.

If I had twenty-five dollars, we
would have groceries for a week --
or maybe I could buy Karen a new pair
of shoes for school.

Uh, yeah, that's not what I meant...

Janeane reaches into her coat pocket and produces a cigarette.

(offering cigarette to lady)

Thank you.
Actually, I don't smoke, but I
trade them for things with other
women at the center.
(laughing weakly)
It's kind of an alternative currency,
just like prison.

The little girl has completed a loop of the block and approaches Janeane and her mother again, holding a bag of candy.

(eating candy)
Mom, it was great! He was eating
all of the poinsettias in front
of the Korean grocery, so this guy
came out waving his hands and
talking funny, and he finally gave
me a bag of ginseng candy to go away.

(helping little girl to dismount)
That's wonderful, pumpkin. Well,
thank the nice lady, and we need
to be getting back to the shelter.
(turning to Janeane)
Thank you, Miss -- ?

Just call me Janeane.

Thank you, Janeane. This is the
best Christmas ever!

The little girl hugs Janeane.

You're welcome.

Janeane tugs on the shoulder of the child's mother as she turns to walk away.


She presses a small wad of bills into the mother's hand.

It's just a few extra bucks I
didn't have any use for. Buy
a whole carton of cigarettes
and trade for something real special.

Mommy! We can go to MacDonald's
and have a Happy Meal!

(wrinkling her brow)
Now, Karen, you know we should
really contribute this to the homeless
center. They need all the help they
can get to keep on helping people
like us.
(touching child's
chin with a finger)
But don't worry. We're still going to
have a little party and celebrate
(to Janeane)
We're going Christmas caroling
all over the neighborhood in about
an hour. You're more than welcome
to join us.

(smiling meekly)
No thanks. My singing voice has
been known to start Civil Defense

The mother walks away holding the child's hand.

Thank you again, and Merry Christmas!

(lighting cigarette)
Yeah, Merry Christmas.
(to pony)
Come on, Seabiscuit. Enough of this
maudlin yuletide cheer. Let's get out
of here before we get "Touched by
an Angel."

They exit down the street.



Janeane and the pony stop in front of a large, neon Starbucks sign in a store window.

That's funny. I've never seen
this here before, and I walk by
here every day. Must have just
opened. Oh well, why look a gift
horse in the mouth?

The pony snorts and displays its teeth.

(turning to pony)
Not you, dink. That was just a
figure of speech.

Janeane ties the pony to a handrail outside of the building.

You stay here - and don't piddle
into the subway entrance.

The pony snorts again.

Yes, I'll bring you back some
sweetener packets.



Janeane opens the door and enters the Starbucks. It is small, dimly lit, and empty except for two men attempting to play chess at a table. As Janeane approaches, she recognizes them as Lenny Bruce and Bill Hicks. Astonished, she stops in her tracks, dumbfounded.

Damn, I'm all out of knights, and I'm
surrounded with these bishops.

(dragging on cigarette)
Man, no "horse" and righteous types
everywhere. Take it from me, that's
the ultimate bummer.

Hicks swipes his hand across board and scatters pieces everywhere.

To hell with this stupid game.
It never ends. It's just like
Reagan and Bush and their freakin'
military policies. We keep arming
these little countries, then we go
and blow the sh*t out of 'em.
We're like the bullies of the
world, y'know.

Wow, it's really you! You guys
were like my idols when I started
out in the comedy business.

Idols? What the hell kind of talk
is that from a self-proclaimed atheist? Why does an atheist need idols? What
does that mean, you don't respect us
spiritually, but you still think we
look good on your key chains or some
chintzy ornament on your dashboard?

Ah, don't be so hard on her, Bill.
Every day people are straying away
from the church and going back
to God.

(to Hicks, still awestruck)
Do you remember when we met in
Boston, in 1987? I asked you for
your autograph and you told me,
"What, do you think you're gonna
capture a piece of my soul with a
signature, like some Native American
afraid of a photograph? Go back to
kindergarten, and see if you can get
it right this time." Wow, you really
blew me away with that. I realized
you were trying to tell me something
really profound. That was such a
special moment!

(shaking his head)
Actually, I was just trying to
blow you off, because I needed a
drug fix so bad, my hallucinations
were even shaking; but if I'd known
it was going to mean that much to you,
I would have slapped you, spit on you,
and deserted you after getting you
pregnant. Anything to make your
life complete.

But wait a minute, what are you
guys doing here? Aren't you supposed
to be...

Dead? What better way to celebrate
the holiday season?

God, you've got that right. I swear
if I hear Karen Carpenter singing "Merry
Christmas Darling" one more time in a
shopping mall, I'm going to barf all
over a Hickory Farms gift basket.

Hey, watch it. Karen and I are very
close personal friends these days. What
can I say? She's just got one of those
voices that really blend with harp music.
No, that's not what Lenny meant. He's
just saying that now that we aren't
part of this world anymore, we can
really appreciate the Christmas season
for what it really is.

Duh, a big, phony, commercialized sham.
A bunch of brain-dead hypocrites going
around being all nicey-nice and talking
a lot of peace-on-earth-goodwill-to-
men junk for a whole month, and then
they revert right back to their old
selfish, hateful, backstabbing,
money grubbing selves.

Lenny Bruce snuffs out his cigarette in an ash tray.

That's what we always thought, but
then The Big Guy explained it to
us differently.

Yeah, you gotta look at it like this:
At least there's one month out of the
year when mankind lives up to its true
potential. At least that's a start.
Ain't that better than not having any
season of love and caring in an entire
calendar year?

No, because it's not real. People are
just going through the motions, like
Pavlov's dogs. I'd rather just face
the cold hard reality of life just as
it is. That's why I admired you guys so
much. You just laid it out there; you
said just what you felt and didn't
care what people thought. Like I
wrote in the foreword to Cynthia True's
book about you, Bill, you were a social
critic, post-modern prophet, and
comedian all rolled into one.

Yeah, and also a cynic, a fanatic and
a terminal substance abuser. I died at
age thirty-four of pancreatic cancer
after abusing every controlled
substance known to Western society,
for Christ's sake.
(catching himself and looking
up to sky, guilty)
Sorry, junior. Pardon the language.

Same with me. Sure I expanded the
envelope for standup comics and the
topics they were free to discuss
onstage, but I never gained control
of my personal life. I was so obsessed
with myself and my insatiable needs
that I ruined a marriage, turned my
closest friends into the cops to wiggle
out of my own drug raps, overdosed
in my bathroom at age forty, and
abandoned my little girl at the time
in her life that she needed me most.

But you guys rocked! You thumbed
your noses at the establishment.
You enlightened people and got
everyone to take their blindfolds
off. Isn't that what's most important?

She shakes her head and turns away toward coffee bar.

I don't understand any of this.
It must be a bad dream. I know
I'm going to wake up on the couch
watching another rerun of "A
Christmas Carol" or "It's a Wonderful
Life" with the dogs peeing on my legs.
In the meantime, give me a Grande
Hazelnut Latte.

She roots through her pockets looking for change.

Uh, sorry, I'd treat everyone, but I
had some unforeseen expenses tonight.

No problem. It's on me.

He snaps his fingers and three cups of coffee appear on the counter. He distributes them evenly between Janeane, Lenny Bruce and himself.

How did you do that?

Like I always say, we all pay for
life with death, so everything in
between should be free. Besides, the
clerk in this joint is a real slacker.

A voice is heard from behind the counter.


Janeane recoils and spills her cup of latte, as none other than Sam Kinison appears in front of the counter, dressed in a Starbucks uniform.

Y-you? Isn't anyone alive in this
joint? Oh my god, does that mean
I'm -- ?

The way your career has been going,
how would you know the difference?
(pointing to spilled
coffee on counter)
Oh yeah, why don't you just make a
big mess, so the poor dumb loser of a
counter clerk has to clean it up?
(raising the tone of
his voice fanatically)

Janeane hurriedly wipes off the counter with napkins she snatches from a holder.

(hurriedly wiping off
the counter with napkins)
Okay, okay, already. Geeze, what
are you so angry about? It's just
a little spill.

(grinning fiendishly)
I'm not angry at all. You see, I
don't repress my anger. I express
it and get rid of it before it
destroys my emotional well-being.
Besides, I just got you to wipe
off my counter for me.

You see, Janeane, that's the secret.
You have to find balance in your life.
If being angry and militant takes
over your life, then you can't enjoy
the simplest pleasures of everyday
existence, like the holiday season.
Clinging to negative emotions leads
to stress, substance abuse, alienation
from close personal relationships.

(sipping latte)
But it's so hard for me to relax,
knowing what a mess the world is in.
We've got war, terrorism, political
corruption at the highest levels
of government.

I've been married twice, changed
three agents, and got wasted by some
teen-age drunk driver on my honeymoon.
Where would I be if let stress get
to me?

Where are you now? Dead.

(shouting in Janeane's face)
(lowering his voice)
Besides, what good does it do
if you destroy yourself trying
to save the world?

Yeah, do you really think people
still remember us because of those
angry tirades, or was it because we
were actually able to get them to
see the humor in the worst of
situations, to sit back and laugh
at themselves and the world in
general? You see, that's the special
gift that all of us standup comics
have: By bringing a little humor
into people's lives, we give people
the strength to go on living those

Yeah, why else do you think The Big Guy
didn't send us all downstairs for a
permanent booking?

I'm sorry, but I just don't know.

The hell you don't.
(gesturing to Kinison)
Okay, barkeep, roll the tape.

Sam Kinison clicks a remote control and the screen lights up on a large television set suspended from the ceiling. It begins to replay the scene with Janeane giving the little girl a ride on her pony.

Hmm, do my eyes deceive me, or is
Little Miss Hardass displaying a
little Christmas spirit?

(embarrassed and angry)
Okay, okay, so I went a little
softhearted. What's the big deal?
It's not like I'm a Republican.

Yes, but why did you do it? And how
did it make you feel?

I don't know. I just felt sorry for
the kid, I guess, but it did feel
pretty good, I admit. Better than I
even feel after a couple of hours on
stage ripping Bush and his doughnut
hole flunkies a new one.

That's because it isn't enough just
to expose the evil. You also have to
express the goodness.
(locking his fingers together)
That's what completes the cycle.
Trust me. I know. I used to be
an evangelist.

(rubbing her temples)
Oooh...I don't feel so well. What
did you put in this coffee...

You mean that's supposed to be
coffee? I thought you needed
something to keep your glasses
from fogging up.

Getting sleepy...sleepy. Just
like watching C-Span...

(as Janeane loses consciousness)
Remember, life is just a ride and
we can change it any time we want.
It's only a choice. No effort,
no work, no job, no savings and money,
a choice, right now, between fear
and love. The eyes of fear want you
to put bigger locks on your door,
buy guns, close yourself off. The
eyes of love instead see all of
us as one.



Janeane slowly regains consciousness. She finds herself next to the pony again and sitting with her back against a darkened storefront. A taxicab drives by and screeches to a halt. Then it slowly reverses, and Chris Anderson emerges from a rear door, toting a life-sized bundle covered with holiday wrapping paper and bows.

Janeane! I wondered where you were.
(kneeling down beside her)
I just got back from picking up
your Christmas present. Where
have you been?

I - I don't know exactly. First
I met this poor lady and her daughter
who were scrounging from a dumpster --

And they rolled you? I keep telling
you to carry that can of mace I bought
you when you thought you were going to
do the Howard Stern show.

No, they were really nice, but
then on the way back --
(turning to look at storefront)
I saw this place and it looked
like a brand new Starbucks. Then
I went inside, and some really,
really strange sh*t went down.

(shaking his head)
No, this place has been closed for
months. I remember, first it was a
Banana Republic, and then they
turned it into a Christian Science
reading room. Personally, I couldn't
tell much difference either way.
Maybe you're coming down with

He holds a hand to Janeane's forehead and feels for a temperature.

Janeane pushes away Chris's hand and stands up. Her legs are shaky.

No, I'm fine.
(pointing to large package)
What is that?

(holding bundle in front of Janeane)
Well, I was going to wait until we
got back, but what the heck. Go
ahead and open it.

Janeane peels away a layer of wrapping paper and unveils a large glass statue of herself, holding a microphone in one hand and making an obscene gesture with the other.

(grinning broadly)
Merry Christmas! It's an artistic
rendering of you at the Tell Us
the Truth tour doing your standup
and flipping Bush the bird. Do you
like it?

Oh yes, it's wonderful!
(fingering statue)
But how did you get the idea?

Well, you know all of those idiots
who have been mailing you the boxes
and envelopes full of ground glass
after that statement you made on
O'Reilly's show, right? I got the
bright idea to take them all down
to a buddy of mine in the Village
who does glass sculpture and owes
me a favor. He melted them all down,
remolded them and -- Voila!

I love it, but it's so huge. Where
will we find the space, especially
with the animals?

That's the best part. I've had it
appraised for a lot of money,
especially if you personally
autograph it. I figured you could
donate it to a celebrity auction to
benefit the charity of your choice,
probably something to do with the
antiwar movement.

No, actually I have something else
in mind...



Janeane is walking with a troupe of Christmas carolers and talking to a middle-aged, bespectacled lady, while Chris plays the guitar and her pony pulls a makeshift cardboard sleigh bearing several small children.

Ms. Garofalo, as acting director,
I just want to thank you again on
behalf of the "Tina Turner Shelter
for Abused and Homeless Women" for
donating that lovely glass sculpture.
I'm sure the auction proceeds will be
a great help toward meeting our
ongoing expenses. In fact, we've
already had a substantial offer from
the vice-president.

Oh? Wonder why?

I believe he said that was one little
bird no one would blame him for shooting.
What do you suppose he meant?

Don't worry about it, Ms. Bergman.
Hey, it's Christmas, right?
(turning to address another lady)
And Mrs. Sizemore, if I ever make a
film with your ex-husband, I promise
to turn a ferret loose in his dressing
trailer. So where are we going?

We're going to stop at Gracie Mansion
and carol for Mayor Bloomberg. The
poor man has so much pressure and
responsibility these days. We just
want to show our support.

Karen, the girl from the pony ride, and her mother work their way over to Janeane.

Janeane, I'm so happy you decided
to join us.

Hey, I know who you are! I saw you
on the television back at the center.
You're a big star! I want to be just
like you when I grow up.

You do?

Yeah, you were on the "Larry Sanders
Show." Were you really a teen-age

(sighing and looking upward)
You just couldn't let it be my
cameo from "Rocky and Bullwinkle,"
could you?

The troupe breaks in to a chorus of "Hark the Herald" and Janeane joins in, with shrill, earsplitting tones that drown everyone else out. Mrs. Bergman looks in horror at Chris who returns the gaze and then stops playing momentarily.

(to Janeane, as he hands
her a tambourine)
Here, you better save your voice
for that radio show. You can help
me with the accompaniment.

Janeane begins to shake the tambourine, Chris resumes playing and they continue on down 88th Street, approaching Gracie Mansion.

We're almost there! Oh, Mayor Bloomberg
will be so surprised!

As they near the mansion, searchlights suddenly snap on, sirens wail and a fully armed SWAT team surrounds the carolers with weapons cocked.

Halt! Who goes there? Everybody
put your hands up!

The carolers comply and the SWAT team members intermingle with them, frisking everybody and checking ID's.

It's all right. We're from the
women's center. We're just here
to sing some carols for the
mayor and his guests.

Mayor Bloomberg appears on an upper balcony dressed in a bathrobe.

Merry Christmas, folks!
(to SWAT team)
It's okay. Everyone stand down.
Sorry, but since the administration
of my predecessor Mr. Giuliani, we
maintain the tightest possible
security in order to protect the
city from undesirable elements.

You mean terrorists?

No, street people. We sent them all
back to Jersey where they belong.
How do you think a Republican gets
elected mayor in this town?
Speaking of which, Mr. Giuliani
and his new wife are my guests
for the holiday.
(sticking his head inside
an upstairs door)
Hey, Rudy, come on out and say
hello to the nice people.

Some fidgeting noises are heard, and then Rudolph Giuliani emerges, also clad in a bathrobe and holding a top hat beneath his waist. He waves to the crowd with his free hand and engages Bloomberg aside.

(under his breath)
Damnit, Mike, let's make this quick.
I'm trying to get it on with my new
young wife, and I just popped a couple
of Viagras. I'm wasting a hundred
dollar woodie here.

(staring at top hat)
Oh. Boy you're one lucky son of a gun.
It if wasn't for 9/11, you would have
been just another balding, philandering,
cold-hearted Republican plutocrat.
Nothing like a major disaster to
turn a goat into a hero.

(slapping Bloomberg
across the palm)
You know it, bro'.

(calling out to mayor)
So what would you like to hear
first, your honor?

Do you know "Hevenu Shalom?"

The carolers are silent.

Okay then, how about "Silent Night?"

The carolers launch into a soulful chorus of "Silent Night." The mayor applauds when they finish.

Oh, that was so lovely, it almost makes
me feel guilty for cutting your funding
again in next year's budget. Encore!

The carolers look slightly miffed, but in a beat they begin to sing "Adeste Fideles." In the middle of the chorus, a snowball comes sailing from the rear of the troupe, smacking Bloomberg in the nose and glancing off Giuliani's bald spot. Giuliani loses his balance, drops the top hat, and exposes his secret to the entire crowd as he staggers backward and falls down.

The carolers abruptly stop singing and everyone gasps in shock. In the rear of the group, Janeane crouches down close to the ground.

(dusting snow off her mittens)
He, he, he, he, he.
And to all a good night!



--Back to Top--

 !  Sidebar Information /
Fan Fiction

Janeane Garofalo drawing by Amy

In this series of adventures, Janeane Garofalo plays the part of Janeane as she searches for a persona to finally call home. To read a brief biography, go to Janeane Garofalo >>.

This episodic comedy, written in the general format of a film script, follows the harrowing adventures of a modern-day Janeane Garofalo as she finds herself pitched by the winds of fate from one wild adventure to another. One moment she is burning down the home of Martha Stewart after a failed attempt to fill the apron of the homemaking diva who is preparing for a sojourn "up the river." The next she finds herself transformed into an Elizabethan era Alice pursued by Wonderland characters with incredible resemblances to members of the George W. Bush administration. Never fear, fans of Janeane. While the little Jersey gal walks through the world leaving chaos and destruction in her wake, she always comes out on top, though not completely unscathed at all times.

Select any one of the links below to go to another part of
Perils >> 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

Little is known of George "Rusty" Datt. Some rumors place him at the scene of all historical events, important or otherwise, for the past two years. Other rumors say longer.
To learn what little we know, go to George "Rusty" Datt >>

  |   1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11


©2004 - 2005 Tall Tales To Go • Home PageFan Fiction Fan FictionFiction and MoreMiscellanyContact