Desperate Guys: Next Year's Spinoff Sensation
The hottest show on television right now is Terri Hatcher's Desperate Housewives, which provides a salacious glimpse into the saucy, decadent world of four women living the good life in an American suburb.
I'm hoping to cash in on the spinoff mania generated by shows like Frasier and Joey, so I've taken the liberty of writing a spinoff to Desperate Housewives: Desperate Guys. I know it'll be successful. I've seen the issues of Cosmo as I've stood in the checkout line at the grocery store: Women are desperate to see into the secret, inner lives of guys, and a man's man such as myself is in a perfect position to provide it.
Our story is narrated by Dave Young, a former resident of idyllic Elm Street, whose life tragically ends in suicide--at least that's the official story.
For reasons yet unknown to our television audience, the disembodied voice of Dave chooses to spend the afterlife airing all the delicious secrets of his former friends and neigbhors, The Desperate Guys. This darkly satirical drama tinged with wry social commentary centers around Dave's four closest friends, all of whom typify Thoreau's axiom "Most men lives of quiet desperation".
The opening scene features Dave's next door neigbor, Charlie, otherwise known as Chaz, standing in front of his closet in his tidy-whities. Most of his clothes lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, and Chaz fishes through the pile, drawing forth a blue button-down. After being subjected to the "sniff test", Chaz takes his favorite shirt to the bathroom and dampens it with a quick burst from the shower and then tosses it in the dryer, thus avoiding ironing. Like most men, Chazz runs his closet like a baseball team; he has a starting lineup of five shirts, a bullpen with a couple trusty relievers, and a closer--the stylish shirt he wears for a night out on the town. After a breakfast of leftover pizza washed down with coke straight up from the two-liter bottle, he brushes his teeth and takes a "trucker bath" by placing three thick stripes of deodorant down his torso.
As Chaz waits for his clothing to dry, he sees Dave's wife, Charlene across the chain-link fence seperating their property. Why would Dave kill himself? After all, he just bought an HDTV with surround sound, didn't he? Something doesn't add up here. His eyes narrow with suspicion as Charlene, dressed in a pink J-Lo tracksuit, waters the flowers on her back porch. He stares at her intently. She seems to be devoid of grief. She also looks totally hot; kinda like Heather Locklear...ah, Heather Locklear, he thinks to himself, replaying that familiar old T.J. Hooker handcuffs fantasy in his head.
After absent-mindedly buttoning his shirt, Dave lifts a pair of brown trousers to his face and inhales. At that moment, Charlene notices her neighbor staring at her from his patio window while sniffing a pair of trousers.
...There it is, ladies, a scandolous glimpse into the secret lives of men living in a film noir-like world of shadow and intrigue. Damn sexy, eh?
I'm hoping to cash in on the spinoff mania generated by shows like Frasier and Joey, so I've taken the liberty of writing a spinoff to Desperate Housewives: Desperate Guys. I know it'll be successful. I've seen the issues of Cosmo as I've stood in the checkout line at the grocery store: Women are desperate to see into the secret, inner lives of guys, and a man's man such as myself is in a perfect position to provide it.
Our story is narrated by Dave Young, a former resident of idyllic Elm Street, whose life tragically ends in suicide--at least that's the official story.
For reasons yet unknown to our television audience, the disembodied voice of Dave chooses to spend the afterlife airing all the delicious secrets of his former friends and neigbhors, The Desperate Guys. This darkly satirical drama tinged with wry social commentary centers around Dave's four closest friends, all of whom typify Thoreau's axiom "Most men lives of quiet desperation".
The opening scene features Dave's next door neigbor, Charlie, otherwise known as Chaz, standing in front of his closet in his tidy-whities. Most of his clothes lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, and Chaz fishes through the pile, drawing forth a blue button-down. After being subjected to the "sniff test", Chaz takes his favorite shirt to the bathroom and dampens it with a quick burst from the shower and then tosses it in the dryer, thus avoiding ironing. Like most men, Chazz runs his closet like a baseball team; he has a starting lineup of five shirts, a bullpen with a couple trusty relievers, and a closer--the stylish shirt he wears for a night out on the town. After a breakfast of leftover pizza washed down with coke straight up from the two-liter bottle, he brushes his teeth and takes a "trucker bath" by placing three thick stripes of deodorant down his torso.
As Chaz waits for his clothing to dry, he sees Dave's wife, Charlene across the chain-link fence seperating their property. Why would Dave kill himself? After all, he just bought an HDTV with surround sound, didn't he? Something doesn't add up here. His eyes narrow with suspicion as Charlene, dressed in a pink J-Lo tracksuit, waters the flowers on her back porch. He stares at her intently. She seems to be devoid of grief. She also looks totally hot; kinda like Heather Locklear...ah, Heather Locklear, he thinks to himself, replaying that familiar old T.J. Hooker handcuffs fantasy in his head.
After absent-mindedly buttoning his shirt, Dave lifts a pair of brown trousers to his face and inhales. At that moment, Charlene notices her neighbor staring at her from his patio window while sniffing a pair of trousers.
...There it is, ladies, a scandolous glimpse into the secret lives of men living in a film noir-like world of shadow and intrigue. Damn sexy, eh?
