Hello all, just looking for some feedback on this idea. Hope the formatting isn't too off-putting. Many thanks in advance for having a read.
INT. OFFICE. DAY
JIM types on his pc. DAVE enters.
Dave: Have you got the July figures yet, Jim? Sandra's getting nervous.
Jim: Not now, Dave. I'm looking for porn.
Dave: What?
Jim: I can't do anything till I've whacked off.
Dave: But you're at work.
Jim: Tell me about it. I was up all night looking, but there's no good porn left on the internet. All I can find is stuff for weirdos.
Dave stares at Jim.
Dave: You mean to say... You... Look, I'm sorry but I'm going to have to tell Sandra.
Dave leaves.
Jim types some more, then rolls his eyes--still no luck in his search.
SANDRA enters.
Sandra: Jim, I've just spoken with Dave. I hope I've got this wrong. He says you're unable to work because you're looking for porn. Is this correct?
Jim: That's about the size of it, Sandra, yes.
Sandra: Well, what search terms are you using?
Jim: "Big juicy tits".
Sandra: And you haven't found anything?
Jim: Nothing worth a jiggle of the joystick, no. See for yourself.
Sandra comes round to Jim's side of the desk and looks at his monitor.
Sandra: What is that?
Jim: Exactly. I think it's a combination of implants and photoshop. Hideous. And there are thousands of pages with those monstrosities.
Sandra: Could you not type "hardcore sex" or something?
Jim:Way ahead of you, boss. But see what passes for a porn movie these days.
Jim types and clicks his mouse.
Sandra:Well, I can see things moving. It's definitely sex. I think.
JIM: Why is it in extreme close-up? It's like a cross between a gynecological training film and abstract art. I just want to see sexy women. I've tried everything I can think of.
Sandra: Lesbians?
Jim: Ooh... Nice idea. I'm sick of seeing hairy men-legs in porn.
Jim types, clicks. They both exclaim in disgust.
Jim: Do they qualify as women?
Sandra: So much for avoiding hairy legs.
Jim: It's no use. I'll never crack one off.
Sandra takes off her glasses.
Sandra: Let me just run something up the flagpole.
Jim: A flagpole is what I'm aiming for.
Sandra: All this thinking about sex... It's getting me in the mood. How about if we, you know...?
Jim: Shag? Don't be perverted.
FORD, the company CEO, enters.
Ford: What the hell is going on? The figures from July haven't gone through. Someone's leaked to the press that the office is in chaos and our share price is dropping like a stone. Sandra?
Sandra: It's Jim, sir. He's unable to find any good porn on the internet.
Ford: Good God, man. This is the 21st Century. Just type "Big tits" and be done with it.
Jim: It's no use, sir. Take a look.
Ford comes round to look at the monitor.
Ford: What the hell? Who'd be able to bop the bishop to that?
Jim: I blame the coalition government.
Ford: Well, dammit, we need some ideas. Sandra?
Sandra: We could call I.T.?
Jim: Tried that. They said it's a problem with my hardware. Nothing they can do.
Ford: This is a crisis situation. We need strong measures. What if Sandra...?
Sandra: I've already offered, sir. But he's determined he has to go Han Solo.
Ford bashes the keyboard in disgust.
Ford: Dammit, I will not see this company go down the drain because one of our employees can't find something decent to help him slap the donkey.
Jim's eyes go wide, he's seen something on the monitor.
Jim: That's it! Perfect. I don't know what you pressed, sir, but you've found it!
Ford: I have?
Jim: Just leave me alone for a couple of minutes and everything will be all right.
Sandra (to Ford): Well done, sir.
Ford: Oh, well, it was nothing really. Right. Let's leave him to it.
Sandra: Good luck, Jim.
Sandra and Ford leave.
Int. OFFICE. TWO MINUTES LATER.
Jim leans back in his chair, relaxed and grinning.
Ford and Sandra enter.
Ford: Well?
Sandra:How did it go?
Jim: The monkey is well and truly choked.
Hi-fives all round. After Sandra hi-fives Jim, she looks at her hand in disgust.
Jim lights up a cigarette and takes a drag.
Ford: What in blazes are you doing? You can't smoke in here.
Jim: But--
Ford: No, "buts" my lad. You know the rules. Get your things and go. You're fired.
Sandra and Ford leave, Sandra stops at the door.
Sandra: Filthy habit.
Jim is left with his mouth open, confused.
END OF SKETCH