The Therapist, a dialogue

October 17, 2006 at 8:05 pm (Radio sketch, Technology)

The action takes place in what sounds like a large, empty warehouse.

Ms White: So, Mr Brown, your son is addicted to user-generated content.

Mr Brown: That’s right, he’s either making it or watching it — that damn YouTube.

Ms White: I understand you have a weblog Peter.

Peter: Got it for my birthday.

Ms White: How old are you?

Pause

Mr Brown: Tell Ms White how old you are Peter.

Peter: Thirteen.

Ms White: I’m sorry Peter, can you stop filming us with your mobile.

Peter: This is exactly the sort of thing my unique visitors want to see — me about to be committed to the nut-house.

Ms White: Please stop filming.

Peter: No.

Ms White: (Rummages, then, coolly) Well, you won’t mind me filming you for my weblog.

Peter: You can’t do that.

Ms White: Yes I can.

Peter: Dad, she’s filming me.

Ms White: (immitating him) Daaad, she’s filming me!

Mr Brown: Right, can you stop filming each other?

Ms White: He started it.

Peter: You’re the therapist, you’re supposed to be sane.

Mr Brown: Right (shuffles around his pockets).

Ms White: What are you doing?

Mr Brown: This is my cell phone, I’m filming you.

Ms White: Don’t tell me you’ve got a weblog.

Mr Brown: Why not, my opinions are valid. So are my experiences.

Peter: (excited) Keep it pointed at her dad. I’ll shoot you.

Ms White: Look, I’m sure we’ve got enough content for our respective blogs, let’s call it a day.

Peter: Don’t listen to her dad, this is the denouement, the three of us holding mobiles to each other’s heads. I’ll be the next Tarantino – Reservoir Blogs.

Sound of gunshot.


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