Sonny’s Week Off

Author’s Note: As you know the sitcom is authored by me, Christopher Haberman, a humble Anglican church planter in South Dakota.  Find me on Twitter here.  While you saw a promise in the Halloween episode that Chuck Dotson would write the conclusion, attentive “fans” of the sitcom probably noticed that no conclusion was ever posted.  Well, Chuck made a lot of promises he didn’t intend to keep – just  like my dad, who said he was going out for a pack of cigarettes and never came back.  Kidding, I have a great dad.  My mother on the other hand?  Let’s just say JVL and I could trade quite a few stories about our mothers. 

All this is to preface the fact that for the first time ever – thanks, Chuck – we have a guest writer at the sitcom.  This week’s episode was written by Timothy Lewis, a long standing member of the SSEU.  Find him on Twitter here.  I believe he got a shout-out on the show once for talking about how kombucha causes irritable bowels.  Or something like that.  Speaking of kombucha, I think Sonny was confusing kombucha and kimchi on the show  Seriously, Sonny, eat somewhere other than Chili’s for once.  Maybe even walk down the raw foods aisle at a Wegmans sometime.  It won’t kill you.  Vic’s diet?  Yeah, that will kill you.  Only a Matus can handle that amount of lard in his bloodstream

Anyway, you’ll find Timothy’s script below this filibuster.  Honestly, I’m kind of nervous handing over the reins.  If you love it, remember that I punched it up a little.  If you hate it, chill out.  This is a free site.  Without further ado, here it is:

Last week we heard what Vic and JVL did during their week off.  This episode we finally discover how Sonny spent his downtime.

Our story opens with a lone figure sitting on a low stool, shoulders hunched in contemplation. The left side of the room is lit with the harsh color temperature of 5,000 Kelvin LED bulbs.   Why 5,000 Kelvin when all people of good taste keep their interior lighting at or below a tasteful 2,700 Kelvin?  Because the Bunch Theorem isn’t just about chain restaurants, it’s about any numbers (Bunch Theorem: higher number, MOAR better).

A small table lamp helps illuminate the corner Sonny is occupying casting a single shadow against the favela-like shelving in the background. Suddenly, Sonny Bunch bolt upright and calls out to his wife.

Sonny: Honey, can you come in here? I need your help.

Wife: <Obviously annoyed> What is it now?

Sonny: I need a second opinion; I can’t tell if the leather on these shoes is supple, or merely pliant.

Wife: <unintelligible muttering> You know what? I think you’ve been cooped up in there for far too long. Why don’t you get out for a bit? Maybe get some fresh air?

Sonny looked down at his fingers, tinged brown and stiff from holding the brush and shoes. Flexing his hands to ward off cramps, he notices the air in the room is thick with the smell of Meltonian and sweat.

Sonny: Yes, (he says, more to himself than in response to her,) maybe I will get out for a bit.

20 minutes later, Sonny is off to a local theater for some mindless entertainment. However, while still several blocks away, he notices the lights and sirens of emergency vehicles and smoke in the distance. As he nears, he can see that it is the theater which is engulfed in flames, though it looks like the fire crew has the situation well in hand. Curious, Sonny pulls into a garage and winces when he notices that this garage costs $25 for the first two hours.  “@&*%,” he thinks.  Then he realizes he can just expense it to the Free Beacon.  He pulls in and, perhaps against his better judgment, joins a small group of onlookers nearby. Most are watching the firefighters and discussing the gravity of the situation. One man near the back nods to Sonny and nervously approaches him.

Man: It’s a shame isn’t it? Something like this happening?

Sonny: It doesn’t look too bad. Was anyone hurt?

Man: Oh, heavens no. Apparently the fire alarms went off early, and everyone got out safely.

Sonny, distracted by the spray of the fire hoses onto the smoking building, doesn’t notice several people in the crowd slowly begin to envelop him.

Man: Yep, it’s a darn shame. Though, the bigger shame is this theater’s inability to mask their bleep-ing screen properly.

Woman: Yes, they also had trouble with the focus too.

As she spoke, Sonny turns and finally notices that he has been surrounded by a small group of people. This alone would normally be enough to put him at unease, misanthrope that he is.  But something about this group really seems… off.

Man; You know, now that I think about it, this place was garbage. And, you know what garbage is good for?

The man turns, looking Sonny in the face.

Woman: Burning!

Man: Burning.

The man nodded, looking to the crowd around him, at which point they all parroted him.

Sonny’s mind begins to race. Who were these people? Did they have something to do with the theater fire? What did they want with him? Sonny decides it is probably best to not try and get any answers, but to quickly make his escape.

Sonny: Yeah, or, you know, recycling is good too. Anyway, I guess I should be going, so…

Sonny tries to walk away but he’s too late.  The crowd tightens around him.

Man: Oh, don’t be silly, Mr. Bunch. You may have missed the movie, but this evening isn’t over yet.

At theses word, the crowd begins moving as one, carrying Sonny helplessly along with it. After a block and a half, a door in a seemingly shuttered business front opens, and the man, smiling, motions for Sonny to enter. With no other viable options, he walks in.

Sonny: What the -?

Looking around the room Sonny notices a long banquet table on one side of the room. Sitting on top of the table is a variety of Sbarro’s pizza slices, and a selection of Chili’s appetizers. Above the table hangs a banner with the words “Welcome Sonny!” The crowd, which had seemed distinctly sinister outside now appears nervous, like a group of middle school boys at a dance. From the far end of the room Sonny sees a figure approach, a young man, smiling broadly, holding a cocktail glass.

Young Man: At last, our honored guest has arrived! I’m sorry for our crude means of invitation, but we knew of no other way to get you here.

Sonny: Bleeping straight.  This is insane.

Sonny tries to get a read on this new development, but his boyish face and Midwestern accent only conveys warmth and admiration.

Young Man: This is a gathering of The Bunchers. We have committed ourselves to you and your wisdom. We would never harm you.  We are your people, Sonny, and all of this is for you! Please, sit, eat, enjoy. Here, this is for you.

The young man hands Sonny a glass. Sonny, at this point mostly hoping it is poisoned, puts the glass to his lips and takes a drink.

Sonny: What is this?

He smells the glass and takes another sip.

Sonny: Is this bourbon and… apple juice?

Young man: Yes! We call it a Zack Cider. We created it just for you.

Sonny: Yeah, well, it’s not really my style.

Young man: That’s okay, we have another choice for you.
He waves his hand toward another table with cocktail glasses surrounding a large crystal bowl filed with a brown liquid and what appears to be tootsie pops.
Sonny: Let me guess, that’s Sucker Punch? (author’s note: in the Midwest, lollipops are known as suckers)

The crowd cheers and applauds Sonny’s words.

Young man: Sonny is always right!

Crowd: <in unison> Sonny is always right!

Sonny surveys the room, the adoration, the adulation washes over him and he almost begins to enjoy it, but then he remembers the abduction, the arson, and his joy is replaced with disgust.

Young man: I think it is time for some words from our most honored guest.

Crowd: Speech! Speech!

Sonny gulps down the rest of his Zack Cider, takes a deep breath, and addresses the gathering before him.

Sonny: Are you people f-ing serious? Bunchers? First of all, that’s a terrible name. Secondly, what’s wrong with you people? I mean, you burned down a theater? For this?

Man: Well, technically, we just put a smoke bomb in a trashcan, who’d a thought that buttered popcorn would be so flammable?

Sonny: Literally everyone who’s ever eaten it! It’s not butter, it’s oil, and oil burns. Never mind, what’s important is that you call this off and turn yourselves in before things get out of hand.

The crowd, confused by Sonny’s reaction, begins rumbling among themselves. The young man, who Sonny assumes to be their leader shakes his head.

Young man: No, there’s no need for that. The fire didn’t do THAT much damage. I’m sure it’s fine.

He looks at the rest of the Bunchers with a disappointed expression.

Young man: I said, I’m sure it’s fine!

The crowd is obviously demoralized and unsure and only some of them parrot the expression back to him.

Sonny; No, it’s not fine, they are going to figure out what happened. Haven’t any of you ever watched Forensic Files?!?

Young man; No, actually. We only watch Zack Snyder movies and Criterion Collection films.

Sonny: Look, let me make this easy for you to understand. You can’t live your lives like this. You people are garbage. This all must end tonight.

Young man: But…

Sonny: Who’s always right?

Young man: Sonny?

Sonny: Say it.

Young man: Sonny’s always right.

Sonny: Again.

Young man: Sonny’s always right.

Sonny. Everyone!

Crowd: Sonny’s always right.

Sonny: Now, everyone go home. Forget about all of this. Live your lives. Read a book.  But not Harry Potter.  Read another book.

The crowd starts to disband and people begin to leave.

Sonny exhales slowly and makes his way to the drink table, shaking his head. Curious, he ladles some of the Sucker Punch into an empty glass and gulps it down. He is pleasantly surprised and makes a mental note to add Tootsie Pops to his next Amazon order. As he turns to leave, he sees that only the young man remains.

Young man: What, what am I supposed to do now?

Sonny, not especially caring, but starting to feel the effects of the sugar spiked bourbon drinks, stops and answers him.

Sonny: Look kid, you can’t only look to me for your answers. Get out there, experience life, see the world, find a girl.

Hearing this, the young man picks his head up.

Young man: Well, there is this girl in Texas I met online.

By this time Sonny is already at the door. Exiting into the night, he turns and before the door closes, leaves the young man with some parting words of encouragement.

Sonny: I’m sure it’s fine.

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