Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Clay and Kimmel ("The Climmel"): I See London, I See France

(Clay in his hotel room in London. His cell phone rings. He checks the display, grins and answers.)

Clay: Hola!

Kimmel (bad British accent): Cheerio, old boy. Pip pip and all that. D’you have Prince Albert in a can?

Clay (mystified): Do Ah have WHO in a WHAT?

Kimmel (normal voice): Clay, didn’t you make crank phone calls as a kid?

Clay: Please. Mah mom woulda wore me out with a stick. No joke.

Kimmel: So, I see you snuck in a trip to Spain and you didn’t even tell me.

Clay: Jimmy, these days when Ah wake up in the mornin,’ Ah hafta stick mah head out the winda ta figger out whayre Ah am. An’ who’s sendin’ you copies o’ mah blogs? Unless yore an actual member o' mah Oh-Fishul Fan Club?

Kimmel (lying through his teeth): Of course I am.

Clay: Good, coss otherwise you better cough up the thirty bucks, ya cheapass. Ah don't s'pose yore gonna tell me yore screenname?

Kimmel (clears throat, changes the subject): Sooo...did you do anything fun in Spain?

Clay: Nope – Ah was thayre on business, an’ rilly busy. Somebody did try ta git me ta go to a bullfight, though.

Kimmel: And you didn’t go?

Clay: Nah…Ah hate the sight o’ blood, an’ Ah cain’t stand cruelty ta animals. (sotto voce) Unless thayre’s barbecue involved. Don’t tell PITA. (normal voice) Those matadors are purdy gutsy, though…Ah hafta give ‘em that.

Kimmel (bemused): Hmmm…matadors…I think I better file that away for future reference.

Clay (knowingly): Jimmy, Ah’m not wearing a matador costume OR fightin’ a bull on yore show. Don’t EVEN go thayre.

Kimmel: Actually, I was thinking of Guillarmo.

Clay (shaking his head): That pore guy. Ah don’t know why he puts up with you.

Kimmel: Are you kidding? He loves taking his mom to movie premieres and schmoozing with celebrities. Sure beats guarding the Porsches in the parking lot. So what if he has to wear slingbacks once in a while. But…he did make me promise not to make him put on a bra anymore. So, looks like that slot is open for next season.

Clay (wryly): Good luck with THAT one. Mebbe yore Uncle Frank’d be innersted. So…y’know mah tour is comin’ ta L.A., finely.

Kimmel (reluctantly): Um…yeah…

Clay: Jimmy, yore comin’ ta see me, aren’tcha?

Kimmel: Well—

Clay (severely): Now look, ya slacker. You’ve never seen me in concert—

Kimmel (defensive): Sure I have. You’ve sung on my Pontiac Garage stage, remember? And in my studio.

Clay (heatedly): That doesn’t count! You better git yore sorry butt ta mah show, which is right across town from you, by the way, or Ah jest might have other plans the next time sweeps rolls around.

Kimmel: Oooh, now I’m scared! (laughs) Okay, okay…I was just screwing with you. Sarah and I had already decided to come. Of course we’re gonna be there. So…are we supposed to wear big gaudy tee-shirts and blinky hats and feather boas and carry big honkin’ cameras and hold up huge signs that block everybody else’s view? And scream and throw underwear?

Clay (sigh, major eyeroll): Oh, Jimmy. That is so 2003.

Kimmel: Oh, okay…I’ll behave myself. I can’t speak for Sarah, though.

Clay: Jimmy, Ah fully expect her ta make a spectacle o’ herself. Ah’d be kinda disappointed if she didn’t. An’ Ah’m shore she’d feel right at home with some o’ mah more…um…enthusiastic fans.

Kimmel: So, now you’re in London? Geez.

Clay: Yep. Gotta talk ta some producers, but then we were hopin’ ta mebbe git in some sight seein’ today. Not shore whayre we’re gonna eat yet…we wanna go somewhayre upscale. Y’know…classy an’ understated.

Kimmel: Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. Don’t you know there’s a McDonald’s in the Tower of London?

Clay: Jimmy? Bite me.

Many thanks as always to my partner in crime Fountaindawg for her dreamy 'shop.

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artquest1 said...

Holy Picador, Batman! That's one gorgeous Photoshop.

Anonymous said...

hahaha.......great Climmel skit. You've outdone yourself on this one. I always look forward to them and this is one of the best.

rwalsh said...

I love your work, Pink Armchair. Keep em' coming, pleeeeeze.