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Thursday, 7 April 2011

How to Write a Sitcom Part 3

As I alluded to in my previous blog I’ve been neglecting the very purpose of this blog, which is to inform anyone who cares to read this of the progress of my attempts at becoming a professional screenwriter. I have allowed myself too easily to become distracted and go off on tangents.  I will be addressing this in this blog, when I discuss the sitcom I’m currently preparing. I’ll be discussing the wisdom that I have picked up over the years, including my opinions on structure, how U.S. sitcoms differ to U.K. ones, the methods I use to generate ideas and character, and may even paste in an except from the current draft, to entice you in. When I say you, I mean my only follower. Not that I’m not grateful. That means I am grateful.  If you’re reading this, please don’t take offence and unfollow me, I’m just sounding off.

Firstly though, I want to briefly talk about Daves.

Dave. What a fucking name. Glad I’m not called Dave. Daves really piss me off. OK, Gartholomew isn’t the best name, but it’s still much better than Dave. What’s your name? Gartholomew. Really? Yes, I know it should be Bartholomew, isn’t my dad funny. Still, at least my brothers aren’t called Jimothy and Nedward. Because I don’t have any. My mum wouldn’t let him. And I can shorten it to Garth. Wow! That is weird. I know. Ok, cool, let’s talk about it some more. Hey presto, we’re talking! You never know, we might get married. What’s your name? Dave. Oh, right. Nice meeting you. Anyway, got to go, left the oven on. So I could kill myself when I get home.

 Let’s look at the evidence. The TV channel, Dave. Has absolutely nothing new to say, whatsoever. Just churns out the same old shit, day after day. Sounds like good ole Dave, everyone knows good ole Dave yeah? Let’s name our channel after him. Ok, he only knows two jokes and repeats them ad infinitum, but what a good ole boy. Until you tell him one of your new jokes. You know it’s new because you’ve only just made it up. You think, I know, I’ll tell it to good ole Dave, and he loves it, loves it so much it is instantly assimilated into his vocabulary and, before you know it, he’s used it to chat up someone that you fancy, which then works and he is in, instead of you. What a cunt. 

In 2006 a study was done on the reaction of the human cortex to sounds. All manner of shits were attached to people’s heads and the results displayed on an EEG. A constant utterance of ‘OM’, the sacred Hindu word, and the brain waves went off the scale, people became more alert, yet sedate. They found that when they went back to their everyday lives they were significantly higher functioning. Explain that Richard Dawkins. And guess what produced the worst results. You’ve guessed it, ‘DAVE’. When this was uttered in a constant, stream-like utterance, it led to nutterance. Brain activity entered a near stasis, and when the individuals went back to their daily lives they found they had an unstoppable urge to drink five cans of Stella Artois, shit themselves, talk rubbish, steal people’s women and punch someone in the face. NASA are apparently looking into these findings, and the U.S. government has banned anyone from calling out for anyone named Dave over a distance greater than four yards.

And if you think this has anything to do with you hitting on Samantha, Dave Edmonds, then you’re wrong, I’ve always FUCKING hated the name Dave.

I need to calm down. I’ll write the blog about the sitcom tomorrow, or something.

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