A girl wakes up. In the middle of an empty field on a park bench. This is unusual she feels. This thought flusters her, so she doesn't notice the colorful -although mildly fading graffiti on the very same park bench she was in the process of waking up off of. 'weird...' verbal expression, at no one in particular. But still, verbally expressed, if to no one else, than to her self. Near exasperation before noticing the message on the park bench/bed/street sign. 'Welcome to Averyvalle' she mouths in conjunction with the voice in her head that read it. She hears a bustling in a nearby wooded area that wasn't there until she heard a bustling. She's less startled than happy she doesn’t have to stand around and pretend like she knows what to do next, but still a little startled.
'mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm look at you!' says a sound that sounds like hd surround sound.
The booming slurpy voice spills out words like the cake in a vaudevillian’s box mid pratfall.
'gosh golly shucks gee I aint seen nobody like you forever it feels!' Before the slippery thick voice could make it to where he said 'feels', the girl interjected because curiosity trumped repartee one would assume.(?)
Here's a series of little scripts I wrote for a planned webseries that never got off the ground. Shout out to everyone who was going to be involved originally, in some instances I've left your names in as a not so subtle tribute! Also the character ANDY bears no relation to Andy Itwaru, as my ego is nowhere near that inflated, and he's probably some kind of chinese or something
Title credit appears: The Frailties of Ego Fade into: Andy sitting on sofa
Do you mind if I smoke in here?
(Off camera)Not really
Oh ok. I don’t smoke anyway but its good to know I can if I pick it up
ahaha *Sarcastic tone*
But really what’s wrong
Yes. Something must be up. You called me and told me you wanted to talk. You never call. You never want to talk.
Yes. But you never make formal overtures to get together and discuss anything, so clearly something is up.
Okay, please don’t be the riddler right now okay. Seriously.
The online rap community has crowned Drake
the logical successor to Soulja Boy. The Toronto rapper’s
debut album ‘Thank Me Later’ leaked
earlier this week and has the entire rap world either buzzing or speaking
coherently. Is Drake everything he claims to be? Andy Itwaru will decide, and
you can thank him later! (Please note: the previous sentence was in no way a
pun on Drake’s album name, any similarity is purely coincidental. However, the
sentences contained within these brackets were planned months in advance.)
It’s and I can’t sleep. Partly because there’s too much weighing on my mind, and partly because its so goddamned hot I’m afraid if I did knock out for a few hours Id drown in my own sweat before waking up.
Growing up I never followed any sort of organized religion. My parents claimed Hindu, but never went to temple because according to my mother ‘dem all talk nuff shit’ so instead I spent my most formative years sprawled out on a beige carpet transfixed by the moving picture box known as the television set. It was there that I learned everything I know about anything. And one of the most important things I learned was from George Costanza, a fictional character from the show ‘Seinfeld’. ‘Seinfeld’ would become a sort of visual bible to me as I absorbed it’s lessons like parables from the mouth of Christ, such as the one I was referring to earlier from George, which was in a nutshell the importance of compartmentalizing different aspects of a persons life. Much like there was a ‘relationship George’ that was a separate entity from ‘independent George’ so too did I have various grouping of self, be it ‘stoner Andy’ or ‘yuppie Andy’ or ‘Cool as fuck Andy’ I make sure to keep all of these ‘Andys’ separate as they all served different functions at different times. ‘Cool as fuck Andy’ would always do very well with women, while ‘Stoner Andy’ would be less successful with attracting girls and more successful with groups of potheads. In the rare situation where I would meet a pretty girl who smoked a lot of pot (I mean A LOT of pot) there would be some blending of the two personalities. But social groups and settings would be kept strictly separate as to not disrupt the delicate balance of the order of my universe as Id formed a comfortable niche in all respective groups and any sort of mixing would surely result in chaos- I’d previously thought, only to be proven right later on.
The three of them were huddled together by the vacant portable behind the catholic elementary school, partly because they were comfortable with one another from being close friends for so long but mostly to block any winds that might put out the flame on the joint they were passing around. Alwin, Puvi, and Rozaye (nicknamed so because of his physical resemblance in terms of girth to the popular rapper Rick Ross) were all Tamil; this is notable only because it’s the primary reason the three barely still teenagers started hanging out in the first place. When Rozaye first transferred over to the high school that the other two boys attended he was spotted and recruited by the others, who told him that ‘Tamils should look out for each other’, the looking out process often included getting heavily intoxicated whenever and wherever possible. At this particular instance the wherever just happened to be at the catholic school St.Maries of something or other. Though the name was unfamiliar, the three of them were well acquainted with this nook of the school as it happened to be their regular spot for getting fucked up on a Friday night.
I stared at my reflection in the foggy mirror of some strange bathroom. It’s fuzzy until I smear away some of the steam left from the hot shower I’d just taken. I inspect my face and expect my exterior image to reflect the internal change I’d been dealing with for the past few hours. I look the same, though I keep looking until I notice a blurred form appear in the still foggy edge of the mirror. I turn and she’s already clasped on to me, hands sweeping down my spine like mine on the steamy mirror moments earlier. Her smooth cheek rubs against the bristles of my work in progress beard, she turns slowly and lightly pressing her lips against mine they connect like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle before pulling away and grinning, she sweeps her thumb across my bottom lip and grinning wider says ‘hey.’
The following is an excerpt from the book ‘Talking with Andy: The Conversations’:
During my time shadowing Andy, he’s had few if any regular social contacts. However he does make time for an old Coworker Michelle Barker. He is unusually candid with Michelle and especially vulgar. I got the impression he was going for shock value when she became increasingly disgusted by some of his remarks, which seemed to be mostly tongue in cheek, but difficult to tell due to Andy’s complete inability to take anything seriously.- Lawanda Singh
I could feel the last remnants of my initial high slowly fade away and turn into lethargy as I mustered up enough strength to refill my bong bowl with the last bit of the half oz I had picked up with the money from the last cheque I’d received at my job before I’d quit several weeks earlier. I was broke and stoned and only getting more sober as time passed which depressed me. Id left my old job because working the till at a thrift store wasn’t dignified enough for someone who was supposed to be a comedic genius. The clientele didn’t do much for me, if I wanted to hear immigrants yell at me I’d visit my parents more often. Elderly women in broken English would ask ‘how much?’ and when I’d offer up the price they’d ask/yell ‘lower price?!’ which I assumed was their archaic attempt at haggling. One time I asked a women why I should give her a lower price, and with a blank stare she paused before walking out of the store, perhaps the question was too layered and she needed a moment to ponder an appropriate enough answer, she never came back so maybe she’s still thinking of one. Scruff faced twenty somethings would come in and I’d resent them for being happy. Douche bags with circles in their ears or rings on their lips walking around in a cavalier fashion as if they’d accomplished something other than projecting carelessness, accompanied by their dirty haired girlfriends wearing the latest vintage thrift Birkenstocks, looking as if they’d been doused with teabags in order to look older and more worn then their obvious youth portrayed, I’d undress them mentally and think they’d be cute if they didn’t have all that stupid shit on.
Every time I think I’ve matured and have come into my own as an honest to goodness grown man, I’ll inevitably end up sitting on a log in the woods passing around a blunt so fat I’m reminded of a middle aged woman trying to stuff herself into her prom dress from the late eighties, and barely succeeding. This monstrosity of what was once a cigar, hollowed out and replaced with the finest herb a minimum wage salary can afford is passed around at a steady rate between myself and two others, Gurdeep and Duesh, my closest friends and most constant source of annoyance, at least from people who I don’t intend to sleep with. We pass the blunt around so speedily if someone had a bird’s eye view of the three of us smoking up they’d think we choreographed our movements for a musical comedy. This was all premeditated because if one of us were to hold on to the weed for more than three seconds Duesh would invariably ask ‘so… are you gonna hit that?’ I didn’t mind the steady pace of the blunt passing as it gave me something to do between breathes I would take during a rapid fire recounting of events that had taken place a day prior.
I’ve attended a slew of birthday parties in the last while. They all went well and I had a great time, although that is not always the case. Here is a story about a less than pleasurable experience celebrating the anniversary of someone’s birth. Please note that names have been changed in order to protect certain individual’s identities. My name is still here, if that’s any consolation.
Perched on the creaky steps of an ancient looking townhouse, I wonder if it’s too late to leave if I’ve already rung the doorbell. Too late- A door swings open, and a head peers out. Mona’s hair was a ravenous black with sprawling curls, tied back as to not draw attention away from her face. If I was away at sea for several years and blinded, I could still recall her pouty lips, mocha complexion and coke bottle frame in photographic detail, as she’d seemingly occupied more space in my head than my brain ever could have. She pauses for a second, examining the twitchy silhouetted figure shifting awkwardly on her doorstep. Her apparent faith in her own eyesight led her to believe what would otherwise be an absurd notion. I’d actually shown up at a social gathering.
I've been commissioned by the Canadian Joke Board of Canada to conduct a survey on Jokes and the feelings associated with them. Included below are random samplings of jokes, with a list of potential responses. If your particular emotional response is not included among the options listed, please email ARITWARU@GMAIL.COM, where all feedback will be promptly deleted.
Reprinted for the benefit of my fan, the following is a transcript from my appearance on the debut episode of my roommate Ankur’s talk show. Ankur wanted to start the series by interviewing a rising comedy star. He decided to interview me when he couldn’t find one.
The problem with meeting girls is actually going out to meet them. If a beautiful woman were to stroll into my apartment, walk into my room, and offer to have sex with me, I’m almost certain I could figure out a way to seduce her. Unfortunately life is not a soft-core porn film, a lesson I learned harshly during my brief stint as a pizza delivery boy. Sure there were sexual advances, but they came from my co-worker in the kitchen. One day after work, he offered me a ride. I was going to accept, but he told me I had to walk home with him before he would give it to me. For the record nothing ended up happening, I naively asked the guy if I could ride shotgun, and he began to violently bawl. Apparently that’s how his last partner died.
Here's something I wrote when I was 19 that my friends and I were too busy getting high to film. It's ANGSTY as fuck, so I consider it to be my Twilight. I also didn't format it correctly or correct any spelling mistaakes or overall wackness that a 19 year old would write. However, As embarrassing as re-reading this is, I thought some people might get off on how sucky I used to be... ENJOY!!
Not much can be seen of the house, as the
perspective is in the first person, and follows a hand. The hand is carrying a
video cassette tape, the camera follows the hand as it proceeds to put the tape
labeled “watch me” in a VCR.
A fuzzy D-grade quality homemade film
begins to play. Four men dressed in ski
masks arrange themselves in a triangular formation. They seem to be filming from
some kind of a grimy basement. The tallest of the four men begins to speak.
Int. Grimy looking shack type deal. Being viewed through a widescreen TV.
don’t know me. You’ve never met me. You’ve never worked with me, had diner with
me- you’ve never flipped me the bird for cutting you off on a street before.
You’ve never so much as shared the same general area of space with me. What im
getting at- though in a longwinded and perhaps overly dramatic manner- is that
you don’t know who I am, and thus can’t find me. Now you may ask yourself ‘why
is all this important?’ or maybe your more visual, and your pondering the
reason I have this ridiculous get up. Well, to answer those questions, and
perhaps raise a few more- I have something you want, and you have something I want.
Now that something I want, that something that I and my close group of comrades
want, is a sum of money. $100 000 buckeroos. Because you and I live in a
capitalist society, I don’t expect you to merely give me this rather large quantity
of money onna count of were such good pals. No, I am prepared to trade you. Now
what could I possibly have to trade you, that would be worth that much? Well I
ask you sir, what price would you put on a human life? I’m betting that deep in the recesses of your
psyche you probably realize ‘not fucking much’. But I should tell you that this human life, has a great significant importance to