Saturday Special – Me Acting

In case you were wondering, I’m the guy playing the sleazeball. It’s a scene from Eastbound and Down, where I play Kenny Powers, a former Major League Baseball super-star.

This is from an acting class I enrolled in at a local community college. I thought it would be fun and benefit my writing to take the class. I was right, though I’m not too sure acting is in the cards for me.

Featured alongside me is Ami Wong, a beautiful young actress who made it to the final cut of a major role for a studio sitcom, and my buddy Nick VanAmburg, who’s simply funny as f*ck. I hope you get a good laugh out of this, whether it was at my expense or not. Feel free to roast me in the comment section, but lay off the other(good) actors.

  • Thomas M. Watt

Donald and Thurma – Part 4 – Finale

200bp88

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

“I think I can,” he said to himself, chugging along the sidewalk tracks. “I think I can.”

Donald walked with both fists clenched. Amanda and Thurma strolled a short ways ahead, Thurma with her head down.

He wasn’t angry, he was determined – and approaching a girl who was more than likely to reject him was no easy task for Donald.

“Hey,” he called out.

The two girls turned around. Amanda smirked, and crossed her arms. Thurma stilted like a wooden statue.

“Let me guess,” said Amanda. “You found something and were wondering if it belongs to Thurma. Is that your excuse for talking to her? Because that’s not exactly original.”

“No,” said Donald. “I want to talk to her as myself.”

“Why?” said Amanda, narrowing her eyes. “Been acting like somebody else?”

Donald stared straight at Thurma. “Have you?”

Silence.

“Erm, I’ll leave you two alone,” said Amanda, before patting her friend on the shoulder and walking on ahead.

“What are you talking about?” Thurma said to him.

“This shit.” Donald pointed back to the bar. “You want some dipshit frat-boy, let me know and I’ll leave right now.”

“I don’t want that.”

“I’m a dork. My name’s Donald by the way.”

“Mine’s Thurma.”

“You’re one too.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Thurma. She twisted her lip, then sighed and lowered her gaze to his feet. “But maybe I’m not the bitch who you met, either.”

“Good.”

She looked back up. “Maybe I am just a basic bitch. Maybe if you knew the real me, you wouldn’t have come running to talk to me.”

“I like basic bitches. I’m a basic dude.”

Thurma chuckled, then hid her teeth behind her hand. “So what do you want?”

“Huh?”

“What are you after?” She said, then set her hands on her hips. “Is it a number, to brag to your friend about? Because if you really think you’re going to sleep with me tonight-”

“I came to talk with you. That’s all.”

“Why?”

“Because when I look at you I see a part of me, the part that I like.”

“What part’s that?”

Donald scratched the back of his head, then looked away. “I like good morning texts. I like snuggling. I like having to tell a girl she doesn’t have to worry about what’s-her-name, no matter how paranoid she’s being, or clingy she becomes.”

“I’m not following you.”

Donald shook his head, then returned his gaze to Thurma. He creased his brow when he noticed the mark on her chin, then leaned forward to get a better look at it.

“Stop!” she said, then covered the mark with her hand. “That’s rude.”

Donald grabbed her wrist and forced it away, then set his thumb on her chin. “I like the scar you try to hind behind your makeup.”

Thurma’s exhale came heavy. “Oh…”

“The stuff that puts other guys off, that’s the stuff that I like. You could say that’s from low-confidence, but I don’t think it is. I think it’s a preference.”

“Ok.”

“There’s no line I can say to make you want me, there’s no maneuver I can use that will get you to like me back.”

Thurma’s eyes fidgeted in Donald’s.

“I’m just saying that I’d like to get to know you. If that friend zones me, then fine-”

“You said it.”

“What?”

“About fifteen seconds ago. You said the line that won me.”

“Huh?”

“Kiss me dork.”

Donald moved in with a smirk, then gave Thurma a light peck on the cheek.

Thurma shook her head, then scolded him with a finger wag. “I swear to God, if that’s what you think it means to kiss a girl don’t ever-”

Donald slid his hand through her hair, raking her brunnette locks up in his fingers until he had his hand wrapped around the back of her head. He advanced until her forearm fell flat against his chest, then dug his lips into hers. Thurma’s eyes dropped closed and the phone she had been holding unraveled from her fingers and plummeted until it cracked against the sidewalk. She immediately pressed her newly-freed hand against the side of his face.

An obnoxious series of honks was followed by a loud holler:

“Fuck her already, bro!” Yelled Freddy.

Donald finally took a step back.

“Number,” said Thurma.

“I think your phone broke.”

“Ok.”

Donald smiled, then wrote his down on a wrinkled napkin he’d stored in his pocket. “Nice meeting you,” he said, then turned around and headed towards Freddy’s escalade. Once he took his seat Freddy sped away.

“You better get a tit-pit,” said Freddy.

Donald grinned and looked at him.

“What?” said Freddy.

“I’m the man,” said Donald.

“You’re a man, not sure if you’re the man.”

“No,” said Donald, before turning the bass up on Freddy’s sound system. “I’m the man.”

The End!

Hope you enjoyed.

  • Thomas M. Watt

Tinder Fun

tinder

A good friend of mine, let’s call him Harry, has this strange fascination with acting like a complete idiot in front of strangers. On a recent night of boredom, he decided to go on tinder and make a complete ass of himself. In case you’re unfamiliar with Tinder, it is a dating app where people match with potential partners then communicate to see if they have any chemistry. It is not uncommon for men to initiate conversations with pick-up lines. Harry, however, is no ordinary pick-up artist. Here are his results:

PART_1439946724621_PART_1439869430485_IMG_3612

PART_1439869431074_IMG_3611 PART_1439869430908_IMG_3607 PART_1439869430681_IMG_3613 PART_1439869430581_IMG_3610 PART_1439869430347_IMG_3609 PART_1439869430191_IMG_3608

  • Thomas M. Watt

White Knights of the Round Table

white knights of the round table

INT. UNDERGROUND ROUNDTABLE – NIGHT

A dozen of the nicest guys you’d ever want to meet surround the long, marble table. At the head sits JUDGE MCELROY (65), who strikes his gavel three times.

The white knights quiet down, with some of them even ‘shhhing’ one another.

JUDGE MCELROY

Welcome, white knights.

WHITE KNIGHTS (IN UNISON)

Thank you for having us here, Judge McElroy.

JUDGE MCELROY

Now, as some of you may know, the matter we have come to discuss today plays a serious role in our personal lives. We are here to discuss women, and more importantly, their failure to find themselves attracted to the good guys, meaning us, and their terrible inklings toward bad guys –

Judge McElroy lets out a breath, pulls up a poster of Chris Brown, then points at it in disgust.

JUDGE MCELROY (cont.’)

Like him.

The white knights stick their tongues out, some even shake their heads angrily in disapproval. HAROLD (42), bald and grumpy looking, bangs his fist against the table.

HAROLD

That guy’s a jerk!

Judge McElroy puts the poster on the table. One of the white knights, JERRY (20), picks it up and tries to tear it in two. After failing he crumples it instead.

JUDGE MCELROY

Now, now, gentlemen. Let us not behave as these, quote on quote, ‘bad boys’. We all know that it is not his superior dancing skills that land him the women, nor is it his incredible good looks, as everyone in here is ravishingly handsome, and more than a few of us have achieved high scores on dance dance revolution.

Jerry smacks the table with both hands.

JERRY

What is it then, your honor? Why do women fall for low-lifes like him? I mean, should we really blame everything on the inferior intellect of females?

The room is quiet for a moment, and Judge McElroy appears deep in thought as he slowly spins his gavel on the table.

JUDGE MCELROY (sighing)

No, no. I’m afraid we can’t blame their brains entirely.

HAROLD (35), who is built like an average person, with a decent smile and a half-decent beard, speaks up with the confidence of a math teacher armed with a calculator. He wears a plaid button down and his hair is combed modestly.

HAROLD

I know what it is.

The surrounding knights look at Harold in bewilderment, as though he is about to tell them the secret they have been waiting their entire lives to hear. PROFESSOR SUPER DOUCHE, who has a button pinned to his suspender that says ‘feminist supremacist’, jumps in.

PROFESSOR SUPER DOUCHE

You do?

HAROLD

Yes.

Every knight at the table waits on edge.

HAROLD

Subliminal messages.

The white knights are confused. Judge McElroy sits well over the table.

JUDGE MCELROY

Do elaborate on your theory, sir Harold.

HAROLD

Haven’t any of you ever noticed how he slides his feet, points at his junk, and moves his hips like he’s penetrating one of our females?

The white knights take time to reflect on Chris Brown music videos.

JERRY

He’s does do a lot of that.

HAROLD

Those are all subliminal messages, geared toward sex!

The white knights gasp.

HAROLD

He’s tricking our women into sleeping with him by his overtly sexual dance moves!

The white knights seem so angry they could do something about it. Professor Super Douche throws his glasses at the table. They bounce once then his FRED, who sits across from him.

FRED

Ow.

PROFESSOR SUPER DOUCHE

Sorry.

JERRY

Let me get this straight.

(beat)

Are you saying that, theoretically, if we were to perfect Chris Brown dance moves… women would sleep with us?

The white knights turn their heads to Harold in a flash.

HAROLD

I would never lower myself to that level.

The white knights are discouraged, but politely nod in agreement anyway.

HAROLD

I’ll tell what we should do, though.

(beat)

Training school for ladies.

The white knights are attentive once more.

HAROLD

It’s not going to be like any ordinary school, though. It’s more like a boot camp… No, no, not a boot camp…

Harold stands up. He begins to walk in circles around the room, staring at nothing as he speaks. Inspiration has struck this man! An idea from the heavens, and every white knight is on the edge of their seat, eager to hear it.

HAROLD

Yeah, a training school! Judge McElroy, where did you send your puppy to get properly trained?

JUDGE MCELROY

Dog training.

HAROLD

Yeah, yeah! Like dog training… only, for women. Human women!

Some of the white knights are smiling, laughing even.

PROFESSOR SUPER DOUCHE

Harold, you must be joking.

HAROLD

I’m not though! I’ve never thought so clearly in my entire life…

Harold gets up on the marble table. He paces hurriedly as he speaks, raising his arms even. His smile reaches from ear to ear.

HAROLD

There the women will be taught properly. Every time they look at a man with tattoos and a hairstyle, they will be shocked!

JERRY

With a shock collar?

HAROLD

Exactly! And every time they are complemented politely, or have the door held open for them, or find a man willing to listen, they will be taught to…

Professor Super Douche stands up with vigor.

PROFESSOR SUPER DOUCHE

Give them a blowjob!

The white knights glance disapprovingly at Professor Super Douche, who slowly sits back down.

PROFESSOR SUPER DOUCHE

Sorry.

HAROLD

Every time a good guy does something good for a women, they will be taught to… to tickle his pickle!

The white knights cheer.

PROFESSOR SUPER DOUCHE

How is that different than what I said?

JERRY

Shut up, douche.

JUDGE MCELROY

Say another word I’ll spill your brains on the floor with my gavel, maggot.

PROFESSOR SUPER DOUCHE

Sorry.

JUDGE MCELROY (to Harold)

It’s settled then. Tomorrow night, we begins plans to build this ‘Lady Training School’. The only question left in my mind, Sir Harold, is what shall we call it?

Harold puts his hands to his hips and stares up to the ceiling. He is deep in thought, and clearly on the verge of one last act of genius.

HAROLD

We shall call it…

(beat)

Pickle ticklers.

The white knights nod in agreement. At first only smiles are the only sign of approval, but gradually, and one by one, they begin a slow clap. Harold modestly accepts by smiling and laughing like Paul Rudd.

PROFESSOR SUPER DOUCHE

Great idea, Sir Harold!

Jerry jumps across the table and tackles Professor Super Douche. He beats his ass to the cheerful amusement of everyone.

Fade out.

  • Thomas M. Watt

Social Media and Flippy

Along with the importance clothing your book with an enticing cover, it has come to my attention that another necessary step along the path to literary success is social media. You can credit Ashlee Willis, author of the well-known fantasy novel “The Word Changers,” for bringing this to my attention.

Unfortunately for me, I hate social media.

I pretty much loath electronic communication in general – for proof, here’s a picture of my phone:

flip phone

That’s right, I own a flip phone. Let me take it a step further – I paid fifty dollars more to get that hunk of junk than I would have had to pay for an Iphone. Why?

1. My last touch screen phone pocket-dialed every time I put it in my pocket.

2. Sending a text on that thing takes 5-10 minutes. Why is that a good thing? I’m an impulsive person. Impulsive people say things they regret later on… often.

3. No internet or games. Why is that a good thing? Because when you’re goal is to make a living as an indie author, you’ve pretty much signed a contract that stipulates any wasted time will result in ‘insufficient funds’.

Though I personally have no problem with flippy, the opinions of others have gotten to me. For one thing, even when I manage to get a girl’s digits, every time I whip out flippy they look at me like, “Oh… you’re poor.” Not to mention technological progress is inevitable, and if you don’t get with the times you’ll get run-over by them.

So back to social media – What can you expect to find me doing on my new Thomas M. Watt twitter, facebook, goodreads, and google + pages? Well I’ll tell you – I have no idea. Probably doing my best not to send out updates like “I hate facebook” or post tweets like “f’ twitter.”

One thing I’ve noticed, successful people are quite often positive people. I guess that means I should post things like “Way of the world, coming soon!!!”

Because an exclamation mark is a sure sign that your product is something that will make your customers happy. God forbid I post “Way of the World, coming soon.” I can only imagine the ‘negative vibes’ such a tweet or update would send out to the rest of the exclamation mark loving population. I’d probably get booted from those sites in no time.

Anyway, that’s what I’m up to today. Anybody have any advice for how I should dive into these new social media platforms? How do you gain followers on twitter? Do you think there are book blogs that would be willing to discuss the “Way of the World” as part of a virtual blog tour?

I received some great responses yesterday, and can only hope to get more of the same today.

– Thomas M. Watt

Author of “A New Kingdom”

Farmer Ed: Part 1

gun aimed at dog

Farmer Ed was one trigger-pull away from blowing the head off his daughter’s golden retriever. It’s body would most likely fall on Tommy’s.

Tommy was Farmer Ed’s infant son, whose bloody corpse lie in the hay.

“Dad, don’t!” The shout came as the barn doors flew open. “Don’t kill him, daddy! I don’t want Ruffy to die!”

“Get out.” Tears filled Farmer Ed’s eyes. He used the rifle to direct her outside. “Leave dammit!”

Molly hugged both her arms around Ruffy’s collar, then began sobbing into his fur.

It had been a long day, one that had begun just like any other – plates with stacks of pancakes, a jug filled with orange juice, and grace before breakfast.

Farmer Ed had sat across from his wife, to the side of his daughter Molly, and nearby the crib of his son Tommy. Now, just a few hours later, Molly and Farmer Ed were the only surviving members of their family.

The sound of sirens prompted Farmer Ed to rise. He rushed over to the barn doors, then used the bolt to lock them close.

Farmer Ed rubbed his forehead as he paced frantically around the barn.

“Where’s mommy, daddy?” said Molly softly.

Farmer Ed paused to look at her, then returned to his frantic walk.

“Dad?” said Molly, as she made her way over to him. “Did something happen to mommy?”

Tires screeched outside. “Come out with your hands up!” came the voice from the police microphone.

Ed stopped pacing, walked over to the haystack, then sat. He turned the rifle on himself, then stared straight into the barrel.

“What happened to mom, daddy?” said Molly. She walked over to him then grabbed his big hand with her little one. “Did something bad happen?”

“Come out with your hands up!” screamed the voice through the microphone once more. Farmer Ed continued to cry as he stared down into his rifle. His breath felt uncontrollable, his entire being felt as if it were on fire.

…to be continued.

Thomas M. Watt

– Author of A New Kingdom