Tonight Show Writing Packet

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GUEST SEGMENTS

-Pin the tail on the donkey

-Flip cup

-Ring around the rosie

-Soccer

-Trust fall

-Go around the room and say your name and where you’re from

-Kickball

-Edward Fortyhands

-Wall ball

-Chutes and Ladders

-Russian Roulette

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SKETCHES

Jimmy plays a skater boy who skates and says “Radical!” or “Tubular!”

Jimmy and a guest have feet for hands and hands for feet. When they shake hands or high five, it’s two feet kicking each other. They have to walk around with shoes on their feet-hands. Huge laughs if done right.

Jimmy banters with The Roots about race politics in America while wearing a fun wig and/or hat.

The Jimmy Fallon Giggle Hour. Throughout the whole show we have PAs on their hands and knees, tickling Jimmy with feathers from every angle. This will ensure maximum giggles for the show’s entirety, I really feel like you guys lose viewers every moment Jimmy isn’t laughing out of nowhere at nothing.

Jimmy screams compliments at his own crotch.

Jimmy eats pudding while wearing a diaper. The dialogue can be some version of “gah gah goo gah I am pudding baby” or like “yum yum slimy poops that taste delicious” or y’know, maybe we don’t need dialogue, it’s strong enough on it’s own.

Jimmy sings a song as Erykah Badu.

Jimmy does all his impressions at once (I think this could be really impressive and my prediction is that it will end up still coming out as just a Bill Cosby impression but I think that’s fine, I’m sure he won’t make any edgy comments since Jimmy has never heard of rape, I read that somewhere)

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MONOLOGUE JOKES

News today, Trump says he plans to deport anyone that looks “darker than tan.” Bad news for my new Avengers spin-off / kung fu super group, “Stark or the Chan.” (Robert Downey Jr. and Jackie Chan walk out. Large applause.)

Anyone heard about this? Apple has postponed the new iPhone launch until 2020. This gives me some time to play Angry Birds without having to update my Zune. (Angry Birds walk out. Wow the applause.)

Big win for Kanye, it looks like Kim Kardashian is pregnant again with a baby girl. Kim was quoted as saying “I just hope the baby is healthy.” Kanye was quoted as saying, “I just hope the baby has a normal size butt unlike her mother so she don’t ruin Kim’s- (A baby walks out. Oh my god, the fucking applause.)

This was a crazy story, Elon Musk is developing a new kind of skin. “Epidermystique” will be a translucent coat that can be applied to people’s skin, making them permanently impervious to sun exposure. Said guidos tanning at the Jersey Shore, *Pauly D voice* “sounds to me like a real ‘Epider-mistake’!” (Jimmy’s skin falls off. A good amount of applause.)

What a week for yogurt fans, Activia announced that- (Jimmy poops his pants. Jamie Lee Curtis walks out. Applause like god damned thunder.)

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Newest Greatest OK Go Music Video Treatment AKA If GOD Made Music Vids

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     Hey guys, I think we really nailed the last high concept music vid when we set all the members of the band on fire with kerosene cheerleader batons and put you out with pom-poms made of shaving foam and Cheeto dust (the ad team at Cheetos really came through for us) but this next idea I have is really gonna knock the silly-patterned socks off of whoever your audience is. Please stay with me cuz I’m gonna go fast and hard and if you don’t cling tightly to something steel-bolted to the swamp-buggy floor, you’re all gonna lose your fucking balance and fly off to Mars via mindgasm.

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     So, how about this? We fill 3000 balloons with fuck-sweat. We synchronize them to pop to every beat of the song by a different robotic seagull. All the seagulls have mortgages and are doing their taxes mid-air. We flip 180 to reveal the seagulls are being tossed like darts by every president of the united states ever, for real, the actual presidents, James Garfield, Rutherford B. Hayes, Gerald fucking Ford, you name it. In between each bird toss, the presidents kiss, but, like, we’ll organize them democrat, republican, democrat, republican, so each president is smooching someone they disagree with politically.

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     We travel across this panopticon of presidential kissies but once we pass George Washington, the four of you are dressed up in waistcoats, powdered wigs, spatterdashes, the whole get-up, and you’re in colonial Williamsburg reversing slavery. So now each of you are in 1776 via time travel (we’ll make sure to put a disclaimer at the beginning of the video so that everyone knows that it’s real, no green screen or wires, you’ve actually travelled back in time to our shameful origins to right the racial wrongs of history) and you are announcing the reformed abolition laws to the town square while physically removing the chains from slaves, re-uniting estranged families, and all the black people are just like, SO fucking grateful. Disco balls and confetti.

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     Now an angry mob of slaveowners approach but you pull their pants down. Embarrassed, they try to pull their pants back up but you’re all running in circles around em, pulling them pants down again and again. The slaveowners look at each other like “Huh???” and this becomes a dance.

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     Flip 180 back to the fuck-balloons. The seagulls used turbotax.com (possible sponsor???) so they each got a fat fucking tax return and they are rolling in delicious earthworms and sandy french fries. The seagulls start to spark and malfunction cuz remember, they’re robots, and they explode one by one in rhythm with the explosive beats of whatever sick awesome single you guys have cooked up, I haven’t listened yet, I’m sorry, I’ll get to it.

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     Now the four of you are back in the studio in modern day with goggles on, holding umbrellas. Slavery was stopped early and civil rights progressed much sooner than in the previous timeline so now you’re all black. Sequins or something shoot out of fucking cannons from the ceiling in slow motion but then fast but then slow but then fast but then regular and they hit your umbrellas I guess. You guys high-five all of the presidents and we let the camera linger for a little bit as we hear the camera crew laugh like “Ha ha, that was the one, we finally got it” cuz presumably we’ll have to do several takes to get it right. Rehearsals start Tuesday, I’ll try to be there if I’m out of the hospital by then, I’ve taken six cactus discs of mescaline and I can hear my pancreas screaming.

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PISS ~ The Restaurant

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Friends & colleagues,

I’ve been sitting on this announcement for a while, incubating it, singing sweet sings to it and getting it ready for my public…. and so, I am vibrating wet with excitement to finally reveal:

PISS is a new restaurant venture by Laure`n De La Gormpchomp which is my new and permanent name according to multiple governments.

Origins:

The other year or so, I was in a gourmet restaurant place that promised only the finest of foods. What came to my table and in my mouth ended up being delicious, breath-taking, and really quite edible. But then I thought to myself, “Laure’n, is delicious enough?” It was in that moment that I decided that my name was now to be Laure’n and I must set sail on the salivating seas of restaurant-trying-to-make.

A New Beginning:

“Where do I go from here?” I said out loud to a child. “How do I even attempt this” I thought to myself in a sex dungeon. These were questions I was never going to answer so I decided to just buy some bread and go home, covered in lash marks from my session with Master Tanya. But it was at home that I realized I already owned a restaurant so I would just go do that then.

Creating The Menu:

This was gonna be a toughie hard one but also difficult. I had to make sure that only the sexiest and most adequate chefs would be eligible to cook for PISS. How to find physically attractive chefs willing to pay me $40 dollars an hour to work at my restaurant? Duh! CentralCasting.com! That’s where I found all the actors for my student web series about a group of friends who like to hang out.

I placed the ad and received millions of submissions, mostly from ducks. Then I realized I had accidentally placed an ad for ducks. When I replaced the ad with the correct one, there was only one submission so I hired him. Chef Lonnie Allahballahchoochoo seemed to have three different kinds of downs syndrome, all worse than the last, and he tried to fuck my shoes. I knew this was going to be a challenge! I bought a new pair of shoes and then me and Chef Lonnie started work on the menu. In a long and arduous 17 minutes, we came up with every recipe and mocked up a final draft of our perfect, high-class menu. We shouted out the window in triumph!

The Grand Opening:

With the menu so fucking sexy that it made me fully erect for four straight days, I was ready to open my restaurant that I already owned. Chef Lonnie hired his staff from myspace and I approved them based on their looks and the songs that would play when you opened their profiles. The walls were all made of paper, the tables were definitely tables, and the napkins don’t matter. I was ready to open my restaurant that I already talked about earlier just now.

People came in droves, which is a word I don’t know the definition of but am confident in it’s validity. Everybody liked the food except for a dozen people that were all Jews. I know they were Jews because I called them Jews to their faces.

Success! Wow what a big good time. We closed the next day because of cicadas and fire but I gotta insist, come to PISS, or you’re sure to miss!… the great foods and ambiance.


Take a long wet look at these 6 food items that will make you go “OH MY WOW!”

Oh yum yum and wow! Look at these delicious items we’re all just slobbering underneath, here at the office! These are the edible items that will make your tongue go, “Oh no I couldn’t surpass the YES of this!”

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Oh wow oh no! Look at you drool! Food is just not supposed to be this fuck-worthy. When we gazed upon this heck of a patty we couldn’t help but toot and shout “What the HECK!” before wetting ourselves with hunger.

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Holy yumma yumma ouch! Look at you cum! Look at you piss! Who could blame ya? Especially after feasting your melted eyes at the undulating stomach beauty of these dazzling perverted noodles. I love-a the food-a! Wow wow wow wow unfffffffffffffff

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The first time I came into contact with an item this level of WOW, I was 19 years old and had never seen a person naked, not even myself. My alopecia was in full swing and my life was pretty much not very wow. To celebrate my lack of hair, my foster father bought me this coned item and I never looked back. He made me mop up my cum and my piss but it was all worth it for the sheer OH MY GOD and UNFFFFF and YUMMA YUMMA OUCH of it all! I’ve still never seen a person naked.

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OH FUCK I’VE CUM AND I’VE PISSED AND THEY FLOW LIKE WOW!!!!!! My cum is wet and thick because oh my WOOF just look at this item. It’s too much. I must look away. Alright. There. My hunger is subsiding…. Maybe a quick peak? OH HUMP MY THROAT-PUSSY WITH YOUR STARCH LUMPS, FATHER!!!!

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Food. A mandatory element for survival. Our flesh prisons cannot function without the constant consumption of some form of sustenance. We cannot stagnate, we cannot falter, for should we cease to eat, we cease to live. Thus is the cyclical curse of every living organism.

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FFCYYA7HHJOM7RZ.MEDIUM

I am at once horny with hunger and melancholy as this is the final gorgeous photograph of the sensual food that makes my body go wow. This item in particular is like whoa. I mean just unfff and fap fap fap fap fap. This is the true yummy oh my god of all the foods that make me go retarded with appetite. It is as if I am only stomach and there is no world beyond myself and this egg that I named Stacey. Wow. And oh my unfffff, I drool and I defecate over these items.

 


Clown Ulcers

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This failed enema of a president dwelling in his spider web treehouse with his bloated brood of raccoons, donning haunted gangrenous smirks as the national consciousness metastasizes into over-wrought hysteria.

This orange burlap sack full of simpering bats, wiggling his half-soft turd arms to entertain his legions of bewildered bootlickers as they lap up the poisonous watery cum-snot, piddled on the groundswell by his shriveled chlamydic plantain dick.

This rasping elegy for tranquility, an incessant wart on the deflating phallus of capitalism, waddling past a dead batman with his parasol and cigar.

This braying cialis, spewing dog shit and miseries in 140 characters or less, ploughing past ecclesiastical canons and legislative standards alike in the name of self supremacy.

This counterfeit crockpot of spoiled milk and clown ulcers squawking their bigoted bombast at whomever’s identity they couldn’t comprehend.

This burning yacht full of dancing tyrants in khaki pants, Claytons and Peytons and Dereks and Lonnies scanning the shore for their replacements with fury and fear in the whites of their petty privileged pupils.

This barbarous fuck-knuckle of nazi nerds, spittling stupidity down their pale dogmatic chins.

These creepy little people with their creepy little thoughts they inflict upon the rest of us.

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My List

Okay, I’m doing one of these too! Was really hard to decide but here’s my list:

1989: Unborn lol

1990: Birth

1991: My mother singing songs to lull me to sleep

1992: Birthday party with my whole family

1993: Climbing trees and picking apples

1994: Puppet show from my mom

1995: Sledding in the winter

1996: First day of school

1997: Recognizing the slow descent into isolation

1998: Kickball

1999: Cutting off my pinky toe and wearing it around my neck as a warning to Allen Malakoff not to fuck with me in homeroom

2000: Melting the nurse’s flip-flops into rubber puddy, molding it into a statue of the boy I share a room with in the psych ward so he’ll love me

2001: Helped do 9/11 jk lol not really sure tbh

2002: Finally coming home from the psych ward to find that my parents have turned my room into a scrapbooking station and I am to sleep in the attic now

2003: Chopping off my mother’s ponytail in her sleep, waving it around like a tomahawk as she chases me scream-sobbing, eating it so that she’ll know that I am the cosmic Apache chief of this realm and my first act of martial law is to ban all superfluous body-attachments

2004: Welcome to Mooseport

2005: They won’t let me have a lighter so I smoke invisible cigarettes whenever I’m allowed in the courtyard

2006: Can’t remember, I was put on a daily thorazine drip

2007: Arts n’ crafts

2008: On a field trip to an ice cream parlor I barked at a family

2009: Memory gets increasingly nebulous as they add lithium and horse tranquilizers to my dosage

2010: arttss nd carftss

2011: it’s hot in my grassplains, please almighty Oprizium, my lord and butcher, deliver me from the undulating climate and these perilous sessions with the evil Dr. Rosen, he’s trying to steal my bread

2012: Created the Mayan calendar for gits and shiggles

2013: Found a shovel and named it Daniel

2014: Daniel betrayed me, I threw him at an orderly and hid under my mattress for three weeks

2015: Began writing letters to prisoners pretending to be a playboy model named Destiny, finding out their social security numbers, blackmailing them for information about the warden of light and color

2016: Got a sub-prime auto loan

2017: They released me from the ward due to good behavior and significant faked progress in therapy, planning a coup on the concept of time, writing lists to show my friends a little glimpse into my interests and hobbies

lol i’m just like you 🙂

EDIT: so apparently I “didn’t do this right”?


The Church of Arby’s

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I’ve come to understand my deep and steadfast love for Arby’s. It’s not because the food is delicious. Arby’s is the one place that allows me to be my true self.

When the night sky is a pale winter navy over Sunset and Tamarind at 7:23pm, the hot glow of that towering cowboy hat signal is a neon north star for the dregs of society. The patrons at Arby’s are connected by a disgusting commonality. Depraved untouchables, squirming gelatinously from their vehicles to the horsey sauce station. Meat-bound underlings, crawling towards the heated high of au jus, french dipping their intestines into diabetic oblivion. Pigs eating cows.
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There are crystal-rubbing vagrants surrounding the corner booth with broken bicycle parts and beard shavings, staring into their thin beef slices as Goodbye Stranger by Supertramp hums throughout the din at a low and lovely frequency. There are chunky Hispanic couples arguing loudly about perceived sexual glances over their smokehouse brisket sammies. There are forehead-scarred army men, trying to forget their lives for a mere 30 minutes as they inhale their steak fajita flatbread and buffalo chicken sliders. There is me. A thyroid-less lunatic, whom on any other day would attempt to mask his grotesque tendencies, but today, here, now, at this fast food establishment, he is free to air out his bent brains, his bug-eyed behavior, his bellicose mania manifesting in a meaty delirium of “fuck the world” beefery, eating his feelings like they were on fire and the only way to fan the flames was with swift and violent consumption.
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Fuck you, earth. I am the sun, moon, and the cows. I am the end to all lettuce. I am an infinite onion roll, slathered in cheesy garish goop. I am god chugging curly fries. Hello, I’m Arby, nice to fuck you (with my mouth and gut). Now kiss me and tell your friends you’ve smooched the devil. I’ll be in the attic, grinding up against the crumbs on the floor, braying about my golden years as a stomach.
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When I leave I will have nothing. I will no longer be at one with grease. I will no longer be a Picasso of pork belly and pain. My senses will un-dull and I will revert back to societal banalities like laundry and sleep. I will drift away from my self. When I leave this booth and this building and climb back into my 2016 Toyota Camry with it’s working air conditioning and reliable safety rating, I will shed the memory of the meal that was me. I will be a citizen once more, causing no conscious harm to the world or my body. I will be so full that I am empty.
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My words will lose their wonder along with their alliteration. I will peruse the echoes of the internet to find the Nihilist Arby’s twitter handle and see that even this, my most self destructive and authentically profound feelings for this chain of chains has already been explored, inspected, discarded. I will return to bed, beaten like a bear after Folsom. Tattered like a twink after Dore Alley. My mind divided in chaos like the whole city of San Francisco. But I will lie here in Los Angeles and hope for the best in the morning.
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I will cling to the quicksand of my youth as I return in one month’s time, ignoring the warnings my father’s death provided. There and then, again, I will fetishize my sadness. I will make it all about me. I will discover the secrets of every one of my flaws and personality defects, my deep-seated issues and phobias, my arrested development and addictions, and I will shove them down into the forgotten bowels of my gullet with the biggest beef n’ cheddar they can bolster. I will figure out how to be happy and toss out my findings with a half-scraped carton of bronco berry sauce.
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It’s waiting for you. You can discover these American secrets for yourselves. As you approach from Santa Monica and Wilton, you’ll return to that voice in your head that asks, “remember when you were a child and nobody liked you?” You’ll answer “Yes. I remember”. It’ll ask “Remember eating lunch in the stairwell?” You’ll answer, “Yes. I remember”. It’ll ask, “Remember feeling content with just being yourself and existing?”. You’ll scratch your head and answer, “Nope. Don’t remember that.” And the voice will laugh a lofty bully-cackle, lacquered with that special brand of childhood malice.
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When your post-gluttony coma commences, you’ll optimistically attempt to think of how tonight could have been worse. You could have chosen Carl’s Jr. only to find one-third of the insight that our great and mighty Arby’s hath subpoena’d. Yet, there is only one true barbecue cowboy god. Only one smoked house of worship. Only one potato cake sanctuary. I bow to you, my queen. I pray on bended knee, to fill my flesh with flesh. Please deliver me from perdition. Provide some respite from myself. Coat me in sugar and salt and let me forget.
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Amen.
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