Bad Doctor
Performed by Dave Foley
Wanna know something? I'm a bad doctor. I'm not boasting, I mean who would? I'm just stating a fact. I've never really gotten the hang of the whole "healing the sick" thing. And don't interpert this as some sort of false modesty, please, it's not. It's not like I'm weak in some areas. No, I'm homogeneously unqualified to practice medicine in any capacity. I really don't have a clue. And no one could be more shocked than I am that I've been allowed to rise to a position of such importance and responsibility.
I guess it all started in high school where I was a very bad science student. One day, when we were supposed to be dissecting a frog, I accidently disassembled my desk. Oh, but you know, I was a popular kid. You know, the other students were always eager to help me out. So you know, during a test, whenever I'd get that confused look on my face- which was invariably- well the cheat notes would just start flying. Even the teachers would start whispering answers, you know, ahem, mitochondria. But I didn't worry about it. I figured, how far can you coast on charm? Well, pretty far, actually!
They just offered me the job of Chief of Surgery. Apparently, I've logged more hours in surgery than any other man my age. 4000 hours this year alone. What no one seems to have noticed is that it was all with the same patient.
Oh, I want to show you something. You know what this is? Urine. Another man's urine. I ask for it and they give it to me. I don't know what to do with it! I have a fridge full of this stuff! I mean, I suppose I could send it off to the lab, but they'd only send back a bunch of test results I couldn't possible understand.
The only thing I'm actually sort of good at is referrals. You know, that thing where doctors send patients to other doctors. Well, I'm the king of referrals. What I do is I call the, uh sick person, into my office and I stare for a long time really seriously at a blank sheet of paper. Then I say, "Hmmm, I'd like you to see someone. He's a specialist in this area." (laughs) There are specialists who have their whole career based on my referrals. I am the cornerstone of a medical empire. (sighs) Well, I really should be going. I have to tell the family that the patient didn't make it. It's the hardest part of being a doctor... I think! 
The Secret of Nudity
performed by Mark McKinney
Hi. Over the past four years that the show has been on the air, I've noticed that myself and the other guys have been getting a lot of letters you know, which I figured was a natural result of being on TV for so long. So you can imagine my surprise when I heard the other guys referring to their letter as fan mail. I decided I'd take a little peek and see what sort of stuff you guys are writing to them. So, here's a sample.
[takes out a letter from his pocket and reads]
Dear Dave, you are so hunky-wunky, cutie-pootie, lovey-dovey, sexy-wexy and you're my fave. Signed Brenda, Erin, Cathie, Michelle, etc, etc, etc. Hey, not too bad for the ego. Well, my fan mail invariably goes something like this. [takes out another letter from his pocket] A-hem! Dear Mark, I thought I was alone until I saw you on TV. Having no sex appeal must be hard for you, too. I'm curious, how do you live? How do you love? Please work your answer into a monologue as I don't want to sign my real name. Thanks. PS. Please don't kill yourself. (laughs) Well, you know. I've never contemplated suicide, but I do want to say to you people who have written me these letters that if you worry like me that you don't have any sex appeal, then perhaps it's time you do what I did, and unlock the secret of nudity.
[takes off his shirt]
That's right. I found by using the safe and natural method of nudity I was able to change those sort of letters-or taunts-from "Hey, do you have a pulse?" to "Wow, look at the naked guy!" Now, nudity may not be for everyone. [takes off his shoes] But, tell you what. If you're sitting at home watching me tonight, try this simple test. Take off one sock. [takes off his socks] Just one sock, and mail it to me with a stamped, self addressed envelope and a picture of yourself. Now, I'll examine your sock and determine if you have any potential at all [starts to undo belt] to achieve full or partial nudity. [takes off his pants] Trust me. It's done wonders for me. You, know, people pay attention when I walk into a room. And hey! maybe I'll get a different type of fan mail now. [takes off boxers-is completely naked. He holds up his boxers, gives a thumbs up, and walks offstage.]
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Open Letter to the guy who stole Bruce's bike wheel
Scott [Voice-Over]: And now Bruce McCulloch with an open letter to the guy that stole his bike wheel.
[Bruce enters, bike lowered from above. Lots of "Ah"s from the audience]
Bruce: Well, why did you do it? Are you some sort of jerk or something? It's *my* front wheel! What did you think, that I'd -- drive home and not notice it was stolen? What are you then? Some sort of *prick*? Some sort of idiot? Some sort of thief? What would you do with just my front wheel anyway? What good would just one wheel be? You human loser! Well, why didn't you buy your own wheel if you wanted one so badly. That's what I did.
[Music starts as Bruce turns away and stops when he turns back.]
Well, don't you think I need that wheel? Well, well, what were you thinking? JERK!
Scott [Voice-Over]:That was Bruce McCulloch with an open letter to the guy that stole his bike wheel.
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Open Letter to the People who watched The guy steal Bruce's
Bike Wheel
Scott [Voice-Over]: And now Bruce McCulloch with an open letter to the people who watched the guy steal his bike wheel.
[Bruce enters, bike lowered from above]
Bruce: Well, you knew it wasn't his wheel! What did you think? He was coming back for the rest of his bike later? Well, why didn't you do something? Why didn't you say something? You human piece of apathy! Why didn't you say, "Hey! That's not your wheel! That could be Bruce McCulloch's wheel! We love him! And he loved that wheel!" Just eatin' brunch. Well, didn't you think I needed it? I did! Well, look at that! Feast on that act of violence! Good work, Einstein! Pus!
Scott [Voice-Over]: That was Bruce McCulloch with an open letter to the people who watched while the guy stole his bike wheel.
[Bumper video of Bruce walking his incomplete bike.]
Homo Alone
performed by Scott Thompson
[Scott appears on camera with a yellow towel around his head, a brightly colored one around his body and a sheet tied around hsi neck with a cape. He is standing with his hands in his hips like he is a superhero.]
Scott: Good evening. Have you ever gazed upon elegance personified? Well look again! [strikes a few poses] Do you remember when you were little, and your parents, and brorthers and sisters went out and they left you at the house all to yourself? Well what did you do? Search through your parents' bedroom for Playboys, sniff glue in Dad's workshop. Or did you, dress up like a beauuuuutiful laaady? If you did, you're probably a girl, or a gay boy. This is a gay home alone outfit.
[Strikes a cute little schoolgirl pose]
It's a simple ensemble (pronounsed onsom) classic really, like a black chenille dress. First of all what you need is a common bathtowel. Yellow preferably. Which you knot on top of your head for the illusion of long girly blond hair.
[strokes the towel like it is long girly blond hair]
Next a brightly colored towel for your Dorothy LeMore, Betty Rubble sarong. Next, a sheet from the bed which you use to create your urban cape, fit for a queen! And finally, no beautiful lady is complete without her high heels.
[Graps two empty coke cans and throws them on the floor. He steps on one with the heel of each foot so they stick there]
[Music is played and Scott begins to dance]
[He walks over to a little table with some snacks.]
[with faux shock] Oh would you look at this, what the butler has prepared. A beautiful party feast!
[He runs over and sits down making little noises with his high heels as he does]
Oh wow! This is just wonderful. I'm gonna throw myself a party for all of my bestest friends. Let me see it's 1974, who should I invite? Oh, simple! Phylis, Maude, Rhoda, and Horshack!
[A doorbell is heard]
[gasps] They're here!
["HOME ALONE" is written at the bottom of the screen. Scott puts his hands on his face a la Macaulay Culkin. An "O" comes from Scott's mouth and takes the place of the "E" making a glass breaking noise. The words turn pink as it now says "HOMO ALONE"]
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How Junk Mail Saved My Life
performed by Kevin MacDonald
I've noticed a lot of these crudely made signs [holding up a cardboard sign that reads "Please no junk mail"] on the porches of people's houses. Well, I say "People should be more careful about what they ask for." 'Cos I'm here tonight, ladies and gentleman, to tell you junk mail saved my life. Yes. Junk mail saved my life. Junk mail saved my life. Oh, sorry. I only meant to say that twice. Forget the third time. Where was I? Junk mail saved my life. If I had one of these signs up in the window of my house I wouldn't be alive today to talk about it.
See, it happened two nights ago. I was alone at home. I'm no good with relationships; women say I'm difficult and that I have *emotional problems*--but that's a different monologue onto itself. Anyway, I'm at home drying the dish--who needs more than one dish when you live alone? You know, just me and my *emotional problems*.
So, I finish drying the dish and I open the cupboard door to put the dish away. I also lean over to empty the sink. I straigtned up too quickly and hit my head on the edge of the door.
Well, blinded by pain, I stumble backward into the glass cabinet of porcelin dolls. So I collect porcelin dolls!! Isn't a guy allowed to have a hobby!?
Okay, I try to stumble my way towards the bathroom; only I trip over the blue box, which is really strange 'cos I don't have a blue box!
So, I land on a large pile of junk mail that'd been laying near the front door. Then I passed out. And the doctors tell me if there wasn't junk mail there to stop the bleeding, I would have bled to death!
So, I come to after thirty minutes. No one stopped by or even called--you know--why should they? I have *emotional problems.*
So, I lift myself up to my elbows and I crawl to the telephone and I dial for help. Now, due to my head injury, I can't remember that easy to remember emergency number. So I pull a large piece of bloody junk mail off the back of my head and I dial that number. Lucky for me, it was a number I had called several times before and they had my name and address in the computer. Unlucky for me, they thought I was ordering a pizza and came forty-five minutes later. I got the pizza for free--but that's a different monologue onto itself.
So, the pizza guy made a couple more deliveries, then drove me straight to the hospital. And that's how junk mail saved my life! So, I suggest to you that you think twice before putting one of these signs [holding up the cardboard sign that reads "Please no junk mail"] in the window of your house. You just might regret it.
Oh, and I want all you ladies out there to know, I'm seeing a therapist about my *emotional problems*.
[Kevin turns around and walks to the back of the stage and stumbles into the door]
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