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Father.....Will Ferrell Mother.....Ana Gasteyer Sara.....Amy Poehler Mort.....Seann William Scott Mother: Honey, this is such a beautiful neighborhood. Father: I can't believe this house was so cheap. [doorbell rings. FATHER answers. Their neighbor is standing at the door. He's a typical punk, with spiked blonde hair, and black and plaid clothing.] Father: Hello, my I help you? Mort: Hi, uh, my name's Mort. Yeah, um, I felt like I should tell you that uh, I accidentally blew up your yard. Father: What!? How? Mort: I was going to blow up this tree in my yard, but it turns out it was your yard, and I, uh, accidentally used 300 sticks of dynamite. Father: THREE HUNDRED STICKS!? Mort: Yeah, I can't read so well. It was supposed to be 3 sticks. You're probably gonna have to pay a hefty sum to get that fixed. Father: -I- have to pay!? Mort: Well, yeah, it's -your- yard. Father: But YOU blew it up! Mort: Yeah, sorry about that. Bye! [leaves] Father: Can you believe that guy!? Sara: Yeah, great place to live, -DAD-! Mother: It's alright, honey. He didn't mean to destroy anything. Father: I guess you're right. [a loud crash is heard] [doorbell rings. FATHER answers.] Mort: Hi, uh, sorry, but... [holds up dog carcass] Mother: Muffin!!! Mort: Yeah, sorry about that. I accidentally hit it with my van. Father: He was on a leash in the yard! Mort: Yeah, no, I'm not a very good driver. Father: Ya think!? Mort: Sorry, uh, bye! Mother: Our poor, Muffin. Sara: Thanks, -DAD-! Father: You shut up! [a rock flys through their window] [doorbell rings again. FATHER answers] Mort: Hi, yeah, can I have my ball back? Father: -That- is a -ROCK-! Mort: Oh. Sorry, dude. Father: You are NOT sorry. You're going to hear from my lawyer! Mort: No, I'm not. Sorry, Dude. [runs out] Sara: This place sucks! Mother: Honey! Father: What are we going to do? Mother: We can't stay here. Father: Yes we can! We'll never find another place this cheap. Sara: Yeah. Good call, dad. Maybe if we stay here long enough, he'll drop an atom bomb on our house. Father: Shut up, you ungrateful bitch! Sara: I hate this house! I hate you! [she runs upstairs] [doorbell rings, again.] Father: Oh, not him again. [opens the door] Mort: Yeah, I hope you don't mind, but, I'm in trouble, so I told this guy named Mario that my address was yours. Father: What kind of trouble are you in!? Mort: Hey, the guy told me not to ask what his business is. Father: You're in trouble with the mob!? Mort: Um, maybe dude. I'd just stay inside for a while if I was you. Father: Unbelievable! Mort: Uh, sorry, dude. [starts to leave, but comes back.] Mort: Um, do you have any sugar? Father: -NO-! [chases Mort out the door] Rate or review this sketch. |
