In this free comedic script, MA has bad news to tell her teenage daughter but things go down not exactly as one would anticipate.

Basket Case

EXT. LIVING ROOM – DAY
MA comes storming in, mascara smeared across her face. She looks violently at her daughter, VICKY.

MA: Vicky, turn down that music. Now! I have to tell you something serious.

Vicky turns down the music.

VICKY: This better be good.

MA: It’s not good, wiseass. Been trying to figure out how to tell you this, you may want to sit first, I don’t know. You’re Uncle Frankie died. He got hit by a truck this morning. He’s toast.

VICKY: Are you kidding me right now?

MA: No, it happened this very morning…

VICKY: …Who’s Uncle Frankie?

MA: My brother.

VICKY: You have a brother? Since when?

MA: I must have told you about him at least twice, Vicky! For Godsake now’s not the time to bust my hump, okay?!

VICKY: Why is it always my fault? I didn’t even know I had an Uncle!

MA: Well, you did!

Ma pouts and gets quiet.

VICKY: Are you sad?

MA: Well…sort of…I don’t know…what’s sad nowadays, anyhow…we’re all sad about something. I guess this adds to my basket case, but who knows…look, I need you to find something black.

VICKY: What?

MA: Clothing! Find something black…to wear. We need to go to the wake.

VICKY: I’m not going. I don’t even know who the hell this guy is!

MA: How dare you curse like that when a family member just got hit by a mack truck? Shame on you!

VICKY: Ma, why is it always my fault?!

MA: You’re going to the funeral and you’re wearing something as black as you can find it. And no torn clothes, I don’t want to see you in anything with holes. No bag lady type stuff. I want to take pictures.

VICKY: Pictures? Mom, it’s a funeral.

MA: Yeah, well I want you to look nice. There’s some other relatives that will be there you never met.

VICKY: There’s more? I thought it was just you, me and Grandma for my entire life!

MA: Nope. Get ready.

VICKY: Can’t believe you’re making me do this.

MA: Believe it. When it’s your time, you’ll want people to stare at your dead face, too.

VICKY: I could care less. I’ll be dead.

MA: Too damn bad.

VICKY: Am I gonna meet any brothers and sisters I don’t know about?

MA: Hardy har har.  You’re a riot.  You have five minutes to get ready, I’m timing you.

VICKY: Yeah, yeah.

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In this short comedy script, MA and her daughter VICKY need to get dressed and ready for an unexpected funeral.

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