On this day a completely useless waste of mass and energy passed on.
I know it’s not original but I had to do it, so here’s the Dead Prophet Sketch.
The cast: Tom Cruise, a short guy. David Miscavige, a really short guy.
Tom Cruise enters the shop pushing a large leather chair with dead old man on it.
TC: Hello, I want to complain.
(Miscavige doesn’t respond.)
TC: Hello, Miss?
DM: What do you mean "miss"?
TC: I'm sorry, I have a cold. I wish to make a complaint!
DM: We're closing for lunch.
TC: Never mind that! I’m here to complain about this prophet that I purchased about half an hour ago from this shop.
DM: Oh yes, the, uh, the Nebraska Red. What's, uh...What's wrong with him?
TC: He's dead, that's what's wrong with him!
DM: No, no, 'e's uh,...he's resting.
TC: Look, I know a dead prophet when I see one, and I'm looking at one right now.
DM: No, no, he's not dead, he's, he's resting! Remarkable prophet, isn't, it? Beautiful haircut!
TC: But he's stone dead.
DM: Nononono, no, no! He's resting!
TC: All right then, if he's resting, I'll wake him up! (shouting at the
chair) 'Hello, Ronnie! I've got some lovely cash for you to grab if you
(Miscavige hits the chair)
DM: There, he moved!
TC: No, he didn't, that was you hitting the chair!
DM: I never!!
TC: Yes, you did!
Owner: I never, never did anything...
TC: (yelling and hitting the chair repeatedly) HELLO RONNIE!!!!!
Testing! Testing! Testing! Testing! This is your nine o'clock alarm
(Takes Hubbard out of the chair and thumps his head on the counter. Stands him up and watches him fall to the floor.)
TC: Now that's what I call a dead prophet.
DM: No, no.....No, he's stunned!
DM: Yeah! You stunned him, just as he was waking up! Nebraska Reds stun easily, sir.
TC: Now look... I've definitely had enough of this. That prophet clearly
deceased, and when I bought him not half an hour ago, you assured me
that its total lack of movement was due to it being tired and shagged
out following a prolonged lecture.
DM: Well, he's...he's, ah...probably pining for the wheat fields.
TC: PINING for the WHEAT FIELDS?!?!?!? What kind of talk is that? And
why did he fall flat on his back the moment I got him home?
DM: Nebraska Reds prefer to lay on the back! Remarkable prophet, isn’t he? Lovely haircut!
TC: Look, I took the liberty of examining that senator when I got him
home, and I discovered the only reason that it had been sitting in his
chair in the first place was that he had been NAILED there.
DM: Well, of course he was nailed there! If I hadn't nailed him down, he would have stood up and gone VOOM!
TC: "VOOM"?!? Sir, this man wouldn't "voom" if you put four million volts through him! He's totally demised!
DM: No, no! He's pining!
TC: He's not pining! He’s passed on! This prophet is no more! He has
ceased to be! He’s expired and gone to meet his maker! He’s a stiff!
Bereft of life, he rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed him to the chair
he'd be pushing up the daisies! His metabolic processes are now
history! He’s off the twig! He’s kicked the bucket, He’s shuffled off
his mortal coil and moved on to Target Two!! THIS IS AN EX-PROPHET!!
DM: Well, I'd better replace him, then. (he takes a quick peek behind
the counter) Sorry sir, I've had a look 'round the back of the shop
we're out of prophets.
TC: I see. I see, I get the picture.
DM: I got a slug.
TC: Does it talk?
DM: Nnnnot really.
TC: WELL IT'S NOT A REPLACEMENT, IS IT?!!???!!?
DM: N-no, I guess not. (gets ashamed, looks at his feet)
DM: It leaves a trail of slime.
TC: All right.