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THE DENNIS ERICKSON SHOW

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Fuzzy WTPE logo fades from the screen. The scene changes to a seated Dennis Erickson, cigarette in one hand, tumbler filled with ice and brown liquid in the other. He is wearing white Bermuda shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, and boat shoes. He sits just to the right of center screen. A table and an empty chair sit opposite him.

He speaks.


Sundays, 3 or 4ish p.m. on WTPE.

Dennis Erickson: What's happening, bros? Brosephs? Ho-sephs, for all the ladies out there. Coach E here, and I want to welcome you to the coolest corner of Arizona State television, the Dennis Erickson Show. It's called that because the host is me, Dennis E. But you can call me DE, since that's what all the brothers on the team call me.

I dated a black chick once. She stabbed her next boyfriend. When you got it like that, that happens. I'm smooth and breezy like sipping a pina colada on a pontoon boat on the lake on a Sunday afternoon. Or better yet--Wednesday afternoon.

Anyway, we're here to rap about Arizona State football.

It's my gig. I'm lovin' it. And we're here to talk a little bit with some old buddies of mine, so let's get 'em out here before I tell you too much about the ol' pirate himself. Can't share all my booty with you now, can I? But you can share yours with mine!

I only mean that in the most respectful way. There no pressure, here. We keeps it looooooose on this party barge.

Crank up the blender for my old boy Craig Erickson. No relation! I'll give you the DNA myself if you try to prove it, Craig.

Craig: No, that's fine. You keep it to yourself.

DE: If you had my DNA, you know how you'd feel right now, Craig?

Craig: How?

DE: Smooth like mountain mist floating off the back of a panther's ass, Craig.

Craig: Damn, DE. That's some smooth.

DE: So I've got this team to coach, Craig.

Craig: I heard. How's your boy Rudy?

DE: I have another son? I told you, I will give my DNA to anyone who wants it. This schooner has no barnacles to weigh it down, Craig no relation Erickson.

Craig: I...I meant Rudy Carpenter.

DE: Oh, yes. (Smiles, takes drink.) He's tight, man. Zipping passes flinging it around. Gun-slinger cowboy yeeeaAOOOOOWWWWW!!!

Craig: (pauses.) Well that sounds just--

DE: Our next guest is friend of the show, longtime DE bud and associate, my broseph--PETER O'TOOLE!!!

(Peter O'Toole enters on a camel.)

Peter: Dennis, you old sheep's tit, how are you doing, sir?

DE: I have no idea what you're saying man, but it grooves me like nothing else!

Peter: ha-HAAAA!!! ONE HUNDRED COCKTAILS to you, sir, for that jibe. Your flinty colonial gibberish is a tonic.

DE: I heard tonic. You wanna drink?

PO'T: That, I always understand.

(Dennis Erickson loads up syringe from bottle of Stolichnaya, plunges it directly into PO'T's arm.)

Craig: Oh, god, I think that's lethal, isn't it?

PO'T:(shudders) Ahhh, that's the business. So, Dennis, what's keeping an old buggering sot like you erect these days?

DE: Got this boss gig at Arizona State. We're gonna kick some ass.

PO'T: And is that the dreadful game of football we're talking about?

DE: I honestly can't understand a word you're saying, my little dry, withered looking friend. What I can tell you is that we're gonna have to suture up a pass defense something quick. 28 through the air, 73rd in pass defense, and our two-deep's got more holes than my underwear. Man, I hate defense.

PO'T: I know you're not telling the whole truth there, now, Dennis.

DE: Well, you caught be. DE's been freeballing since a fine hippie woman showed me love in '72. I've craved the breeze on my baby batteries ever since.

Craig: ...

PO'T: Hear hear to that! (They toast.)

DE: But we should be fine on offense. Got my boy Rich Olson back. Gonna spread it around a bit, run a bit more. You know: keep it smooth, shake it up. All that business. Got Ryan Torain at running back who's burly enough to get us some power run game in between all the sweet slinging we'll be doing.

Craig: Hey, coach, you think you're going to pass a bit less than Koetter did? I mean, he passed way more than he ran last year, and that's....

PO'T: I still can't understand a single thing you're talking about, Dennis. What happened to that plane full of cocaine and money you said you were looking for in Baja California?

DE: I...Pete, man, we can't...

PO'T: You know, I lost a lot of money on that little prospecting venture of yours...

Craig: I'd like to leave now. I've gotta get dinner on for a few...

DE: Don't make me stab you, O'Toole.

PO'T: Oh, please, I'd just bleed scotch, which would be a boon for us both, really.

DE: HA! You're quick with it, man. Seriously, I will stab you.

PO'T: One time, Albert Finney stabbed me with a shrimp fork in the forehead. I didn't notice it for three nights, two of which I spent giving a virtuoso performance of Henry V in the West End. When it was removed, I drove over to Finney's and stabbed his poor, sweet cat to death with it.

DE: Tou-motherfuckin'-che, man. Hey, how's our mutual friend Warren Zevon? It's been a really long time since I've called him, man.

PO'T: He's dead, Dennis.

DE: Man, fucking shame. Werewolves Of London rocks.

PO'T: He and I once commandeered a freighter bound for Hamburg using only a bottle of Drambuie, a flare gun, and an English/Romanian dictionary. Once safely ensconced aboard, we set a course for the Azores, but a mutiny found us in a rowboat in a matter of hours. We feared a slow, sober death until we were discovered by the luxurious yacht of socialite Lee Radziwell, who immediately gave us drink, hospitality, and the honor of putting a bound and gagged Truman Capote into the rowboat to fend for himself at sea.

DE: And what happened to him after that?

PO'T: He died, of course! ha-HA! Yes.

DE: Awesome. Well, that's all the time we have for the Dennis Erickson Show. Tune in every week as we keep it wet and smooth here on WTPE. I'm the captain, and it's been a hoot sailing with you. 'Til next time.