03/15/2025
ACTS isn't just for performance development, we also conceptualize & write creative content. Here is one of the recent sketches. See if you can guess what Bible story it is based on...
And once you finished reading, anyone want to make it? 😉
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Sketch Title: The Remote Control Blessing
Characters:
1. Mom (Maureen) - Cunning matriarch who favors Jake. She’s knitting a lumpy scarf, plotting as she goes, and jumps at the chance to outsmart Eddie.
2. Jake (Younger Sibling) - Mom’s sly favorite, quick-witted and scheming—always ready to con his way to the prize.
3. Eddie (Older Sibling) - Dad’s favorite, loud, burly, and gullible—desperate for the remote but clueless.
4. Dad (Doug) - Walk-on role, gruff mechanic who hid the remote and loves Eddie, but gets caught in the chaos.
Setting: The cluttered family living room. Maureen’s on the couch, knitting furiously. There is a recliner, Eddie’s gym gear, and a dusty bowling trophy on a shelf. The TV’s off—no one knows where the remote is.
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Sketch Script
[Scene opens with Maureen knitting a hideous scarf, muttering about dropped stitches. Jake slinks in, chewing gum and glancing at the blank TV. Eddie barges in, holding a football and wiping sweat off his brow.]
Eddie: (booming) Ma! Dad’s out fixin’ the truck—says I’m his right-hand man! I need the remote to watch the game tonight. Coach says I’m a legend! Where’d he stash it this time?
Maureen: (not looking up) Oh, Eddie, my lumbering ox, your father’s turned hiding that remote into a national sport. I’m busy with this scarf—figure it out yourself.
Jake: (sidling up, all charm) Mom, you’re the brains here—Dad’s just playing games. How about we find that remote together? I’ll put on that crime show you love, no sports junk.
Maureen: (beaming) My clever little Jake, you know how to treat your queen. Eddie’s out there tossing balls for Dad, but you—you’re my pride. (whispers) Let’s con that oaf and snag the remote for ourselves. Start small—mess with him first.
Eddie: (scratching head) Mess with who? Ma, I’m right here! I need the game—Dad says I’m the family champ!
Maureen: (snapping) You’re the champ of breaking my chairs, Eddie! Go wash your mitts. (to Jake) Tell him the remote’s in the fridge—he’ll buy it.
Jake: (grinning) Hey, Eddie, Dad told me he hid the remote in the fridge to keep it cool for your big game. Better check!
Eddie: (eyes wide) For real? That’s genius! (charges offstage, hollering) I’M COMIN’ FOR YA, REMOTE!
[Sounds of crashing offstage.]
Maureen: (to Jake) Perfect. Now, grab his stinky football jersey—we’ll use it to trick your father into spilling the real spot.
[Jake snags Eddie’s sweaty jersey, throws it on, and mimics Eddie’s lumbering gait.
[Eddie returns, holding a frozen hot dog, bewildered. Eddie’s still holding a hot dog, confused.]
Eddie: Ma, all I found was this! Did the dog eat it? Wait, why’s he wearin’ my jersey?
Maureen: (stifling a laugh) Just a game, dear. (video-chats Dad, making sure not to show Jake's head) Honey, it’s me. Eddie’s here, begging for that remote you hid like the big shot you think he is.
Dad’s Voice: (gruff, over clanking tools) My boy Eddie! Tell him it’s inside my old bowling trophy. He’s earned it!
Jake: (gruff voice, flexing) Uh, yeah, Dad! It’s Eddie! Tacklin’ life like a pro! Thanks for the tip, Pops!
Eddie: (bursting in) HOLD UP, THAT AIN’T ME! I’M EDDIE! HE’S STEALIN’ MY GAME NIGHT!
Maureen: (feigning shock, turning phone to only show her face) Eddie, hush! Too many tackles to the head. Jake’s just… practicing your grunt.
Jake: (grabbing the trophy, pulling out the remote) Too late, big guy. Found it in Dad’s dusty old strike-king—now I’m lockin’ in Mom’s cop shows. But hey—check the cookie jar, maybe Dad left a “backup remote” there.
Eddie: (desperate) A backup?! You’re the best! (bolts offstage, crashing sounds ensue)
Maureen: (smirking, knitting a tight stitch) That lunk’d trade his own touchdowns for a cookie.
Jake: (grinning, clicking remote) Yeah, and he’d call it a protein boost and flex at it.
[Eddie returns, covered in cookie crumbs, holding a broken flashlight.]
Eddie: (wailing) IT’S A LIE! JUST CRUMBS AND A DEAD LIGHT! YOU’RE KILLIN’ ME, JAKE!
Jake: (smirking, clicking remote) Relax, crumb-face. Enjoy your flashlight reruns.
Eddie: (roaring) NOOOO! MY GAME! MY GLORY! I’LL TRADE YOU MY LUCKY SOCKS, YOU SNEAKY RAT!
Maureen: (cackling) Oh, boys, nothing beats a little family fun. Jake, you’re my hero. Eddie, go tackle the laundry and sulk.
[Eddie stomps toward the door but pauses, a glint in his eye.]
Eddie: (muttering) If I can’t have the TV, nobody will. Time to fix this my way!
[Eddie storms out. Jake and Maureen settle in, TV now on. Suddenly, Eddie comes in with a hammer and begins destroying the cable box! Jake and Maureen begin screaming and attempting to stop the carnage, but to no avail. Eddie throws them around in a violent ecstasy.]
Eddie: No cop shows for traitors!
[Dad bursts in]
Dad: (furious) EDDIE! What in tarnation?!
Maureen: He just took a hammer to the cable box—smashed it to bits!
Dad: We’ve got no TV at all now?
Maureen: (gasping) That little barbarian! I’ll knit him a muzzle!
Jake: (groaning) Mom's crime marathon! Eddie, you meathead, you’ve ruined us all!
Eddie: (smug) That’s right, suckers! If I can’t watch my game, you’re all watchin’ static! (brandishes hammer) Who’s the champ now, huh?!
Dad: (charging after him) EDDIE, YOU’RE SLEEPIN’ IN THE GARAGE TONIGHT!
[Eddie bolts offstage with a triumphant yell, chased by Dad. Maureen throws her knitting at the blank TV. Jake slumps in the recliner, gazing at the now useless remote in his hand.]
