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One of my favorite show ever! I adore Dave Foley, and have watched several things I probably shouldn't have just to see him.

I couldn't find my favorite sketch on youtube, but it's with Scott as Fran, telling about how their son Brian (Dave) told them he was gay. Bruce, as Gordon imagines the worst. Fran was a recurring character, and I loved her.

Some good snippets:

Scott: Well, I must admit that I was completely floored when my middle son Brian dropped his bombshell on my husband Gordon and I the other night. We were sitting around the kitchen table having a lovely cup of coffee, [cut to close-up of Scott] and uh, I just asked Brian whether or not he wanted some more sugar, and why he wasn't married. Well, he looked at me for the longest time and then he said, "Mum, I want you to think of your very worst nightmare." So, of course, I imagined losing my family in a fire. Well, that wasn't good enough for him. He continued to stare at me in an almost, well, psychotic manner. And then he said, "Mom, no, make it worse." So, of course, I imagined setting the fire that killed my family. So, when Brian finally told Gordon and I that he was a [hesitatingly] ho- ahem, a ho. . . that he was shy, I was almost relieved. Better that than killing my family in a fire for no apparent reason. I suppose it's more difficult on the men, you know, because they wonder where they went wrong - question their own sexuality, their own manhood, blame themselves. Of course, Gordon has found a way to blame me.


Scott: Oh, I wish I drank. [cut back to close-up of Scott] I wish, I wish, I wish, I wish I was one of those bingo women, you know. One of those bingo women with the bleached-blonde hair, unfiltered cigarettes, hockey jacket and a welfare scam. And all day long I'd play bingo. And I'd call it out too, wherever I was, even when I wasn't playing. Bingo, I'd say! Bingo! Hello, Mrs. Morton, bingo to ya! That was a lovely sermon, Reverend Wilson, bingo to you and your family. Bingo, bingo, bingo. I'd start to talk in a southern accent. They'd call me that crazy lady, the one with the bachelor son. And the neighbours would throw rocks at me as I shuffled down the street in my filthy bathrobe, clutching coupons for crackers and soap and hacking up blood. Oh, Gordon would leave me for a younger woman. . . or man. And I'd end up living in a shopping cart at the end of the block where the fields begin. I'd rub cherries on my lips and cheeks to feel pretty, and wear sausages in a link around my neck, on Saturday night when my son Brian came to visit with his...travelling companion.


link to the whole sketch script:

www.kithfan.org/work/transcripts/pilot/pilot.html#bombshell