Stock photo storyboards

Eric Gets Erectile Dysfunction After Horrific Sandwich Showdown

There’s narrative gold behind Pexel stock photos , you have to dig a little deeper..

One of my favourite things to do is write stories. I did it when I was a kid and I (sometimes) get paid to do it now. Part of the fun of being a script writer is you get to create narratives where none previously exist. You get to bring entire worlds into being. It’s difficult not to get a god complex sometimes.

While out image hunting for my more serious articles, I’ve come across sets of photos. This seems like an opportunity too good to pass up and I’ve had a lot of fun.

I reckon ‘Stock Photo Storyboards’ might become a new favourite Penguin hobby.

FADE IN

INT: KITCHEN — DAY

ERIC (34) and his wife TAMARA (32) are sitting at the kitchen table. Cold. Sterile. Like their marriage. Faux minimalism, as if someone understands what clean lines are but can’t help purchasing candles and other capitalist detritus when put under pressure.

Eric is in trouble. This is his default setting

TAMARA: So this is it then?

ERIC: What?

TAMARA: This.

She indicates the paltry amount of sandwiches and two small cups of coffee he has provided

TAMARA (Cont’d): You were supposed to do a decent lunch, I sent you out with forty five dollars.

ERIC: This is a decent lunch

TAMARA: In what world is….

ERIC: You weren’t specific about what you…

TAMARA: I see. My fault… always my fault.

ERIC: Don’t be like that.

TAMARA: Like what?

ERIC: You know what.

TAMARA: I can’t help it Eric, I’m fucking hangry. You know how I get…

ERIC: I’m sorry.

TAMARA: Yeah… And I’m famished.

ERIC: I don’t know what you want from me? You haven’t touched the sandwiches

TAMARA: I wanted, just for once, to have a decent lunch… one with some choices and a little bit of something useful. And YET, once again, you’ve brought back cold pitta filled with hummus and despair. There isn’t even any milk for tcoffee for god’s sake.

ERIC: You didn’t say to get milk.

TAMARA: I shouldn’t have to! Fucking hell Eric, This isn’t about the milk, it isn’t about the hummus… this is about us. About our marriage. About me, entrusting you with the simplest task I could think of…giving you four times the amount of money you’d need and you still fucking it up. Like you do. Every. Damn. Time.

ERIC: You haven’t actually tried the sandwiches.

TAMARA: (…)

ERIC: (…)

TAMARA: I…

ERIC: They’ve got a bit of lettuce in them as well.

TAMARA: Don’t. I don’t want to hear it.

A beat. Eric gets up and crosses to the corner of the room

TAMARA: (Cont’d) Where are you going?

ERIC: Over here. To the crying corner.

TAMARA: I suppose you don’t have the money anymore?

ERIC: (…)

TAMARA: Where’s the money?

ERIC: I spent it

TAMARA: On what?

ERIC: Look, don’t get mad.

TAMARA: Spent. It. On?

ERIC: Matching ear and nose jewellery.

TAMARA: Jesus wept.

ERIC: The man at the tattoo parlour said they enhanced virility…

CUT TO:

INT. BEDROOM — LATER

Eric sits on the end of the bed worried about his flaccid member, behind him Tamara falls slowly in love with her houseplant.

MORGAN FREEMAN (V.O): But the man at the tattoo parlour lied… they only made Eric one thing. Infertile.

FADE TO BLACK:

Want more humour from me? Got you covered!