2005-06-16 - 9:03 p.m.

Questions. We all have them.

Answers. Not so much.

To be fair, some questions have no answers. Well, they have answers, but we just don’t know what they are. And some people spend entire lifetimes trying to find them. (We call these people “graduate students.”) For instance: Why are we here? Where do we go when we die? Is bigger always better? Do black holes only exist in space or is there, in fact, one in almost every clothes dryer in North America? How else do you explain that one mismatched sock in every load?

I’m neither a scientist nor a theologist, so I won’t attempt to answer any of the above questions today. I am a Clay Aiken fan, so I will attempt to answer some of the questions that have plagued his Nation since the spring of 2005 (a veritable eternity!). I’m well aware of the irony that Clay himself could answer these questions himself in under five minutes, but has chosen not to do so at this time. (And he’s certainly under no obligation, especially with some of the more risqué questions that have been plaguing me personally since he showed up in pants that fit in April of 2003, but if he ever does want to unburden himself to one caring and compassionate fan, he’s got my address, phone number, e-mail address and credit card information, so y’know, he could bill me for it and everything. Just sayin’.) Until we get the facts from the man himself, or until he releases another pretty picture to distract us, I’ve come up with some plausible solutions to these nagging mysteries, presented in the form of a skit.

BIG HUGE HONKIN’ DISCLAIMER

This is a work of FICTION. The people are real, but I have no actual knowledge of if or when or why Clay or Kelly may have fired any musicians in their employ. Nor do I know if Fran does Clay’s laundry or how she operates the BAF. I have no real working knowledge of the moderators at Clay’s Official Fan Club, who they are, who hired them or why. I hear things, rumors mostly, from around the fandom and then I make up a whole bunch of other stuff to go along with them. It’s meant to make you LAUGH. If you find yourself having a different reaction, in particular an adverse one, you should probably stop reading and find another form of entertainment. If CLAY AIKEN has a problem with how he’s portrayed in this or any other skit, well, he’s certainly welcome to get take it up with me.

June 15, 2005

Clay is quietly chuckling to himself as he stares at the computer screen propped on his lap. Kelly quietly enters and starts reading over his shoulder. Suddenly she calls out:

Kelly: Oh my god! You’re such a freak!

Clay (jumping off the sofa and nearly dropping his laptop): Kelly!! You nearly scared the shi….stuffing out of me! What are you doing here?

Kelly: Nice welcome, goober. (slaps him playfully) You were supposed to call me when you got back to LA.

Clay: Well, I just got back and I’ve been busy catching up.

Kelly: On what? Your psycho fan club?

Clay: My fan club isn’t psycho, and you shouldn’t be looking at that stuff anyway since you’re not an official member.

Kelly: Yes, I AM an official member, you brat! You filled out my application yourself from backstage at my concert in LA! And then you charged my credit card after I comped you and your posse 6 tickets to my show!

Clay: Well, being an official claymate is a privilege worth paying for.

Kelly: So is going to my concert! Why do you always have to travel with so many people anyway?

Clay: What? I’m alone today.

Kelly: No you’re not. Who do you think let me in the house?

Clay: Nick, I guess.

Kelly: That’s right. So Nick’s here. And I think I saw Fran skulking around the hallway near your bedroom.

Clay (shudders): She’d better be doing laundry and not rearranging my jeans closet again.

Kelly (laughing): Why do you have a jeans closet and why would she want to rearrange it?

Clay: Laugh if you want, but I have over 100 pairs of jeans, so they deserve their own closet, just like my shoes. But whenever Fran puts my laundry away, she always tries to put the tightest pairs on the top of the piles, instead of letting them come up in their natural order.

Kelly: You are such a freak. What were you doing when I came in? Giggling at your website?

Clay: Can you keep a secret? No, you can’t, but I’ll tell you anyway. I’ve got like five memberships to my fan club and sometimes I sign on as various people and mess with the other fans. Their reactions are pretty priceless.

Kelly: Priceless. Bingo. As in no one should have to pay to read some of that stuff.

Clay: Are you serious? C’mon, Kelly, they’ve been naming my kids and everything.

Kelly: Have they really? Awww, that’s kinda cute. Hey while you’re there, can you tell your freaky fans that they shouldn’t be bothering your friends to try to figure out what you’re doing or if you’ve recorded your CD yet? God, I had at least a dozen of ‘em accosting me at every concert.

Clay: Accosting? Oooh, big word, Kelly.

Kelly: Hey, Mr. Smartypants, if you wanna see what other big words I know, let’s break out the Scrabble board. Unless the one I sent you as a housewarming present got lost somewhere in your shoe closet.

Clay: Call me whatever names you like, but leave my shoes out of it. (starts giggling to himself)

Kelly: What’s so funny? Are you thinking about the time you tossed the scrabble tiles all over the tour bus and accused Sarge of hitting a pothole?

Clay: That was pretty funny, but that’s not why I’m laughing. I was just thinking about the message that got sent along to my fans about my Unicef trip.

Kelly: Where did you go anyway? None of your fans wanted to tell me. They’d just wink and say, “Is he back from U-know-where?”

Clay: Lord, Kelly, it was no secret I was going to Uganda. But let me tell my story. (she sits next to him) Anyway, you know Fran hired all these moderators for my fan site, and that really stirred the turd, but I thought I’d stir it just a little more. So I PM’ed all the moderators and said, “I bet Clay Aiken had nothing to do with hiring you. I bet you’ve never even met him or spoken to him.” Which, of course, I know they haven’t. And most of them admitted it, except this one.

Kelly: Which one was that?

Clay: Lord, Kelly, I can’t even remember my own screen names at all these websites, and you expect me to remember other people’s? Anyway, this one said that I’d hired her personally because of all her great credentials and whatnot, so I wrote back and said, “Well, if you’re such good friends, why don’t you prove it by telling us exactly when he’s going to Uganda.” So then, of course, she starts frantically e-mailing everyone she can think of who knows me, just begging for this information. And of course they ignore it as usual, but she doesn’t let up. She was e-mailing everybody like five times a day, so finally, just to get rid of her, someone shot back, “Don’t you realize you’re putting Clay’s very life in jeopardy by even asking such a sensitive question?”

Kelly: How was that possibly putting your life in jeopardy?

Clay: It wasn’t! I mean, I suppose I was putting my own life in jeopardy just by going over there, but if one of my fans wants to go all psych--er, extremely enthusiastic, and lick my face or pinch my butt or whatnot, would they follow me all the way to Uganda to do it? No. They just bribe their way into a meet-n-greet. Anyway, they all sounded the alarms and everybody just hushed up right quick, and scurried around deleting posts, and then they all started spelling Uganda with asterisks. See? (demonstrates U***** on his computer screen) Of course, a few of my fans count or spell about as well as some of my staff members [editorial note: feel free to pause as long as required to contemplate Clay’s staff or member], and sent me to Uruguay instead. (types U******)

Kelly: And you’re still going to claim your fans aren’t crazy?

Clay: They’re not crazy; they’re creative. Look. You can type all types of cuss words with asterisks. (types f*ck, b*tch, *ss, sh*t) My fans taught me that.

Kelly moves Clay’s hands off the keyboard and types, “You are s*ch a d*rk.” Clay types back, “B*te me, b*tch.”

Kelly: I think you should have a contest to see who’s more childish, you or your fans.

Clay: I think we all know the winner of that competition would be you. Besides, my fans also taught me an even better way to swear, and not that childish beyotch and shiznit like you use.

Kelly: What’s that?

Clay: You can just replace the vowels with a different vowel and say stuff like feck and demmit.

Kelly: Or shet?

Clay: No, shit’s okay to say.

Kelly: Man, Clay, I didn’t realize you had such a big deck.

Clay: HA! I thought I answered that question once and for all in St. Paul.

Kelly: What? You didn’t even have this house then.

Clay: What does living in this house have to do with the size of my deck? Other than maybe earning some of the money used to pay for it.

Kelly (looking out the window): What? Decks don’t earn money! Anyway, I didn’t realize it extended all the way to the dining room. Too bad you sunburn so easily.

Clay: Ohhhhh, my deck.

Kelly: That’s what I said. What did you think I was talking about?

Clay: Never mind. I shouldn’t be surprised anymore that you can’t keep on the same topic of conversation for more than 20 seconds. Hey, speaking of swear words, did you ever fire that guitar player?

Kelly: I did!

Clay: So how was it? You know I would’ve done it for you in LA.

Kelly: And thanks again for offering, but I really had to do it myself.

Clay: It was awesome, wasn’t it?

Kelly: You are so weird, getting off on firing people. Anyway, I finally did it during the encore in my next to last show. Except I messed up the words and talked about respect and praying and probably a few other crazy phrases I learned from your fans. HA! I think I nearly said, “Let Dwayne be Dwayne.”

Clay: You did it onstage?! But how could you mess up the words? It’s a simple six-word phrase.

Kelly: Oh, like you’re the only performer who’s never messed up words onstage. Excuse me, Mr. Perfect. What was that phrase again?

Clay: Get the fuck off the tour.

Kelly: Oh my god! You said fuck!

Clay: Yes. I said it. I don’t say it.

Kelly: But you just did!

Clay: I did. But I don’t. There’s a difference.

Kelly: Did your crazy fans teach you that as well?

Clay: Quit calling them crazy. Remember, you’re officially one of them. Which reminds me, tomorrow is the last day to change your t-shirt size.

Kelly: Why would I change it? I always wear a small.

Clay: I thought you might like an extra-large since you haven’t exactly been wearing pants that fit lately, Missus Plumber.

Kelly: My pants fit fine, and besides I’m just giving my fans what they want. Which is my ass. You should think about giving your fans what they want.

Clay: Which is what?

Kelly: You know what it is, and don’t make me say it.

Clay: C’mon. Say it.

Kelly: You can’t make me. And you know what it is, cuz you’ve shown it off before.

Clay: Baby steps, Kelly, baby steps. I’m still thinking about wearing a short-sleeved shirt on my jukebox tour.

Kelly: With how many t-shirts underneath?

Clay: Just one! Plus maybe an extra v-neck, but those have a tendency to ride up. I’m still undecided on whether to tuck and belt. I don’t know if my fans are ready for that on a nightly basis.

Kelly: Okay, ick, I don’t want to think about this anymore. Why don’t you tell me why you had to fire that bass player again, unless it turns you on to think about it. In which case, I’ll go in the kitchen and make us some sandwiches.

Clay: Why don’t you do that anyway? (they walk toward the kitchen) I told you, I caught him messing with one of mah bitc…, er fans backstage after a concert.

Kelly: So what? It’s not like you’re ever gonna “mess with” one of your fans yourself!

Clay: Says who? Never say never. [editorial note: if these words uttered by Clay in a fictional script somehow shored up your delusional hopes of one day hooking up with the Aiken, it’s time to seek professional help. I’ve booked an appointment for myself next Tuesday.]

Kelly: Well, you certainly never did when we toured together. And hey! What about Jacob? He messes with your fans all the time.

Clay: But Jacob always asks first. It’s a matter of respect.

Kelly: Ahhhh, now I remember where I got that “respect” line. What was I supposed to say to fire that guy again?

Clay: Get the fuck off the tour?

Kelly: There! You said it! You said the f-word again!

Clay: Kelly, I’ve already admitted that I’ve said it. I don’t say it.

Kelly: But you just did for the second time!

Clay: I know, we’ve been through this. I do NOT say the f-word.

Kelly is exasperated but has long ago learned she can’t win one of these arguments with her pal. Suddenly, Fran appears in the doorway.

Fran: I thought I heard someone opening the utensil drawer. Here, Clay, let me make your sandwich for you.

Kelly: Fran, I’m perfectly capable of making a couple of sandwiches.

Fran: But do you know how he likes it cut?

Kelly: He’ll eat it no matter which way I cut it.

Fran: No he won’t.

Clay (quietly): No I won’t. You’d better cut it diagonally.

Kelly: Sometimes, I have to ask myself how we’re still friends.

Clay: Awww, Kelly, you know you love me. I think we’ve got this under control, Fran, so you can go back to whatever foundation work it is you’re doing.

Fran: I’m organizing your sock drawers. Although frankly, it doesn’t look like you’ve taken out a single pair since the last time I organized them. (she gives Kelly one more look and then leaves the room)

Clay (whispers): See why I can’t wear socks anymore?

Kelly: Hey, Clay, if you’re so big on firing people, why do you keep Fran around?

Clay: Because I know nothing about running a foundation. I mean, she’s doing stuff that I wouldn’t even think of.

Kelly: Like laundry?

Clay: Exactly. Something about how the I’m the leader of the foundation, and the foundation can only be run in a clean and healthy manner if the leader is kept in a clean and healthy manner and some other legal mumbo-jumbo. Like I said, she’s got all the experience in that area.

Kelly: Okay. Enough about Fran. (they walk back to the family room with their sandwiches) So what else you been up to? Did you ever get into the studio and record that CD?

Clay: Now, you know I can’t talk about that.

Kelly: Fine, I’ll just ask Clive.

Clay: You do that.

Kelly (whines): Please, Clay. Just give me something to tell your obsessive fans every time they ask me about it, which is basically every day. Like when’s the release date?

Clay: I don’t know.

Kelly: Yes you do. Just tell me.

Clay: No I don’t. I won’t know until I clear it with Ruben.

Kelly: Ha. Ha.

Clay: Actually, I was all set to go into the studio but then I gave up some of my studio time to (whispers) Carrie Underwood.

Kelly: Awwww, you gave your studio time to your girlfriend. Clay and Carrie, sittin’ in a tree…

Clay: Stop it! She’s not my girlfriend.

Kelly: Not for a lack of tryin’.

Clay: Tell me about it. But it looks like that blond guy got to her. He was hovering all over her in the studio, blocking my entrance.

Kelly: You went to the studio?

Clay: Of course I did! You think I gave her studio time just to be a nice guy? I thought I finally found something that would impress her.

Kelly: But Anthony was there too?

Clay: Yes, and wearing some pretty tight jeans, I might add.

Kelly: I don’t think he has much choice. But how ‘bout you? Were the tight ones at the top of the pile that day?

Clay: They’re almost always at the top of the pile. I usually have to dig for a pair at the bottom, but I did happen to be wearing a fairly tight pair that day. (looks smugly satisfied)

Kelly: Instead of your usual sweat pants?

Clay: If you really want to get into a battle over pants selection, I may have to mention the crack of your ass.

Kelly: Continue.

Clay: Yeah, so that Anthony dude was like making himself into a barrier between me and Carrie. And he’s standing there with his arms crossed, totally showing off his biceps, or whatever those muscles in your arms are. (in funny voice with mock Russian accent) “I work out three times a day.”

Kelly: He talked to you?

Clay: Not too much. It’s not like we have a lot in common.

Kelly: Oh really? Beyond the glasses, spiky hair, singing, love for Carrie, big bulg…

Clay (elbows her): Shut up. So we were mostly just trying to ignore each other, and then he says, “The doctors in the Ukraine told me I’d never be able to sing,” and I answer, “Maybe you never really have.” And he just gave me this look. (turns toward Kelly who looks completely confused) Just like that one! Sometimes I think I’m too subtle.

Kelly: Or freakish.

Clay: And yet, you love me anyway.

Kelly: So what are you gonna do now?

Clay: Well, I’m through courting Carrie, I’ll tell you that. I think I’ll just hang out for awhile, maybe take a nap.

Kelly: Don’t you have a CD and a tour and stuff to work on?

Clay: Or avoid working on. I put off my CD for so long, but now I’ve just got to put off talking about it, which is nearly as stressful. I guess I’m also avoiding rehearsing for my tour, so it’s like I’m doing two things at once.

Kelly: Do you even have a set list?

Clay: Nah. I’ll get to it next week maybe.

Kelly: You’ve got to know at least a few songs you’re planning on singing. How about something from your new CD?

Clay: I told you, I can’t talk about that.

Kelly: You are such a goober and a fibber! C’mon, we’re like best friends. Just give me one song from your setlist.

Clay: Promise you won’t tell my fans?

Kelly: Pinkie swear.

Clay: Jacob and I are gonna do a duet of Timeless.

Kelly (pauses and then smacks him with a couch cushion): You are so dead, Aiken!

Clay: I know you are, but what am I?

Kelly: The most annoying man I’ve ever met in my life?

Clay: Claymate.

Kelly: Goober.

Clay: Claymate.

Kelly: Goober.

Clay: Claymate.

Kelly (pauses): CLAYMATE! HA! You’re a Claymate too, I just remembered. In fact, you’re five Claymates!

Clay: Am not.

Kelly: Yes, you are. You said so.

Clay: Did not.

Kelly takes off in a mad dash toward the laptop so she can read his screenname, but Clay senses what she’s doing and reaches in between the couch cushions where he keeps an emergency dirty sock. He places it over her mouth and nose. Kelly closes her eyes instinctively and Clay snaps the laptop shut.

The two friends continue to tease and argue and avoid playing Scrabble all afternoon, a very productive day.

And now you know where those unmatched socks go. And it ain’t no black hole in your clothesdryer.

So in Clay’s honor, let’s all take off a dirty sock right now and put it in between our sofa cushions. And not take it back out again until his CD is released. (at which time we’ll all be back to drooling from both ends and avoiding housework again anyway, so you’ll never actually have to wash it or anything.)

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