A Play A Day #246

Right Sites


Cast:
Hib
Tip

Setting: In the woods.


Hib: Then there's wind.

Tip: Yeah. Wind.

H: Wind and wind.

T: How...

H: Do you tell them apart?

T: No idea.

H: Context, I guess...

T: Context... Yeah.

H: Yeah... before it... and after.

T: Surrounding it... the meaning of other words in the sentence.

H: Yeah.

T: (standing up, pointing rifle straight out at audience and firing) Damn... missed again.

H: You are not a good shot, are you?

T: Fuck you... good enough.

H: Wasn't even moving that fast.

T: Fast enough... there's funky winds...

H: Right, not winds, winds.

T: Obviously, context and all, obvious it's winds, not winds.

H: Yeah, winds doesn't make sense in that sentence.

T: Context.

H: Wind.

T: Or wind.

H: Doesn't matter by itself.

T: Yeah, just in context. (jumps up, shoots twice, sits) Shit!

H: Missing everything today.

T: Know that, Hib.

H: Don't get pissed, just stating facts.

T: Don't state too many facts to a man carrying a rifle.

H: Doesn't look like I have much to worry about on that score.

T: Fucker.

H: Suppose I am, in the proper context.

T: Just a fucker.

H: Like your wife's bed, that sort of context.

T: Fucker.

H: In that context, oh yeah.

T: Fucker doesn't even bring his gun on the big hunt.

H: It's broken, told you that last night, but...

T: Get a new one, is all...

H: You didn't even remember to bring your extra.

T: Forgot, man.

H: Bullshit, you didn't want me bagging anything...

T: Not true, Hib, just forgot.

H: Yeah, yeah, yeah...

T: God's Honest Fucking Truth, Hib.

H: Whatever.

T: Here comes... (stand fires, sits)

H: That thing was right there, not even twitching, Tip.

T: Shut up.

H: Your site is probably fucked.

T: Probably, you sat on the damn thing in the truck.

H: Sorry, man. I apologized already.

T: Should've pulled the trigger then.

H: You still would've missed my ass.

T: Damn, that's a tough thing to miss too; what you put on about twenty in the last month?

H: No, same weight as last time you saw me.

T: Bullshit. You're porking up.

H: Fuck that.

T: Nothing but Ho-Hos and mayonnaise for you, I guess.

H: At least I've got some mass to me.

T: I'd say more mass in you.

H: Not a fucking pussy scrawny girl, like you.

T: Yikes, guess I hit a little button somewhere in all that flab.

H: Shut it, prick.

T: Ahh, Hib, let's cut the bullshit.

H: Sounds good.

T: I mean let's just agree to disagree that you're a fat fuck.

H: Yep, and you look and shoot like a girl.

T: Fair enough.

H: Fair enough.

T: (long pause) You've never hunted before, have you?

H: No... never have... don't want too.

T: Shit, man, why didn't you ever tell me that.

H: Fuck, Tip, this is the third time I've gone out with you, and it never struck you as suspicious that I always "forget" my gun?

T: Well... no, I guess, you lying about hunting had me convinced.

H: No, I just like hanging out in the woods, and Dale told me you were a terrible shot; so I knew...

T: Fucking Dale. Fucker... that dickass can only hit shit because he's got these laser sites... it's not fair... that's not hunting...

H: I would agree there.

T: Talking shit about me, that fucking rich snob.

H: (long pause) So, Tip, you ever hit anything?

T: Yeah... I hit shit... all... I've killed many... I've hit a lot of... all the time... just one after the other sometimes, you know...

H: (long pause) So.... no then?

T: (long pause) Not technically... not in the formal sense of the word "hit", I guess... then no... I haven't.

H: You know... don't worry about it.

T: No, it's fucking frustrating... I love shooting things, but I never can hit anything.

H: You know... I'm sure the dolphins (pointing where Tip has been shooting) don't mind in the least.

T: True.

(lights out, another shot)

H: Let's go, Tip. Flipper wins again.

(end)