July 31, 2006

A Play A Day #109

The Art Of Apology

Ms. Jeppy

Setting: High school classroom

Ms. Jeppy: (enters pulling Art, a large jock, by the arm to spot where Silas, a small nerd, is standing, attempting to clean himself with massive amounts of tissue. His face has been extremely damaged, his clothing ripped. It's evident he's been beaten very badly) Get in here, Art! You will answer for this... this atrocity toward another student... a perfectly nice young gentlemen beaten to the brink of unconsciousness... for what! For what, Art!

Art: I dunno.

Ms. Jeppy: It's a good thing you beat him so close to my classroom; I shudder to think what would have happened if you'd have done this by Mr. Lorenze's room!

Art: Coach woulda got mad.

Ms. Jeppy: Well, I've heard other things about Mr. Lorenze's character... which I needn't elaborate on, but if there isn't some massive apologizing going on here very soon, I will see to it that your football season is over.

Art: It is over. We lost yesterday in the sectional tourney.

Ms. Jeppy: Good! Yes, you heard me, good! Does that give you an excuse for beating up Silas, here?

Art: No.

Ms. Jeppy: No! Nothing does! But you did! Just showing off for your football buddies?

Art: No.

Ms. Jeppy: You're just naturally a brute? Is that it, Art?

Art: No, I don't think so.

Ms. Jeppy: Why haven't you apologized yet?

Art: Because you're talking to me.

Ms. Jeppy: By all means! (indicating Silas)

Art: Hey, Silas.... I'm really sorry for repeatedly punching you in the face and stomach like I did.

Silas: (mumbling though swollen lips, broken teeth) It's O.K.

Ms. Jeppy: Silas! What do you mean it's o.k.?! This is not o.k. by any stretch of the imagination!

Silas: I'm sorry.

Ms. Jeppy: Don't apologize to me for heaven sake!

Art: He's not. (back to Silas) I wish I could say I felt bad about everything, but I think you got what you deserved...

Ms. Jeppy: Art!! Stop this...

Silas: Let him talk.

Art: In fact, I kinda feel like one more punch would have been exactly enough, but I was stopped short of that by Ms. Jeppy here. Don't you agree?

Silas: Yes.

Ms: Jeppy: What is this... nonsense?

Art: (overlapping Ms. Jeppy) When I think of all the good times we used to have together. I know we weren't the best of friends until a few months ago. But, there was just something about you. You came to my house and fixed my computer. My friends were there, and you impressed them with everything you knew.

I mean they knew you were a nerd, and a wuss... some of them even called you idiot, retard or fag... it was obvious that you weren't an idiot, or even a retard for that matter...

My parents... man, they just fell in love with you... you were fixing all the broken electronic stuff around our house, staying over to eat, helping me and Amy with our homework...

You got a great sense of humor for a faggot, and... I... (breaking down a bit) ... I... fell in love with you. You said just the right things about how it mut be difficult trying to be a top jock with all the pressure on me to win. Win! WIN!! WIN!!! DAMNIT!!! You're NOTHING unless you win!!!

It felt so good to hear someone put my suffering into words for the first time. I didn't even realize how bad the stress was until you told me. You could see right through me. You accepted me for what I was, a jock, but one who liked the locker room as much as the field.

And... man... could you kiss! Wow! It was always like heaven.

Then, you took advantage of the situation. You wired my little sister's bedroom with surveillance cameras, then you sold the videos online. Her walls, her shower, her toilet! You took videos of a 14-year old girl and sold them to pedophiles online!!

How long would you have kept it up? How long would you have used our love as a platform for your sick business? You're lucky my dad got arrested this morning. The FBI came through and swept him up. He's completely innocent, and it probably saved your ass. You would have screwed up sooner or later, but they arrested your human shield before you did.

Do you know what the newest files on his hard drive were? Do you!? Amy! His own daughter. Of course you know, you put them there! Why would he do that to his own daughter? He wouldn't! He's innocent, and you're a hacker.

You used his computer, his bank accounts, his passwords to run your damn, pervert company! Now, he has to explain the douments, the e-mails, the receipts, the web sites, and everything else you hid on his hard drive. Now he has the purchases for four tiny cameras paid for on his credit card.

Who's going to believe him? The news is already declaring him guilty! It's always nice to take a politician down. No one's going to feel real sympathy for him. No one is going to be able to stop licking up the irony of a conservative Christian state Senator getting tried for child pornography. You knew that. You hated what he stood for. As soon as he introduced that internet pornography bill; you had to take him down.

He's gone, forever... I can't testify in his favor; I can't tell them about you. It would mean that I'd have to tell the world about us! Tell everyone, my teammates, my coach, my girlfriend, my Dad and everyone who voted for him that I'm gay. Even worse, I'd be telling everyone who never voted for him. I can't give them that satisfaction.

My mom has been sober for over ten years. Not anymore, Silas! She's falling apart! She's guilty by association. She's dying, she's not eating, not sleeping, not talking, because of you!

My sister ran away yesterday. Not before stealing as much money as she could find around the house. No one has any idea where she is. No one.

So, yeah, I came to school today to kill you. (long pause, change in demeanor) I couldn't do it. I loved you, Silas! Now I have to hate you! I have to. (long pause) I'm really sorry for punching you in the face so often, even if it felt one hit short of satisfaction.

(Looks at Ms. Jeppy for a long while, she's almost in total shock, lights start fading, then Ms. Jeppy makes a quick motion for Art to see, Art takes the free pass by the teacher, and punches Silas in the face once more, very hard. Silas crumbles. Lights out.)


July 30, 2006

A Play A Day #108


Men- #1 through #13

Setting: Porch swing, on a porch, where porch swings often are, therefore the porch could be implied. Lena sits next to a man; she is dressed chastely, in a sensible hat, and other clothes too. Whatever you think passes for chaste; go for it. It is night.

Man1: Oh, Lena, I truly love you.

Lena: Truly?

Man1: Truly.

(Sequence: lights down immediately, man leaves stage, Lena puts on a different hat, slightly larger and more ostentatious than the previous hat, new man enters and sits, lights up)

Man2: Oh, Lena, Lena... I love you madly!

Lena: Madly?

Man2: Madly!


Man3: Lena, my dearest, dearest Lena; I do love you so.

Lena: So?

Man3: So. "Much" is understood in that sentence, like "I love you so much", you see and...


Man4: Lena, you cannot possibly know how much I love you!

Lena: How much?

Man4: Ummmm.... much... An unknowable quantity, actually, there's really not...


Man5: I deeply love you, Lena!

Lena: Deeply?

Man5: Very, very dee...


Man6: Lena, you are my one true love!

Lena: One?

Man6: And only...

Lena: True?

Man6: Yes... true.


Man7: My love for you knows no bounds, Lena!

Lena: None?

Man7: Not a one!


Man8: Je t'aime beaucoup, Lena!

Lena: Quoi?

Man8: Je t'aime beaucoup!


Man9: You fill me to overflowing with love, Lena!

Lena: Overflowing?

Man9: Past the top, you know, as if I were...


Man10: Lena, I need you, love you with such... gusto....

Lena: (long, loud laugh) Gusto? (still giggling)


Man11: Lena, say you will always love me as intensely as I love you at this moment!

Lena: Intensely?

Man11: Burning with intensity!


Man12: Lena, my love for you is a strong as a mountain range, as fresh as a mountain stream, as beautiful as a mountain valley.

Lena: Mountains?

Man12: They are very romantic.


Man13: Well, see ya around, maybe. (starts leaving)

Lena: Uhhh... wait...

Man13: Yeah? What?

Lena: Don't you love me?

Man13: What?

Lena: I said, don't...

Man13: Yeah, I heard ya... Listen, we just had a date; why should I love you?

Lena: I... I... I guees... I guess I don't know.

Man13: Alright, I'm heading out.

Lena: No! Don't go! ... Please!

Man13: Why not?

(these lines overlap)

Lena: Can you just tell me that you love me?

Man13: No! Listen...

Lena: Like really love me?

Man13: No!

Lena: Uhhh... madly?

Man13: Listen, Lena, I just had a little food with you and...

Lena: Truely?

Man13: No! and we saw a good show...

Lena: Like a mountain?

Man13: ... but, No!, it doesn't mean anything...

Lena: Are you overflowing?

Man13: Wha... ? No! I'm not...

Lena: Boundless, overflowing love?

Man13: Overflowing with anything...

Lena: Do I define your very existence because of the love you feel for me?

Man13: No! My existence was around and defined before you and...

Lena: Love for me brought it into focus?

Man13: ...it'll be defined after... no focus...

Lena: So, you don't love me?

(lines stop overlapping now)

Man13: (big sigh) Lena, you're just fine, but I'm not going to be begged into saying that.... (pause) Alright, you're o.k. Is that enough? That's all you're getting out of me. O.K.? I ike you just fine?

Lena: (seductively) Sit down beside me.

Man13: (reluctantly) Alright, but I really gotta get going...

Lena: Can I... kiss you?

Man13: (long pause, looking at her strangely, assessing all that was just said) Alright, I suppose... but can you take off that ridiculous hat first?

Lena: (doing so) Yes... now I can.

(Lena leans in, passionate kiss starts, lights fade out slowly)


July 29, 2006

A Play A Day #107

Performance Review


Setting: Red is sitting at a small table, drinking coffee nervously, despondent.

Red: (muttering) Crap, crap, crap, crap...

(enter Les)

Les: Hey Red! What's... uh... up... or is down a better term here?

Red: I had another performance review today. Les, I don't know what to do... the harder I try, the more I work, the more demands get placed on me, the harder the boss cracks down on me for not fulfiling the demands, meaning I work harder, and so more demands get placed on me!

Les: Horrible cycle you're caught in, Red.

Red: I know, there's no way out.

Les: Naaah... there's gotta be an easy solution to it.... ummm... have you tried talking to the boss, like from the heart?

Red: Yeah, I tried that old trick... she says: "No excuses, Red! You know you can do better than that!"

Les: She's not buying the I-am-but-one-man schtick, huh?

Red: Not at all. She says the last man in my position tried to cover his ass with that old song, and we both know what happened to him...

(They both look off for a second, remember, then shudder)

Les: Ouch. Not pretty. He was tossed out of the job so fast, it created a sonic boom.

Red: She's just so hard to please! Nothing is ever right, nothing even gets close!

Les: I know what you mean.

Red: Do you, Les? I mean it, really... do you know what I mean? I need some help here!

Les: Well, she treats me differently, but the situation is different for you; I mean you're her go-to man. You've got to be sharp all the time. That's a lot of pressure. With me, see she only needs to interact with me when she's in a desperate situation; so I always come out looking like I've saved her from something.

Red: You lucky bastard.

Les: Sorry, man, if I could take some of the pressure off, you know I would, but that would arouse a lot of suspicion.

Red: I know it would. You know sometime I wish I had your job.

Les: Listen, it ain't all honeysuckle and chocolate where I'm sitting either. I get a lot of the same issues; though, I admit, you're in a bad way.

Red: Sometimes... I... just want to end it all... the pressure.... the fucking pressure, Les... it just kills me... I mean, I'm back on the heart medication again! I'm 41 years old, and I've been on heart meds for almost 3 years, on and off...

Les: Stress-related?

Red: (rising in desperation) Yes! Do this! Do that! Do this that way! Do that this way! No! Not that way, this way! Work on it! Work harder! Faster! Harder!! FASTER!! Damnit ALL!!! TO!!! HELL!!!! (Les has put a calming hand on his shoulder, Red starts calming down) I... I... I...(long pause) I just... don't know what to do any more.

Les: Alright, man... it's alright. I mean, there are other things you can try.

Red: Such as?

Les: Have you gone above her head?

Red: (loud derisive laughter) Chahhh! Are you kidding? She's a fucking God to them. I'm the problem child!

Les: Alright...

Red: And don't think I don't get the shit for trying that trick. She finds out, and my head moves that much closer to the ax. And she always finds out!

Les: Are you trying any counseling?

Red: I don't have the time!

Les: Why don't you write her a letter seeking some sort of resolution and middle ground.

Red: I did. She tore it up. In my face.

Les: Red, I don't know what to tell you. Listen, in the long run, you do what's right for you. If that means leaving the position; so be it.

Red: Thanks, Les; I know you're just trying to help.

Les: Well, I know she respects you. She told me the other night how great a worker you are for her; granted, it was right after sex with me, so she was feeling pretty good.

Red: Really, she said that?

Les: She also told me to tell you to make yourself scarce tonight. She's got a couple new men she's trying out, and, well having her husband around, kinda gets in the way... no offense...

Red: Hey! None taken. None taken. Put in a good word for me tonight if you can.

Les: Sure, Red. Can do.

(lights out)


July 28, 2006

A Play A Day #106

Top Ten List


Setting: Bare stage

(Enter Ben)

Ben: I don't get how a top ten list can ever be right. Top ten songs, top ten movies? Who really knows what they are? No one. Not even the top ten experts in the top ten, top-ten categories can really figure all that out. People just want easy facts; they don't want to dig into something. Give them the easy list. Do they ever think what number eleven on the list must feel like? I was debating this very issue with my friend, Helen, a couple weeks ago, and she said...

(Enter Helen)

Helen: It's all just opinion, Ben. Lighten up. Unless you can actually measure something objectively, using commonly accepted means of measurement, you're right; you can't really make a top ten list that is actually anything other than opinion. But why shouldn't people be able to give their opinion in the form of a top ten list? It's just entertainment.

Ben: It's misleading. Most of the time, it's just disguised advertising. I can't stand it. People just get so duped into it. It encourages people to simplify entire histories of art, music, performance, or even worse, natural phenomena or places, into little sound bites. And we eat it up, like little fish... hust one meaningless morsel at a time.

Helen: One morsel at a time isn't meaningless. Over a length of time, you can make a meal out of those morsels.

Ben: No, you can't. You're eating crap. One morsel of crap after another morsel of crap, over a length of time, means you've eaten a lot of crap.

Helen: Oh, come on, you're being too harsh. Relax a bit... (pause) Let's try something.

Ben: (suspiciouly) What?

Helen: You're a big fan of music, right?

Ben: Yeah... so?

Helen: Whoa! Nothing "so" about it, just play along, Ben... you must have favorite songs?

Ben: Yeah?

Helen: Like ten favorite songs?

Ben: I knew that was coming! No, the favorite songs change all the time. Even to say that is a little misleading, the songs and my opinions of them are never static... they don't just stop and sit there so I can tally them up.

Helen: Oh, now, you're just saying that to be argumentative.

Ben: No... it's like a quantum thing in my head... the very act of trying to categorize the songs at that level changes my perceptions of the song; so it can't be done. I can't look into the light, without the light looking back, without the light changing into something else entirely.

Helen: How poetic... but, now, for my challenge. Let's count down your top ten favorite songs as of this moment; as if they were nailed down in your mind, as if you took a picture of them lined up...

Ben: The very act of taking the picture...

Helen: (holding up hand) I know, I know... changes the subject of the picture... I know. Please, let's do it this way; I'll count down ten to one, all you have to do is say a song that fits that approximate place in your mind at that approximate time.

Ben: It won't work, Helen.

Helen: Humor me. O.K. You have opinions, that's all I'm asking for.

Ben: But it's dishonest.

Helen: Opinions are never dishonest. Let's try it. I bet you won't be able to resist.

Ben: You'll lose that bet.

Helen: Fine. Let's go... number ten?

Ben: Not interested.

Helen: Number nine?

Ben: (playing along in a very cynical way) Unknowable.

Helen: (humoring him, as if he's named a song) Love that one. Number eight?

Ben: (with a little more difficulty) To be determined.

Helen: Careful, don't commit to anything! Number seven?

Ben: (more difficulty, a little anger) Unclear.

Helen: Number six?

Ben: (frustration growing) Not a chance!

Helen: Number five?

Ben: (getting quite frustrated, looking away a lot, restless, this increases dramatically with each number) Nothing!

Helen: Number four?

Ben: By nobody!!

Helen: Least it's by someone. Number three?

Ben: No! No! No!

Helen: Number two?

Ben: (hands over head, trying to stop himself) Don't do this!!!

Helen: And number one!!?

Ben: (shouting) "Celebrated Summer" by Husker Du!!!!

(Ben starts hitting himself for breaking down, and falling for it, cursing his weakness under his breath)

Helen: Hey! You did it! A Top One List! Only nine more to go! We'll save those for another day, huh?

Ben: (stalking off as lights fade out) I can't belive... I never should have said... Stupid Helen, she tricked me (adlibs)

Helen: (calling offstage after Ben) Hey, Ben! Don't fret about it! It IS a great song!!

(lights out)


July 27, 2006

A Play A Day #105



Setting: A small building on stage, it is 5 by 5 by 7 feet. It has a door, a window, a chair, a tiny table and other features as will be made clear in the dialogue.

(Enter Hal, leading Asi through the woods to the building)

Hal: C'mon Asi; it's right over here!

Asi: We're pretty far out here, aren't we?

Hal: It's about a mile to the gravel road. Here we are!

Asi: Yes?

Hal: Right here!

Asi: Oh! Neat! What a cute little building!

Hal: C'mon inside! (they both enter, leaving door open)

Asi: Wow! Not... much room. (laughter)

Hal: No, it's not used to two people!

Asi: What isn't? The shack?

Hal: Well, I call it a house, but, yes, I suppose it is a bit shack-like.

Asi: (pause, little forced laugh) A house?

Hal: Yes. It's a house! Definitely, a house.

Asi: Wow... who... who did you say lived here?

Hal: Who do you think, Asi?

Asi: Well, you said you wanted to show me a house in the woods, but then you brought me... ohhh... it... it's ... yours?

Hal: Sure is!

Asi: Well! Isn't that great!

Hal: Yeah, it's just perfect for me! I love it out here.

Asi: Yeah, very peaceful. Just the forest.

Hal: Restful and relaxing, all day long.

Asi: So... you make it out here on weekends then?

Hal: Hmmm?

Asi: From the city.

Hal: The city?

Asi: Yeah, how often do you make it out here?

Hal: All the time.

Asi: Sure, helps you relax. Your job must be so stressful.

Hal: It can be.

Asi: So you make it out here every weekend for your breaks. That's a great idea.

Hal: No.

Asi: It's... not? What?

Hal: I'm here every day, not just on weekends. I live here.

Asi: (pause) Ohhhh! Hal! You had me going with that one. I heard you were a bit of a kidder. That's really funny! You know; it's a great joke.

Hal: Asi. (pause) I'm NOT joking. I live here. All the time. This is my home.

Asi: Oh. Uhhhh... oh. O.K. It's... nice!

Hal: I know you don't like it, Asi. You're disappointed.

Asi: No! Me? No! No! Not at all...

Hal: It's o.k. I'm used to it.

Asi: Well... o.k. ... yeah... I guess I'm a little ... confused?

Hal: (on top of her "confused") Confused. Yes. I can tell.

Asi: Well... you're a doctor?

Hal: Of philosophy.

Asi: No... you told me on the phone that you were a surgeon.

Hal: Yes. That too.

Asi: A... a heart surgeon, right?

Hal: Yes, but only in my spare time.

Asi: Spare time?

Hal: They call me in for tough cases. They pay me a whole bunch of money, and that's that.

Asi: Ohh... a... lot... of money, huh?

Hal: Asi. It's a lot. I take just enough to get by, and give the rest to some environmental groups.

Asi: Charity?

Hal: Yes.

Asi: You're so sweet.

Hal: Thank you. I do it because it's important.

Asi: Yes. I bet it is.

Hal: So, you're still confused.

Asi: No! No! I... I'm... you know... I'm starting to really like this place... I mean... what about a hundred square feet of space?

Hal: Ha! It fooled you, it looks so much bigger than it is!

Asi: Oh... yes... really.

Hal: It's five by five by seven feet high. Twenty-five square feet. A perfect living space!

Asi: Perfect.

Hal: How about a tour?

Asi: Tour... yes... o.k.! Please.

Hal: Alright, the basics: four walls, ceiling, floor, door, window. (lifting lid of a bench seat) Here are some spare clothes, dry foods, matches, my bowl, and my spork, knife, and cup. The table here collapses against the wall, small wood stove for heat and cooking, a bed roll, blanket, and that's about it.

Asi: O.K. O.K. Ummm... where's your bedroom?

Hal: (feigning shock) Geez, Asi... I had no idea... so forward!

Asi: No... I mean... it's five by five, you're about six feet tall, so... that's what I mean, where's the bedroom?

Hal: You're standing in it.

Asi: Right, but how...

Hal: Mr. Pythagaros helps us out with that one.

Asi: Wha... Ohhhh... the diagonal...

Hal: Right, a little over seven feet long that way.

Asi: So, what do you do out here?

Hal: I read my book. (pulls a book out) It's quite long. I walk into the city an pick up another book from the library when I'm done.

Asi: Wait? You walk... into the city?

Hal: Sure.

Asi: We're fifteen miles from downtown out here.

Hal: Sixteen actually. It makes for a full day.

Asi: How often do you do that?

Hal: As often as I need to.

Asi: How do you communicate with people?

Hal: With words, usually.

Asi: Haha... no, you know what I mean. You don't have a phone, or a computer...

Hal: Or a T.V. or radio, people visit, we talk. I talk to people when I'm in town. I write letters to my family; they write back.

Asi: Wow!

Hal: It's much easier that way.

Asi: Anything else that you do? Out here?

Hal: I pick the flower.

Asi: Which one?

Hal: Same flower, everytime.

Asi: Wait... how does that work?

Hal: I don't actually pick it. It's a meditative exercise, part of a series I do every day.

Asi: I guess I figured that you might meditate out here.

Hal: Yes, and I forage for berries and nuts, swim in the river.

Asi: That's your water source?

Hal: Yep, just add some iodine. It's a very clear stream, thankfully.

Asi: What about your... uhh... your bathroom?

Hal: About a hundred-fifty feet that way, downwind. It's a pit toilet.

Asi: Why do you do it?

Hal: Dig pit toilets?

Asi: No... this... why do you live like this?

Hal: Asi, I used to live in a penthouse apartment, huge cars, lots of women, drugs, everything a cute heart surgeon might want. Then one day, it happened....

Asi: You realized it was all just a sham?

Hal: No... no... you kidding? No, I love cocaine and anonymous sex! Who wouldn't? I'm high on it right now, as a matter of fact.

Asi: Wha...

Hal: Can't even feel my own head... really whacked out...

Asi: But...

Hal: And why do you think you're here?

Asi: No! Hal!

Hal: No big deal, you just have sex with me, and I'll walk you back to your car... sunlight's fading....

Asi: I... what are...

Hal: Don't worry! I'm not a rapist or serial killer! Nahhh... I haven't killed anyone ...

Asi: Ummm... Hal... what happened? Why'd you leave the city?

Hal: I woke up one day, and there were five dead bodies on my brand new $7000 leather sofa. Stabbed, thoroughly.

Asi: Oh my God! You were framed?

Hal: Haha! Nahh! I did it. I remember it quite clearly now, though I didn't at the time.

Asi: What? Why?

Hal: No idea... probably cocaine frenzy, pushed me over the edge.

Asi: And you're high right now?

Hal: Yep.

Asi: On cocaine?

Hal: Yep. Good stuff! Want some?

Asi: NO!! No! No... uhh.. why are you here then? Not in...

Hal: Jail? I had a lot of money, I had a lot of lawyers, I had an easily-bribed judge, and an easily-misled jury.

Asi: So you were guilty?

Hal: Oh yeah! Totally!

Asi: But they let you go?

Hal: Yep! Pretty cool, huh?

Asi: No!

Hal: Lawyers thought it might be best if I laid low for several years, while all the lawsuits and appeals blew over.

Asi: Uhhh...

Hal: Should find out about the last appeal any day now.

Asi: Oh... then what?

Hal: Well, I'm getting the old penthouse apartment back! Already talked to the realtor last week.

Asi: But... but... the meditation, the foraging, the simple life, out here.

Hal: Ohhh, don't worry about that. I'm going to have this whole house installed in the lobby of my apartment. Probably put my shoes in it.

Asi: You... can't...

Hal: Go back?

Asi: Yes! Stay here!

Hal: I do love it here, but I'll be able to take it with me. It'll remind me of this wholesome life.

Asi: Hal, don't do it!

Hal: Sorry. Too late.

Asi: (starts crying, lights start to fade) I can't believe this... I can't ... you...

Hal: You didn't want me when you saw me living like an impoverished hermit; now you want me to stay this way?

Asi: (crying) Yes... stay... Hal! Stay! How many more will die?

Hal: No idea. It's a chance I take. So... are we gonna have sex or not?

(lights out)


July 26, 2006

A Play A Day #104

The... ummm... Sports? Commentators?


Setting: Color commentating booth, radio broadcast. Two stools, table, papers on table, Ben and Dirk facing audience behind table, looking down on a sports field, headsets with microphones on their heads.

Ben: Hello and welcome to beautiful downtown Farwagapata on the island nation of Chilkapapapalala and this broadcast on the Every Single Sport Ever radio network. I'm your color commentator, Ben Popperton.

Dirk: And I'm Dirk Smuggly, and today we join you for a midseason match between the hometown favorites, the Farwagapata Hukklepalatafafas, and their natural rivals from the next village down, the Ritipilijijijiki Fulgafipipiripitis.

Ben: Natural rivals, of course, because they are the only two teams on the island.

Dirk: Certainly. The sport is called Pepe Wawa. It is an ancient game.

Ben: Extremely old. Our research tells us that it has been played exclusively on this island for perhaps as long as two thousand years.

Dirk: No truth to the rumor that Jesus played, is there Ben?

Ben: Hahaha! No, I doubt Jesus ever made it this far asea. We are isolated! This island is some three hundred miles from the next closest human settlement.

Dirk: Approximately 425 people living on this island, and Pepe Wawa is their game.

Ben: We have to warn our listeners that neither Dirk nor I understand the sport we are both going to witness here for the first time.

Dirk: That's right, Ben, didn't have time to research it either.

Ben: We couldn't if we wanted to, Chilkapapapalala society has no written language, nor do they seem to create or store archival records or artifacts.

Dirk: Yes, and their language seems to be lacking too.

Ben: Well, I'm sure it's a beautiful language, if we only had the capacity to understand it.

Dirk: True, we have neither a translator nor a field guide to their language. Basically, all we have is a map of the island with the name of the game and the teams listed on it in ash. It is the lone surviving doument from an anthropologist who first visited this island in the 1920s never to be heard from again.

Ben: Even if we did have the ability to understand the language, I doubt we would know much more about Pepe Wawa than we do.

Dirk: That's right, Ben, because the inhabitants of this island have been somewhat... reticent to speak with us since our arival yesterday afternoon.

Ben: Yes, it's been mainly cold, suspicious stares since we set foot on the landing beach.

Dirk: Not a welcoming people!

Ben: No, not at all, Dirk. They especially seem to dislike you.

Dirk: Naturally, with my natural good look, the men would be more jealous of me on sight.

Ben: True enough. Well, the Every Single Sport Ever radio network is committed to satisfying America's obsessive need to understand, inded, even become a fan of, every single sport out there in this great world of ours.

Dirk: This is not to say we understand anything about Pepe Wawa, its history, cultural significance, rules, structure, or even winning or losing the game, but such minor concerns will not hold us back from bringing you up close and personal with what we assume will be a thrilling and hotly-contested competition.

Ben: That's what we are here for, to use our voices to let you in on the thrill of world sport, even those that we don't a thing about!

Dirk: Looks like the teams are taking the ... field? Is it a field, Ben?

Ben: Well, Dirk, I'd describe it as the side of a large hill in which there are several holes, large holes and smaller holes. The hill seems quite steep, and extends for nearly a quarter mile in each direction. Not to worry, we have a clear vantage point and strong binoculars.

Dirk: You won't miss a thing!

Ben: Several members of the uhh... ummm... what should we call these teams, Dirk?

Dirk: Well, one of the teams is definitely naked, just completely unclothed. How about "Naked" for a team name?

Ben: Very accurate.

Dirk: The other team also... appears, yes, they are also naked, but covered in intricate bone and skeletal drawings...

Ben: Perhaps, "The Dead"?

Dirk: So the Naked and the Dead have taken the field, they are meeting in the center and... uhhh... well, they are manipulating their genitalia together... uhh... hard to describe isn't it, Ben?

Ben: Well, I think we just call a spade a spade here, Dirk. They appear to be masturbating in a large group.... no other way to say it... ohh... well now... now, yes... now they have stopped, an old man approaches the circle. He is carrying a very long knife...

Dirk: Interesting... he flips the knife high in the air... a coin toss of sorts, perhaps?

Ben: It sticks into the ground... the old man picks it up and hands it to the Naked team... uhh...captain?

Dirk: Yes, the Naked captain takes the knife and.... Ahhhh!!!.... what the .... no!!

Ben: Wow!

Dirk: Unbelievable!!

Ben: Wow!

Dirk: He has... well... he stabbed the old man in the stomach, just stabbed him....

Ben: Oh... wow!

Dirk: The knife is protruding from the old man's stomach... the old man appears to be in pain, but is still standing there... bleeding profusely...

Ben: Wow...

Dirk: Now, the old man remobves the knife! Ooohhhh! God! He hands the knife to the Dead captain, who takes it.... and... NOOO!!!!

Ben: Wow!! Again?

Dirk: The Dead captain has also stabbed the old man!! This time, higher on his body... into his lung, perhaps! Jeez! What kind of game is this?!

Ben: Wow!

Dirk: The old man slowly wanders back up... to the top of the slope and sits in a throne-like chair, the knife still in him!

Ben: Now, the two teams are ... ummm... well again... this is weird... ummm... they appears to be slapping their erect penises against each other... yes... that's definitely what is going on.

Dirk: It would appear so. Now the two teams have broken away from each other, they are walking to opposite ends of the field...

Ben: This could take a while. The field appears to be a half-mile long. While we have some time here, Dirk, I'm wondering what you think about the size of these teams?

Dirk: Well, the Dead seem to have about 30 men on their side, and the Naked seem to have only 12 or so. I'm not sure what accounts for the difference in team numbers, Ben. Perhaps, many Naked members are out sick today?

Ben: The game may be not very dependent on team size, perhaps? But, whatever the reasons, it would seem the Naked will be playing extremely shorthanded today.

Dirk: Yes, I would say so.

Ben: But... uhh... definitely not ... short-staffed.

Dirk: (a hearty quick laugh) No! They're not suffering in that department; I guess you could say many Naked members do not appear to out sick today!

Ben: (laughing) No... just 'out', I would say.

Dirk: I wonder if equipment that size would get in the way playing Pepe Wawa?

Ben: No idea, Dirk.

Dirk: I guess you coud say that you guess it's hard to guess!

Ben: (laughing, playing along) Yes, you know it's hard to know!

Dirk: But, not hard to see!

Ben: O.K.... we kid the competitors' genitalia, but, in reality, we're happy to see them happy!

Dirk: Yes, there are few things in the world more pure or interesting for men than watching other men enjoying themselves on the field.

Ben: Especially when they are so truly outstanding standing out there.

Dirk: Mmmm-hmmmm!

Ben: The teams have reached opposite ends of the field now, and a woman at the top of the slope... standing near the old man with the stab wounds ... is screaming very loudly.

Dirk: And, there they go! Look at 'em run!

Ben: Wow! They appear to be... hey... wha... where did they go?

Dirk: I think they've all gone into different holes in the ground...

Ben: Yes, I believe you're right, and... uhh... I'm not sure what's happening now.... ummm... no... nothing seems to be...

Dirk: I can't see any of the players, Ben; any guesses as to what they are up to?

Ben: No idea, Dirk... uhhh.... just wait and see... I guess...

Dirk: Can do. (long pause) Still no sign... of the teams...

Ben: Must be very large holes, huh, Dirk?

Dirk: No idea, Ben.

Ben: Perhaps, Dirk, they are linked by a series of underground tunnels, and the game is being contested underground?

Dirk: I hope not, Ben.

Ben: Yes, that would make it a difficult game to comment on.

Dirk: Yes, it would.

(long pause)

Ben: Well, we ... seem to be at a standstill... these two titans of the game... continue to war away... ummm... out of our sight...

Dirk: Hard to believe, Ben.

Ben: (Hand over his microphone and Dirk's, stage whisper) Listen, could you make some attempt at bantering with me here... we have almost two hours let to kill! Stop leaving me hanging out to dry!

Dirk: (nods his understanding, Ben lets go of the microphones) An amazing contest, to be sure! It seems to be both bruising and violent, yet graceful and tactical.

Ben: Well said, Dirk. That would be my best guess too...

Dirk: Yes... and we can only... Wait! Oh my! The Dead have arisen, all members of the Dead seem to have popped out of the ground at exactly the same time, at positions all over the field!

Ben: And here come the Naked! The Dead are advancing toward a larger hole in the center, as are the Naked... what... oh... a large member of the Dead team is carrying an enormous boulder...

Dirk: Amazing strength by that young gentleman... that boulder must be three feet in diameter!

Ben: No, it can't be light! And now the Naked... ohhh! Wow!!

Dirk: The Naked have started hurling stones that they have amassed in a smaller hole near the large center hole...

Ben: Ouch! These are not small stones! No! They are... yes... they are aiming most of their throws diretly at the large Dead player carrying the boulder...

Dirk: Trying to stop his advance to the center... and they have....

Ben: I'll say! Right in the head! A fist-sized rock seems to have been properly aimed...

Dirk: Yes, the boulder-carrier has dropped... his skull bleeding profusely... I'm not sure if he... no... he's out for the duration I guess.

Ben: Yes, he's not getting up 'til next week... the boulder has now been picked up by another Dead player... and... oops, he didn't even get to take a step...

Dirk: And another Dead player... oooooo! ... is now probably another dead player...ouch... these Naked players can really throw...

Ben: Yes, the Dead appear to be defending the boulder carrier, but all they can do is block the thron rocks with their hands, arms, feet and occasionally even with their groins...

Dirk: Lot of blood out there, Ben...

Ben: It's getting slippery... several Dead players have found themselves sliding down the slope on the grass greased with the blood of their teammates...

Dirk: Many bodies of Dead players are strewn on the field... another one.... ooooo! man! right in the face!!

Ben: I don't believe many of the Dead players have full use of their arms any more...

Dirk: No... most appear to be letting their mangled arms hang by their sides... I would guess out of necessity of injury.

Ben: The boulder hasn't advanced much further than the first Dead man made it.

Dirk: I don't know the objective of the game, but if I could hazard a guess, I would say that the Naked hold the upper hand here...

Ben: Yes... and... what's that? The woman at the top of the slope is screaming wildly and pointing to the old man in the throne...

Dirk: Uhhh... I believe the old man... yes... he appears to be dead... ah... yes the screaming woman is indicating such... she has pushed his limp form out of the throne...

Ben: He's definitely dead, Dirk.

Dirk: I would have to agree, Ben. Dead.

Ben: The action on the field has stopped, and here comes the screaming woman... well, not screaming now... she is walking toward the center hole, and.. uh.. taking something out of a pouch attached to her waist...

Dirk: I believe... it's... yes.. it looks to be a coin-shaped object...

Ben: The entire Naked team and the three conscious Dead team members are gathering around the woman with the coin....

Dirk: She is holding up the coin object... she shows it clearly to all players.... first one side... then the other...

Ben: This appears to be a stndard coin toss... perhaps to determine the next player to haul the boulder?

Dirk: The woman flips the coin skyward, a Naked team member barks out something... and... they are checking... and... the Dead team is celebrating wildly... uhhh...

Ben: The Naked are walking off the field.... this... ummm....

Dirk: The Dead team is raising their arms to the sky... and.. they are running off the field...

Ben: Ummmm.... but what about the boulder?

Dirk: Agreat many Dead players are still lying on the field... the crow seemsto be leaving....

Ben: Uhhh... I guess that today's Pepe Wawa game is done... and... uhhh... the Dead have won... somehow....

Dirk: I don't get it, Ben.

Ben: Me either; the Naked team, despite its smaller numbers, had the advantage of an entire cache of large throwing rocks, and make quick and nasty work of the Dead...

Dirk: Yet, the Dead win...

Ben: Because of a coin toss, at the end of the game?

Dirk: Well... I... well... let me just say that I don't find this game to be very American at all...

Ben: No, it's not, Dirk. It definitely is not.

(lights out)

Dirk: Is anyone going to clean up the field?


July 25, 2006

A Play A Day #103

Keynote Presentation At The 75th Annual Convention Of The Excessive Consumer Packaging Society Of America

Head Table Occupants (eight other important-looking people, non-speaking)

Setting: Head tables, between which rises the speaker's dias and lectern with microphone attached. At the head tables are ten chairs, Leonard on one side of the lectern, Bruce on the other and then the other eight chairs filled in with the important-looking people, key Excessive Consumer Packaging Society of America members. Bunting and decorative flourishes abound, covering the table the lectern, dias and area around the table, whatever is used make sure it is used in ridiculous quantities.

Leonard: (rising and going to lectern) Alright, alright everyone. I'd like to get started. (pause) We want to get on to our keynote speaker. (pause while audience dies down) Thank you. Thank you. Welcome, welcome tonight for our highlight event of the whole convention! (applause)

Now, I know you didn't come here in such great numbers to hear me speak... no, of course not... the real reason most of us are here tonight is to listen to the keynote address by a man... a man of great importance in our industry.

A man, who, thirty-five years ago, saw to it that cheese slices could, nay, should, be individually wrapped, that bubble wrap could be used when shipping almost any product including other packages of bubble wrap, that boxes needn't just be outer shells, but could, indeed, contain a great inner substructure of cardboard dividers, holders and punch-outs that separate but contain components.

This is a man of such creativity, ingenuity and persuasiveness that he was able to talk the Sierra Club into wrapping their yearly calendars in plastic... (knowing applause, Leonard hold finger up) and... and... then enclose those in cardboard, and THEN to wrap that cardboard itself in plastic! The Sierra Club, ladies and gentlemen!

Now, if you've known Bruce over the years, that probably isn't surprising. He's known as our industry's key innovator; being the five-time winner of the Paul Humbard Neimermimer Packaging Fellowship which he used to continue his efforts to revitalize the wooden packing crate as a suitable container for holding boxes when they are shipped.

Bruce's accomplishments, like those I already mentioned, are awe-inspiring. In an era of misguided recycling and consumer conscientiouness, Bruce has shown younger generations of product and shipping designers the light; the true path of wholly creative, unexpected and unneccesary amounts of consumer packaging.

His plans and designs tell consumers everywhere that "Yes! Your product is that important!" that "Your product is protected against even itself in shipping!" that "Small missiles could not hurt your valuable goods!" I don't know about you, but that speaks volumes about America and our valuable products, and it speaks even louder for Bruce Theodore Kwinkusky!

C'mon up here, Bruce! (Bruce rises, acknowledging mad applause, shakes hands with Leonard, a few words into each others' ears, then Leonard sits, laughing, Bruce steps to microphone)

Bruce: Hi! Thank you! ... Thank you! ... Thank you! ... (calming audience with hand gestures) Thank you! Yes... I... thank you ... thank you ... Wow! This is so gratifying! Thank you for the very warm welcome. Wow! Hi, my name is Bruce. (huge laughter from audience since he is a God among them and needn't introduce himself)

Thank you to Leonard for that very kind introduction. And your reception of me... Wow! If it's one thing we excessive consumer packaging professionals do well, it's doing things excessively, and you have proved that already here tonight! (excessive applause again)

I attended my first ExCoPaSoCon when I was just starting out in the industry about thirty-five years ago. I was young. I was idealistic. I came to that first convention for me, the society's fortieth, in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. I thought I knew it all. Then I attended the keynote address being given by our Society's founder, Neil Augustino, who was officially retiring... for the fifth time I think ... from his position in the industry and from his position on the board for the Society.

I was awestruck. Neil stood there with his rumbling bass voice and spoke for over an hour and a half with no notes at all! He was a passionate man who believed fervently in the solid American values embodied by our industry. His love for packing peanuts, wood chips, excelsior, crating, plastics, bubblewraps, sand, powders, gels, bags, boxes, styrofoams, sawdust, wrapping papers, shredded papers and everything related to heavy, heavy packaging shone from him like a candle. We were all moths to that flame.

I realized then and there that I didn't know anything about packaging, and that I certainly didn't know what I thought I did about excessive consumer packaging. I knew I had to follow Neil's example and make a difference in the world; yet I knew many in my generation had turned their backs on excessive packaging and gone "back to the Earth" - whatever that meant (derisive snort, applause at this from audience) ... I still don't know what that means!

But, I digress. I caught Neil Augustino's arm after his speech and asked him point-blank - oh, I was so brash then - "Mr. Augustino, what about this 'reduce, reuse, recycle' saying we are starting to hear?"

Neil... well... he grabbed me around the shoulder, and he pulled me aside - he was like that, plenty of time for the little people like me - he leaned in close to me and said - and I remember this like it was only ten minutes ago - he said, "Fuck it."

I was shocked, but the power of his words awakened something in me. At first I didn't know what he meant with that cryptic phrase. But over the course of my first few years in the business, I caught myself understanding the logic of reducing, reusing and recycling (mild shock from audience) but... but, during those times of peril, I would remember Neil's advice to me. Yes, yes indeed, fuck it. Just fuck it.

The truth is this, and the environmentalists don't want to admit it, but their philosophy is self-defeating. It is a philosophy of death. Death to the people who espouse it, death to its followers and, ultimately, death to America - (pounding lectern) The! Most! Excessively! Packaged! Society! In! The! History! Of! The! World!

Recyclists will tell you that everything should be recycled, but they conveniently forget that just told you to reduce and reuse. They get very silent when you ask them what there will be to recycle if everything is reduced or reused! (applause)

We, the hard workers, the people who put the plastic baggies, the sheathing, the inserts and cut-outs into all those boxes of all those products, we are creating the recycling that these environmentalists say we need so badly. We are, in a sense, creating their work for them. They are a sycophantic industry of hypocritical do-gooders feeding off the very practices that they rail against.

As my career in the excessive packaging industry draws to a close; I want you to recognize the importance of Neil Augustino's committment and passion, and so I pass along his advice to you. For, although Neil has been gone longer than many of you have been alive, his words show us the importance of blind dedication to your craft. So I say to you, in Neil's words: Fuck it.

Let this lead you back to your shipping rooms and packing warehouses and design boards and inspire you to create the next generation in truly excessive packaging. Always remember, in the words of our founder and patron saint, Fuck it.

Opportunities for applying Neil's wise words abound everywhere. At this very conference, I have heard of new developments in our "No Box Left Behind" federal initiative, which would finally allow for the end of sending out boxes without a protective outershell of molded styrofoam and plastic. The technology is there; we only need a few more votes to get it to the Senate floor. America's boxes, as always, deserve our support!

The bruising and contamination of food, especially produce, which is handled by so many dirty hands before it ends up in the mouths of our spouses and precious children, may be a thing of the past if we can pass our "Fruit Jacket" referendum in the eight remaining states where it is not yet law. Packing every apple, pear, orange, banana, grape, etc... in water-tight neoprene jackets make sense and makes safe! (Big applause)

We have been joined this year, and here at this speech with representatives from America's scrap lumber industry with whom we have created a valuable partnership which should, with some creative persuasion, mean that every piece of lumber shipped and sold in America will, within a few years, be required to be encased in a small crate made of scrap lumber.

I have also become acquainted with some new thinkers in our industry who are leading the effort to determine the best way to actually package services - in packaging! (loud applause) The people at Boxes, Bubblewrap and Beyond tell me this is possible, and, I don't know, maybe it is, maybe it isn't: that's not the point! The point is that they have an idea and they are running with it!

This is the type of common sense idea that so many leaders don't understand, but not us. For we know, we know, the importance of protecting America's valuable merchandise from shipping, handling and storage damage. Give us your products, your goods, your sales items, yearning to be sold, and we will shroud them in as many layers of protection as we can. We will not let your merchandise down! We will not let America down!! (crazy applause)

So, I bid you good-bye for now. Keep fighting for your right to use as much packing material as ever! And, never, never, never forget: Fuck It!!

(insane applause)

Fuck it!

(returns to his seat, waving to crowd, lights out)


July 24, 2006

A Play A Day #102

I Keep Poking You In The Eye, But, Alas, You Don't Really Love Me


Setting: Outside, small bushes, path, etc...

(lights up, birds chirping, perfect day)

(Enter Pelly, she is holding her eye, in pain)

Pelly: Ouch! Damnit! Stop it! Just stop it, damnit! Shitshitshit... Shit!

(Enter Mick with a long stick)

Mick: Sorry, dear! Sorry! Sorry! I don't know how it happened!

P: What the hell do you mean!

M: I don't know how it happened! I'm so sorry!

P: What!

M: I feel terrible about this!

P: That's what you always say!

M: I really do, dear! Please believe me.

P: Why, Mick? What are you thinking?!

M: I don't know; it just... happens.

P: Well, let's revisit this incident, shall we?

M: I just don't get it, Pelly... I just don't know how this happened!

P: Step one: We are walking in the park.

M: Agreed, yes.

P: Step two: You see a long stick on the ground.

M: I did. I did.

P: Step three: You say, "Hey, look dear, a long stick... on the ground!"

M: Something like that, yes.

P: Step four: You pick up the stick.

M: Yes, I picked it up.

P: Step five: You swing the stick around.

M: Just goofing around there.

P: Step six: You ask openly, "I wonder what it feels like to get poked in the eye with a stick?"

M: I guess I did ask that... but, you know, more as a rhetorical sort of question.

P: Step seven: I tell you to put the stick down.

M: Did you?

P: Yes, I did! Three or four times!

M: Oh.

P: (starting to lose her academic demeanor now) Step eight! You ask me if I love you... if I really love you.

M: Just wanted to know...

P: Step nine: For the one hundredth time today, I tell you, emphatically, that I love you... with all my heart!

M: You do?


M: You sure?

P: Step ten!! You ask me to "prove" it.

M: I'm just making sure.

P: Step eleven! For the hundredth time today, I reiterate how much I really, really, really DO love you!

M: Yes, I... I... I guess I heard that.

P: Step twelve: You tell me that "I'm just saying that."

M: Did I?

P: Step thirteen: You say you need "proof" that I really, honestly, truthfully love you with all my heart, soul and every fiber of my being.

M: A very moderate request for a little peace of mind, I thought.

P: Step fourteen! I turn toward you quickly, moving to give you a kiss.

M: It was like you were attacking me!

P: With love!!

M: But I...

P: STEP FIFTEEN!!! You quickly raise the stick and jab it into my eye!!!

M: I said I was sorry.

P: That's not the point, Mick!

M: What is?

P: The point is... I love you, Mick. I really, truly love you. We will be married in three months. I have chosen you out of many other men I have known. You're the only man I honestly love; you are the man I am going to marry, the man I want to be the father of my children... our children... the man I want to grow old beside, the man for whom I would do anything. It's you, Mick!

M: (growing suspicious) What are you trying to say, Pell?

P: (desperate) That I love you, you fucking idiot!!

M: Who are all these other men you talked about?

P: That's in the past, Mick. I didn't even know you then!

M: So, you say you love me?

P: YES! YES! YES! YES! I! ... LOVE! ... YOU!!

M: Like you loved those other men?

P: Not at all like that! I love you and only you!!

M: And?

P: And??!!!! And?!! And what?!!

M: Exactly, and what?

P: And nothing!!

M: There has to be a catch.

P: (almost in tears of anger and frustration) There's no catch!!! I love you!!

M: Riiighhht... but what else?

P: What else?!! (long pause while she fumes) O.K. Mick, o.k. ... there is a catch.

M: (downcast) I knew it.

P: Do you want to know what the catch is, Mick?

M: I guess...

P: Stop fucking poking me in the fucking eye with fucking sticks!!! That's the catch!!

M: Oh.

P: Alright?! That’s the catch, Mick! That’s it!

M: You don’t like it?

P: No! No I don’t, Mick!

M: Oh. I thought...

P: I know what you thought. You thought, “If she still loves me after I poke her in the eye with a stick, then she must really love me.”

M: Ummm… sort of…

P: Well, I think I’ve proven myself, Mick, but you have to stop these ridiculous tests of my love. I love you! I hate getting poked in the eye! They are separate things, Mick.

M: Yes, I guess they are.

P: But, Mick, the only thing I hate more than getting poked in the eye with a stick, is getting poked in the eye with a stick over and over again.

M: Oh. But I wanted to see how much you loved me.

P: I loved you after the first time you poked me in the eye, and I love you still after the twentieth-or-so time you’ve poked me in the eye.

M: That’s a relief.

P: It shouldn’t have to be, Mick. You don’t... you can no longer test the depth of my love by poking me in the eye with a stick, your finger, screwdrivers, or any other pointy object.

M: Why not?


M: But how will I know if you love me?

P: Because I say I do! Trust me, put down the stick, Mick, and trust me… please!!

M: So, I’m just supposed to “believe” that you love me?

P: That’s all we have, Mick. It’s all anyone really has. A belief in love.

M: (dropping stick) I’m sorry, Pelly. I’m sorry.

P: (taking his hand, starting to walk off stage) I know you are, Mick. Come on, let’s go home.

M: O.K.

(walking off, lights fading)

M: (Offstage) Hey, look dear, on the ground... it’s a (sound muffled, because Pelly has covered Mick’s mouth with her hand)

(lights out)


July 23, 2006

A Play A Day #101

Q v. K


Setting: Blank Stage. King stays in same place throughout play. Queen moves from one spot to some other spot whenever she's talking.

(lights up)

King: Because I'm the king, that's why.

Queen: You are a puppet. I'm in charge.

K: Explain that to my advisors, please.

Q: Your advisors are cowards before me.

K: Not while I'm around.

Q: Precisely.

K: Your threats are so commonplace as to be meaningless.

Q: My threats come from my great power.

K: I am well protected.

Q: For now.

K: I have strategic defenses against your kind of moves.

Q: My moves are constrained by no defense.

K: Your moves are constrained by your utter predictablity.

Q: I go where I want, when I want.

K: And you do so in such a conspicuous manner, like screaming while you tip-toe.

Q: I can crush you with one tip of one toe.

K: Do so and watch the kingdom fall.

Q: I will build it again.

K: With whose help?

Q: It will be in my image.

K: You know, if you don't have me to fight, your purpose will disappear.

Q: The new kingdom will become my purpose.

K: I'm a popular king. Your head will roll.

Q: That's the chance all the great ones must take.

K: You know this is so useless.

Q: Yes, that's due to your presence in this battle.

K: No, I mean, your moves have no effect on me.

Q: Ha! Yet you protest against them so vehemently.

K: Because I'm your husband!

Q: And?

K: And, I'm on your team, you frothing nutjob!

Q: And?

K: Why aren't you attacking the white king like you're supposed to?

Q: Why?

K: He's been sitting there defenseless while you persist in making false thrusts against me!

Q: So?

K: So?! So?! Take him out, we'll rule two kingdoms together!

Q: (Looking over her shoulder, pause) What's he ever done to me?

K: That's not the point!

Q: It's exactly the point! I've put up with your garbage for five years! You get all the credit for this great kingdom, and I do all the grunt work.

K: I give you plenty of credit!

Q: I don't want it from you. I want it from everyone. I get you out of the picture; I rule by myself. It's all mine!

K: You're sick.

Q: Exquisitely so.

K: The people will never get behind you.

Q: They'll have to; as soon as you're gone, I go to war with the white king. They will always supoort their queen at war.

K: You'll never win!

Q: I don't have to, just scare him enough, then bargain a truce under the condition that he marry me.

K: He won't allow it.

Q: He will. He'll get ruling share of two kingdoms in exchange for my hand. Peace will reign, the people will be behind me.

K: And you'll be second fiddle again.

Q: Until the old white king dies unexpectedly one day. So sad.

K: You are a dangerous hag.

Q: (advancing directly on king from behind) Well, at least you're seeing my good side.

K: You can't do that; that was an illegal move!

Q: I'm making the rules now.

K: Stay away, witch!!

Q: Nightie night, my dearly departed.

(King looks ahead in horror, Queen draws a dagger, lights out)


July 22, 2006

A Play A Day #100

The Daddy Chair

Daughter (played by girls of increasing age and size)

Setting: Armchair, ottoman.

(Dad is seated, wearing a cardigan, tan pants, socks, reading paper. Two year old girl wanders onto stage, climbs into chair, leans back against her dad, closes her eyes. Father switches paper to one hand, reading it the whole time, to accomodate his daughter. Lights out. Lights up. Dad has different cardigan on, three year old daughter enters, same sequence. This continues with the daughter getting older and/ or bigger each time, until daughter comes out in wedding dress, sits on father, lights out. Lights up. Older woman comes out.)

Mom: Dear! She's had the baby! It's a girl! They'll visit as soon as she's able... probably next week.

Dad: (looking at wife, looking around, broad smile) Perfect.

(lights out)


July 21, 2006

A Play A Day #99

A Real Kiss

Isla (18-25)
Kit (same)

Setting: A bench, could be anywhere.

(Lights up. Isla and Kit are kissing in the most awkward fashion imaginable: lips protruding horribly but barely touching each other, heads either dead still, or moving about with no sense of grace, arms stiff and straight down at their sides, this goes on for over a minute. They break off. Both look exhausted as if they've just had sex, breathing heavily.)

Isla: Wow!

Kit: Wow!

I: Yeah! That... was amazing!

K: Totally aces!

I: That was... A Real Kiss!

K: Double that! It was A RRRREEEAALLL KISS!

I: Yeah!

K: Time?

I: (looking at watch) Forty-nine days, fifteen hours, thirty-eight minutes and twelve seconds.

K: Awesome! That's almost three minutes longer than last time!

I: And over eight minutes longer than the time before that!

K: We're getting so much better at this!

I: How's the petition coming?

K: Seven signatures now!

I: Oh, they'd better let us into the Olympics this time...

K: Endurance Stage Kissing is the sport of the future!

I: Of course! More popular every year.

K: I think we have a good shot at Nationals this year!

I: No doubt, my neck hardly even goes numb anymore.

K: Mine either!

I: Well, I'd better get home. I have a date with Jerry tonight.

K: Yeah, he's probably missed you the last seven weeks.

I: What are you up to?

K: Well, I'd better call Tyler. He's probably horny as hell since we haven't been together for seven weeks either.

I: We're both so lucky to have such understanding boyfriends.

K: Tell me about it, but you know it is only stage kissing.

I: Yes. Well, I'll see you next Wednesday to start another practice session.

K: Good-bye for now, Isla.

(They approach and kiss, this is an intense, groping, steamy, open-mouthed with tongue, definitely-not-a-stage-kiss kiss. It lasts at least ninety seconds. They break apart with weak smiles.)

K: (disappointment) Ahh, it's just never the same as stage kissing, is it?

I: No, it's not. Bye, Kit!

(They exit in opposite directions, lights out)


July 20, 2006

A Play A Day #98

Important Developments In The War On Terror

The President of the United States of America

Setting: Oval Office, televised address to the nation.

(lights up)

President: Good evening, my fellow devout Americans. I bring you tonight Fox news of our endless struggle to rid the world of terror. This Fox news, like all the Fox news on the Fox network, is upright, forthright, and just right.

I do not wish to scare or alarm you tonight. There can be no benefit to a sitting American President in watching his people cower in fear of an ill-defined, shadowy, boogyman monster. Please America, do not cower at the news I must tell you tonight. We must be courageous in the knowledge that I will protect you in a very heroic fashion.

I bring you news of great joy and news of great sorrow. I wasn't sure what to tell you first; so I tossed a shiny Texas quarter and "joy" came up. Actually it was heads, which left me at a confusion, seeing as heads is neither "joy" or "sorrow", but then Uncle Dick told me that we could assume that heads meant "joy", and tails meant "sorrow". That Dick's a crafty thinker. So heads it is!

My news of great joy is this: I have caught Osama bin Laden! He is in the custody of the White House Police force as I speak to you right now. Earlier this morning, approximately ninety-nine American Marines arrived with bin Laden in handcuffs and... ummm... them ankly-cuffs too... and they drug him up to the Oval Office where, at my orders, they beat him soundly, and, just for kicks and giggles, we kicked him and giggled. Then we stripped him naked and took pictures of him with things sticking out of his butt, like he was gay.

Oh, and we burnt his little fake bible thingy and filmed him while we forced him to eat the ashes. Then we smeared him with some dog poop we found under my desk, and beat him some more. I will be posting some of those cool pictures on my MySpace page later tonight. Make sure you're on my "Friends" list, and you'll get a password to access these top-secret, funny photographs. Please, I ask that none of you leak any of these photos to the treasonators at The New York Times or The Washington Post.

Let me assure you that Osama's unruly, scowling demeanor necessitated such rough treatment in full accordance with international laws and treaties I may or may not selectively recognize. We smacked some good ol' American sense into him. Then I got to take the cuffs off him and recuff him for the cameras. I even got to wear an old police hat for that picture. It made the photo even more opportuniful.

So, that's all done. We win! I got Osama! I wish his mother was still alive; 'cause I'd really like to be able to say that I got Osama and Osama's mama. That woulda been real neat! And then, maybe if Osama had a secret pet, like a llama, and maybe his mama also had a llama... a terrorist llama... then I coulda arrested them all and said that I got Osama and Osama's (loud cough heard off-camera, President glances that way)... but, we can't be greedy.

Now, you might think this would mean that the war on terror is over. Unfortunately it is not. We must be ever-vigilant, ever-strong, ever-ready, ever-hard on these terrorists. More will crop up. Like bad potatoes, they watch you while you sleep, their long white testicles reaching out for you...

(manic coughing from off-camera, whispered consultation) that's what I said.. what... no, no... I said that... show me the replay... what... still on... live on the TV? Right now?

...uh... reaching out for you... but they're not tentacles at all! They're eyes! Like bad potatoes, with long, snaky, eye things! They're watching you! We must trust our intelligence community to find these new sneaky terrorist testicles, and you must trust your leaders will treat that intelligence with great care and find the really important, dangerous parts which conform best with our super-secret plans.

This brings me to the bad news that we received today. Just minutes after we took out last pictures of Osama naked, and after we chained him to a bench in the Rose Garden, intelligence sources brought me six top-secret documents detailing a grave new threat to American security.

America has a brand new, even more evil, more crafty, more harder to catch, more mastermindical number one terrorist leader to catch. This new guy is more mysterious, more shifty, more elusive, more Osama than Osama himself, and, well, he's just bad. He's like Super Osama. He even wears a cape!

Upon being given a brief executive summary of the executive summary of these six documents, I have instructed our nation's two or three coolest armed services to train all available resources on the immediate tracking and capture of one "Lord Voldemort".

He is to be considered far more dangerous and terroristic than terrorism itself. Lord Voldemort, also known as Tom Marvolo Riddle, has been known to prey on children. Innocent children and their families. He is a Dark Lord, ably and willingly assisted by a large army of followers known only as Death Eaters.

That's just plain scary-soundin'!

At first, I thought maybe these Death Eaters were good guys; you know, like they ate death, and made it go away. I thought: Hey! If they eat death, maybe they poop life!

Sadly, I have been told that this is not the case. Voldemort's followers are fanatical, devout... ummm... followers of Voldemort. To make it all worse, our sources tell us this Voldemort and his Death Eaters are magical terrorists.

They are known to possess Weapons of Magical Divination! Huge invisible stockpiles of these weapons are believed to be stored throughout the British countryside and available to Voldemort and his terrormakers at the simple flick of a wand, or summoning of a magical word or phrase.

We contacted our good friends in Britainland and asked them if they knew that they were harboring the world's most hated and most evil terrorist and his splinter cell of death people. After tense negotiations with Great Britain's funny-sounding leaders lasting long into my scheduled thirty-minute lunch break; I broke off talks. Future denials from Great Britain about Lord Voldemort or his WMD stockpiles fell upon my deaf, brave ears.

America will begin a super-cool shock-and-awe invasion of England in one hour. After a month or so of continuous carpet bombing, we will again entertain motions to negotiate England's surrender of the feared Voldemort and his supporters. Failure to negotiate in good faith at that point may lead to further military action by American forces.

I know you will join me in supporting me at this moment of massive crisis in our history. It is with a heavy heart that I have ordered this invasion of our long-time pals, the British. Having fought the American Revolution together against our tyrannous Persian overlords, America and England have long enjoyed a love affair of continuous support and unswervable friendship. Sadly, that friendship must now come to an end. America can remain allies with no nation that harbors such dangerous terrorists as Lord Voldemort.

Rest assured, I will keep you updated with any important intelligence that supports our decision to invade Great Britain. We will continue to fight this endless, winnable war against terrorism. It is my duty as President to never cut and run, especially when I can bomb and walk away.

Thank you for your great patriotism in supporting me. Good night, and may God bless Christian America.

July 19, 2006

A Play A Day #97

The Dull


Setting: Living room, two huge recliners, the chairs are facing upstage, audience can't see the people in the chairs. Between them, upstage and facing the audience is a large TV. Dialogue is lethargic, dull and very slow.

(lights up, extremely long pause)

Tina: Nita?

Nita: Tina?

T: This show sucks.

N: Change the channel.

T: No.

N: O.K.

(long pause)

T: Nita?

N: Tina?

T: I know why this show sucks.

N: Why?

T: TV's off.

N: Yep.

T: It's not on.

N: Right.

(long pause)

T: Nita?

N: Tina?

T: Will you turn it on?

N: Nope.

T: Why?

N: I like this show.

T: It's not on.

N: Yeah, great show.

T: There is no show.

N: It's my favorite.

T: No show is your favorite?

N: No, this one is.

T: Which one?

N: This one that isn't on.

T: This is your favorite?

N: Yes, it is.

(long pause)

T: Nita?

N: Tina?

T: I don't get it.

N: What?

T: The show.

N: What's to get?

T: Well, is it not on, or are we not watching it?

N: Yes.

T: Which?

N: Both.

T: Oh.

(long pause)

T: Nita?

N: Tina?

T: I still don't get it.

N: Well, if you're not watching an off show, then it's the same as watching an on show.

T: No, I meant I don't get the show.

N: Oh.

T: What's it called?

N: No title.

T: Who's on it?

N: Nobody.

T: What do they do?

N: Nothing.

T: When's it on?

N: Never.

T: When's it not on?

N: Never.

T: O.K.

(long pause)

T: Nita?

N: Tina?

T: This show is dull.

N: Sure.

T: They could call it "Dull".

N: Yes.

T: Or just "The Dull".

N: That's good.

T: Yeah, nothing happens.

N: Nothing.

T: To no one.

N: No where.

T: Never.

N: Perfect.

(long pause)

T: Nita?

N: Tina?

T: Are you recording this?

N: Maybe.

T: Good.

(long pause)

T: Nita?

N: Tina?

T: Do you ever miss this show?

N: Never.

T: Really?

N: Really.

(long pause)

T: Nita?

N: Tina?

T: I think I get it now.

N: Get what?

T: This show.

N: Good.

T: Now, I love it. I don't want to close my eyes even for a second.

N: Might miss something.

T: Or I won't miss nothing.

N: Right, you might or might not miss something or nothing.

T: It's very complex.

N: Nothing always is.

T: Riveting.

(long pause)

T: Nita?

N: Tina?

T: Is the show almost done?

N: No.

T: Good, I'm completely addicted to it.

N: Yes.

T: I have to find out how it ends.

N: Of course.

T: I mean, will nothing happen?

N: Don't know.

T: Like some sort of big surprise nothing? You know nothing that you could ever expect to happen?

N: Possibly, keep watching.

(long pause)

T: Nita?

N: Tina?

T: This show is amazing!

N: It's all over.

T: Really?

N: Yeah, it's not on now.

T: It never was on, though... right?

N: Yes, but now it's done not being on.

T: So... it's actually on now...

N: Could be, but we're not watching it anymore.

T: But... we never were watching it, right?

N: Yes, but now we're done not even doing that.

T: Wow.

(long pause)

T: Nita?

N: Tina?

T: Uhhh... how did it end?

N: Total surprise ending.

T: Really?

N: Yeah, nothing happened, and I didn't even see it coming.

T: A suprise?

N: Shocking.

T: Shocking?

N: Gratuitously so.

T: Awesome.

(long pause)

T: Nita?

N: Tina?

T: What are we doing now?

N: Not watching what else isn't on.

T: O.K.

(long pause)

T: Nita?

N: Tina?

T: Don't you wish people would sit in us again?

N: You know the family's gone for a whole year.

T: I know.

N: So, stop complaining, we've got a ton of television to not watch.

(Tina sighs, lights fade out)


July 18, 2006

A Play A Day #96

The Ironic Life


Setting: A couch and chair. Garbage and clothing etc... strewn about. Andy, semi-reclined on couch, is a horrible slob. Gibb enters, sits on chair.

Andy: Hey, Gibb.

Gibb: Are we going, Andy?

A: Yeah, yeah, we got a few minutes yet; I hate getting there early anyway.

G: True enough.

A: Stupid previews. Buncha idiot movies no one with half a brain should ever see.

G: But we're going to see one of those films right now?

A: Yeah, but we're going to watch it ironically.

G: Right, yeah, I thought maybe it was just that we were going because it's the only movie you liked playing tonight.

A: Yeah, but I only like it with an ironic appreciation of how bad it is.

G: We gonna grab something to eat later... after the show?

A: Yeah, yeah, let's go to Piper's.

G: The bar?

A: Piper's, yep.

G: They even serve food?

A: Sure. Nachos and cheese curds and buffalo wings.

G: Didn't they almost get shut down by the health department?

A: Actually they did get shut down. They can't serve food, but they still do.

G: And you want to eat there?!

A: Yeah, if you talk to the right people, they'll still feed you.

G: Man, that's totally dangerous.

A: It's o.k.; I eat there ironically.

G: I thought you ate there because you're kinda tubby and you eat unhealthy food all the time.

A: Negative, my friend. It's irony that draws me to their horrible nachos and fried grease clumps.

G: Well, at least they have alcohol.

A: Yeah, it's awesome, they have Schlitz on tap!

G: That stuff is crap.

A: Doesn't matter. You just drink it ironically! I love it!

G: Yeah, because you're an alcoholic.

A: No, I can't be an alcoholic because I drink with a an ironic appreciation of the sadness of a life spent drinking.

G: But, you are spending your life drinking!

A: Ironically so. I'm removed from the process of drinking because I'm aware how tragic drinking excessively really is.

G: You know, Andy, you look pretty awful. You're overweight, live in your parent's basement...

A: I'm in the basement only for the sense of irony.

G: ... smells like you haven't showered in a while...

A: Well, I do shower, but only in an ironic and perfunctory manner. So, no soap or washing.

G: ... you're drinking heavily, and you smoke like a campfire...

A: True, but only generic, unfiltered menthols.

G: Because, you don't have enough money to buy name-brand cigs.

A: Nahhh, because of irony...

G: You have no job, and you don't seem like you want one.

A: I work ironically.

G: Meaning not at all?

A: That's part of it.

G: You sleep from 4 a.m to 4 p.m. most days, and nap in the middle of the evening.

A: Yeah, it's great. Not many people can sleep ironically, but I've managed to pull it off!

G: Sleep ironically?

A: Yeah, not easy.

G: I mean you're so out of it, all you do is sit here in your underwear and watch bad T.V...

A: Ironic T.V.!

G: ... and eat crap, smoke, drink, sleep, and...

A: I even have learned to breathe ironically... watch...

G: No!

A: Alright, man, just because you're not educated enough to appreciate my ironic approach to life.

G: Educated? I've got a frickin' Master's Degree; you dropped out of school after ninth grade!

A: No, no... I just started educating myself ironically, man!

G: Whatever, Andy! (pause, collects himself) Alright... let's just get going.

A: Yeah, one minute, let me find some clothes around here.

G: O.K...

A: (digging around, putting on dirty pants from the floor, they look horrible with the filthy shirt he's wearing) You know, Gibby, if I'm such a horrible person, why do you still hang out with me?

G: Irony.

A: Perfect. Now you're gettin' it! Let's go.

G: Yeah.

(lights fade as they begin to exit)

A: (feeling his pants pokets) Oh, hey, I'm a little strapped for cash, can you...

G: Yes, as always...

A: Cool.

(exit, lights all the way down)


July 17, 2006

A Play A Day #95

My Many Minute Mamet Mammal Moment

[Note: This play is an homage to David Mamet. I know the writing isn't even close to his, and this is a fairly absurd play, and he probably doesn't expect nor want nor even appreciate an homage from me, but what the hell.... since he isn't returning my calls, it's the only way to reach him. Originally this play appeared as a comment on a friend's blog. Yes, the whole thing was a comment; she hasn't spoken to me since. Pace should be rapid-fire. Also, it's fucking filthy.]


Setting: Bare stage.

(lights up, Sam and Jay are looking at an unseen animal on stage)

Sam: What is this?

Jay: What? This...

S: Yeah what the, the fuck is this?

J: I don't...

S: You don't know, fucking thing...

J: What... fucking thing is...

S: It's one of those umm... what

J: What?

S: What? I don't know

J: Fucking thing, look at that...

S: Dog?

J: Dog?

S: Dog? yeah... it's

J: The fuck you saying?

S: Dog... like a uh... tiny

J: Ain't a fucking dog...

S: Dog... you sure...

J: Yeah, it ain't no fucking little dog...

S: Well... it kind of...

J: No. ain't a dog at all, it ain't a dog

S: oh... maybe it's a dog, but it's deformed or something...

J: Shut up, it ain't a fucking dog, what...

S: Like radiation or something, contaminated sewage or something

J: What? sewage is always contaminated...

S: No...

J: No?

S: No, raw sewage is just human waste, and this little dog got some in his eyes, he was eating...

J: So his legs shrunk, and his mouth got tiny and his teeth grew?

S: He's a small dog to begin with...

J: What? Small?

S: So he didn't have far to deform...

J: Didn't have far? fucking deformity, like a distance to go?

S: Yeah, he didn't have a long distance to go?

J: It ain't a fucking dog... it ain't a fucking dog...

S: But, like a tiny dog

J: No, what was that?

S: Cute li'l fucker barked at us...

J: Wasn't a fucking bark...

S: Yep, a bark, you know like a tiny bark...

J: No! no fucking tiny bark or anything!

S: Like a tiny dog!

J: No! for fuck's sake, it ain't a fucking dog!

S: It just barked...

J: Wasn't a bark at all...

S: It barked, like really...

J: It wasn't a bark, no fucking bark sounds like that

S: It barked though, just high pitched like a big ummm

J: It, it wasn't a fucking bark or anything...

S: A big bird squawking, an eagle kind of

J: A fucking eagle!

S: A... kind of...

J: Fucking eagle, shit...

S: Kind of like a squawk...

J: You never heard a fucking eagle...

S: Some sort of bird, some... squawk squawk

J: Eagle! Fuck! It ain't a dog or eagle...

S: I didn't... not an eagle? ... just squawk and made me think of eagles...

J: Eagles fucking screech.. loud...

S: Squawk... screech... loud? really?

J: Fucking tear your face off with their fucking claw things...

S: Loud, never seen an eagle... heard them on some tv show or movie or...

J: Screeching the whole time tearing...

S: Robert Redford...

J: Nose gone, fucking eyes clawed right out ... Redford?

S: I guess it was a screech, who else...

J: Fucking Robert Redford? What?

S: Some hot chick...

J: Some hot chick fucking Robert Redford? Who?

S: No, she took her top off in that movie, like a mountain stream or something, naked, like big tits...

J: What the fuck are you talking about?

S: Eagle chirpin' in the background and she gets into the nature mood and takes her top off, jumps in the stream...

J: Eagles fucking screech!

S: Yeah, sure, it was a screech...

J: Loud...

S: Maybe she took her shirt off after the stream, cause of it being wet...

J: Who?

S: The Redford there, with the eagle...

J: Carrying an eagle?

S: She should watch out, like you said, those claws, and her tits just hanging out there...

J: Whose tits?

S: Redford like fucking her by the mountain stream and then music, like soft sensitive music, but big, like moutains and violins and eagles...

J: Eagle? Tits?

S: Probably symbolic or something...

J: What?

S: Symbolic...

J: Yeah, you said symbolic, and...

S: Yeah, symbolic, like the violins like they meant some... and the mountains and the river flowing down between the peaks, and the eagle squawking...

J: Screeching, they don't squawk...

S: This was a sleepy eagle maybe...

J: And so this is a movie...

S: That's it, and it is all symbolic of...

J: Eagles tearing tits and faces off?

S: No, symbolic of Robert Redford fucking some hot wet big-tit bitch in a meadow... and the eagle screeched and the fucking scene was done...

J: The scene with Robert Redford fucking big-tits?

S: Yeah, the eagle cut the scene.

J: Maybe it was going to attack, saw those fat titties hanging there, and got hungry...

S: Eagles eat tits?

J: Could if they wanted. They don't see a lot of'em for a while, they'd get all hungry for some tits...

S: I can relate with eagles then...

J: Yeah, any fucking man'd tell you the same thing... fucking hungry for tits...

S: Fucking squawk squawk and chomp...

J: They fucking screech, damnit...

S: Yeah, like this thing here, right, squawk squawk squawk...

J: Fucking thing just keeps on screeching like that...

S: Won't shut up...

J: But it's not a fucking little deformed dog, or and eagle looking to eat tits, alright...

S: What is this then?

J: I don't fucking know...

S: Oh, I know now...

J: Yeah?

S: It's one of them pumas!

J: Puma?

S: Yeah, one of them!

J: Puma?

S: Yeah ... a

J: Puma?

S: Like a puma cat!

J: Puma?

S: Yeah, with those big teeth and squawking!

J: Fucking puma!?

S: Ready to attack...

J: A fucking puma?!

S: Yeah, sleek cat attacks things!

J: A fucking puma!? a what are...

S: Yeah, jungle cat!

J: We are not in the fucking jungle!

S: Escaped from a zoo!

J: Fucking puma! Do you know how big a fucking puma is?

S: Maybe it's hungry?

J: A fucking puma? You are a sad and stupid fuck, aren't you?

S: What?

J: If it's fucking hungry, and it's a puma, you're a fucking dead man...

S: What?

J: And they're fucking cats, they don't screech or squawk...

S: Like that eagle?

J: Purr, roar, big fucking meows...

S: Man, I bet a hungry puma would eat some nice fleshy tits, huh!

J: What?

S: Like that eagle in the Redford big titty scene?

J: What the fuck, do you...

S: Fucking puma eating tits while Redford fucks her...

J: Ouch, you fucking perv...

S: People'd want to watch that movie...

J: No, not...

S: Gotta keep the eagle in the background...

J: What the...

S: It's like America!

J: Not...

S: Like Robert Redford fucking a big-titty woman in a meadow next to a river while a puma eats her tits and an eagle lands on Redford's shoulder to get a close up, let's out a big squawk...

J: it... screech... you dumb fuck...

S: Violins rising to a climax, camera pans up the mountaintops, which are like symbols for something else and then it fades out...

J: What a fucking...

S: Except right before it fades out, you catch a glimpse of this little thing here...

J: Why?

S: Just in the corner of the scene, or standing on top of one of the mountains like a little something or whatever...

J: You're directing Redford films now?

S: Just some ideas...

J: Yeah, keep it that way...

S: I just would like to get more nature back in films...

J: Yeah, big goal...

S: They're all about those little talkie phones and computers and shit now...

J: Talkie phones?

S: Eagles are cooler...

J: Cellular?

S: Squawk squawk squawk, yeah...

J: Tearing big tits off women?

S: No, that was just one idea from the Redford film...

J: Oh, that's good..

S: Yeah, cellular talkie phones...

J: Not much of a market for eagles pulling women's jugs off in movies...

S: Get back to nature, eagles, pumas, deformed dogs...

J: Very hard to train an eagle to claw a woman's tits off...

S: Meadows and mountains and streams... this little guy, whatever he is, on top of a mountain.

J: I suppose someone can do it, someone will like it...

S: Robert Redford fucking... eagles and pumas and deformed dogs... the stream just...

J: Shit, some people like those porn films where people actually eat human shit.

S: Yeah! That would be a good nature movie...

J: Coprophiliacs, they call'em..

S: What?

J: Shiteaters. fucking people while they take a shit, smearing shit on people they're fucking...

S: What?

J: They fucking love shit, being covered in human shit...

S: You made this movie, with shit?

J: No! I haven't made any fucking shit movie...

S: Oh, but then...

J: I was just saying people like weird shit...

S: Human shit?

J: Yeah, there are people out there who get all hot and wet just thinking about letting people shit in their mouths...

S: Not animal shit?

J: What?

S: You know, human shit?

J: Animal shit?

S: Yeah, more natural!

J: Than human shit?

S: Yeah, more natural than our shit.

J: Shit is shit.

S: No, animal shit's natural.

J: So's human shit.

S: No, it's got chemicals and shit in it.

J: So what?!

S: So... for like my nature movie...

J: What nature?

S: With the eagle and the Robert Redford and the tits...

J: Just shut up, already... damn...

S: Maybe the puma could be sexually excited by eating the eagle shit!

J: NO! stop, you fucking freak...

S: Then the woman wouldn't get her tits eaten, because the puma would be distracted...

J: Just shut up, o.k.!?

S: The deformed tiny dog already ate the sewage and got deformed... so he actually gets off on eating shit too...

J: No...

S: No, wait, the deformed dog eats shit and get more and more deformed, and then gets more and more powerful the more shit he eats...

J: Shut...

S: So, he eats the puma shit and get bigger and bites off Robert Redford's dick and starts fucking the big titty girl and....

J: What are you...

S: And, he fucks her so hard that she shits, and meanwhile the puma and the eagle have been feasting on the corpse of Robert Redford, the deformed, but powerful, dog eats the woman's shit...

J: Stop this shit...

S: So, later, around the campfire, where they are roasting the remains of Robert Redford, the three creatures, now fast friends, have a big shit party and the dog eats it all and get more and more powerful...

J: You're a pathetic...

S: And since the puma and eagle have shit out Robert Redford, the dog starts to get oddly handsome and rugged looking...

J: Fucking unbelievable...

S: Now, he's got like this huge, deformed, but powerful, dog cock and the three friends spend the rest of the movie waiting in alpine meadows for unsuspecting, drunk teenagers to go there and start fucking, and they just get more and more powerful with their shit and tit eating and fucking strangers and eating them and eating their shit and then shitting them out and eating that too, and the dog gets more and more powerful...

J: Frickin' unbelievable, where...

S: Then the army notices that big-tit teens across America are taking trips to alpine meadows and not returning...

J: Stupid, fucking stu...

S: So they start an investigation and realize that the nation's sewage resevoirs are also being drained, all they have for evidence is massive, deformed, dog prints and the loud squawk of an eagle on surveillance tapes...

J: Sounds like a Bruce Willis movie...

S: Then the dog, puma and eagle have to flee as they are being attacked by the army, navy, air force, marines, the coast guard and US postal service all at once. They are forced to survive on port-a-potty cocktails and the occasional aspiring model/actress that they pick up on Hollywood Boulevard.

J: Please, don't...

S: But, here's the twist... the puma is gay!

J: Just.... What!!!

S: Yeah! Gay puma...

J: And......

S: He's a puma and he's gay!

J: What!!

S: Gay jungle cat!

J: What the fuck...

S: Get it?

J: What?!

S: Get it?

J: No! What the fuck!

S: Yep! It's a gay puma!

J: But...

S: The whole time, the puma was gay!

J: But...

S: You didn't see it coming, did ya?

J: But, what...

S: I know it just makes everything so iconic!

J: What, but?

S: The dog, he's straight but bent by his deformity...

J: Ironic?

S: What?

J: Ironic...

S: Yes! So ironic!

J: This doesn't make any sense.

S: Because it's ironic, like you said.

J: But...

S: And ironic means, it doesn't make sense, right...

J: No...

S: But, here's the catch, it does make sense! it does!!

J: No! There is nothing in that whole fucking scenario that...

S: Let me explain, Robert Redford is dead, he died fucking the perfect American alpine-meadow big-titted woman, he was killed in nature by nature, symbolic of nature killing man by castrating him, literally and figuratively, with its razor-sharp sewage-deformed dog teeth, and then an eagle shits, and when an eagle shits, he is shitting out America, because, aside from big-titted, shirtless wet women in alpine meadows getting fucked by Robert Redford, nothing is more American than the eagle, or the eagle shitting, that's why eagles only live in America, because they know, intuitively, that they are symbolic of America, so they feed off each other, and then the puma enters the scene and he brings his cat-like cunning and his cat-like quickness and his cat-like quick reflexes to help his shit-eating and tit-eating friends, and they go on a rampage, but is it really a rampage? Is it? I say, no, it is not! Because, what are they doing, but actually going around and eating America's shit! They are surviving and thriving on human waste, just like the mighty tapeworm. They get more and more powerful as America produces more and more shit, and then, just as you are starting to see through the murder and the mayhem and the shit-eating deformed animals, the puma kisses the eagle full on the mouth, with tongue, and the movie comes full circle!

J: What! You still make no fucking sense!!

S: Yes! It's perfect.

J: A movie isn't just resolved because one of the deformed animals in it is gay!

S: Why?

J: You can't just have all this build-up and all those tits and castrations and sewage depletions and armed services chase scenes, and then just end it all because the puma is gay!

S: It makes perfect sense to me.

J: Because you are a fucking idiot, my friend.

S: Or do you just not understand the term "ironic"?

J: I understand it perfectly! If the Puma was a minister in the Southern Baptist church, and then came out as gay but continued to rail against the sins of homosexuality all the while eating shit and disemboweling prostitutes and French kissing male eagles, there would be irony there!

S: Yes, but would it be ironic? Hmmm?

J: What!?

S: Would it be ironic?

J: Yes, you worthless fuck! Irony means ironic!

S: Really?

J: It's the same fucking word, essentially...

S: Or do you just not understand it, essentially?

J: Fuck off!

S: Hey, let's not fight, just because you don't understand my great American movie!

J: No one will understand it. Well, perverts will, only because they want to see the shit-eating and the tits.

S: Exactly, so it will be nearly the same as every Hollywood film! Perfect!!

J: Yeah, you're probably right there... people eating shit and women flashing their tits...

S: Thanks, I feel like you understand me now...

J: No, I don't know a fucking thing about you or this fucking creature here...

S: Oh, yeah, I remember what it is now!

J: Why didn't you tell me?

S: Just wrapped up in the movie.

J: Of course...

S: But it's a good movie.

J: Yeah, sure, whatever...

S: I'll have to contact Robert Redford...

J: Hey!

S: What?

J: This thing? What is this?

S: What? This...

J: Yeah, what the fuck is this?

S: Oh, yeah, I remember now!

J: And...

S: It's called a marmot.

J: A marmot?

S: Yep, a marmot...

J: Oh. O.K.

S: A gay marmot.

J: Fuckin'.... just.... fuckin' shut up, alright!?

(lights out)