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America’s Sherklock Holmes

February 21, 2012

Chicago street corner the early 1900’s.  A woman, SADIE looks around, she then reaches into a purse and takes out a cigarette.  She puts it in her mouth.  Suddenly out of nowhere a man with a long beard grabs the cigarette breaks it and strikes a pose.  He is of course detective CLIFTON R. WOOLDRIDGE

CLIFTON

77!

SADIE

77?

CLIFTON

Madam you must be in shock.

SADIE

No just a little drunk.

CLIFTON

Drunk on the presence of greatness.  That greatness – MINE!  That presence – Currently.  Shh, don’t speak.  I see the problem!  My disguise has fooled you.  Well don’t be down in the heaps I fool all of the seedy underbelly of the wormy beef that is Chicago street slime!

(He removes the beard.)

Ta meet da!

SADIE

My name is Sadie.

CLIFTON

Of course, I guessed it from the shape of your skull.

SADIE

Huh?  What kind of potato shit are you?

CLIFTON

Your salty language bruises my brain listeners – ears, to the common folk.  Don’t you know who I am?

SADIE

A nut.

CLIFTON

I may have a hard shell and a protein rich core, but that’s where the similarities between me and the wonderful drupe exocarp of the South diverge!  I see you’re new to Chicago—

SADIE

Lived here my whole life.

CLIFTON

If you call that living.

SADIE

I always called it Komkumba it’s Magyrian for dying a little at the twilight.

CLIFTON

SHUT UP!  Here take my introductory pamphlet –

CLIFTON hands SADIE a pamphlet.  He says it aloud from memory.

 

CLIFTON

America’s Sherklock Holmes – Clifton R. Wooldridge.  Surprise it’s me!

SADIE

Don’t you mean Sherlock Holmes?

CLIFTON

You are so dumb no the famous English detective Sherklock.

SADIE

I’m think it’s Sherlock . . .

CLIFTON

Well that’s lady thoughts for you so cute and so wrong.  Like watching an ape at a monkey party.  WHERE IS YOUR TAIL!  He hasn’t one.  But I have.

(Takes out a tail.)

I removed it from a monkey who was rude to me.  Lesson  Learned.

SADIE

That’s—

CLIFTON

Lesson.  Learned.

(Puts away the monkey tail.)

Sherklock one.  Monkey minus one .  . . MILLION!

CLIFTON does a karate chop for no reason.

SADIE

Anyway, is this supposed to be you on the cover?

CLIFTON

My likeness yes, but I also kept it vague, so crime can’t memorize my face.  THAT’S BRAINS, GIRL!  But who do you ask would have the smarts to recognize that I – Clifton R. Wooldridge – is America’s Sherklock Holmes?

SADIE

I did not ask any such poorly phrased query.

CLIFTON

Wrong.  The answer is me!  I figured it out when I stood in awe of how I solved the case of the missing bagpipe.  The closet did it!  Well, had it.  IT WAS IN THE CLOSET!  Oh, I see you doubt my prowess . . .

SADIE

I also doubt your sanity.

CLIFTON

They are linked dear Madame.

SADIE

Sadie.

CLIFTON

Not til after lunch!  Turn to the back of the pamphlet – those are my stats!

SADIE looks them over.

 

CLIFTON

READ THEM ALOUD!

SADIE

Why?

CLIFTON

I like to hear my deeds read aloud.  It arouses me . . . to action!

SADIE

Fine.

(Reading.)

17,000 arrests, 125 criminals sent to the penitentiary, $75,000 lost loot recovered, 67 dogs debarked, 100 pounds gained, 76 girls rescued from lives of shame.

CLIFTON

77 now that I can add you to the list!

SADIE

I wasn’t—

CLIFTON

That cigarette was the first step to a spiral of opium and phallus cum mouthus!

SADIE

I just do it for nerves, it’s calming.

CLIFTON

So are the sounds of whales, but you don’t see me punching a porpoise to get my beauty sleep.  Perhaps it’s too late.  You should read this pamphlet – also a Clifton Production –

CLIFTON gives her another pamphlet.

 

SADIE

Vampires Exposed or Ferreting Out the Women Grafters?

CLIFTON

I’m on to you like a rug fetishist on a freshly woven Oriental.  Now Sinbad you better PrayGood or your adventures will be down at the workhouse.

SADIE

I’m just waiting for my sister.

CLIFTON

Is that what they call him.  Of course.  Mr. Sister the diabolical tyrant king of the lower slums of the Chicago slum district.  Slum-tastic — I bet his battle cry rings.

SADIE

She’s working at the mill.

CLIFTON

I’m on to you– your pleading prose may be enough to bring tears to the eyes of an iron-eyed lawn-dog but I’m the firmer fish in the minnow pail!

SADIE

I only understand about half of what you’re –

CLIFTON

PAMPHLET!

CLIFTON gives her another pamphlet.

 

CLIFTON

Don’t bother getting your eyes dirty reading the inky words of truth, Sadie.  I’ll tell you what it says; it says I’m also a master of disguise.  In fact while I was watching you I was in one of my prime disguises.

(Puts the beard back on.)

Howdy Miss I’m Heck Houston Cattle Baron from Wyoming.  I’m a whole heap of cow.

(Takes off beard.)

Don’t worry it’s just me.  You equal fooled!

SADIE

I wasn’t –

CLIFTON

Other notable aliases, aliasies? Allases?  OTHER DISGUISES –

(Strikes a pose denoting each one.)

Gambler Policy Sam Johnson

Wisenheimer Brick Load

Mysterious wanderer J. P. Porridge

Celestial Goat seller Wang Tang Doodle

And—

Ghetto Jew.

Impressed?  Answer yes.  Even I’m impressed.

SADIE

Is that all?  No more pamphlets.

CLIFTON

I have this pamphlet on making pamphlets for fun and profit.  And this one on dogs.

SADIE

Dogs.

CLIFTON

I like them.  Especially ones that look like my grandmother.  Nanny pups I call them.  And then I reach down and give their little ears a scratch and then I sometimes realize . .. hey that’s a rat not a dog and I wonder about how I could have made that mistake and suddenly it’s Tuesday and I’m prone to the taste of hamburgers and I look down and the dog cum rat has vanished probably down a sewer maybe into my pants and I don’t realize it until I go home de pant and find him curled up in there sleeping off his little rat fever, for he’s very ill and I nurse him back to health and I dress him up in his own series of disguises because maybe he could be my partner –

(Strikes rat poses.)

Lord Ratting Cheesely Duke of Windsor

Uncle Bites the stern headmaster

Cheese Inspector Morris

And

Ghetto Jew.

(Beat.)

But they always die so soon like dreams in front of a father  – oh pardon I’ve said too much.  Here’s a forgiveness pamphlet.

CLIFTON gives SADIE another pamphlet.

 

SADIE

Look it’s all right; I’m just going to go . . .

CLIFTON

OK, but stay out of dens–opium or bear.

SADIE

That’s good advice.  I guess.

SADIE scratches her arm, pulling up her sleeve.  There’s an odd mark on her arm.

 

CLIFTON

What!  That mark!  The twin birthmark of the doomed raccoon!  Oh.  My.  Buns!  You’re Mister Sister—

SADIE

What?  I mean . . . how did that get . . .

(Dropping the act.)

Well, well, Clifton once again you go and foil me act.  Yes it’s me, after our last encounter on suicide falls where I faked my suicide –

CLIFTON

I called it the case of death by death.

SADIE

I read all about it, so I went to France, originally just to see the naked ladies dance.

CLIFTON

Through the hole in the wall?

SADIE

Where the boys can see it all, yes.  They wrote a poem about it –

CLIFTON

When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d by Walt Whitman — yes I’ve read it.

SADIE

But I knew I’d need a new disguise so I had a sex change or as the French call it change du sex.    It was experimental, but I think it worked.

CLIFTON

Even the boobs?

SADIE

Especially the boobs.

CLIFTON

But now cur you have no hiding hole, the only hole you’ll have is a whole lot of jail time and a donut hole because they have donut Wednesdays at Chicago Jail, but no good donuts only plain.

SADIE

My favorite flavor is plain.

CLIFTON

IT WOULD BE!

SADIE

But fine.  Yes.  You caught me.  But just do me one small favor before throwing me into the clink.

(Takes out a flower.)

Smell this flower.

CLIFTON

I hardly see how it’s relevant or even pertinent to the germane-ness of this conversation, but I shall, for I am a man of my word.  And that word is – BOONDOGGLE!  So it was decreed by a Druid Priest in a meadow not far from here.

SADIE

Gemlo’s meadow?

CLIFTON

Oh, you know it?

SADIE

Nope.

CLIFTON

BASTARD you tricked me for the last time.

SADIE

Doubtful.  Now give a wiff with your sniff.

CLIFTON leans in and smells the flower.  A beat.

 

CLIFTON

Very nice.  You know for a moment I had worried your put some sort of knockout gas in the flower and I’d sniff it and fall into a slumber deep.

SADIE

Not very sporting of me that would be.

CLIFTON

True.

SADIE

But . . .

CLIFTON

What?

SADIE punches him.

 

SADIE

You have been lulled to false security!  My punch has bested you!

CLIFTON

Ow, my face, I was using it.  For talking.  To you.

SADIE

But now I escape.  For a man who is punched cannot arrest another man for 20 minutes, so go the corrupt laws of Chicago!

CLIFTON

Tis true!  Folly!  Chicago the criminals and crime-o-diles that pen your laws have made you a villain’s bitch.  How you lap at the balls of thieves and sniff the bugler’s crotch!  Chicago!  Chicago . . .

SADIE

I leave!  Slum-tastic!

SADIE runs off.

 

CLIFTON

This is not the end Mr. Sister!  I shall have my . . . oh no a train!

Train sounds as a train comes and runs over CLIFTON.

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I Love My Gay Horse

February 21, 2012

TRIP and BIMINY they are two women at a ranch.           

BIMMINY

So I says, Bun, you know you can’t throw that up.

 

TRIP

What’d she say?

 

BIMMINY

Nothing she’s a rabbit.  You know rabbit’s can’t throw up.

 

TRIP

Not even vomit?

 

BIMMINY

Not even up-chuck.  They didn’t evolve to have the ability to have their cookies metaphorically tossed.

 

TRIP

Take that Darwin.

 

BIMMINY

Right up the monkey hole!

 

                                                Long beat.

 

TRIP

So the rabbit, did she eat it?

 

BIMMINY

The Twizzler?  Yep, the whole strawberry twist, right up her stupid rabbit mouth.

 

TRIP

So remember how I told you I think that horse of mine went gay . . .

 

BIMMINY

All queer’ed up you said.

 

TRIP

And I don’t mean this to be offensive; I have many gay friends from Fat Gay Sal to Thin Gay Sal and all the Gay Sal’s in between.

 

BIMMINY

And Pretty Gay Pete.

 

TRIP

Love him like a brother.  But this damn horse of mine, he’s . . . well look at him.

 

 

                                               

BIMMINY

Maybe it’s a phase, wasn’t he all into Star Wars?

 

TRIP

Pokemon.  But he collected them all and that was the end of it.  Plus his hooves they don’t work the Nintendo so good, so he’s given it up.  Not like his ancestors the Dawn horses of the Early Eocene, they had many toes, but then thanks to evolution they only got one toe left so they all prance around like ballerinas.

 

BIMMINY

Take that Darwin.  You and your strange saga of horse evolution through the epochs of a time before history.

 

TRIP

Yup.  Right up the prehistory hole. 

 

BIMMINY

So . . . you test this horse?  He looks all fruity and tarted up but he could be straight.  There’s all them fancy boy straight people like Little Richard and Hulk Hogan.

 

TRIP

Test him how?

 

BIMMINY

Like show him pictures of dicks and see if he gets all hot and heavy.

 

TRIP

Where am I gonna get pictures of dicks from?

 

BIMMINY

Dunno.  The Big Book of Dicks?

 

TRIP

Ricks?

 

BIMMINY

Yeah.  Ricks Big Book of Dicks 8th Edition.

 

TRIP

8th edition!

 

BIMMINY

They discovered 3 new kinds of dicks and updated some references to tribal peoples  . . . dicks.

 

TRIP

Worth getting?  I mean I have vol. 5 . . . they charge a lot for those. 

 

BIMMINY

Damn text-book publishers the way they evolved from a small enclave of men devoted to learning to greedy fat cats charging you an arm and a leg for a new map every time some country in Africa or Asia decides to break away or get a new flag.

 

TRIP

Take that Darwin.  Right up the Myanmar hole.   God look at that horse gallop, his long hair like the strings of some instrument playing a song I could never hear because my ears were made of mud and my soul a foolish wish a boy made when he pretended he was a knight but the only dragon was his sister and the sword he gripped was his own sweet . . .

 

BIMMINY

Sounds to me you love that queer horse.

 

TRIP

Truth be truth that horse is the best I ever saw and I never saw none better.  Except one time but that wasn’t  a real horse but an advert for cigarettes.  I bet that cigarette shilling horse is long dead.

 

BIMMINY

Take that Darwin.  Right up the nicotiana tabacum hole.

 

TRIP

That’s the scientific name for tobbacy ain’t it?

 

BIMMINY

You still remember after all these years.  Our doctoral classes in biological husbandry seem to be ages ago.

 

TRIP

I’d always just copy off your paper.  My whole thesis was just a reworked version of Byrad’s eukaryote dilemma.

 

BIMMINY

Please, you’re understanding of the innate cycle of ATP production in—

 

TRIP

                                (Crying.)

Look at that fucking fag horse go.  Run you fucking queer ass fucking beautiful perfect fudge-packing horse.  I fucking love you.  I fucking love you.

 

BIMMINY

Don’t cry up.  Horse owning microbiologist ain’t supposed to drop the salty spray, but—

                                (Crying.)

But at full cantor ain’t that horse like magic like a shimmer scimitar of truth and beauty more tangled and troublesome than the curves of the most secret writings of the Kabala—

 

TRIP

                                (Barely a whisper.)

Take that Darwin.  Right up the Tetragammaton hole.

 

BIMMINY

I’m sorry, Trip, I never realized—

 

TRIP

                                (Crying.)

Me too.  Me fucking too.

                                (To the horse pleading, full of tender mercy.)

I’m sorry I ever said those things and published that blog. 

 

BIMMINY

It’s OK . . . people can change.

 

TRIP

Right up the Darwin hole.  Oh, look . . . your fag horse just sprouted gay wings and flew off.  Like a fucking Pegasus.

 

BIMMINY

Punctuated fucking equilibrium.  Beauti-fucking-ful.

 

TRIP

                                (Watches the sky.)

Fucking fly you fucking pillow-biting queer ass friend of Dorothy horse!  You just keep pumping them twink rainbow-spangled wings and soar through them swishy clouds and into the troposphere and, and fag-gone-it . . . fly!

 

BIMMINY

Fucking fly.

 

                                Long beat.

 

TRIP

Well, gotta go circumsize my Jew Mule.

 

                                                                They head off.

Best Ghost Friends

February 21, 2012

JILL is dressed as a ghost (sheet with eye holes).   BRIAN and ALI enter, ALI has a basket of laundry.

 

ALI

Spirit!   We have returned, are you still on this mortal plane?

JILL

Boo!  Yes!  Boo!

ALI

I have done this pile of laundry for you and painted that fence in the yard.  Do you feel your earthly duties are complete and you can move on?

JILL

Boo!  Alas!  Boo!  So many math problems plague me . . . I need this Algabra II homework done, problems 2 through 48, done . . . and remember . . . to show your work! . . . boo!

BRIAN

OK, enough, Jill—

JILL

Silence!  Boo!  I was—

BRIAN pulls the sheet off of JILL.

 

ALI

Oh my god!  Under your spectral garb you’re . . .

BRIAN

She’s not a ghost.

ALI

What?

JILL

No.

ALI

You didn’t drown in old McGiver’s Mill.

JILL

No, and I don’t think old McGiver’s has a mill or is even that old.

ALI

But . . . we’re the Best Ghost Friends Club I’ve been helping you move beyond this earthly veil!  I chopped all that firewood and picked those apples and . . . cleaned up your ectoplasm.

JILL

That was barf, because I was drunk from the liquor you brought me from your dad’s stash.

ALI

But you said that it was spirits to calm your restless spir . . . I chopped so much wood.

BRIAN

And we appreciate that, but we’re kind of sick of this ghost stuff.   I mean I keep having to pretend to feel cold spots and getting ghost molested in the closet.

ALI

So ghosts aren’t touching your dingus?

BRIAN

I wish.

JILL

Plus, my mom caught me with this sheet and gave me this big lecture about how it’s offensive to the Armenians or something.  She kept being like “they had a genocide too, Jill, they had a genocide too.”

ALI

But why?

JILL

I dunno, they were annoying?

BRIAN

Every since your mom won that membership to the Museum of Tolerance she’s been like a total Hitler about tolerance.

ALI

Wouldn’t that be a reverse Hitler?

JILL

No that’s when a guy punches you and then wipes his dick on your upper lip.

BRIAN

I thought that was a Steve Harvey—

JILL

No that’s—

ALI

Enough!  Why did you guys trick me?

BRIAN

Well at first we thought it was funny, because you know cruelty and you kept reading that book about hauntings.  So we were like let’s pretend there’s a ghost.

JILL

And because you smell weird.

ALI

That’s because my mom is all reconstructionist vegan and I can only rub flax seed on my pits because deodorant has rare earth metals that give you tumors.  But it doesn’t work.  It just makes this sort of paste and–

JILL

Look, honesty time.  There is no ghost, but we don’t care.  We’ve grown to enjoy your smell.  And your weird face thing.

ALI

          (Doing weird face thing.)

Weird face thing?

BRIAN

Look, Ali, we started out wanting to do this to hurt you and torment you because you know, growing up and life and wild flowers and hormones.  But here’s the really sick part, we realized we liked you.

JILL

Plus we spent so much time making you cut all that firewood that we ignored our real friends and now you’re our only friend.  So we wanted to tell you the truth, so now when we make you do things it would be for the right reasons.

BRIAN

I guess you could say the real haunting was Stockholm syndrome, because that’s what it was — like with us being held captive by you and your weird smell and your amazing ability to chop wood.

JILL

So much wood.

ALI

I’m sort of confused, but happy?

BRIAN

You should be, Jill and I are pretty great.  So I hope we all—

ALI

Actually, look I only hung around you because I wanted to be around a ghost, because that’s kind of my thing, so if none of you are actual ghosts I think I’m just going to go home.  I mean I have a lot of real ghosts that need my attention.

JILL

Wait you know real ghosts?

ALI

Oh sure and some are famous.

BRIAN

Famous ghosts or famous people who became ghosts?

ALI

Both.

BRIAN

Do they touch dingus-es?

JILL

Can’t we come along?

ALI

They touch everything.  But no.  You guys belong here, by all the wood.  I’ll see you in school or something, I don’t want to leave the Dripping Phantasm waiting.

ALI exits.

 

BRIAN

I thought a dripping phantasm was when a guy—

JILL

Shut up!  God.

JILL tosses the sheet down and storms off.  BRIAN sulks, then picks up the sheet.

 

BRIAN

You’ll touch my dingus, right?

(As Ghost.)

“Noooo.”

(Drops the sheet.)

That really is a lot of . . . what a shitty birthday.

Hebert Hoover The Hands-Off President

February 21, 2012

ANNOUNCER

Dateline!  1931!  America!  Land of the Free Home of the Grave?  Grave News indeed!  The depression, gangland violence – but fear not!  From the sun of hope comes a ray of believing!  Because it’s time now for another thrilling adventure of HERBERT HOOVER – THE HANDS OFF PRESIDENT!

 

HERBERT HOOVER runs out.  He runs in place as patriot music plays.  SENATOR BENSON and WONDER PUP enter.

 

SENATOR

Mr. President!

 

                                    Music cuts out.

 

HOOVER

Don’t interrupt me – President Herbert Hoover — when I’m running to patriot music!  It keeps the spleen regular.

 

WONDER PUP

Bark!

 

HOOVER

Oh I can never stay mad at Senator Benson, the teen boy senator who was accidently elected because of a ballot error.

 

SENATOR

Whoop-dee!  And I just shot marbles and got Dawes’ agee!

 

HOOVER

And of course you, Wonder pup, the man who thinks he’s a crime fighting dog.

 

WONDER PUP

Bark!  Bark!  Growl!

 

HOOVER

Well you know my motto: Don’t help people – or they’ll never learn to help themselves!  Tis the Republican way!

 

HOOVER / WONDER PUP / SENATOR

Republicans!  Republicans!  Hugga-hogga hooga-hagga!  YEAH!

 

                                    They all chest bump.

 

HOOVER

Good, by reciting the secret Republican oath I know none of you were replaced by aliens from another world.  Like in my famous adventure . . . aliens from another world.

 

WONDER PUP

Bark.

 

SENATOR

We got a big problem, Prez, and I don’t mean deciding between taking Cindy or Mindy to the Senatorial Prom!  Because–Wait, I’m receiving a psychic vision—

 

WONDER PUP

Bow-wowzers!

 

HOOVER

No, wonder pup he didn’t say he was receiving a t-bone steak!  You crazy canine!

 

SENATOR

I see it now . . . The Senatorial Prom, there’s punch and streams, and Senator Gorman is wearing a tux and we’re all doing the jitterbug, oh it’s so . . . oh, oh SAD!

 

HOOVER

Sad?  But it sounds like a hopknot of a box social!

 

SENATOR

I’m with Cindy and. . . we’re sitting in the secret make-out compartment in the Supreme Court—

 

HOOVER

That’s where Taft Jr. was conceived!  After much lubricant.

 

SENATOR

I’ve read the plaque!  But I’m just . . . shucks to gonn-it, I’m only gonna get a hand job from that crying dame!

 

HOOVER

There’s nothing worse than a sloppy woman giving a sloppier hand job.

 

SENATOR

                        (Starts normal gets very dark, very evil by the end.)

I wrote that over the door of the white house, until someone caught me and made me erase it, but you can’t erase paint, you can only paint over it, with more paint, lying paint, paint that knows your–I mean, golly!  I have a whiz bang of an adventure for you today President Herbert Hoover!

 

HOOVER

Well shut your fucking mouth and tell me!

 

SENATOR

Telling is for Democrats, we’ll . . . show you . . . Wonder Pup join hands and we’ll transform into a magic bird.

 

WONDER PUP

Woof!

 

SENATOR and WONDER PUP clasp hands and transform into a magical bird.

 

SENATOR BIRD

Hop on my back . . . we fly . . .

 

HOOVER hops on they fly off.  In another area of the stage is an old woman – OLD MARM — with a badly made puppet and an empty chair.

 

OLD MARM

Well father, we in such dire straits, that you gone and went  puppty, and our boy jimmy has turned into a chair.

                        (As Jimmy.)

Oh, mama I don’t mind at least I got my splinters.

                        (Slaps chair.)

Shut yo mouth boy!  Ut-oh here comes the dust bowl.

 

Sounds of wind.  OLD MARM throws away Papa puppet.

 

OLD MARM

Father!  You done blown away in the dust bowl.  If it only it was a dust net and I could catch my dreams.  But.

                        (Slaps chair.)

You don’t sass me, boy!  Oh I can’t stay mad at you.

                        (Slaps chair.)

That’s for not letting me be mad!  And oh what’s–

 

 

SENATOR BIRD

Caw!  Caw!

 

SENATOR BIRD and HOOVER fly in, HOOVER gets off the bird.  The bird transforms back into SENATOR and WONDER PUP.

 

SENATOR

Uncombine!

 

OLD MARM

Wow, things.  Happening!

 

HOOVER

Go on I can handle this!

 

SENATOR

I’m gonna get me a phosphate with extra old timey reference!

 

                        SENATOR runs off.

 

HOOVER

Madame fear not it is I –democratically elected Republican president Herbert Hoover–famous for doing nothing to stop this crippling depression.  Because I believe you have to pull yourself up by your boot straps.  I’m here!

 

                        HOVOER sits.

 

OLD MARM

You’re sitting on my son.

 

HOOVER

I know.

 

OLD MARM

So you’ll help us since our crops all died and then the cows all died and the crops came back but double died and then the dream of crops died and then the water dyed itself blue which made all our chickens die and then the land done run out on us and left us with nothing but dust as infertile as my sister’s nethers – she’s the old maid school teacher up yonder —  I reckon.

 

HOOVER

Your story was as sad as it was incomprehensible.  But reckon nothing, I go around the country wherever I am needed and sternly tell them: “Help yourself.”

 

OLD MARM

But we got—

 

HOOVER

HELP YOURSELF!

 

OLD MARM

 nothing.  How can we help ourselves?

 

HOOVER

Try harder!

 

OLD MARM

But the soil is dead!  Our last bean grew wings and flew up to heaven.

 

HOOVER

You’re not going to get rich with that attitude.  Maybe you need motivation.  I’m going to cut up your son for fire wood.  Wonder Pup burn this chair!

 

WONDER PUP

Bark, woof!

 

                                    WONDER PUP takes the chair and runs off.

 

OLD MARM

Now I got nothing to live for!

 

HOOVER

Exactly!  There on the distance don’t you see George Washington wrestling that cherry tree and kicking a slave?  All in front of a waggling banner of Old Glory herself.  Look here he comes.

 

                                    GEORGE WASHINGTON enters.

 

GEORGE WASHINGTON

I am George Washington!

 

OLD MARM

Oh I love you General George, when I was a young girl on the farm, I spent many an evening dreaming of you taking me away to Mount Vernon where you’d keep me in a small box and feed me rye bread and rub my haunches.

                        (To Hoover.)

I have a strange fetish.

 

GEORGE WASHINGTON

I know, I watched you write in your weird wish book from up in Presidents’ heaven, but now you must fix your situation you must make the land fertile again.

 

OLD MARM

But how?  I got nothing to fertilize this land.

 

GEORGE WASHINGTON

Nothing?  Are you sure?

 

                                    WASHINGTON and HOOVER

 

OLD MARM

You mean me?  Use my flesh to give nutrients?

 

WASHINGTON and HOOVER nod,  help OLD MARM to the ground, she lays down.

 

OLD MARM

I’ve wanted for death often, when father used to mount me smelling of tarragon and he’d always sigh and say “well it’s better than a gunshot I guess.” Or when—

 

HOOVER

Shhh.  Shhh.

 

 

GEORGE WASHINGTON

Let go, don’t fight it.

 

OLD MARM

I’m not.  I’m . . . oh here it goes.  Dead.

 

                        OLD MARM dies.

 

HOOVER

That’s it decompose now, let your body replenish this soil and in time it’ll become a strip mall or an Irish Pub that has nothing authentic or Irish in it, but good deals on pints.  Maybe even a Jiffy Lube or a place that sells ice cream novelties like choco tacos or Bubble O’Bill—

 

GEORGE WASHINGTON

He’s got a bubble gum nose.

 

HOOVER

maybe your calcium atoms will become the silver sheen on scratch-off tickets, or —

 

GEORGE WASHINGTON

She’s gone.

 

HOOVER

Good work.

 

GEORGE WASHINGTON takes off his hat it was SENATOR the whole time.

 

SENATOR

I like this George Washington disguise.  Did I do good, Prez?

 

                                    WONDER PUP lumber in.

 

WONDER DOG

Bark!  Bark!

 

HOOVER

Well you’ve got Wonder Pups vote . . .

 

                                    SENATOR and HOOVER stare at each other, suddenly erotic.

 

HOOVER

Should we . . .

 

SENATOR

So it wouldn’t be . . .

 

HOOVER

Awkward . . .

 

HOOVER and SENATOR close their eyes move in to kiss, but WONDER PUP leaps up and they end up kissing WONDER PUP.  They open there eyes in shock and surprise.

 

HOOVER

Wuh-wuh-wonder pup!

 

SENATOR

What a nickel nubbler!

 

WONDER PUP

                        (Shrugs.  In weird dog voice–)

Ain’t I a stinker.

 

                                    They all laugh then it gets erotic again.

 

HOOVER

Yes . . .

 

SENATOR

Yes . . .

 

                                    They all move in for the orgy to begin.

The 7 Scenes that Create the Life of President Franklin Pierce

January 3, 2011


Scene 1:  The Discovery.

Young FRANKLIN PIERCE enters.  He looks in a hand mirror, he’s quite handsome.  From across the room a bottle of whisky enters.   It’s good, expensive and top shelf.  FRANKLIN PIERCE spies the whiskey, it spies him.  A love song plays as they meet center, and dance.

 

Scene 2: Courtship of a Good Woman.

JANE APPLETON is sitting at a table with FRANKLIN PIERCE.  They are sharing a malted root beverage.

 

JANE

Oh, Franklin, this is the best malted root beverage I’ve ever had.

 

PIERCE

I just like it cause I’m with you . . . Jane Appleton . . . future wife of me, Franklin Pierce . . . of history . . .

 

JANE

Oh, Franklin.

 

Then BLUTO enters, he’s a big burly sailor with a black beard and blacker heart.

 

BLUTO

Plain Jane?  Hardly, what a dish!

 

BLUTO moves between PIERCE and JANE.

 

PIERCE

Hey buddy, don’t musckle in on my lady–

 

BLUTO

Pipe down, pipsqueak.

 

BLUTO bashes PIERCE on the head he falls to the floor.  BLUTO throws JANE over his shoulder.

 

BLUTO

Let’s go somewhere secluded, heh, heh.

 

JANE

Oh help!  Franklin!  Help!

 

BLUTO starts to carry her off.  FRANKLIN reaches into his pocket takes out a bottle of rum.

 

PIERCE

Looks like a job for me personal stash.

 

PIERCE chugs the rum and for some reason gains super strength, he leaps to his feet and runs over and punches BLUTO in the stomach.  BLUTO drops JANE, whom PIERCE catches and daintily places on her feet.  He then savagely beats BLUTO to a pulp; it’s unsure whether he’ll survive.

 

JANE

My hero!

 

JANE embraces PIERCE.  BLUTO lets out a death rattle.

 

 

Scene 3: The Road to the White House!

PIERCE stands next to a tree holding a bottle of wine.  Several other people including the DEBATE MODERATOR and WINFIELD SCOTT stand around watching him.

 

PIERCE

(To the tree.)

You pathetic fool!  You think and you bray like a donkey in a stew pot!  But you mean nothing!  I want change, vote for Pierce!  Your reply, sir?

 

Beat, the tree of course says nothing.

 

PIERCE (cont.)

Cat got your onion.  Onion?  No thank you I’m on a diet.  I win this debate!  You lose.

 

DEBATE MODERATOR

Mr. Pierce . . .

 

PIERCE

(Looking around.)

I think he left.

 

DEBATE MODERATOR

You are Mr. Pierce.

 

PIERCE

I know.  Keep up, fellow.

 

DEBATE MODERATOR

I’m afraid the debate is going on over here, sir.  You have wandered off and started talking to a tree.

 

WINFIELD SCOTT

Yeah!  Debate me!  For I am Winfield Scott!  Old Fuss and Feathers!

 

DEBATE MODERATOR

So if you’re done let-—sir, are you urinating?

 

PIERCE is in fact urinating with no regard to anyone.


PIERCE

I’m just a little out of it, because I have a cold which has unaligned my humors, plus the lights on the video-cameras are bright.

 

DEBATE MODERATOR

Video-cameras have yet to be invented.  There be no reason to your dunderness, but let us finish the debate over here.

 

PIERCE

Yes, yes, in two shakes.

 

DEBATE MODERATOR, WINFIELD SCOTT and exit.

 

PIERCE

(Noticing the tree as if for the first time.)

Don’t tell my wife, but after I win this debate wait here and I’ll show a lady of your charms what she’s good for.  What say ye?

(Pats the tree.)

That-a-girl.  See you in a quarter past!

 

DEBATE MODERATOR

We are waiting on you!

 

PIERCE goes over to DEBATE MODERATOR.

 

PIERCE

OK, gramps, but no hard questions my head didn’t get this pretty by thinking.

(He vomits a little on the Moderator’s shoes.)

Ignore that.

 

PIERCE and the MODERATOR exit.

 

Scene 4: Humble in Victory

PIERCE humps the tree, his pants around his  ankles, his arms out stretched a bottle of bourbon in each.

 

PIERCE

I’m king of the world!

 

 

Scene 5: Pierce’s Son Is Beheaded on the way to the inauguration . . .

PIERCE with his son (who is a bottle of alcohol) stand at some train tracks.

 

PIERCE

My son, we’re going to Washington!  I’m going to be president . . . go play on the tracks!  Nothing bad ever happened on train tracks!

 

PIERCE buts the SON on the tracks a little train comes, runs him over, knocking the top off the bottle spills everywhere!

 

PIERCE

Nooooooooooooooooooooooo!!

 

PIERCE cries then starts drinking his son a little.

 

PIERCE

So tragic!  So . . . deliciously . . . tragic.  Tragic!

 

Scene 6: The Presidency

PIERCE, hung-over at his desk.  He is staring at a spoon.  WILLIAM MARCY his Secretary of State is next to him.

 

MARCY

Mr. President—

 

PIERCE

Shhh.  I’m trying to move that fork . . . with my mind.

 

Beat.

 

PIERCE (cont.)

It moved, did you see it move?

 

MARCY

You do know that that object is a spoon not a fork.

 

PIERCE

(Glares at him.)

Did you see it move?

 

MARCY

If I say yes can we get on to the matters of state?

 

PIERCE

Yes.

 

MARCY

Fine, it moved.

 

PIERCE

Now say that it’s a fork—

 

MARCY

Sir, my father was a flatware-smith to call a fork a spoon would be akin to desecrating his grave, rather—

 

PIERCE starts tearing up the documents on his desk.  He spills ink on some others.

 

PIERCE

Ooops, clumsy me.

 

MARCY

Fine sir, though my father may roll thrice in his grave that object is . . .

(A deep sigh.)

A fork.

 

PIERCE

(Throwing up his hands.)

I’m the greatest!  Ow.

(Clutches his head.)

Ow.  Shouldn’t have moved so fast.  Stupid hangover.  Do you think hangover and hanger steak come from the same root?  Steak.  No.  Greasy—oooh.  Don’t upchuck, Franky, hold it in, recall the vomitious tide . . . remember how you opened Japan to the West . . . that was . . .

 

PIERCE vomits a good deal.

 

PIERCE

(Considers the vomit.)

Is that chipped beef?

 

MARCY

Moving on.  With Congress—

 

PIERCE lets out a large belch

 

PIERCE

Tastes like peaches . . . and day old kittens.

 

MARCY

(Ignoring him.)

Congress passing the Kansas-Nebraska Act, and—-ew, kittens, that is repugnant!

 

PIERCE

What?  Kittens is my maid.

 

MARCY

(Restrains from exploding with rage.)

Fine.  Great.  Anyway the Kansas-Nebraska Act, which you signed into law . . . for some reason.

 

PIERCE

Senator Brooks double-dog dared me.

 

MARCY

Well, because of that double-dogged dare a veritable war has broken out in Kansas.  The Free Soilers are clashing with—

 

PIERCE

Which one is Kansas the one the looks like Andrew Jackson’s loins or the one that looks like a scone?

 

MARCY

It’s the near rectangular one.

 

PIERCE

No.  That’s not right.  Are you thinking of Canada?  That sounds like Kansas.  Canada.  Kansas.  Canada.  Kansas.  Canama.  Ha.  Canama.  Who would live in Canama?

 

MARCY

I assuredly don’t know.

 

PIERCE

Canamaniacs.  SLAM! Ow—

(Grabs head.)

Ow.  Still, I got your goat with that.

 

MARCY

You can keep it.  What we need is a resolution that—

 

PIERCE

(Puts a handkerchief over his eyes.)

Look.  I’m too depressed for that.  My son was beheaded on the way to my inauguration as president.  It’s so terrible.

 

MARCY

It was terrible.  It was also three years ago.  Whenever we try to legislate you bring up your son—

 

PIERCE

(Singing.)

Would you know my name
If I saw you in heaven?
Would you feel the same
If I saw you in heaven?

 

MARCY

Anyway—

 

PIERCE

I just wrote that song, just now.  I am amazing.

(Grabs his head.)

Ow.  Ow.

(Beat.)

Look can’t you just do it and I’ll sign it.

 

MARCY

Do what, Mr. President.

 

PIERCE

Whatever.  Look.  Just make me look good.

 

MARCY

I think that—

 

PIERCE

Beheaded son.

 

MARCY

Fine.

 

Scene 7:  Death Comes at Last

PIERCE in his deathbed.  He thrashes around.

 

PIERCE

I’m dying . . . oooh.  It hurts.

 

A giant, empty bottle of Scotch enters the room in a cape, and somehow holding a scythe.  It comes ominously toward PIERCE.

 

PIERCE

Now I see.  In life I drank of you.  Now in death, you drink me.  But be gentle.  My son was beheaded you know.  So I should go to heaven.  I know I said the South was right in the Civil War but . . . come on: beheaded son. Besides all presidents go to heaven, right?  Right?

 

The bottle drawers closer.  Closer.  It touches PIERCE and begins to fill with liquid.  PIERCE dies.  A white light shines down upon him.

 

END OF PLAY

 

A Day In the Life of the Wolfman

January 3, 2011

Dr. Von German

Today we continue my seventeen part lecture series: MONSTERS, exclamation point, THEY ARE REAL question mark.  Today’s subject is taken from direct field study.  We present part six: A Day in the Life of the Wolfman.  All of this is fact!  Ladies of a weak disposition may want to leave the room now.  We begin at 6:00 AM the Wolman awakes!

 

WOLFMAN gets out of bed.  He yawns, scratches.  Sits at a table.  He clicks on the TV.  Low mumble of a newscast.  He goes and gets a bloody bucket labeled: “CHUM & PARTS”  He gets a spoons and eats the flesh like cereal.

 

DR. VON GERMAN

Notice how he holds the spoon!  Most inhuman!

 

WOLFMAN

Nothing but bad fucking news.  Don’t they know we don’t want to hear this shit?  I got my own problems I don’t need to hear about Iraq or shit they call me a monster it’s the politicians that are the real–Oh there’s that hot weather chick.

 

Wolfman puts his hand down his pants, starts to masturbate.  As he does he makes soft barking noises.  Dr. Von German gets flustered and tries to block the masturbating Wolfman.

 

DR. VON GERMAN

Uh let us move forward–

 

He’s interrupted by an orgasmic howl.

 

DR. VON GERMAN (cont.)

11:34 AM.  The Wolfman has just purchased a medium coffee beverage from a notable coffee vending chain.

 

Wolfman holds a paper coffee cup.  He takes a sip.

 

WOLFMAN

Is this soy milk?  Shit.  I hate–excuse, hey!  Excuse me is this soy milk?  No?  It tastes just like–oh, you’re sure.  Right.  Cause it really tastes . . . OK. Yeah sorry.  Five dollars for a coffee and it tastes—and they call me a monster?  Corporations are the real monsters! Hooowwwwwllllll!!!!!

 

DR. VON GERMAN

Later that day, after a quick lunch at Zabar’s our Wolfman spends a few hours in some trendy Chelsea Galleries.

 

Wolfman looks at paintings.  He looks a little bored.  Dr. Von German wheels in an odd contraption.

 

DR. VON GERMAN

Thanks to my Telepatelephonolistenatron, paten pending, we can hear the bestial thoughts of this blood thirsty monster!  Let me just tune it to Wolfman.

 

Dr. Von German adjusts the knobs.  It sounds like a radio.  He sets the dials.

 

WOLFMAN

. . . this place.  Is that pointillism?  Maybe it’s–what’s that shit Jackson Pollack did?  I wish I paid attention in art history.  Like I’m here for the art . . . check out that piece of ass.  My ruff is going up just thinking about her.  I wonder if the curtains match the drapes.

(Nods toward her.)

Yeah that’s right.  Shit.  I’ve gotta itch.  Damn fleas.

(He scratches like a dog.)

Oooh, that feels good, oooh yeah, ruff, ruff,

 

Wolfman makes contented barking sounds.  Then stops, suddenly self conscious.

 

WOLFMAN (cont.)

Shit, is everyone looking at me?  Shit.  Shit.  Shit.  Oh god, is that my hair on that painting, maybe I should .  . .

 

Wolfman starts to reach to take the hair from the painting, but then stops.

 

WOLFMAN (cont.)

Nah, I don’t want to scratch—how much is this thing worth?

(Leans in to read the price.)

1.2 million!  This is outrageous!  This artist is preying on a public interested only in fashion and taste!  Like a succubus!  You’re all the true monsters contemporary visual artists!  Hooooooowwwwwwwwl!!!!!

 

DR. VON GERMAN

Later our Wolfman goes home to prepare for his date.  Freshly washed from a bath.

 

Wolfman’s home.  He enters in a bathrobe, freshly washed, with a towel around his head.  He picks up the remote.

 

WOLFMAN

Ah, what’s on?  Oooh, man Mary Tyler Moore.  I’ve loved this show since I was a pup.

 

Watches it for a moment.

 

WOLFMAN

Shit if Dracula knew I was watching this, I’d never hear the end of it.  He’d be all like: “Hey Vulfman, I vant to suck your menstrual blood, because you are such a girl, vatching this show!  Blah.  Blah!”  Fucking vampires, they’re so—

(Becomes angry at the TV.)

What!  Lou Grant you gotta let Mary leave early!  She has a date with Tad and—Lou Grant you lumbering old mummy!  You’re the true monster!   Hooooooooowwwwllllll!!!!

 

DR. VON GERMAN

And later while checking e-mail . . .

 

WOLFMAN

Maybe I should help that guy in Nigeria, he seems.–another spam offer for penis enlargements!  They keep coming like a horrible gelatinous blob creature!  Spammers you’re the true monsters!   Hooowwwwwllllll!!!!!

 

DR. VON GERMAN

That’s what he gets for still using netscape.  And now we witness something no other documentaries were ever able to capture.  The mating ritual of the feared and elusive man-wolf.

 

A nice restaurant the Wolfman sits talking to his date.

 

WOLFMAN

No, order whatever you like, I got the funds, worry not.  Fat?  No way, baby, you get any skinnier and you’ll be the invisible woman.  I actually know the invisible man.  Very tragic.  Seriously, he killed himself last Christmas right in Macy’s.   Really sad part was no one noticed until after New Year’s, you know being invisible and all.  Finally they traced this stink to his corpse, and . . . it was a lovely funeral and—you want more wine?  No it’s not a—waiter more wine!

(Sigh.)

So yeah.  You know I never thought I’d do the whole online dating, but J-Date is really a nice set up.  Yeah I’m Jewish.  Oh hey you know how they say some people are all thumbs, but I got ’em beat–

(Holds up his clawed hands.)

All paws.  Get it?  Not paws exactly.  Actually more like hideous claws for ripping flesh.  Ha.  Ha.  What?  We just ordered.  I’m not—look I’m not like.  I said in my profile I was hairy.  It’s not . . . look.  It’s those movies right!  Next you’ll be asking about silver bullets and moonlight transformations!  Those movies they made in the 40’s are complete lies!  Claude Rains should be—those Universal movies are the Birth of a Nation to the Wolfman population.  Hollywood is racist!  It’s like saying all Blacks are watermelon eating–yes, it is the same thing!  No!  Listen!  Hey you’re not fuzz free yourself, you think I didn’t see that mustache!  Yeah I said it!  Fine!  Go ahead!  Leave!  I can–I’m going to stay here and have a nice meal by myself!  You know what its people like you, you’re the real monsters!   Howwwwwllllll!!!!!!

 

Wolfman sighs and sits back at the table.  A pause, then . . .

 

WOLFMAN

Check please.

 

DR. VON GERMAN

The Wolfman stops at a bodega, buys a forty stumbles on home . . .

 

WOLFMAN

(Between chugs.)

Cindy!  Why did you–or was it Sarah!  Sarah!!  Shit look at me, I’m acting like a–you know why!  Cause of–

(looks at the bottle.)

Booze you’re the real monster . . .

(Begins to howl but then stops.)

Awww, fuck it.

 

DR. VON GERMAN

And he stumbles into bed, turns out the light and the world is safe for another day from the Wolf-Man.  Join us next week for part seven: The Bogeyman, colon, Where Is He Now question mark.  Until then, stay spooky!

 

END OF PLAY

All For A Tongue

January 3, 2011

KYLE sits at a table, a few different cups with powders in front of him. He also has a pencil and paper.  REGGIE stands nearby holding a stop watch.

 

REGGIE

And go.

REGGIE clicks on the stopwatch. KYLE quickly goes and tastes the different powders. After a few moments . . .

 

KYLE

Done.

 

REGGIE

Done?

 

KYLE

Click the watch.

 

REGGIE

(Clicks it.)

Fine, but no one has ever completed a pepper profile in—

 

KYLE

They never met Kyle Styloid. Super taster.

 

REGGIE

You super tasters think you’re the shit, but . . .

(Reads over Kyle’s notes.)

Hmm.

 

KYLE

Nailed it. I have the PRC and antifores down to a point thirty. I know, I know, most super tasters can only do a point sixty, but as I said they ain’t me.

 

REGGIE

You’re good, but you’re arrogant.

 

KYLE

I could have lent my tasting talents Flavco or Slurps but I came here to Taste Dome. In 6 months I’ll have raised your flavor profile by a factor of 10. You know what that means? Triple profits for all those food snobs. All thanks to this guy.

(Sticks his tongue out.)

Only 3% of the population can taste things as well as a super tasters and of that 3% there has never been anyone-—

 

REGGIE

I read the Yale studies. But you act like it’s a skill. You were just born lucky with an increased number of fungiform papillae.

 

KYLE

So why don’t you take the pepper test?

(Beat.)

That’s what I thought.

 

REGGIE

You’re a punk! Don’t you realize with great taste buds comes great responsibility?

 

KYLE

You still talking? Either way, stop. I must prepare. I got a hot date with this internet hottie. She’s going to be a total sea lion.

 

REGGIE

Sea lion?

 

KYLE

Wet and balancing some balls on her face. Booya!

 

Scene changes to a downtown bar. KYLE sits at a table. UMAMI, a hot young woman comes over with two drinks. Some dance music plays in the background.

 

KYLE

Ooh, yeah . . . listen my enhanced taste makes me . . . alcohol doesn’t–

 

UMAMI

Oh, yes I know, this isn’t—-just taste it.

 

KYLE

OK. Just a sip . . .

(Takes a sip. Impressed.)

Subtle, but . . . some star anis. Some. Oh, this is nice.

 

UMAMI

So does everything have a unique taste to a super taster?

 

KYLE

Maybe not for your average tongue stud, but me . . . yeah, pretty much . . .

 

UMAMI

What about . . .

 

UMAMI whispers into his ear.

 

KYLE

You are nasty!

 

UMAMI

Finish that drink and I’ll show you–

 

KYLE downs his drink.

 

KYLE

Let’s go . . .

 

 

UMAMI takes KYLE by the hand leads him off. Music comes up louder. Lights out for a moment. The music cross-fades with the sounds of KYLE moaning.

Lights up to reveal KYLE sitting in a chair his head thrown back, covered by a large icepack.

Sitting in a chair nearby is FBI Agent, EDITH LAMINA. She watches him with her arms folded. There’s a small cooler next to her.  KYLE moans again, starts to wake up.

 

KYLE

(Talking strangely.)

Uh zuh—-

 

KYLE bolts upright touches his face. He realizes that his tongue has been cut out.

 

KYLE

Oh muh guh, oh muh guh.

 

LAMINA

Tongue’s gone.

 

KYLE

Huh! Huh uh–

 

LAMINA

Relax. I’m FBI agent Edith Lamina, I’m here to help you. You are the victim of grand theft organ.

 

KYLE

Fuh! Fuh.

 

LAMINA

Easy, don’t panic.

 

KYLE

Duh pahuh, muh tuh is guh!

 

LAMINA

I know your tongue is gone, but hysterics won’t bring it back. You have to trust me.

 

KYLE

Duh uh nu whu Uh um!

 

LAMINA

Of course, you’re Kyle Styloid. The super taster. And as a super taster you should’ve know better than to just follow a strange women home.

 

KYLE

Yuh uh stuhguh wuhmuh.

 

LAMINA

Nothing about me is strange. Now listen I’m only going to explain this once.

 

KYLE

Guh—

 

LAMINA

Shh. You’re tongue was stolen by a cult. The Society of the 5th Sense. They are run by a mysterious woman, Umami. We figure she’s the one who took your tongue. Is this the woman who seduced you last night?

 

LAMINA shows KYLE a photograph.

 

KYLE

Uh! Uh! Tuhsuh huh.

 

LAMINA

Many centuries ago an Incan Emperor had his greatest smiths create a potato of solid gold. The Golden Potato of Pachamama. Encoded in this golden tater was all the knowledge of the world. How the Inca got all the world’s knowledge, well—anyway, the secrets can only be licked out of out the potato. But not just anyone can can taste the secrets of the Inca . . .

 

KYLE

Muh tuh suh nuh muh tuh tuh geh uh puhtuhtuh–

 

LAMINA

Exactly. Only seven people every generation are born who can taste the secrets of the potatoes. The other six all died under mysterious circumstances.

 

KYLE

Wuh uh duh putuhuh?

 

LAMINA

By what some would say is coincidence The Golden Potato of Pachamama is being shown at the City Art Museum’s “Thinkin’ Incan” show on view now until March 8th. You and I have to go to that museum stop her from licking the potato and get back your tongue.

 

KYLE

Huh uh suh huh?

 

LAMINA

We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

(Picks up the cooler.)

And here a gift courtesy of the FBI.

 

LAMINA opens the cooler, KYLE looks inside.

 

KYLE

Uh duh uh . . .

 

LAMINA

Yup, open wide.

 

KYLE opens his mouth, LAMINA takes a tongue out of the cooler and attaches it into Kyle’s mouth.

 

LAMINA (cont.)

Let me just get the temporary clamps. There.

 

KYLE

(Weird voice.)

Hey it works! Wait, what’s with this ridiculous voice?

 

LAMINA

Artificial tongue tech has only progressed so far. You’ll be stuck with that voice for the time being.

 

KYLE

Well this is ridiculous.

 

Scene changes to the museum. UMAMI is on one side and the golden potato is on the other.

 

UMAMI

At last! His tongue is so—the fool could never know what power waggled between his lips. Oh to taste the sculpted secrets and then conquer.

 

LAMINA and KYLE run in.

 

LAMINA

Not so fast.

 

KYLE

Yeah, hands up.

 

LAMINA

Let me.

 

UMAMI

Agent Edith Lamina of the FBI. I was hoping you’d be here to witness my victorious tasting.

 

LAMINA

Yeah well, taste this!

 

LAMINA lunges at UMAMI. UMAMI and LAMINA fight. They struggle, but UMAMI gets the upper hand and licks LAMINA across the face. This zaps her strength for some reason and UMAMI throws her to the ground.

KYLE runs over to LAMINA and cradles her.

 

LAMINA

I’m sorry . . .

 

KYLE

Are you–?

 

LAMINA

Her powers, when she uses it her tongue is a deadly weapon, and now that she has yours—

(Coughs.)

I don’t have much time.

 

KYLE

You’re dying? This is messed up.

 

LAMINA

You have to stop her.

 

KYLE

She has my tongue. My awesome, awesome tongue.

 

LAMINA

It’s not just having your tongue. It’s knowing how to use it.

 

LAMINA dies.

 

KYLE

No . . . no . . .

 

UMAMI

How sad. How pathetic But all too soon none of it will matter.

 

UMAMI moves to the golden potato.

 

KYLE

You’re not Frenching that magic tater on my watch.

 

UMAMI

Fine, I shall taste your death upon my papillae.

 

They battle with their tongues. Using them like weapons.

 

UMAMI (cont.)

I will not lose to an insolent no taster.

 

They continue to battle.

 

UMAMI (cont.)

You’re tiring.

 

KYLE

Hardly, in high school I pleasured the entire girl’s softball team . . . in one night.

 

They battle.

 

KYLE

Feeling licked, yet?

 

UMAMI

No puns!

 

They battle more, KYLE starts to get the upper hand, he flings UMAMI away with his tongue.

 

KYLE

Call me a cat.

 

UMAMI

What?

 

In one quick move KYLE lunges and pulls his tongue out of UMAMI’S mouth, she falls to the ground.

 

KYLE

Cause I got your tongue . . . bitch.

 

UMAMI

Nuh. Buh wuh uh uh duh nuh? Wuh yuh tuhtuh duh puhtuhtuh?

 

KYLE

No. I realize that I took this tongue too frivolously. I know that you and your minions may be bested today but you’ll continue to salivate over the knowledge in that golden potato. I know because the desire to lick the golden potato is . . . there’s too much at risk. This is a heroes tongue and let’s face it, I’m kind of a douche bag.

 

UMAMI

Wuh uh yuh guhuh duh?

 

KYLE drops the tongue to the floor and stomps on it. Stamps it to pieces with his foot.

 

UMAMI (cont.)

nuuuuuh! Yuh fuhuh!

 

KYLE

I may be a fuhuh. But it’s my choice. You and your people have lost. The world or whatever is safe now. You were trying to take over the world, right?

 

UMAMI

Yuh.

 

KYLE

Good.

 

INCAN WARRIOR GHOST appears.

 

ICAN WARRIOR GHOST

You have done well Kyle Styloid.

 

KYLE

You’re the ghost of the Incan Priest who carved the potato.

 

ICAN WARRIOR GHOST

Actually I’m a warrior who was charged to look after the golden potato when—-it’s a pretty long story so yeah I’m the guy who carved it or whatever. Anyway never has anyone given up their taste buds to save the world. You’re a true hero.

 

KYLE

So what are you going to do her?

 

ICAN WARRIOR GHOST

Umami? Drag her into a level of hell where the great Puma Spirit will do nothing but force upon her the worst foods in the creation.

 

UMAMI

Nuuuh! Nuuuuh!

 

ICAN WARRIOR GHOST

And as a reward for your bravery I will restore your voice!

 

INCAN WARRIOR GHOST makes a magical gesture.

 

KYLE

(Irish Brogue.)

Sure in begore, I—

(Beat.)

I think you missed the mark by a wee bit, boy-o.

 

ICAN WARRIOR GHOST

Yeah well you White Men shouldn’t have gone around and slaughtered my people and razed our cities to the ground.

 

UMAMI

Guhuhsuh and cuhluhluhuhuhm—

 

ICAN WARRIOR GHOST

Exaclty. Now off to Hell with you.

 

ICAN WARRIOR GHOST hurls UMAMI off stage.

 

UMAMI

(Exiting.)

Nuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh!

 

INCAN WARRIOR GHOST

What about you Kyle now that you are just an average taster?

 

KYLE

(Irish brogue.)

I figure I’d travel the world solving taste related crimes and—nah, I’m just kidding. Probably hang on the beach, maybe bum around Europe. My contract with Flavor Dome has a nice golden parachute. But first I’d do something no super taste can . . . eat at McDonalds.

 

ICAN WARRIOR GHOST

Godspeed, Kyle Styloid, Godspeed.

 

KYLE

Later.

 

KYLE exits, the INCAN WARRIOR watches him. He nods, and then wipes away a tear.

 

END OF PLAY