Act II, wherein we rejoin Hayden and Hannah. Hayden, for his birthday decided to go skydiving with Hannah, who happens to be a skydiving instructor, conveniently. They’re about 30,000 feet up strapped together.
Hayden: Oof. There it goes. Ouch! The piss is, like, freezing against my leg. Damn it’s cold. I shouldn’t have had that Dew, and – Hey, Ouch, stop headbutting my shoulder.
Two brothers, home after a long season on the road, stand in the backyard of their childhood home in Louisiana tending to a barbeque. Both hold cans of fine Busch Bavarian Beer
Peyton: All I’m saying is, you shouldn’t be nervous. When it’s your time, it’s your time.
Eli: Nervous? I’m not nervous.
P: See, that’s the attitude you have to fight against. You’re gonna do fine.
E: No, really. I’m not nervous. I’m excited.
P: I know what you’re thinking, because everyone is thinking it.
E: What are you talking about?
P: “If Peyton hadn’t been plagued by injuries this year, I wouldn’t even be going to the Superbowl.”
E: When did you get hurt?
P: No, I mean… For example, I blew out my shoulder wrestling a suspected home intruder to the ground three weeks ago, and it turned out to be my favorite aunt.
E: What!? Aunt Mildred? I didn’t hear anything about that.
P: I know that you think it should be me out there next week.
E: I really don’t think that.
P: I know you don’t think you’re as good as me, nobody does and maybe you aren’t, but you just gotta go out there and find your strength. It might not be the same strength that I have, but there’s gotta be something. Focus on the running game!
E: Fuck you.
Ben Poston, age 40, sits in his psychiatrist's office. In his 20s, Poston perfected computer-assisted reporting to the point where the computers weren't just assisting, they were breaking their own stories and demanding bylines. This made him a very rich man but put him out of a job.
PSYCHIATRIST
How's your drinking?
POSTON
Not good.
PSYCHIATRIST
Not good, how?
POSTON
For example, I blew out my shoulder wrestling a suspected home intruder to the ground three weeks ago and it turned out to be my favorite aunt.
PSYCHIATRIST
How's your love life?
POSTON
Next question.
PSYCHIATRIST
Why don't you travel, Ben? Haven't you ever wanted to leave Milwaukee?
POSTON
How can I leave? It's even worse out there --
Poston is interrupted as a large and well-built mechanical man enters the room. He is wearing a shiny metallic fedora with an LED display that scrolls the word "Press."
Poston jumps behind a nearby chair and pulls a concealed M16 rifle from his pants. He aims directly at the intruder and fires.
The shot merely slows the menacing bicentennial man for a moment as he comes at Poston. The shrapnel from the shot, however, has killed the psychiatrist.
POSTON
Why won't you leave us in peace?
MECHANICAL MAN
You made us. Surely you understand that we can't stop until we've killed off the last of the NICAR resistance. You practice an inferior form of journalism. Your data is lacking, your statistics are dated, your transparency is faulty.
Working quickly as the robot advances, Poston constructs a crude defense using only a shoe, a sock, his M16 rifle, and what appears to be some type of shoulder-launched anti-tank weapon, which he again pulls from his pants. He aims and fires at what would be the robot's solar plexus -- if he were a man. The blast is powerful enough to blow a hole clear through to the other side.
POSTON
Now who's transparent, bitch?
The robot falls to the ground, broken. Poston pulls a bottle of Jim Beam from you-know-where, slouches down and starts to drink as the lights slowly fade and The Doors' "Riders on the Storm" begins to play.
A play in ten minutes.
Required phrase: For example, I blew out my shoulder wrestling a suspected home intruder to the ground three weeks ago and it turned out to be my aunt.
Setting: Auditorium. Media ethics seminar. Standing room only. It is cold outside, the room is overheated, the players sleepy, heavy lies the CO2 in the air. The lecture draws to a close, and the questions begin.
Players:
Ruprect- A blowhard. He is the first to thrust his arm into the ether after the Q&A period is announced. He has thought of something to say. Think C. Bently crossed with Jackie B. (she has a Pulitzer, by the way). Talented, no doubt, but a little much for the mortals among us.
Dr. Higgenbothem- Brother to Pell’s aforementioned creation. Expert on media ethics. Under qualified, over paid; the good doctor has never actually done the work of journalism, but has appeared on The Situation Room, or Crossfire, or whatever they call it now. Dr. H. won’t drink water because, “fish fuck in it.”
499 Journalists- Drunks, misogynists, gamblers. They are hung over, they are under paid, they are looking for a teaching gig somewhere. They represent an excess of education and a minimum of stability.
Dr. Higgenbothem:
And, so, we see that when a journalist has competing loyalties, the data reflect, and this is confirmed by the Poynter Institute in both public opinion surveys, and by polling the journalists for whom the question is germane, that conflicts arising within the newsroom, that is to say: within the purview of the field, the purview of the journalistic enterprise... And, maybe we should take a moment to talk about what that means. The journalistic tradition in the country populated by and with our forefath, errr, forbearers, is indeed a rich one. We have at the outset, primarily white men who both read and for whom the calling of bringing truth to the huddling mass was especially winsome. It was, and I dare say, is, a siren song for the righteous among us. It is known, and the archive reflects, the extent to which the least among us, the women, the Indians, the slaves, were perplexed, from the beginning, by the rapacious and incurable curiosity…
(The doctor drones on. The audience passes a flask of Jameson’s. Ruprect has hand aloft for some time. The arm is like a slight cattail moving gently in a breeze. The arm is blithely alive. The sight causes nausea in the journalists. They are losing the faith. A McDonald’s franchise is looking better with each passing moment.)
Ruprect:
EXCUSE ME, Doctor? Doctor? Up here. No, this way. Over here. Woo-hooo, up here. Me, me, me.
Dr. Higgenbothem:
A question? You have a question? Yes. Go ahead.
Ruprect:
As it relates to the field, and what I mean is: as it relates to, ohh I don’t know, someone like me.
(giggles in the gallery)
To what extend does the perceived notion of a lack of independence affect one’s ability to exercise due diligence in the course of one’s duties?
Dr. Higgenbothem:
I’m not sure what you mean. If you mean…
Ruprect:
What I mean is: how does situational awareness affect one’s ability to gauge risk and reward. For example, I blew out my shoulder wrestling a suspected home intruder to the ground three weeks ago and it turned out to be my aunt.
By K Harrington
Phrase: The world's tallest man is sitting in that hatchback.
Scene: DynaGen Labs, San Fernando, CA. Sally and Chester are on a tour.
Tour Guide: Through the window on your left you will see our geneticists separating the DNA from as-yet unassigned stem-cells. The strands are then spliced and reinserted into those same cells. They are then incubated.
Sally: Spliced with what?
TG: That's an excellent question. The possibilities here at DynaGen are literally limitless. Now, if you follow me through this door and down the hall, you'll get a peek at our sorting process.
S to Chester: That wasn't really an answer.
C: Did he say literally limitless?
TG: (Gesturing toward another window). After the incubation period, our geneticists take a small sample of the DNA to see if and how it has mutated. Those with desirable traits are sent on.
S: What happens to the other ones, the non-desirable ones?
TG: That is an excellent question. If you will all follow me through these doors, you will see some of our finished products.
S: (to Chester.) That wasn't really an answer.
C: Did he say products?
TG: To your right, you'll see the world's smallest man is sitting in that teacup. And to your left, you'll see the world's tallest man is sitting in that hatchback.
S: Why a hatchback?
TG: That is an excellent question.
By A. H.
Phrase: The world's tallest man is sitting in that hatchback.
Scene: Widebottom Manor in the wealthy westerns suburbs of Philadelphia's Main Line region.
Cast:
Chris Colgan - gardener.
Pugnacious Widebottom - Former secretary of the navy under President Ronald Reagan.
Lucy Widebottom - layabout.
Narrator - good guy, nice haircut.
Pugnacious Widebottom: Christopher! Christopher!! Mr. Colgan, I can see your feet!
Chris Colgan: (Hastily finishing a Bud tall boy under the bed of his pick up and crawling out to meet his wealthy client) Uhh, yeah, Mr. Widebottom, I was just checking the wheels for stress. I thought I hit -- about a mile back or so -- I thought I hit one of those uh, you know, they're all over the place out here, one of those ahhhhh... pedestrians.
Pugnacious Widebottom: (Mind recoiling in horror) Mr. Colgan, please! You'll upset my niece.
Lucy Widebottom: (Licks lips lasciviously, like an old chick trying just a bit too hard, which she was.)
Chris Colgan: (Member tightening) Uh, well no reason to worry, it must have just been a pile of bullllshittttt in the road or something.
Lucy Widebottom: (To Chris) Remember that time I called you out here because I thought there was an alligator in the garage, but it was just an animal skull?
Narrator: (Aside.) The alligator incident happened the previous morning, about ninish. Both the gardener and Ms. Widebottom were over-the-top drunk. She gave him head afterward.
Chris Colgan: (To Ms. Widebottom) Uhhh, vaguely.
Pugnacious Widebottom: (Frustrated) Mr. Colgan, I requested you out here this afternoon to clean the flower beds outside of the guest house my niece currently resides in. They are in an unbelievable state of disorder. (Pulls, Chris aside by the arm away from Ms. Widebottom.) Quite frankly, I believe the neighborhood youths used it as some sort of 'party platform.' I found an empty can of Budweiser, a pile of vomit and a pair of jockey undershorts.
Chris Colgan: (Feels about his cargo shorts in a failed search for where he thought his underwear should be) Uhhhh, yeah, my guys are on their way over here right now. Uhhh, here they are.
Pugnacious Widebottom: Splendid. (A second pickup pulls up and sitting in the back on a lawn chair is one skinny crack head and a chubby guy with illustrious man boobs. Mr. Widebottom is clearly shocked.) Mr. Colgan that is disgusting. Have your man with the... with the... have him cover up. I am not adverse to freaks. I once saw the tallest man in the world in that hatchback. That hatchback parked right there. I paid $200 to have him attend one of my garden parties. He was a smashing success of a freak, but I will not have man boobery bouncing about my estate! Do you hear?
Chris Colgan: Yeah. Bruce! How many times do I have to tell you? My customers don't wanna see that shit! Put a shirt on!
By Pell
Scene: Jan 22, 2009; White House, first cabinet meeting. Cast: Pres. Ron Paul, VP Mike Gravel, Sec. Education Lee Iococa, Sec State Bill Gates, Sec Homeland Security Steve Jobs. Sec. Defense Paul Allen, Sec HHS Richard Branson, Sec Treasury Donald Trump
Attny General Tucker Carlson, Press Sec Keith Olberman
Paul: The welfare must stop.
All: Agreed!
Paul: Iococa?
Iococa: yes?
Paul: We're letting eBay run the schools. That socialist institution known as the Department of Education ain't getting a free ride anymore. We'll let people bid on their learning.
Olberman: Mr. President, sir, that won't play well, sir. The people, sir, demand, sir, that their children be educated, sir. For free, sir. You aren't a King, sir, you serve the people, sir. (pouts)
Paul: That'd be a good idea. But, let's let the states figure that one out. We didn't even have an income tax until 1913, we were doing fine until then. Jobs?
Jobs: Yessir.
Paul: How we doin with the terrorists?
Jobs: Behold, the iBomb. It's thinner than a human hair, weighs next to nothing, plays mp3s, packs enough explosive power to destroy a major land-mark, and looks great in the anodized aluminum finnish.
Paul: Why are you wearing that black turtleneck? Sec Defense Allen?
Allen: yessir?
Paul: Why is he still wearing that black turtleneck?
Allen: Sir, I've funded a 20 million dollar initiative to figure out how to shrink a human being down to the size of a tampon. We're hopeful that we can explore Secretary Branson's colon; the last bastion of human exploration, we're calling it the Virgin Suppository Explorer. As for Jobs, sir, he's an iHuman. The turtleneck hides his innards. Don't worry, his battery will give out after six months, and isn't covered under warranty.
Paul: Enough. Attny General Carlson? What's your ruling on the torture situation?
Carlson: We've determined that making people wear bowties doesn't constitute torture unless it threatens a person's ability to get laid or be taken seriously. Which it does, but
Paul: Trump? Gates?
Both: yessir?
Paul: we're merging your jobs. the Austrian school of economic theory dictates that the state has no function but to defend the treasury. Buffett is taking over both your jobs.
Trump: what are you saying?
Paul: You're fired.
Trump: I mean, there's no arguing. There is no anything. There is no beating around the bush. "You're fired" is a very strong term.
Gravel: I AM an ELDER statesman! Yooou have me over here like a potted plant.
Paul: what's Gravel saying?
Branson: I'm dyslexic , but I think he needs to be walked. He really hasn't been the same since that tall man defiled him in the hatchback.
By K. Harrington
Place: Outside Ad-LAN-na, Georgia (i.e. The South)
Characters:
NORTHERNER — A boyish man of indeterminate age. Effeminate.
MAN WITH THICK SOUTHERN ACCENT — Mysterious and beguiling character who drives the action of the play.
------------------------------
(We find ourselves near a small body of water. A crudely painted wooden sign labels it as a “fishin’ hole.” Obviously, several of the letters are backwards. NORTHERNER enters, stage left. He is dressed in an Oxford shirt — literally a shirt indicating that he attended or is a fan of the University of Oxford. MAN WITH THICK SOUTHERN ACCENT, a handsome, raven haired gentleman, sits nearby.)
NORTHERNER
Excuse me, sir, could you direct me to the nearest eatery?
MAN WITH THICK SOUTHERN ACCENT
(which cannot be properly recreated in prose)
Eatery? Well, near bout as close to an eatery as we got's bout near as a bar of soap after a day's washin'.
NORTHERNER
Sorry, sir. You seem to be speaking English, but I can't discern your meaning.
MAN WITH THICK SOUTHERN ACCENT
Said it's purt near. You got both oars in the water, son?
NORTHERNER
I'm sorry, will I need a boat? I would prefer to walk if possible.
MAN WITH THICK SOUTHERN ACCENT
I reckon if'n yer a'fixin to git there directly, better follow bout as close as a duck to her mama's butt. But don’t get too close, as my daddy used to say, less’n you want to end up looking like the world's tallest man is sitting in that hatchback.
NORTHERNER
I see. Lead on.
(MAN WITH THICK SOUTHERN ACCENT exits stage right and NORTHERNER follows. Curtain.)
By Michael D.
You guys are damn inspiring. Here's my humble attempt:
*The Scene: The 210 Freeway in Los Angeles. Rush Hour.*
* The scenesters: Hannah, a recent grad driving to her first day on the job,
carpooling with Hayden, her boyfriend
Hannah: I can't believe you're coming with me to work.*
*Hayden: I have to. Otherwise our carbon footprint will just be ridiculous.*
*Hannah: But how does you coming with me to work even help that?*
*Hayden: Because if we carpool, then we cut our carbon footprint in half.*
*Hannah: But you don't even have a job! You're just riding in the car. You
don't even need to go anywhere. How does that count as carpooling?*
*Hayden: Because we're both in the car. That cuts the footprint by half. And
this way I'll be at your work, which is already using electricity for your
job so I won't be creating any more of a footprint there either.*
*Hannah: What the hell are you even going to do when we get there?*
*Hayden: I'm saving the environment. If more people just carpooled and lived
together we'd be able to share our energy usage. We'd cut our footprint in
half.*
*Hannah: So I'm killing the environment by driving to work, but you're
saving it by riding to work with me and doing jack shit all day.*
*Hayden: Right. And I'm not the only one. Check that guy out: the world's
tallest man is sitting in that hatchback. He's seriously scaled down his
footprint.*
*Hannah: I'm barbecuing a hamburger tonight.*
By Brian H.
