Dramatic Tension

AT RISE:

A man with a SUITCASE.

man:
Er, excuse me, but I believe that "man" should have been in all caps there, not "suitcase". I hate to be a bother, but it really does seem as though the suitcase is the main character in the play if you give it that kind of emphasis. And not to judge or anything, but in this kind of play, by this author guy, anything described in caps tends to start speaking, and again, I'd rather not be standing on stage while the audience waits in rapt anticipation for a piece of luggage to give a soliloquy.

Wouldn't that be more interesting? From an audience perspective, of course.

man:
Maybe, but that's not what this play is about. Also, should that stage directions really be quite so.. familiar? It's bound to cause some confusion.

There's no rule against dialogue in the stage directions.

man:
I think there is actually.

Fine....there is a MAN with a SUITCASE.

MAN:
Hey!

...suitcase.

MAN:
Thank you.

A beat.

A slightly longer beat.

An even longer-Okay, what's the problem now?

MAN:
Well, I do have a name, you know.

Really.

MAN:
Of course.

And how is the audience supposed to know that if you're onstage alone?

MAN:
...I don't know.

So it doesn't really matter now, does it?

MAN:
Well yes, it does matter. It's my name. I'm somewhat attached to it.

Well, I suppose the suitcase could say it...

MAN:
No! No suitcases!

Fine. We'll figure it out as we go along.

STUART stands on stage with a SUIT... excuse me, suitcase.

STUART:
My name's not Stuart.

It is now.

STUAAT:
I really hate to be a bother, but-

Can we just get on with it? This play was supposed to be over with five minutes ago.

STUART:
Fine.
(mumbled)
But my name's not Stuart.

Acknowledged. Not STUART stand with a suitcase, all in lower-case letters.

STUART:
What a nice day for a trip.

He farts.

STUART:
No I didn't!

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Alternative Meaning

AT RISE:

A well. A GENTLEMAN enters. He strolls up to the well and peers in.

GENTLEMAN:
I'll be! This well appears to have run somewhat dry! Imagine that.

He walks on, whistling a merry tune. He is then hit by a piano. Or an elephant. Something suitably big.

A blue whale?

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Man of the World

AT RISE:

An INTERNATIONAL JEWEL THIEF holds a bulging sack of lot.

INTERNATIONAL JEWEL THIEF:
Hah! Another in a series of sucessful heists! Heists on an international scale!

A LACKEY enters.

LACKEY:
Now does you status as "international" imply that you've conducted capers that spanned multiple countries at once in a convoluted web of mystery and deception, resulting in a global scale payoff?

INTERNATIONAL JEWEL THIEF:
No! It just means that I occasionally summer in Quebec.

LACKEY:
So, more of a jewel thief with a passport?

INTERNATIONAL JEWEL THIEF:
More or less, yeah.

LACKEY:
Ah.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

For the Rest of Us: Special Internet Edition

(Note: This was originally performed as part of the Bard Household's Festivus 2k8 Celebration)

AT RISE:

Darkness, everywhere darkness. A single spotlight slowly fades into being, illuminating a wobbly-looking aluminum pole, barely a foot high, held up by a cheap wooden base. As the spot reaches full brightness, the audience is struck by a powerful wave of anti-climax.

A tremendous man, dressed as a bear, rushes onstage, as the lights explode over the audience, showering them with luminescence.

BEAR MAN:
FESTIVUS!

Explosions surround the Bear Man. He roars to the heavens as he basks in the destruction he has caused. It’s very exciting!

BEAR MAN:
The year is 1998. The place: the Bard Household. The occasion? The first annual celebration of the Seinfeldian holiday of Festivus, meant to bring balance to the crass commercialism of the more traditional solstice festivals. But that is not what brought that first rag-tag group together that fateful 23rd of December. No. They… were just huge nerds.

Thunder rolls across the sky.

BEAR MAN:
The guest list!

Lightning strikes!

BEAR MAN:
The Bards! David! Mike! Jono!

DAVE, MIKE and JONO appear.

BEAR MAN:
Each referred to by the simple moniker of “Bard”, it was these three that created the legend that built the legend that would later bring party subs! Also present: The Brothers Staufenberg! Mark and Craig!

MARK and CRAIG enter to a very NBA Finals-style fanfare and laser light show.

BEAR MAN:
Russell Weiss!

RUSS fails to appear.

BEAR MAN:
Played by a robot!

An AWESOME ROBOT appears! He’s really cool, guys. Seriously.

RUSS/ROBOT:
Beep beep.

BEAR MAN:
Also present… some other guys? Possibly with names like Mike, and Tom!

A wagon filled with teddy bears is wheeled onstage.

BEAR MAN:
All our favorite traditions began on that simple day. The airing of grievances!

A table appears before the aluminum pole. Everyone sits around it.

MIKE:
Dave.

DAVE:
Mike?

MIKE:
Don’t call me Mini-Bard.

DAVE:
But you’re mini!

MARK:
Craig?

CRAIG:
Mark?

MARK:
We share a bunk bed. This has to stop.

JONO:
Everyone?

EVERYONE:
Jono?

JONO:
I hate you.

RUSS/ROBOT:
Beep.

EVERYONE:
Russ?

RUSS/ROBOT:
Boop.

BEAR MAN:
Food was had!

The table disappears. Everyone produces and eats a single chip.

JONO:
I wish we had a party sub.

BEAR MAN:
And finally, the legendary first Feats of Strength!

The stage becomes an unfurnished basement. Mats are laid about.

BEAR MAN:
The battles were mighty and legendary!

Everyone just generally starts beating the crap out of each other.

BEAR MAN:
But none so legendary as the epic duel between Mike and Dave.

Mike and Dave slowly circle each other as experimental Phillip Glass music plays. The following dialogue is spoken as they do elaborate, slow motion fight choreography, Mike eventually gaining the upper hand.

MIKE:
Remember how I asked you to stop calling me Mini-Bard?

DAVE:
I seem to recall something along those lines being said at some point in the evening, yes.

MIKE:
Well, I’m not sure I made it clear, but I’ve been funneling all of my burgeoning adolescent rage into that single diminutive nickname, rendering me slowly, inexorably, to a murderous rage. A rage which I am now demonstrating. Like so.

He sits on Dave’s back, pinning him to the ground.

DAVE:
Due to my stature as the eldest, I shall refuse to give ground, even in the face of ignominious and embarrassing defeat. This uncomfortable situation shall continue for at least ten more minutes!

EVERYONE ELSE:
Huzzah!

They look uncomfortable.

BEAR MAN:
But finally, Mike, with manly tears welling in his bloodshot, rage-blinded eyes, fled the scene, a winner in fact, if not in spirit.

Mike runs away.

BEAR MAN:
And that seemed to be that. Until….

The stage shakes in time to the footsteps of some mad Titan as the cast cowers from an unseen foe. The sound of a door crashing open, and A. SCOTT BARD appears, more mountain than man. A Colossus in blue jeans. He wields a mighty carpet as a Norse god would a mythical hammer. He speaks in a voice that could demolish the moon with a hoarse whisper.

A. SCOTT:
David, did you make your brother cry?

DAVE
Y-yes?

A. Scott sighs the sigh of kings.

A. SCOTT:
Way to go. Now I am forced to SMITE THEE AS ONE WOULD A TROUBLESOME FLY!

The carpet is hurled with unerring accuracy through the heart of young Dave, impaling him cleanly and hurling him toward the ground, as the lamentations of his fellows quietly begin.

A SCOTT:
DO NOT WEEP FOR HIM. AS HE IS OF MY OWN BLOOD, I COULD NOT STAND TO REMOVE HIM FROM THIS WORLD! HOWEVER, HE SHALL ETERNALLY BEAR THE SCAR OF THIS DAY. A CARPET SHAPED SCAR, CLEAN THROUGH HIS FOUL HEART!

He laughs, and the world becomes a little colder.

A SCOTT:
Now could you bring that carpet to the garage like I asked you to three hours ago?

The footsteps of A. Scott once more wreak havoc upon the eardrums of the audience as he exits, closing the door behind him with a mighty slam!

BEAR MAN:
And yeah, that’s pretty much how it went down. It waxed and waned over the years, diluted with time from a once glorious and bloody festival of combat to a pretty laid back party with Jordan Almonds, and cheese platters. But remember well next time you dig into the traditional party sub… it was brought forth into this house by the same hands that did nearly end the life of yonder host! And if you should cross him, or eat more than your fill, you shall learn a lesson ten years in the making!

Maniacal laughter all around! Mwahaha!

BEAR MAN:
HAPPY FESTIVUS, EVERYONE!

The cast gathers on stage, and a wacky dance begins! Everyone has a great time! Yah!

RUSS/ROBOT:
Beep boop.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Oroburos

AT RISE:

A blog. Yes, through the magic of modern digital media a blog itself appears on the stage! Wow! And weirdly enough, the text of the blog is the text of these stage directions! Which makes the stage directions dialogue as well, if you think about it. Where do the stage directions end and the story begin? Or are they one and the same!?! Something to ponder, eh audience? And ponder they shall! All the way to the Pulitzer!

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Zoot!

AT RISE:

Pudding! Cookies! Treats galore! All sort of present-y crap, in various states of undress, litters the stage. Children fling themselves about with reckless abandon! Dinosaurs are involved, in a support capacity.

After a few moments of revelry, the audience begins to wonder why they spent the time and money to go see a play of people enjoying their holidays, when they could have simply been at home enjoying them properly! But this was the concept behind the play, so the playwright feels a great deal of satisfaction and happiness! Also, money! Huzzah!

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

YES!

AT RISE:

Two guys in lab coats.

GUY 1:
You know what's awesome?

GUY 2:
What?

GUY 1:
Workin' on Christmas Eve.

GUY 2:
(lackluster)
Hell yeah.

Icy silence.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Battle of Wills

AT RISE:

PHIL and CHRIS relax in comfortble chairs.

PHIL:
What time is it?

CHRIS:
Dunno.

Phil grunts.

CHRIS:
Gruntin' ain't gonna change the facts, Phil.

PHIL:
The facts being your inability to check the time?

CHRIS:
You are equally culpable in this chronological blunder, my friend.

PHIL:
Not so. For I am the one who asked. Thus I set events in motion to discover the time, which means that I have been pro-active and thus "put forth an effort". Whereas you have simply resisted any sort of positive action or forward motion of any kind.

CHRIS:
But you have a watch.

PHIL:
Oh yeah.

He checks the time on his wristwatch.

PHIL:
Oh.

CHRIS:
What time is it?

PHIL:
I'm done playing your games.

A tense pause.

CHRIS:
I need a hug.

PHIL:
I know what you mean.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Experimental

AT RISE:

Nuttin'. After a few seconds, a JANITOR enters, pushing a broom.

JANITOR:
Hey.

AUDIENCE:
Hello!

JANITOR:
Would you like to hear a freestyle rap? It's about Greek mythology.

AUDIENCE:
No thanks! We're good!

The Janitor shrugs.

JANITOR:
Your loss. By the way, the play doesn't end for another three hours.

AUDIENCE:
We can live with that!

JANITOR:
Cool.

He exits.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Powder

AT RISE:

SNOW! Snow every-goddamn-where! Whiteout conditions sweep the theatre, audiences are blown about by gake force winds, and everywhere, everywhere, everywhere snow! AN INDISTINCT BLOB, MOST LIKELY A HUMAN enters.

IBMLAH:
Holy shit, that's a lot of snow!

The IBMLAH is quickly covered over by pure, white, powdered cocaine. And by cocaine, I mean SNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!

IBMLAH:
And tomorrow? SLUSH!

WHITEOUT. END PLAY.

Sitcom

AT RISE:

A MAN and a WOMAN. They read magazines.

MAN:
Did you know that manatees are also known as sea cows?

WOMAN:
No. And I choose to take that as an insult.

MAN:
Your logic is flawed.

WOMAN:
Nonethless, it can still be defined loosely as logic, and thus I assert my victory in this small, petty arguement.

MAN:
I suppose I shall have to spend the next week making this up to you.

WOMAN:
Hopefully there is a lesson here for us all.

BOTH:
Laugh track.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Deadlines

AT RISE:

A YOUNG MAN runs back and forth across the stage.

YOUNG MAN:
PANNNNNNNIIIIIC! THERE'S NO TIME! NO TIME!

He stops for a second, scribbles some doggerel on a scrap of paper, before disgustedly throwing it away.

YOUNG MAN:
No good! No time! YARRGH! I SUCK!

He resumes runnig in circles.

NARRATOR:
And he lived happily ever after.

Job Hunt

AT RISE:

A YOUNG MAN runs head-first into a wall. He falls backward with an appropriately unsettling thump.

After a moment, he stands back up, wipes a thin trickle of blood from his forehead and gets in position to do it again.

YOUNG MAN:
The existential angst of my generation must be expressed in a pointless and violent display!
(beat)
And I don't wanna join the army!

He runs head-first into the wall again.

YOUNG MAN:
Or maybe I just need pancakes.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Textbook

AT RISE:

A MAN.

MAN:
Traditional dramatic structure would have me come out here, introduce myself in a way that the audience would not find too jarring (unless jarring interaction with the audience is the point), introduce the conflict or conflicts, and then go about resolving those conflicts, or not. Though it should be noted choosing not to resolve a conflict is in itself a method of resolving a conflict.

A DUDE enters.

DUDE:
And yeah, in a kind of traditional meta-textual sort of thing, there would be some kind of public acknowledgement of the tenants of the dramatic form which the audience was reading, thus making it, in away, a formula in and of itself.

A LADY enters.

LADY:
And then of course there's all this meta-meta crap, which talks about the meta-ness of being meta in a very non-meta way.

A WOMAN enters.

WOMAN:
And of course there are examples of dramatic writing which make no sense at all. This usually from a complete lack of storytelling, rather than an example of tortured, anti-establishment genius, as many writers would have you think.

MAN:
Because, see, you need structure to allow the audience to follow along.

DUDE:
And yet, being aware of the structure itself is an excellent way to both comment on it, and try something new.

LADY:
Basically, you need to know the basics to break them.

WOMAN:
And even when breaking them, you still have to follow them in some sense. or basically, the whole thing goes to shit.

EVERYONE:
GOT THAT, THEATRICAL COMMUNITY?!??!? MAKE SOME DAMN SENSE NEXT TIME!

The AUTHOR enters.

AUTHOR:
And now, a joke about a duck.

LADY:
Where's my duck?

MAN:
You don't have one!

Icy silence.

DUDE:
That wasn't a joke.

WOMAN:
Was that meta?

AUTHOR:
Yes?
(beat)
Snickers for everyone!

Snickers bars rain from the sky! What a good play!

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Medical

AT RISE:

FRANK and MERV sit on a bench.

FRANK:
Hey, Merv.

MERV:
Yes, Frank?

FRANK:
When you were younger, did you ever think that song "No Scrubs" by TLC was about the band's desire to avoid dating doctors?

MERV:
No.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Parcel Post

AT RISE:

A FedEx package pickup depository. Sterile and white, with funky purple highlights. STEVE stands behind the counter, efficient and neat.

The sound of a sliding glass door, and MARK crawls onstage, wearing a tattered white lab coat, covered in filth.

STEVE:
Hi, welcome to FedEx. How can I help you?

Using the counter, Mark manages to stand. His legs, however, remain unsteady.

MARK:
Are you aware of how difficult it is to find this place?

STEVE:
Customers do occasionally comment on our location, yes.

MARK:
Occasionally comment? You're in the middle of bleeding nowhere! I had to hop a train to get within two miles of this place!

STEVE:
Well, we are in New York City, sir. The subway is a fairly common-

MARK:
I don't mean the subway. I mean a freight train. I had to fight a hobo.

STEVE:
There are easier ways to get here.

MARK:
Not according to your security guard at the gate. The gate FIVE MILES west of here. He even gave me a stick beat off the coyotes. Have I mentioned the coyotes?

STEVE:
No, you haven't.

MARK:
Oh.
(beat)
There are coyotes.

STEVE:
And you beat them off with a stick?

MARK:
Oh no. The hobos took my stick. I had to distract them with leather from my shoes.

STEVE:
Fascinating. Is there anything I can help you with today?

MARK:
...I'm here to pick up a package.

STEVE:
You wouldn't prefer that we deliver it to your home?

MARK:
I would actually. Unfortunately, your delivery man did not seem to realize the technology behind a door knocker, and left without actually delivering me the package.

STEVE:
I'm sorry to hear that. Do you have your package slip?

Mark checks his pockets frantically.

MARK:
...I must have lost it back at the quicksand.

A trombone makes a sad "mwomp, mwomp" noise.

STEVE:
Dem's the breaks, kiddo!

MARK:
Well, that's the last time I go to the Bronx!

Freeze Frame!

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Mystery

AT RISE:

DAN eats a pear.

CECIL enters, eating a kumquat.

MARNY enters, eating an orange.

PHIL and DON (twins) enter, sharing a pineapple.

All five gather stage center and appraise each other.

DAN:
So, this is how it ends?

MARNY:
We all knew this was coming.

CECIL:
I just hoped it would be a little longer.

PHIL:
Let's not be so sentimental. We have a job to do.

DON:
He's right.

DAN:
I know. We all know. That doesn't make it any easier.

Cecil sighs.

CECIL:
I guess I'll start.

She throws he kumquat away and sits down. The others follow suit.

CECIL:
.... huh.

DAN:
What?

CECIL:
I've forgotten how this play ends.

PHIL:
What do you mean?

CECIL:
I mean I forgot the punchline.

MARNY:
Uh oh.

DAN:
How could you forget the punchline? It's the whole freakin' point!

CECIL:
I'm sorry! But, I mean, seriously? It's not liek there's some kind of logical progession in storytelling or anything.

DON:
I guess not.

PHIL:
But I mean, this all had to be leading up to something, right?

DAN:
Of course.

CECIL:
Really? 'Cause all I've seen is a bunch of people eating fruit and being cryptic. Whatever it was we were supposed to do or say would only be funny if it was completely random.

MARNY:
Logically.

CECIL:
So it could be anything!

DON:
Maybe this is the punchline?

DAN:
That's retarded.

CECIL:
Yeah, what the hell kind of ending would this be?

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Man vs. Wild

AT RISE:

A MAN wrestles a polar bear! And the polar bear is wearing a fedora! They grapple, manly grunts abound, and the audience is filled with the visceral thrill of combat at its most pure! Dodging a swipe of the polar bear's massive paw, the man duckas behind the bear, and gets it in a sleeper hold. The bear wriggles wildly for a moment, but to no avail! Within second he is out like a light.

The Man dusts himself off, and sighs with relief before sinking to his knees, exhausted. A WOMAN enters.

WOMAN:
Alright, fine. You win. I'll make meatloaf tonight.

The Man pumps his fist in exhaisted triumph!

WOMAN:
Now take out the garbage.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

100th play Sale-ebration!

AT RISE:

The AUTHOR reclines in a leather chair, holding a glass of cognac.

AUTHOR:
Greetings interweb! It's time once again for me to celebrate myself. How glorious! Anyway, this here "mark"s the one hundredth play that I've churned out on 100(give or take) consecutive (mostly) days!

A PEASANT strolls in.

PEASANT:
Gee golly gosh, Mr. Author! How much longer do you think you'll be able to keep this up?

AUTHOR:
Nigh infinitely, my little friend! I mean, how hard is it to recycle plotlines, jokes and timing gags when yon audience's expectations are set so incredibly low by its sheer punctuality?

PEASANT:
I guess I never thought-

AUTHOR:
Shut up!

He laughs jovially!

AUTHOR:
In any case, I thought I'd take this opportunity to share the immense pleasure of being me, rather than bore you with some sort of "greatest hits" style phantasmagoria of previous content wrapped in the bow of nostalgia. So I opened it up to you, dear readers! And now, it is my pleasure to present the fan-created submissions to the 350th Annual Staufenberg Short Play Festival, in no particular order! Briefly noted, if the play didn't come with a title, I shall provide one myself! Enjoy! I know I did!

He sips the cognac, makes a sour face, then drinks from a nearby box of Hi-C "Ecto-Cooler"

BLACKOUT. BEGIN PLAYS...?
----------------------------

MOUSTACHE
by Ty Hosler

AT RISE:

A YOUNG MAN with a moustache faces the audience.

YOUNG MAN: I wanted this to be a pencil moustache. That was what I had in mind. I wanted to grow it full, and just shave the top half of it. And then slick back my hair. Use some hair gel. I thought about sideburns, or what would happen if I just let the hair on the back of my neck grow. But now I'm gonna grow a beard. And I'm gonna start wearin' a straw hat. A big straw hat. And if anyone asks why, I'm gonna tell 'em it's because I got it made in the shade, and I'll tip my cap.

YOUNG MAN pauses while facing the audience.

YOUNG MAN: But I gotta make this a pencil moustache first. It's gotta look slick, suave. I gotta do that before I do the rest of that stuff. And I gotta learn how to sing. Old WWII type songs. Crooner songs. Then I'll slick back my hair and sing crooner songs with my pencil moustache.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.
-----------------------------------

Well... Pity Much
by Nick Reginio
AT RISE:

The stage is dark. The audience can see the exit lights reflected in two small eye-shaped shapes that are reflecting the exit lights as they move slowly across the stage from stage left to slightly right of stage left. The lights come up, and that cat gets the FUCK out of there! Cat freaked the fuck out seeing all those people at once.

ACT II

The lights come up on an empty stage. An hour later, the cat walks on, but it's cool because there's nobody in the audience. The cat sits down, licks itself, and farts musically.

ACT V

Three weeks go by. Literally. As in, like, people in the audience have been cooking Ramen noodles on a hot plate and waking up with cricks in their necks after sleeping in the aisles for literally 21 days before the cat finally decides to wander back onstage. There are people in the audience still, but it's cool this time because they're really quiet and there's Fancy Feast in a crystal dish in the center of the stage. The cat finishes eating and begins to lick himself again. First he licks high up on his cat arms and then he licks his pretty paws. His pitty paws. Mr. Pittipaws gives himself a pedicure. A pedicute! Prince Pittipaws of Pipley-Upon-Tyne has the pittiest paw-paws. Peedly-peedly-peedly-pooo! Who's da pitty? You don't even care what I think. 'Cause you're so pretty. Pretty kitty.

Prince Pittipaws has feline AIDS

BLACKOUT. END PLAY

----------------------------------------

Let's Get Dangerous!
by Mike Campbell
AT RISE:

ETHAN is hanging over a building ledge with LAVERNE grasping his arm, keeping him from plummeting to his death. In reality, the drop is superficial – a couple of feet perhaps. Rain and lightning.

ETHAN:
Now I suppose I tell you that "I promised Rebecca she'd see her little boy again!"

LAVERNE:
And then I tell you that "you were never a good liar, E."

ETHAN:
Then I'm supposed to say "neither were you."

LAVERNE:
Ok, great. Now that it's obvious to both of us, and everyone else, that you're going to plummet to your death, I'm going to let you go. My arms are starting to hurt.

ETHAN:
Sure. Honestly, if I see any more of your cleavage, I'm required by law to motorboat you.

LAVERNE:
I was hoping you would do that anyway
(pulling him up)
Get your sweet ass up here.

ETHAN:
(On level ground with LAVERNE –speaking to the audience)
Oh sweet bazooms!

ETHAN buries his face in LAVERNE'S "bazooms" making obnoxious motorboat sounds as she alternates between laughing hysterically and moaning. A whistle choir recording of The Lion Sleeps Tonight rises, playing throughout the house.

FADE TO BLACK. END PLAY.

---------------------------------------------
Mimesis
by David R. Bard

AT RISE:

Four MIMES, dressed in black and white from head to toe. One is leaning daintily on a tattered black umbrella (invisible). Two more are in a seated position, bouncing a rubber ball (also invisible) back and forth. The fourth is pacing about and glowering irritably.

One 1500 POUND SACK OF FLOUR hangs precariously above them, suspended by a single rope or cable.

GEOFF enters after a few beats, holding four potted plants in his arms. He catches sight of the MIMES and stops.

GEOFF:
Oh, for crying out loud!

GEOFF sets each of the four potted plants down carefully, one after the other, in a neat row in front of him. The MIMES continue to go about their business.

GEOFF:
This is the thanks I get.

GEOFF very intentionally kicks over one of the potted plants, knocking a clod of dirt out onto the stage.

LEMON cartwheels onstage. She is spritely.

LEMON:
Geoff!

GEOFF:
Huh?

LEMON:
It's time for dinner!

GEOFF:
Who… who are you?

A beat.

LEMON:
OK, good point!

LEMON cartwheels offstage.

The lights begin a 90-second slow fade to black. GEOFF eyes the MIMES.

GEOFF:
I guess I am kind of hungry.

The two ball-bouncing MIMES stand up. One of them takes the ball (invisible) and bounces it, full speed, towards GEOFF.

GEOFF:
Wait---!!!

GEOFF is hit full-force by the ball (invisible). He collapses onto the stage, plainly dead. The slow fade continues until blackout.

END PLAY.

---------------------
Hat Tip
by Allyson Schettino

AT RISE:

A YOUNG LADY sits on a cluttered couch with a laptop. You can tell she is a lady because there is a pot of tea next to her. The stage around is strewn with things that give a general impression of being unfinished- half wrapped gifts, a vacuum on its side, garbage bags stacked in the background, various dirty plates, cups and bowls. Two CATS are taking turns jumping on her keyboard, eliciting protesting beeps and pings from the laptop. The YOUNG LADY is paying them no mind, her eyes darting from the stack of gifts to the laptop, a rather crazed look in her eyes. In the background poorly arranged Christmas lights blink in a manic manner.

YOUNG LADY:
Christ! He’s done one of these every day for the last one hundred days?!?

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.
-------------------------

Thanks again for all the terrific submissions!

-The Management

The Little Things

AT RISE:

A MAN sits on a Jet-ski.

MAN:
This gives me a sense of power and control over my life that I previously found lacking. With this ferocious aquatic beast dry-docked in my living room, I feel greater freedom than I ever thought possible. From this seat of power, I shall eat my nachos.

He pretends to rev the engines, and sits back, satisfied.

MAN:
I'm sorry, my friend, but you shall never taste the water.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Sketchy

AT RISE:

Two GUYS.

GUY 1:
Okay, here. I'll pretend to ride some kind of wacky animal, and then you pretend to ride one that matches or tops the wacky animal quotient of my imaginary wacky animal. Got it?

GUY 2:
Got it!

GUY 1:
Okay! Here I go!

He thinks for a second, then slowly pretends to mount an invisible beastie.

GUY 2:
Okay! My turn!

He thinks for two seconds, then pretends to mount an invisible, slightly larger beastie.

GUY 1:
Wow!

GUY 2:
I know!

BOTH GUYS:
We're both winners!

They gallop about.

AUDIENCE MEMBER:
But what they hell are they suppose to be riding?

GUY 1:
I said, we're both winners, guy.

GUY 2:
Yeah, what's your problem?

AUDIENCE MEMBER:
But-

GUY 1:
Blackout!

GUY 2:
End play!

...What they said.

Greetings Interweb

So, the 350th Annual Mark Staufenberg Short Play Festival is rapidly approaching it's 100th... well, short play. So, as a kind of mini-celebration I'm opening up the floor in a manner of speaking. In addition to my own personal, sexy and exciting play, I'd like to see what you fine internet people have to offer. So, if you want to be a part of the "magic", email mstaufen@gmail.com with a short play of your own, to be posted alongside play 100. Not too many guidlines, just keep it short, keep it funny, and don't be afraid to add in a little bit o' metatext. All submissions will be due Thursday at midnight, so get typing!

Thanks,
The Management

Har Har

AT RISE:

DESTRUCTION! Explosions abound as a ragtag group of charming and scrappy young professionals scaramble about, dodging debris and the occasional jet of flame as the world around them crumbles to dust! MIKE, the leader, turns to the others.

MIKE:
So maybe gathering a group of ironic and underemployed young people, with no common base of knowledge orhistory together, other than that freestyle punk-ska-rap contest we all entered, to start up a bed and breakfast in the English countryside was a bad idea after all!

CAROL, a sultry blonde, speaks.

CAROL:
I wish you'd told me that before I got this manicure!

Cue laugh track, which puzzles the audience, or at least those members of the audience who recall that live theatre rarely has a laugh track. Five people in the audience see the laugh track as a post-modern commentary on the bleeding together of various forms of culture in this modern, interconnected day and age. They have a great time.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Abrupt

AT RISE:

MIDNIGHT MCBRIDE saunters on stage. He is everything you imagine him to be by virtue of his name alone. How does the author view this man among men? What physical characteristics does his possess? A mystery indeed! One everyone must look inside themselves to discover, for to give away any information about Midnight McBride, would be to do a great disservice to the joy of naming.

MCBRIDE:
I am Midnight McBride.

A WOMAN runs onstage, swoons, then rolls back offstage.

MCBRIDE:
Thank you.

The audience erupts in applause. McBride takes a deep bow, and then backflips off the stage.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Some People

AT RISE:

A CONDOR! Yes, a majestic condor! Flown in specially from that place! You know, that place? With the condors? It's a great place, I highly suggest you visit sometime. What do you mean, "more specific"? It's the place with the condors. And the other stuff. Y'know? ...Nature? Look if you're not going along with this, then I'm not sure I even want to tell you about the condor. You're right, it is your loss. Your loss indeed! Fine, that settles it, I will never mention condors again. Way to go, guy you just ruined the whole intenet. And the world of theatre. In fact, if anyone ever asks why theatre is no longer culturally relevant compared to other forms of mass-market shared media experiences? I'm telling them it was you. I hope you're happy.

The Condor flies away, too good for all this.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Set Design

AT RISE:

An ESKIMO buys a bag of ice.

ESKIMO:
See, the part you can't get from the modern desire of stagecraft to impart less of a establishment of a specific world location than an emotional state with scenery and a general sort of mise en scene means that this seems like an odd character choice for me. In reality I live in Southern California, and wear this heavy parka not as protection from the frigis north, but rather to hide my nudity before I flash elderly women.

He smiles and walks off with the ice.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Quack

AT RISE:

A young MAN wears a duck on his head.

MAN:
Hello.

A young WOMAN enters holding a duck billed playtpus.

WOMAN:
Hi there.

They appraise each other for a moment.

MAN:
I appreciate the bill on that small mammal.

WOMAN:
Similarly I appreciate the bill on your average-sized fowl.

MAN:
Perhpas we can come to some sort of mutually beneficial arrangement?

WOMAN:
Such as?

MAN:
Brunch.

WOMAN:
I can do brunch.

They shake hands. There is a touch of lingering.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Building Blocks

AT RISE:

SCOTT paces quickly in a tight circle.

SCOTT:
The problem with pursuing creative pursuits is the unavoidable fact that sometimes you just dry up. And dry up is really the best term for it, because suddenly it feels like your brain has run out of water, if you can imagine such a thing. Most of the time it's more like dammed up, really, because your brain cansee the water, but just can't get to it thanks to some kind of re-enfoced conceret bunker type deal. The success of various creative endeavors, I fell, has to do with the quality of one's psychic jackhammer.

He stops, and sits.

SCOTT:
Mine, unfortunately, is made of Legos.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Garfield

AT RISE:

A DUDE and a GUY.

DUDE:
I hate Mondays.

GUY:
It's Tuesday.

DUDE:
Good.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Too Easy

AT RISE:

A Kumquat. The AUTHOR enters.

AUTHOR:
Yes, yes. I know. Kumquat. An easy joke, told too often. Now, if I ere to follow tradition, the kumquat would transform into some mythical beastie or start to speak. But the easy road is not for me! I will challenge your perceptions of internet playwriting by forcing you to confront the issue head on! Apply meaning! Use this small piece of fruit as a metaphor for your own life. Learn something, why don't you? DO IT!!!!

He leaves. The Kumquat soldiers on. Audiences around the world learn a little something about themselves and the world is better for it. Three billion years later, the sun supernovas.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Chocolate

AT RISE:

A SCIENTIST warms up unwrapped snickers bars with a bunsen burner and sticks them together in a crude stick-figure effigy of a man. When the job is complete he takes a step back to admire his handiwork, but instead of jubilation, the life drains from his face.

SCIENTIST:
Sweet Lord! What have I done? I have flown too close to the face of the sun and spat in the very face of God!

He cowers in fear. The Snickers Man remains impassive.

SCIENTIST:
I shall be thrice damned for this monstrosity that I have inflicted upon our unsuspecting world! This...this homunculus of fat and nougat shall spell out the end times and sing the song that ends the world! Until the last man perishes in a ball of flame, my name shall be spat out as a curse, a fairy story used to scare the children of the world and prove the existence of evil! Damn whatever cursed inspiration was whispered in my ear by the Devil himself to bring forth into the world such a monster!

The Snickers Man, slightly melty, falls over. The Scientist falls to his knees.

SCIENTIST:
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.