Objects

AT RISE:

A PERSON.

PERSON:
Hello!

A WHALE.

WHALE:
Wow! Hello!

A CHAIR.

CHAIR:
Hey, who wants a sit?

An IRONING BOARD.

IRONING BOARD:
Who wants dip?

And a WINDOW.

WINDOW:
Howdy! Jump out of me for a swift egress from this miserable plane of existence!

MAN:
Oh, Window!

Everyone laughs!

WHALE:
I can't even jump! I'm a whaaaaale!

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Intro

AT RISE:

BEN and PHIL.

BEN:
Hey Phil?

PHIL:
Yes, Ben?

BEN:
What do you think is the pinnacle of human achievement?

PHIL:
What, seriously?

BEN:
Of course.

PHIL:
No, I mean, who's really going to believe that, appropos of nothing, you would turn to me and ask such a profound question?

BEN:
It happens.

PHIL:
Well yeah, it happens, but it's not exactly the most elegant way to introduce some characters no, is it?

BEN:
I thought it would shed light on our mental processes, that's all.

PHIL:
Well of course, but it's such an obvious attempt to do so, the audience will be immediately turned off, losing any immediate connection to what they at first hoped would be realistic characters.

BEN:
We could be philosophers?

PHIL:
Oh yeah? And how do they know that?

BEN:
Um...

OH YEAH! I forgot to mention. BEN and PHIL are philosophers. Togas and everything. it's crazy really, how philosophically disposed they are.

PHIL:
Well now I don't know what to think.

BEN:
Well, uh.. what do you think is the most profound-

PHIL:
Shut up.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Michael MacDonald

AT RISE:

A MAN and a COMPADRE.

MAN:
Compadre?

COMPADRE:
Yes, Man?

MAN:
I have decided to take it to the streets.

COMPADRE:
Are you sure that's wise?

MAN:
No. But I've been painted into a corner here. if I don't take it to the streets now, I might spend the rest of my life wondering whether the streets would have been better off it I had taken it to them, and what path my life might have taken on the streets. Or rather, to them.

COMPADRE:
I see. So when are you planning on starting this latest chapter in your life?

MAN:
Why, I started yesterday, my good man. You see.... I've been taking it to the streets THIS WHOLE TIME!

COMPADRE:
Holy shit! Twist Ending!

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Patent Leather Pumps

AT RISE:

The AUTHOR sits at a computer. He looks stricken. A NONDESCIPT, POSSIBLY IMAGINARY FIGURE lounges around in the background.

AUTHOR:
Argh!

N,PI,F:
What?

AUTHOR:
I'm out of words.

N,PI,F:
What, like writer's block?

AUTHOR:
No, much more interesting.

N,PI,F:
Ah, of course. Any possible solutions?

AUTHOR:
Negative.

N,PI,F:
Then I shall try a vocabulary infusion.

AUTHOR:
This is going to get silly, isn't it.

N,PI,F:
No.
(beat)
Rutagbega, participle, box, muffin, digiridoo, steam engine, inert, curtains, panel, eskimo, Lake Victoria, mattress pad, spinal column, halberd, icebreaker, sourgum, cotton, Eli Whitney, porpoise, mastodon.

AUTHOR:
Eli Whitney is a proper noun.

N,PI,F:
Then all is for naught!

The room explodes!

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Too Soon?

AT RISE:

A DUDE and a FELLA.

DUDE:
Hey, Fella?

FELLA:
Yes, Dude?

DUDE:
Do you ever wonder why so many "serious plays" contain child molestation?

FELLA:
No.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Problem Solving

AT RISE:

DAN and STEVE.

STEVE:
So what's it been? A week?

DAN:
A little less.

STEVE:
A little less than a week.
(beat)
You should call her.

DAN:
You know it's really quite extraordinary, the degree to which I disagree with you.

STEVE:
I can tell I'm right. You're over-speaking.

DAN:
I'm afraid I haven't the slightest notion of what you're....Oh. That.

STEVE:
Yes.

DAN:
Well, I still think you're wrong.

STEVE:
No you don't.

DAN:
No I don't.

STEVE:
So why not call?

DAN:
Couldn't say. Suppose I'm not in the mood for pity.

STEVE:
She doesn't pity you.

DAN:
Great. Fantastic. That leaves a wide array of other negative feelings for me to worry about.

STEVE:
Oh shut up.

DAN:
No.

STEVE:
Yes.

DAN:
No?

STEVE:
Yes. Besides, the world's a crazy place. Maybe things will turn out okay. Or at least less crappy.

DAN:
Hrmm. I hope not.

STEVE:
Why.

DAN:
Well if that's the case, what would I complain about?

A long beat.

STEVE:
Give me your phone.

Dan hands Steve his phone. Steve dials. After a moment, the sound of a woman answering. He tosses the phone to Dan.

DAN:
(not unkind)
I hate you.

STEVE:
(nodding)
I know.

Steve exits. Dan takes a deep breath, and puts the phone to his ear.

STEVE:
Hi.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Literalalary

AT RISE:

MAX arriveth!

MAX:
I sure wish I had an incredibly pretentious metaphor for the state of the world's economy!

Suddenly! A bottomless pit opens up under Max's feet! He plummets! And how, you may ask? Through the magic of STAGECRAFT!

MAX:
Wheeeeeeeeeeeee! It's all I ever wanted!

Whee indeed, Max. Whee indeed!

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Excitable

AT RISE:

A PANICKED MOB! Holy shit! What the fuck could be so terrifying, so panic-inducing that a mob such as this would be running around willy-nilly! If only there were someone around to ask this teeming mass of humanity the questions nescessary for the audience to have a glimpse into the gaping maw of madness that these helpless few have plummeted into!

Holy crap-balls, are we in luck! Looks like a mother-flipping REPORTER has just come on the scene!

REPORTER:
Hey guys, what's up?

At this, the most penis-twistingly sharp question of all goddamn time, the Mob sinks to their knees, happy to finally be able to share their torment!

PANICKED MOB:
Jesus Christ! Thanks for that, we were getting tired. I mean...fuck!

REPORTER:
Cool. So, what's up with all...this?

PANICKED MOB:
Nothing really, we all just ran out of milk or something.

REPORTER:
Oh. Okay.

HOLY BALLS!

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

It's Cold Outside

AT RISE:

A MAN in long underwear.

LONG UNDERWEAR MAN:
Behold! Man's ost daring achievement! Long underwear! By donning this form-fitting and wooly garment, I do no less than stare into the face of God himself and declare his greatest creation unfinished! For how else should one feel when they take it upon themselves to improve upon the human machine, adding an extra layer of wool and warmth that our Creator deemed unescesssary? This simple truth is enough to shake even the most devout of men to their very core! So let us celebrate those who do what we perhaps cannot. Let us sing praise to those souls brave enough to incur divine wrath in the pursuit of but ten extra degrees of warmth! Let us salute those who have chosen what can only be called the continuatuion of the Prime Mover's work!

(beat)

So yeah, long underwear is awesome.

BLACKOUT, END PLAY.

Valentine's

AT RISE:

The AUTHOR eats a sandwich. He occasionally takes a sip from a glass of milk. And, once in a while, he throws a bit of his sandwich to a duck-billed platypus that sits, begging, at his feet.

After some long moments in this peaceful domestic scene, the Author is struck by a thought.

AUTHOR:
You know, I just realized I could have written a woman into this scene.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Round and Round

AT RISE:

Some PERSON. Somewhere. Or not.

PERSON:
I sense a certain lack of enthusiams for this dramatic effort.

The PERSON does something.

PERSON:
Seriously? That's all you've got? Something? I don't even know what I did, and I'm right here.

It's open-ended. Experimental.

PERSON:
Lies. All lies. It's just lazy is what it is. I mean, this setup isn't even original. Just look back through the archives.

Now you're just causing trouble.

PERSON:
Yeah, I guess. I blame it on gender issues. As in I don't even know what freakig gender I am.

You know, you're making this unproducable, as any of the questions you're bringing up would necessarily be fixed in production.

PERSON:
Unless it was a particularly literal theatre troupe.

Hmm, that could be a problem.

PERSON:
You think?

No.

PERSON:
Jerk.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Fashion Week

AT RISE:

A MAN and a DUDE:

MAN:
Quickly! Describe your fashion style in two words for this corporate-mandated survey!

DUDE:
Budget hobo.

MAN:
Does this make you a trendsetter?

DUDE:
Indeed!

MAN:
Then truly we have reached the apex of human civilization.

DUDE:
I shall now put my head in the Oven of Triumph.

MAN:
A good day for all!

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Drama

AT RISE:

PETE drinks iced tea with SUSAN.

PETE:
You know, when I woke up this morning, I found I just couldn't think of anything interesting to say about modern dramatic writing.

SUSAN:
Really? Did you try masturbating?

PETE:
Of course! But still, nothing!

SUSAN:
Then the end times are upon us.

PETE:
It certainly seems so.

Suddenly! The skies turn red as blood! Sheep run across stage, gouts of flaming streaming from their nostrils! And, of course, Pete and Susan totally start making out! What a satisfying conclusion!

BLACKOUT THE END.

Odds and Ends

AT RISE:

A MAN and a WOMAN stand around. You know how it is.

MAN:
Are we in line or something?

WOMAN:
Yes?

MAN:
Was that sarcasm, or honest confusion?

WOMAN:
Honest confusion. Sorry, you know how hard it is to imply inflection in text.

MAN:
Do I ever. Wait.

WOMAN:
What?

MAN:
That wasn't text.

WOMAN:
Then what am I reading?

MAN:
Nothing!

WOMAN:
Well that can't be true. How else would I know what you're saying?

MAN:
Because we're having a conversation. With our mouths.

WOMAN:
Yuck. That sounds disgusting.

MAN:
I guess I could have phrased it better.

WOMAN:
Yes.
(beat)
So I guess we settled that mystery, huh?

MAN:
Uh.. no?

WOMAN:
Great! Talk to you later!

MAN:
What?

She is unresponsive, staring off into space.

MAN:
What?

A long-ass beat.

MAN:
Closure?

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

The Abandoment of Commerciality

AT RISE:

A black and white dream world! A GENTLEMAN in whiteface wears a black turtleneck, and clutches a white balloon. His vacant gaze allows no easy point of entry for the frustrated audience.

GENTLEMAN:
What a nice day for a balloon.

A DOG enters, wearing a baby mask. That is a mask that looks liek a bay's face, rather than the flesh of an infant. Or, you know, whatever.

GENTLEMAN:
Would you like a turn with the balloon, Frederick?

DOG:
Dur dur d'être bébé!

GENTLEMAN:
And how!

The balloon floats away.

GENTLEMAN:/DOG:
Fin!

BLACKOUT. THE END.

Bagel Humor

AT RISE:

A MAN stares up.

MAN:
How the hell am I ever going to live up to that title? I don't even have a bagel.

A bagel falls from the sky.

MAN:
Oh.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Endorsement

AT RISE:

A MAN and a DUDE.

MAN:
Dude, if you like watching Liam Neeson karate chop people in the neck (and you know I do), then "Taken" is the movie for you!

DUDE:
And what if I don't?

MAN:
...

The Man gives the Dude a swift neck-chopping. The Dude crumples!

MAN:
Everybody wins!

BLACKOUT. THE END.

Smooth

AT RISE:

A RELAXED MAN.

RELAXED MAN:
And now some soothing words....
(beat)
Cocoa butter.
(beat)
Spoon.
(beat)
Luge.
(beat)
Jamiroquai.
(beat)
Queequeg.
(beat)
Platypus.
(beat)
Plaaaaaaaaaaaaatypussssssssssssssss.

A long pause.

RELAXED MAN:
Thank you. And goodnight.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Prose-y

AT RISE:

A MAN lies on his bed. Of course we have no way of knowing it's his bed,
other than the manner in which he treats it.

Come to think of it,we have no real way of knowing if he is his own man,
as such definitions are hard to come by, harder to prove.
Maybe science is working on it.

His hands are crossed behind his head and his thoughts are elsewhere. There are blankets. Oh yes, there are blankets. But not where you'd expect.

MAN:
After that intro, anything I say will seem incredibly pretentious.

Sorry.

MAN:
No worries.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

SciFi

AT RISE:

SPACE! Vast and infinite, it stretches beyond the puny perceptions of the audience, dleievering to them both the thrill of adventure and the soul-chilling emptyness at the heart of the cosmos! Through this inky void spirals an ASTRONAUT, flailing wildly against the far-reaching gravitational pull of a dying star!

ASTRONAUT:
I wish I hadn't spent the past three months peeing into a specially designed tube!

And with that, he is gone into the abyss. Before the audience has a chance to get too depressed, however, a waky alien show up and space-juggles!

Thanks, Gleekglop!

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Bootsy

AT RISE:

MIKE and MIKE.

MIKE:
Hey Mike?

MIKE:
Yes, Mike?

MIKE:
Do you ever just spontaneously get the overwhelming urge to start up some diatribe or pithy, humourous discussion about the state of modern american theatre and the fundamental strangeness of the theatrical experience itself?

MIKE:
No.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.