The Curve

AT RISE:

The AUTHOR pushes mightly against a large wall of crap. Behind the crap is a glowing, golden light that promises all good things in this world!

AUTHOR:
This is a metaphor for battling against mediocrity for inspiration! It's very direct!

The wall falls on the Author's head.

AUTHOR:
At least I have an abrupt ending to shield me from further humiliation!

There is a long, long pause.

AUTHOR:
Oh, come on!

More pausing. A small kitty walks by, unnoticed.

AUTHOR:
Hello?

A long, long, long beat. The audience checks their timepieces anxiously.

AUTHOR:
Point proven! I now know what i have to do with my

BLACKOUT. END PLAY. THANK GOD.

Gibberish

AT RISE:

JEFF and TERRY.

JEFF:
Hmm.

TERRY:
What?

JEFF:
I was going to say something.

TERRY:
Lies.

JEFF:
You know, you're right. There is a logical fallacy in the statement "I was going to say something", due to the fact that you did not actually say it. Thus in a purely literal sense, you were not "going to say" that at all! This is a deep conversation!

TERRY:
Lies.

JEFF:
You cut to the heart of me, friend.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Stream of Consciousness

AT RISE:

PHIL stands expectantly, waiting for the audience to settle down.

PHIL:
Alright gang, get ready for the wackiest night of theatre ever! I'm gonna list ten things, completely at random that I will then fit together completely randomly to form, Voltron-like, a whole new experience in live entertainment! Are you ready?

AUDIENCE:
No!

PHIL:
Oh. Sorry.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Tried and True

AT RISE:

A ZOMBIE and FRANK.

FRANK:
You know, to be honest, Zombie Guy, there is literally no interaction that we could have here that would not be, on some level, a cliche. If you were a smart zonbie, say. Or a normal brain-eating one. Pr some weird combination of random memes. Zombie pirate, zombie ninja. Zombie librarian, even. Fast zombie, slow zombie. It's all been done. So you can understand why I'm a little bit frustrated right now, I hope.

ZOMBIE:
...

FRANK:
Oh thank God. I was worried you were going to say "brains" or-

And the zombie bites him in the head or something. I mean, it had to happen at some point, right? That's what makes cliches cliches. On some level, the audience is very satosfied, despite themseleves.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

On Romance

AT RISE:

PHIL and JILL walk through the park on a beautiful snowy day. There is magic in the air, possibly due to fairies.

PHIL:
Have you ever noticed Hollywood's tendency to take shortcuts with love stories merely by implying that the two romantic leads have a sexy "history" together? I mean it's one of those things that's easy to overlook, but if you actually think about it, it's an incredibly lazy screenwriting tool. It's like going up to a girl you want to sleep with and being like "Hey, we slept together in the past, so there's gonna be some intense chemistry going on in the following exchange. In fact, it's more than likely that no matter how big an asshole I am, we will in fact fall in love and bump uglies in the next twenty-four hours. Just a heads up." It's ludicrous, and completely flies in the face of every rule about good character development, but we just accept it! I dunno, maybe deep down we don't care, we just want to cut to the chase and watch the sexy people have sexy times, living vicariously through their sexy antics, but I like to think we all would like a slightly more satisfying view of romance.

JILL:
You're just saying that because of our sexy history, aren't you?

PHIL:
You're damn right, baby.

They make out.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Leather and Lace

AT RISE:

A BARBARIAN. He's wearing a rather tiny LOINCLOTH.

BARBARIAN:
I find my lifestyle fuflling.

LOINCLOTH:
I, on the other hand, do not!

BARBARIAN:
How could that be, tiny friend? You have a purpose in life, clear as the new dawn!

LOINCLOTH:
True, but this purpose is one that I find disdainful!

BARBARIAN:
There are those that would find your disdain confusing.

LOINCLOTH:
These people are most likely ones that do not wish to view your junk.

BARBARIAN:
Then we are agreed! We both find our lifestyles fulfilling!

LOINCLOTH:
What, no-

BARBARIAN:
Stealing this enchanted loincloth was truly a wise decision! Now I shall never be alone!

LOINCLOTH:
You're not listening!

BARBARIAN:
You're right, I would like a sandwich!

And he trundles off. Majestically!

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Making Up for Lost Time

Hey gang,

It's my very special priviledge to be returning to my blogging duties after my brief-ish hiatus. And to get back in the swing of things, I decided to solicit titles from my friends/enemies on the ol' Facebook, and then write a play for each title within 24 hours. I recieved 14 titles, so here are 14 new plays for your reading pleasure, all written on a rainy Monday, in a caffeiene induced hysteria. Enjoy!

P.S.- They're better if you read them in order, plus they go back a ways, what with there being so many, so just keep clicking "older posts" or just click on the button to the right that says "April 2009")


- The Management

Israel and Palestine

AT RISE:

A precinct in the Big City! Specifically, the office of DETECTIVE JOHN PALESTINE. He’s a grizzled badass on the verge of retirement. Don’t believe me? Check it out for yourself as this macho man’s intercom buzzes.

PALESTINE:
(pounding a button on the intercom)
What is it, sweetheart? I’m a grizzled badass with just two days til I retire and I’m not in the mood for any guff!

INTERCOM:
It’s your new partner, Detective Palestine!

PALESTINE:
Partner? I hate partners! Send him away. FOREVER!

The door busts open and in saunters PHIL ISRAEL. Streetwise and cool, but still a little green around the ears.

ISRAEL:
What’s up, pops? I’m Phil Israel. You supposed to be my partner or something!

PALESTINE:
Pops! I hate slick slicksters who think they’re so slick! You maybe be streetwise kid, but you’re green around the gills, and it’s gonna get you killed! On my watch!

ISRAEL:
I will never believe that to be true! You’re just senile, and out of touch!

PALESTINE:
Grrr!

SUDDENLY! An assassin jumps in through the window!

ASSASSIN:
I hate cops!

He pulls a gun! Israel ducks as Palestine kicks the assassin in the head knocking him down in one shot!

PALESTINE:
Looks like you could learn a thing or two, rookie.

ISRAEL:
Watch out!

The assassin gets back up and fires a shot at Palestine, as Israel jumps in the way and takes a slug in the shoulder! Ouch!

PALESTINE:
Or maybe I have a few things I could learn from you.

ISRAEL:
Maybe we both have learning to do.

PALESTINE:
If there’s one thing I’ve learned from all this, it’s that there’s always more learning to learn.

ISRAEL:
Can I call you dad?

PALESTINE:
Sure thing…kid.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

A Diner a Day

AT RISE:

PHIL and LARRY sit at a diner booth. There is absolutely nothing to distinguish the two in terms of immediate demeanor, thus Larry has a sinister scar running down his left cheek. Or a hat, whichever is easier to come by.

PHIL:
Phil.

LARRY:
Larry.

PHIL:
Man, it’s a good thing that we’re not in some sort of dramatic work, or people might now be convinced that my name is Larry and your name is Phil, they of course being unaware of our quirky habit of occasionally stating our own names without adequate reason.

LARRY:
Wait, that means I’m Larry?

PHIL:
Well, yeah.

LARRY:
And you’re Phil?

PHIL:
By process of elimination.

LARRY:
Oh.
(beat)
That does shed some light on the mysteries of my day-to-day life.

PHIL:
Glad to be of service. Now who wants pie?

LARRY:
Well, I thought I did, but I also thought my name was Phil, so it might be better if the decision as taken out of my hands.

PHIL:
How does your name in any way effect your desire for baked goods?

LARRY:
It doesn’t directly. But now I’m finding myself ensconced in a fog of uncertainty.

PHIL:
That’s very poetic, Larry.

LARRY:
Phil.

PHIL:
What?

LARRY:
Oh, nothing. I was just- Could you just call me Phil? If you don’t mind.

PHIL:
But I’m Phil.

LARRY:
Well yeah. Technically. I mean. Forget it. It would just be a bit…easier. For me.

PHIL:
Would it now.

LARRY:
Well yeah. For now. You know, because of the fog.

PHIL:
The fog of uncertainty.

LARRY:
That’s the one.

PHIL:
Fine. Now do you want some pie…Phil?

LARRY:
I would love some pie, Phil.

PHIL:
Fan-freaking-tastic.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Illicit Desires

AT RISE:

JANICE and LARRY in a passionate embrace.

JANICE:
How much longer can we keep this up, Larry?

LARRY:
As long as we can, damn it!

JANICE:
That’s not really an answer.

LARRY:
Sorry, you caught me off guard. I figure we’ve got a couple more weeks before we get bored.

JANICE:
What do you mean “bored”? Our love is forbidden and dangerous!

LARRY:
I dunno. I mean, our love could technically be classified as “forbidden”, I guess. But it’s kind of stretching the intention of the phrase.

JANICE:
Stretching the intention of the phrase!? You’re my brother!

LARRY:
No I’m not.

JANICE:
Well you’re his identical twin!

LARRY:
No, that would still make me your brother. I’m your brother’s barber.

JANICE:
Well, you have the same haircut! That’s pretty weird!

LARRY:
Not really, it’s popular.

JANICE:
Only amongst men! Oh forget it.

LARRY:
Wanna go get some ice cream?

JANICE:
Illicit ice cream?

LARRY:
Sure, baby. Whatever you want.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

The Belligerent Moustache

AT RISE:

WENDY reclines on a sofa, reading the paper. She has a full, magnificent moustache. I mean, it’s really something and should immediately make every clean-shaven member of the audience feel uncomfortable and shamed by their lack of facial convicition.

WENDY:
What a relaxing day for a moustache!

KEN enters. He too has a moustache, pencil thin, yet dignified.

KEN:
Every day is relaxing… with a moustache!

WENDY:
Isn’t it, though!

They chortle merrily. Ken sits beside Wendy on the sofa. BETH runs into the room! She is entirely clean-shaven!

BETH:
Guys! You know those moustaches everyone has been growing lately! You know, the ones that make you instantly suave and super-popular?

WENDY:
I’ve heard some things, yes.

BETH:
Well it turns out that they’re secretly evil aliens intent on controlling our minds and ruling the earth! I hear tell that they’ll stop at nothing, and allow no interference in their plan to harvest the planet’s natural resources for their own diabolical ends! To that end, I burned mine off this morning using a curling iron!

KEN:
Now Beth, that’s just ridiculous.

BETH:
Is it, Ken? IS IT?

An awkward pause.

WENDY:
Yes?

BETH:
Oh, okay the-

Suddenly Wendy and Ken’s moustaches fly towards Beth, assaulting her precious, precious face! Beth stumbles out of the room, flailing wildly! Wow!

WENDY:
Well, I’ll be.

KEN:
Indeed. What should we do now?

WENDY:
Well first, you should get your fine ass of this couch and get me a sandwich.

KEN:
Oh, Wendy!

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Israel and Palestine vs. Australia

AT RISE:

JIMMY AUSTRALIA stands on a high platform overlooking DETECTIVE JOHN PALESTINE. He holds a gun, but more importantly he holds on to rookie DETECTIVE PHIL ISRAEL.

PALESTINE:
I’m too old for crap like this!

AUSTRALIA:
Too bad, Palestine! Because I have diplomatic immunity! I can kill whoever I want! And right now I want to kill……your partner!

ISRAEL:
That’s me, Palestine!

PALESTINE:
Don’t you think I know that?

ISRAEL:
Of course not! I’m impudent!

AUSTRALIA:
What’s it going to be, Palestine? Your partner, or me being a diplomat, which has foiled you time and time again in this particular caper?

PALESTINE:
I choose option 3, Dickmouth! Hot lead!

AUSTRALIA:
WHAAAAAAAAAAT!

Palestine shoots him right in the head! The good guys win!

ISRAEL:
How’d you know you’d make the shot, partner?

PALESTINE:
I didn’t, kid!

ISRAEL:
Somehow, I always knew…old man!

They laugh!

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Cheeseburger Bonanza

AT RISE:

GLENN and BECK.

GLENN:
Hey, Beck.

BECK:
Hey, Glenn.

GLENN:
So I can’t help but notice this play is entitled “Cheeseburger Bonanza”

BECK:
Yup. That seems to be the case.

GLENN:
You know, by the literal definition, that would mean a rich vein of cheeseburger, similar to a gold deposit in a mine.

BECK:
True, but it could also be referring to some sort of cheeseburger related windfall. For instance, you might have won many pounds of cheeseburger in a contest.

GLENN:
I can’t help but notice that both of those premises are a little bit gross, Beck.

BECK:
True. The first one especially would entail that within the Earth’s crust is a layer of meat patties covered with cheese.

GLENN:
That would lead to a lot of problems, in terms of topographic stability.

BECK:
I can imagine it now…..

GLENN:
Me too….

They trail off and look into the distance. A beat.

BECK:
Nope, I was right.

GLENN:
Yeah, that’s just gross.

SUDDENLY! An earthquake! The ground opens up, and our heroes plunge into a huge fissure in the very surface of the Earth! Cheeseburgers fly out of the fissure and into the audience! It’s awesome!

BECK:
(from the fissure)
Hmm, this appears to be…

GLENN:
A CHEESEBURGER BONANZA!

A beat.

BECK:
Was it obvious that we didn’t have a punchline?

GLENN:
Nah, we’re cool.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

My Tummy Hurts, and So Do My Buns!

AT RISE:

DAVE and PHYLLIS hang out. You know, chillaxin’.

DAVE:
Phyllis, I need a new catchphrase.

PHYLLIS:
What was your old catchphrase, Dave?

DAVE:
You’ve gotta be kidding me.

PHYLLIS:
What?

DAVE:
How could you not remember?

PHYLLIS:
Easily?

DAVE:
Geez. How could you forget “More Yams, Baby!”

PHYLLIS:
You never said that.

DAVE:
Yes I did.

PHYLLIS:
When?

DAVE:
Thanksgiving. I wanted more yams, and I was all like-

PHYLLIS:
More yams, baby?

DAVE:
Exactly! I knew you’d remember.

PHYLLIS:
Did you even say it after that?

DAVE:
What possible context would I have to say “More Yams, Baby!” outside of Thanksgiving?

PHYLLIS:
This conversation is terminated.

DAVE:
But I don’t have a new catchphrase!

PHYLLIS:
You don’t have an old catchphrase!

DAVE:
Untrue!

PHYLLIS:
I don’t care! Conversation terminated!

DAVE:
But-!

PHYLLIS:
Berserker rage!

Phyllis explodes with anger, punching Dave in the belly, then kicking him square in the bottom! Unexpected! Startled at her own animosity, Phyllis darts out of the room as sirens wail in the background!

DAVE:
You’ll never get away from this…Phyllis! Never!

He leans back, in pain.

DAVE:
My tummy hurts…and so do my buns!

A beat, as a lightbulb goes off over Dave’s head!

DAVE:
That’s it!

He laughs happily as the sirens draw nearer.

PolterChrist (Our Invisible Savior Who Communicates by Smashing and Turning on Televisions and Old Timey Radios)

AT RISE:

LITTLE JIMMY beams as some Keystone-y Cops lead of a group of masked and hooded men. He holds a large, old-timey radio.

LITTLE JIMMY:
Wow, PolterChrist! Looks like those pagans sure got what was coming to em’, huh?

The lights flicker on and off, and a knob on the radio turns of it’s own accord!

RADIO:
Bzzzzzt…Home Run!…cracklecrackle…

LITTLE JIMMY:
I love you, PolterChrist!

He hugs the radio.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Eat a Bag of Dicks, and Other Tales of Romance

PART 1: Eat a Bag of Dicks

SUE and RALPH walk down the street, arm in arm.

SUE:
What a wonderful evening!

RALPH:
I love you so, darling.

Sue notices a brown paper bag on the ground.

SUE:
What’s that, darling?

RALPH:
Seems to be a bag, my sweet! Let’s have a look.

He jauntily picks up the bag, and takes a look inside. His face immediately goes ashen.

SUE:
What is it, my sweet dearest darling?

RALPH:
Never mind.

BLACKOUT.

Part 2: Other Tales of Romance

ELSA and AARON.

ELSA:
How’s our love doing?

AARON:
A’ight.

ELSA:
Sweet.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Illicit Cheeseburgers

AT RISE:

Two cheeseburgers, BRAD and PITT in a car. BRAD looks nervous.

PITT:
What’s the matter, Brad?

BRAD:
I dunno, Pitt. I’ve just got a bad feeling.

PITT:
You think someone narc’d us out?

BRAD:
Naw, man. Nothing like that. It was just… that girl at the grocery store looked at us funny on our way out. You think she knows?

PITT:
Of course not, man. You’re just being paranoid. There’s no way she could tell our secret. The secret that makes us so very illicit.

BRAD:
But the way she was looking at us..

PITT:
I don’t care if she was looking at us through a pair of magnifying monocles! There’s no way she could tell just by looking at us that we’re…..CLONES!!!!!

Music plays a big old DUM DUM DUMMMMMMM!

PITT:
Get it? Because cloning’s illegal?

BRAD:
Yeah, I get it man.

PITT:
I know you get it, I was talking to, you know, some kind of…everyone.. Just shut up, okay?

They drive on in silence. After a moment, Brad turns on the radio. Jimmy Buffet’s “Cheeseburger in Paradise” plays. Pitt sighs.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

My Tummy Hurts and So Do My Buns!! 2: Israel and Palestine

AT RISE:

PHYLLIS hides behind a crate in an abandoned warehouse. Flashlight beams shine through the dark, searching for their prey. DETECTIVES ISRAEL and PALESTINE enter, with DAVE in tow.

DAVE:
Phyllis? Phyllis, come out before things get any worse!

PHYLLIS:
How could things get any worse, Dave? I punched you in the stomach and kicked you in the buns! There’s no coming back from that!

ISRAEL:
Look ma’am, just come out with your hands up, and everything’s gonna be fine!

PALESTINE:
What in the hell are you talking about, Rookie? We’re dealing with a madwoman here! And since I’m only two days away from retirement, I have a limited capacity for bullshit!

ISRAEL:
I thought you were two days from retirement yesterday?

PALESTINE:
Shut up.

DAVE:
She’s not a madwoman… she just… she just has a temper, that’s all, I swear!

PALESTINE:
Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to back the hell up.

PHYLLIS:
This joke is getting old fast! I’m sorry Dave, but there’s no choice!

She rushes the cops, her foot held in kicking position! The cops shoot her a lot, because its just that kind of play, you know? Dave rushes to her prone body.

DAVE:
More violence! And what did it solve, huh? Tell me that! Now this lady I know is dead. Dead! And do I feel better? No. And you know why? Because MY TUMMY STILLS HURTS! And…and so do my buns!

He weeps and weeps.

DAVE:
(a whisper)
..and so do my buns.

The saddest viola solo of all plays. Everyone thinks hard about stuff. It’s a beautiful ending.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Turquoise is the New Black

AT RISE:

DAN sits at a computer. STU lounges, because he’s just a loungin’ type of guy. The audience immediately hates him, but hopes for some sort of noble action on Stu’s part to turn their expectations on their ear. (SPOILER: This won’t happen. (SPOILER SPOILER: Or will it?))

DAN:
Hey Stu?

STU:
Yeah, Dan?

DAN:
I need a racial epithet.

STU:
…What?

DAN:
You know, an epithet. A word, phrase, or expression used invectively as a term of abuse or contempt, to express hostility.

STU:
Yes, I know what a racial epithet is, Daniel. I’m simply wondering why you need one.

DAN:
I just do.

STU:
Fair enough. Who for?

DAN:
Turquoise people.

STU:
What, like people from Arizona?

DAN:
Don’t be stupid. I mean like people that are turquoise.

STU:
There are no turquoise people.

DAN:
There could be.

STU:
No, there couldn’t.

DAN:
Well maybe there should be.

STU:
But there’s not.

DAN:
But if there were, wouldn’t you like to get in on the ground floor?

STU:
The ground floor of racism?

DAN:
Sure.

STU:
When did you become Hitler?

DAN:
Meh.

STU:
That’s not an answer.

DAN:
Sure it is. Just not a good one.

The two men stare at each other for a long, long beat.

STU:
Turquoise people?

DAN:
I was thinking something along the lines of “Turq-wads”

Stu opens his mouth to say something, catches himself, and instead turns on his heel and exits the room. Dan turns to the audience.

DAN:
Everybody’s a critic!

TREMENDOUS APPLAUSE AND LAUGHTER!

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Punctuation Polly and her Illicit Exclamation Point!

AT RISE:

PUNCTUATION POLLY, a hot little number in a sexy teacher ensemble sits down with a MOM and a DAD.

POLLY:
(in a throaty whisper)
Look, Mr.and Mrs. Anderson, if you can think of a better way to teach ten years olds about the proper use of exclamation points, I’d love to hear it.

MOM:
Rather than explicitly describe the event that my child was subjected to, I’m going to leave it intentionally vague for the lurid enjoyment of the audience!

POLLY:
I put it in my hoo-hah!

There’s an awkward silence.

DAD:
Well I think-

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.

Israel and Palestine 2: Illicit Desires

AT RISE:

DETECTIVES JOHN PALESTINE and PHIL ISRAEL sit in a hot tub.

PALESTINE:
You ever wonder what it would be like to grow cauliflower in a woman’s armpit, Israel?

ISRAEL:
Only every day, Palestine!

SUDDENLY! JIMMY AUSTRALIA, long thought dead, leaps straight up from under the water, holding a machine gun!

AUSTRALIA:
I still hate cops!

Before he can fire, however, he is riddled with bullets, and falls down, dead!

PALESTINE:
Who?

Enter HELEN JORDAN, in a bathing suit cut down to…. You get the idea.

HELEN:
Sorry boys, couldn’t let you have all the fun, now could I?

ISRAEL:
I guess not, foreign policewoman Helen Jordan!

She tosses a small packet to Palestine.

PALESTINE:
What are these?

JORDAN:
Cauliflower seeds, boys.

PALESTINE:
Retirement can wait!

ISRAEL:
You said it, pops!

Sexy music plays as we…

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.