"Wrong" is almost too weak a word.  This play, I can attest, was the
work of a person who had completely snapped and lost touch with
reality.  Shockingly, this "Mitchell Game '75" thing was the *SECOND*
idea I had for the play.  I had previously abandoned _another_ idea
as being too grotesque and wrote the game show play as a sensible (!)
alternative.  Had I gone with my original instinct, the "Mitchell"
play would have gone like so...

[Curtain rises to reveal CREEPY, DUNGEON-LIKE MUSEUM.
There are glass cases and shelves in the background,
filled with strange objects: two-headed fetusus preserved
in jars, mediaeval implements of torture, a clown painting
by John Wayne Gacy, etc.  In the center of the room is
what looks like a LARGE RECTANGULAR CAGE covered by a tarp.
The curious theatergoer is supposed to wonder, "What in
heck is under that tarp?"]

[A group of DOUGHY, SUN-BURNED TOURISTS enters, led by a
corpse-like, grinning TOUR GUIDE.]

GUIDE: I hope you all enjoyed seeing Clyde Darrow's death
       pants.  Please step this way.

[The guide walks over to the large cage and stands in
front of it, turning to face the tour group.  The tourists,
lemmings that they are, obediently flock around him.]

GUIDE: And now, brace yourselves for what is unquestionably
       the most horrific exhibit in the Museum of the Profane
       and Unpleasant.  What you are about to see has made
       women faint, made men cry, and caused children to doubt
       the existence of a benevolent God.  Behold!  I give 
       you... THE 'SEVENTIES BACHELOR APARTMENT!!!!!!!

[With one quick motion, the tour guide pulls the tarp to the
floor.  Underneath is the apartment set from the movie
"Mitchell," perfectly preserved inside a large diorama.
The tourists gasp for breath.  MITCHELL himself, clad only
in a stained undershirt and boxer shorts, is parked on a
lumpy couch, swigging Budweiser and leafing through a
well-worn copy of "Legshow" magazine.]

The play would have gone on in that manner, culminating with an
appearance from Linda Evans, who would emerge from behind the couch
in a drug-induced stupor... all of this serving to horrify the
tourists.  I consider it a humanitarian act that I *didn't* write
that version of the play.

--Joe--