===================================================================== A CHILD'S SECOND, SOMEWHAT SMALLER GARDEN OF ONE-ACT PLAYS ===================================================================== a satirical revue by Joe Blevins (joeblev@concentric.net) ===================================================================== based on the video "MST3K: Shorts, Vol. 2" ===================================================================== Yes, this is another revue of brief vignettes inspired by the short films from MST3K. Again, the evening is hosted by a GREASY COMPERE, a nightmare cross between Don Rickles and Richard Dawson. The Compere introduces each play, works the crowd, and makes snarky comments along the way, eating up valuable time so that sets and costumes can be changed. There are two large video monitors on either side of the stage, and before each play, the audience is shown a condensed version of the short film that inspired it. The same company of actors from last time is used. All except the Compere play multiple roles. The titles of the individual plays appear on the monitors. Enjoy. ===================================================================== YOUR SKIRT IS TOO SHORT TO CATCH TROUBLE WITH ROSS ===================================================================== based on the short "Catching Trouble" ===================================================================== [Before the curtain rises, we hear the upbeat "Catching Trouble" theme music, which sounds like it comes from a 1930s "Our Gang" short.] [Curtain rises. Lights up. There is a painted backdrop on the stage depicting the swampy, stagnant Florida Everglades. In the foreground, hunter ROSS ALLEN and his faithful SEMINOLE INDIAN GUIDE are in a canoe. They are standing up and their legs stick out at the bottom, clearly visible. They hold oars and are pretending to paddle. Ross is in back, the Seminole up front. The Seminole wears a patterned sweater-and-skirt outfit and looks like a prison-hardened version of Emo Phillips. Ross wears a red short-sleeve sport shirt and daringly short shorts, and looks a bit like Shemp Howard.] [In the background, several actors dressed as TREES walk around and around the Everglades backdrop in a clockwise direction, giving the illusion that the canoe is moving. Sort of.] [We hear the jovial voice of announcer TED HUSING in the booth.] HUSING: Hello, folks! It's me, Ted Husing, once again for Sportlight. And today, we'll again join Ross Allen and his faithful Seminole Indian guide as they search the Florida Everglades and round up wild animals for the carnival sideshows and supermarket openings of a nation. [Ross and the Seminole are unusually quiet as they row.] ALLEN: Boy! What a great day to prove man's dominion over nature, huh? [A pause. The Seminole looks forward, grimly and silently.] ALLEN: [a little louder] I said, it sure is a beautiful day for making Mother Nature my personal concubine, eh, friend? SEMINOLE: [unenthusiastic] Yeah. I guess so. ALLEN: If we're lucky, we might even get to disturb some fragile ecosystems or take babies away from their mothers! SEMINOLE: Mm-hmm. Maybe. [A beat.] ALLEN: Say, what's with you today? SEMINOLE: Nothing, Ross. Let's just keep paddling. ALLEN: Now, wait a minute. I know when something's wrong with my faithful Seminole Indian guide, and today something is wrong with my faithful Seminole Indian guide. So out with it! SEMINOLE: Not now, Ross. C'mon. We've got a lot of work to do today. Avon is expecting those bear cubs by Thursday. ALLEN: Avon can wait. Now out with it! [Ross takes his oar out of the "water." We again hear Ted Husing.] HUSING: What's this? A domestic squabble between Ross and his Seminole friend? [chuckling] Why, they're worse than an old married couple. [Ross points his finger up at the rafters.] ALLEN: [looks up] Stay out of this, Husing! HUSING: I'm sorry, Ross. I was just-- ALLEN: Well, don't, okay? Just don't. [to Seminole] And you! You've got ten seconds to tell me what the problem is. [A pause. The Seminole starts to cry.] ALLEN: Oh. Oh, now. Don't... don't do that. You know I can't stand to see you cry. Cheer up now. SEMINOLE: [through the sobs] Don't tell me how to feel, Ross. ALLEN: I wasn't. It's just... well, you're my faithful Seminole Indian guide, and I don't like to see you unhappy. SEMINOLE: [sniffling] That's just it, Ross. ALLEN: What's just it? SEMINOLE: I... I haven't quite been your "faithful" Seminole Indian guide lately. [The awful truth slowly dawns on Ross.] ALLEN: Have you... have you been assisting OTHER white hunters? [Pause.] Well, have you? SEMINOLE: They meant nothing to me, Ross! ALLEN: "They"? How many are we talking about here? Five? Ten? Huh? How many? Tell me! SEMINOLE: Only three, Ross. ALLEN: "Only" three? [sarcastic] Well, that's a relief! I've "only" been cuckolded three times! Phew! What a load off my mind! [suddenly serious] Why did you do it? Huh? Can you tell me that? Was it something I did? SEMINOLE: It's just... I was curious. That's all. ALLEN: Curious? About what? SEMINOLE: Well, after you've assisted ONE white hunter for such a long period of time, you start to wonder what it would be like to work for OTHER white hunters. Would _they_ do things differently? Would they use bigger nets? Stronger tranquilizers? Would they administer powerful electrical shocks to newborn bear cubs? ALLEN: Well...? SEMINOLE: Well what? ALLEN: Well, what did you find out? Were they... better than me? SEMINOLE: C'mon, Ross, don't make me do this. You know you're good. Let's leave it at that. ALLEN: I think I have a right to know. WERE THEY BETTER THAN ME? SEMINOLE: I can't talk to you when you're like this. [The Seminole climbs out of the canoe.] ALLEN: Hey! Hey, where are you going? SEMINOLE: [walking off] I just need to be alone right now. [He exits. Ross yells after him.] ALLEN: Well... go on then! Get out of here, Jezebel! Me and Ted Husing will be just fine without you. Won't we, Ted? HUSING: Uh, actually, Ross, I've gotta be going. ALLEN: Going? Going where? Where are you going? HUSING: I'm narrating an American Legion meeting in Pensacola. I'm late already. Really, I've got to be going. ALLEN: But what about our wild animal hunt in the Everglades? HUSING: Maybe some other time, boyfriend. [We hear footsteps, a slamming door, and then silence. Ross Allen is all alone.] ALLEN: Fine! I don't need you either, Husing! I can narrate my own adventures! I don't need anybody! I AM ROSS ALLEN, AND I AM A GOD! [We hear rustling and VOICES offstage. Ross looks around, suspicious.] VOICE #1: You hear that, guys? He's all alone! VOICE #2: Yeah! Now's our chance! VOICE #3: Let's get him! [Various actors dressed as WILDLIFE enter and attack Ross.] [Reprise of "Catching Trouble" theme song. Lights dim. Curtain falls.] [THE END] ===================================================================== WHAT TO DO ON A DATE THAT WILL LIVE IN INFAMY ===================================================================== based on the short "What To Do On a Date" ===================================================================== [Lights up. Curtain rises to reveal tastefully-appointed office. There is wood paneling, impressive-looking bookshelves, and various degrees hanging on the wall. Behind an imposing oak desk is DOCTOR SCHREIBER, fiftyish, German, bespectacled, balding and bearded. He has a small bust of Sigmund Freud on his desk, next to an intercom and a nameplate that says "DR. ALBERT SCHREIBER." At stage right is a door with the words "COUPLES COUNCILING" stenciled on the other side so that it looks backwards to us.] [There is a buzz on the intercom. We hear a SECRETARY.] SECRETARY'S VOICE: Doctor Schreiber, your 4:00 is here. SCHREIBER: Send them in. [NICK and KAY from "What To Do On a Date?" enter the office, aged a few years but still recognizable. Nick still sounds like a dumb cartoon dog, and Kay, his mouse, is a wifey little thing. Jaunty, Aaron Copland-type music accompanies them.] SCHREIBER: Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Baxter! Please, sit down. [They do. Dr. Schreiber takes out a notepad and pencil. He will scribble down notes during the interview. The music stops.] NICK: Thanks, Doc. SCHREIBER: Now, what seems to be the trouble? NICK: Well, uh, Doc... Kay's a swell girl, but she and I just don't seem to want the same things out of life anymore. SCHREIBER: I see. Could you give me some examples? NICK: Well, the other day, I wanted to go to the swim meet, and she wanted to go to the weenie roast. That's all she ever wants to do is go to those weenie roasts. SCHREIBER: [carefully writing this down] "Weenie roasts." Hmmmm. Fascinating. And why do you think this is? NICK: I dunno, Doc. Ask Andrea Dworkin over there. [points to Kay] SCHREIBER: Come now, Mr. Baxter. Sometimes a weenie roast is just a weenie roast. Now, Kay, why don't you tell me your side of the story. KAY: Gosh, Doc. I don't know where to begin. When Nick and I first started dating, I was excited by all the places he took me to -- bowling parties, scavenger sales, bike trips. But eventually, it got to be too much. Sometimes, we were hitting as many as three taffy pulls a night. I started feeling a bit like taffy myself, and I was being stretched to the breaking point. SCHREIBER: [writing] "Taffy pulls." Please, continue. This is gold. They're going to put me in "Psychiatry Today" for this. KAY: Those crowds at the square dances are full of such pretentious phonies. I never fit in. NICK: Gosh, Kay, I'd like to take you to a movie, but "Wagon Train" is still the only picture playing in town, and you've seen it already. SCHREIBER: Is this true, Kay? KAY: Well, uh... SCHREIBER: Come on, Kay. This is the time for honesty. KAY: Okay. Nick, the truth is... I never saw "Wagon Train." I just don't like cowboy pictures. SCHREIBER: Now that's honesty! Good! NICK: [shocked] So... our whole relationship is built on a LIE? Is that what you're telling me, Kay? KAY: Oh, come on, Nick! Didn't I look the other way when you'd come home from playing miniature golf all night, your breath reeking of soda and ice cream? NICK: Miniature golf is a beautiful thing, Kay. How can I make you understand that? KAY: Sometimes you go on bike trips and disappear for days, and let's not forget your infamous "lost field trip." NICK: I'm sorry for that, Kay. I guess I had a little too much root beer and passed out. When I woke up, I was on a hay ride with the Jaycees. SCHREIBER: Slow down, slow down! I can't write that fast! KAY: I was worried sick! I kept checking the bulletin board at the community center, thinking I'd find your obituary posted there. NICK: I admit I've made some mistakes in the past, Kay. I guess I'm not as wise and experienced as my friend, Jeff. He's already on his third marriage, and this is only my first. KAY: Don't you see, Nick? I don't want you to be like Jeff. I fell in love with you because you were so sweet and slow-witted and easily duped. I'd hate for that to change. NICK: I don't want it to change either, Kay. Let's try and make a go of this marriage. I think there's a band concert at the VFW Hall tonight. You wanna go? KAY: I'd love to, Nick. Let's not fight anymore. NICK: Sounds like a plan to me. [They kiss. Dr. Schreiber looks disappointed.] SCHREIBER: Oh, well! There goes the Nobel. NICK: Thanks a million, Doc. KAY: We'll never forget what you've done for us. SCHREIBER: Could you try maybe? [They laugh, then exit merrily. The Copland music follows them from the desk to the door. Dr. Schreiber sighs, alone again.] SCHREIBER: [into intercom] Peggy, could you send in the next couple. SECRETARY: Yes, Dr. Schreiber. [The door opens. It is ROSS ALLEN and his SEMINOLE INDIAN GUIDE.] ALLEN: Can this marriage be saved, Doc? [Dr. Schreiber's face lights up like a Christmas tree. He mugs to the audience.] [Blackout. Curtain falls.] [THE END] ===================================================================== LAST CLEAR CHANCE ON THE LEFT ===================================================================== based on the short "Last Clear Chance" ===================================================================== [Lights up. Curtain rises. A lovely pastoral setting on a gorgeous, sunny day. Several members of the DIXON family are seated at a picnic table under the shade of large oak tree. You've never seen such a beautiful sight in all your life. There's MOTHER DIXON, FATHER DIXON, and teenaged ALAN. Straight out of a Rockwell painting and into your hearts, I'm tellin' ya. Kindly old GRANDPA DIXON sits in a nearby folding chair, sipping lemonade.] GRANDPA: ...Which is why I've decided to cut all of you bloodsuckers out of my will. MOTHER: And if you actually owned anything or had any money, that would mean something. [The Dixons enjoy a hearty laugh. Even Grandpa, that loveable old coot.] GRANDPA: Hey, wait a minute! I own these coveralls. FATHER: Actually, Dad, the government technically owns those coveralls. [A GOVERNMENT AGENT wearing a dark suit and sunglasses steps briefly onto the stage.] AGENT: He's right about that, you know. [Just as quickly, the Agent disappears.] GRANDPA: Well, I'll be switched. [More congenial laughter.] FATHER: Alan, go into the house and get Grandpa his fit medicine. It sounds like the old timer's gettin' a mite ornery. ALAN: Fit medicine? FATHER: It's in the little bottle marked "horse tranquilizers." ALAN: Oh, okay. [Alan gets up from the picnic table and exits, stage left. Just then, we hear the sound of a car pulling up and a police siren.] FATHER: Oh no. MOTHER: He's here again. I thought you told him were moving. FATHER: I think he would have caught on when we left all our stuff here, Helen. GRANDPA: We gotta fight the powers that be! FATHER: Go to bed, old man. GRANDPA: Consider it done! [Grandpa instantly falls asleep in his chair, snoring loudly a la Abraham Simpson.] [Tightly-wound policeman OFFICER HAL strides in. He speaks through clenched teeth and is super-serious.] OFFICER: Afternoon, folks. FATHER: Oh, hello, Hal. What brings you by? Come to tell us more stories about traffic fatalities? OFFICER: No, this is just a social visit. Can't a police officer just drop by occasionally for a friendly chat? Is there anything wrong with THAT? Huh? MOTHER: Of course not. Please, Hal, do sit down. [He takes a seat at the picnic table, wedging himself between Mr. and Mrs. Dixon.] OFFICER: Thank you kindly, Ma'am. I hope I'm not disturbing anything. MOTHER: Oh, no. We were just having lunch. FATHER: Yep. OFFICER: Lunch, eh? I would join you, but there's something about seeing careless drivers burned alive and horribly mutilated that just kills my appetite. Know what I mean? MOTHER: Uh, sure. OFFICER: Take today, for instance. A young kid changed lanes without checking his blind spot on Rural Route 9. After he collided with the poultry truck, he looked a whole lot like your lunch there. [He points at a bowl on the picnic table in front of Pa Dixon.] OFFICER: What is that, anyway? FATHER: Beef stew. OFFICER: Mmmmm! My favorite. Sure smells good. [Pause.] Of course, compared to the stench of scalding human flesh and burning tires, anything is bound to smell good. Am I right? FATHER: Uh, yeah. Sure, Hal. [Mr. Baxter looks nauseous and pushes the bowl away from him.] OFFICER: Watching your weight, eh? I tell you, the other day I arrived on the scene of a collision where a driver had run into the back of a gasoline truck. The guy must've weighed 300 pounds, easy. The fat from his body actually melted and stuck to the upholstery. Phew! There's a sight you won't soon forget, I tell you. [Alan bounds back onto the stage, innocently.] ALAN: Hey, Pop. I couldn't find the horse tranquilizers. Just the elephant tranquilizers. [notices the fuzz] Oh, hi, Officer Hal. OFFICER: Hello, Alan. I'm glad you're here. ALAN: [wary] Oh yeah? Why is that? OFFICER: Well, I know you're getting your license pretty soon, and I wanted to explain some of the facts of life about driving to you. ALAN: Oh... uh, that's okay, Officer. I've decided not to drive. Ever. OFFICER: No driving at all? ALAN: Nope. I've decided to become Amish. [Alan desperately starts tearing the buttons off his shirt and throws them to the ground.] ALAN: See ya later, buttons! From now on, it's hooks all the way! OFFICER: I'm glad you told me this, Alan. I guess I won't be giving you that lecture on automobile safety. [A beat. Alan looks relieved.] OFFICER: Instead, I'd like you to peruse this brochure about horse-and- buggy fatalities. [Alan's face falls as Officer Hal retrieves a pamphlet from his shirt pocket.] OFFICER: Alan, did you know that 90% of all carriage-related injuries result from buttermilk intoxication? ALAN: [glumly] I didn't know that, Officer. How fascinating. OFFICER: Wait! That reminds me! I've got some grisly photos of railroad accident victims in my car. I'll be right back. [Officer Hal exits, whistling cheerfully.] MOTHER: [sadly, to her husband] Why won't he leave, Frank? Tell me -- why won't he lave? [Lights dim. Curtain falls.] [THE END] ===================================================================== OUR DAY AT THE FAIR WILL COME ===================================================================== based on the short "A Day at the Fair" ===================================================================== [Lights up. Curtain rises. Onstage is a gigantic American-made motor vehicle painted a festive shade of black. Behind the car is a large movie screen. Through the miracle of rear projection, we see footage on this screen that's supposed to make it look like the car is driving down the road. This could also just be a big-screen TV connected to a VCR showing an endless loop of "plate shots." This is community theater, not Broadway, so it doesn't have to look that good. Anyhow, daylight is waning.] [Inside the huge car is the ultra-repressed OLSON family. Cadaverous MR. OLSON is driving. Stout, matronly MRS. OLSON is riding shotgun. In the back are their three children: BOB, JOHNNY, and ANN. Bob and Johnny look exactly alike but apparently are not twins. They have crew cuts and red ballcaps and clean dress shirts. Ann has frizzy hair and no hat. The mood in the car is grim.] MR. OLSON: [flatly] That was some day at the fair. MRS. OLSON: Yes. It sure was. KIDS: Yeah. JOHNNY: Was that our yearly allotment of fun, Pa? MR. OLSON: Yep. We farm families cut loose at the state fair, and then it's 364 days of toil and sacrifice. MRS. OLSON: It's the way life has always been and probably always will be. MR. OLSON: Of course, there's always the chance that somebody will lose a limb in the thresher. MRS. OLSON: That sometimes perks up a dull afternoon. [The children start to look hopeful.] MR. OLSON: But that doesn't happen more than two... maybe three times a year. KIDS: Awwww! MR. OLSON: So I hope you did plenty of living today, kids, because these memories are going to have to tide you over for twelve more months. JOHNNY: We rode the Ferris wheel. [Pause.] Then we watched other people ride the Ferris wheel. ANN: I saw small, empty rooms designed by the 4-H Club girls. BOB: I think I remember seeing moths. JOHNNY: There was a parade. And some fish. Or maybe I'm thinking of a fever dream I once had. BOB: We ate chicken dinners with the other farm boys. ANN: And Mom got tipsy and threw up at the cake decorating contest. MRS. OLSON: Shhhh! Remember what I said about "Mommy's little secret?" ANN: Whoops! Sorry, Mom. [Awkward pause.] JOHNNY: I won a ribbon at the cattle judging contest, remember? [Johnny proudly holds up an "HONORABLE MENTION" ribbon.] BOB: [bitterly] Don't remind me! JOHNNY: Oh, right. Your cow didn't make it. BOB: That contest was so rigged. It was all about who had the biggest udders. The judging for the evening gown competition was a joke! And Bossie definitely should have scored the highest in the talent round. Did you hear her rendition of "Nearer My God To Thee"? It would have made the angels cry. The winning cow did that tired, old baton-twirling bit that's trotted out at every state fair! I hear she slept with the judges! It wouldn't surprise me! MRS. OLSON: [scolding] Now, Bob, that is quite enough! You're only supposed to THINK those things, never say them out loud! BOB: Sorry, Mom. ANN: Hey! I won a ribbon in the pig-judging contest. MRS. OLSON: You did? Let's see it! [Ann holds up her ribbon. It reads, "AT LEAST YOU TRIED!"] ANN: Isn't it beautiful? I'm going to put it on my wall next to my "EVERYONE WHO ENTERS IS A WINNER" trophy from last year's fair. MRS. OLSON: It's lovely, Ann. [to Mr. Olson] Say, dear, that reminds me. You never told us how the corn-judging contest went. MR. OLSON: I don't want to talk about it. MRS. OLSON: Oh, so you didn't win? MR. OLSON: I said I didn't want to talk about it! [Something about Mr. Olson's tone of voice worries Mrs. Olson.] MRS. OLSON: Wait a minute. After the results were announced, you didn't do what I _think_ you did, did you? [Pause.] Please say you didn't. MR. OLSON: This isn't the time or the place to discuss it. [Mrs. Olson ponders the awful truth.] MRS. OLSON: Oh my God. You did it again! I can't believe it. JOHNNY: What's Mom talking about? ANN: Did what again? MR. OLSON: [to the children] Kids, there's a chance that we won't be allowed back onto the fair grounds next year. KIDS: [disappointed] Awwwwwwww! MR. OLSON: I'll have my lawyers start looking into it Monday. MRS. OLSON: We're not going to have to change our names again, are we, Earl? MR. OLSON: We'll see. We'll see. BOB: If we do, I want to be called Ezekial De La Croix. JOHNNY: I call dibs on Steve McCormack. ANN: Just call me Prunella St. Clair! MR. OLSON: That's the spirit, kids. But try to keep the enthusiasm down. Daddy's driving, and he's been forcibly medicated. KIDS: Okay. [The drive home continues in dreary silence as the lights slowly dim to black. Curtain falls.] [THE END] ===================================================================== NEAT, CLEAN, BOY, GIRL ===================================================================== based on the short "Keeping Clean and Neat" ===================================================================== [Stage is darkened. An actor made-up to look like beloved TV personality and awful human being ALLEN FUNT enters. A spotlight follows him as he "treads the boards" -- don't you love these authentic theater terms -- and talks to the audience.] FUNT: Hello, theatergoers! I'm Allen Funt. RANDOM AUDIENCE MEMBER: Hey! Aren't you dead? FUNT: No. This is the Fifties. I'm still alive. RANDOM AUDIENCE MEMBER: Oh. FUNT: Anyhow, it's time for another one of my hilarious "Candid Camera" stunts. Before Tom Green, Johnny Knoxville, and Jamie Kennedy were terrorizing innocent people whose only crime was being alive, there was ME! Today, our "Candid Camera" crew takes us to Mrs. Warrick's fourth grade class at Meriwether Elementary School in Mayfield, Illinois. The children think that two eighth graders are there to pick a boy and a girl from the class to be in their assembly. [conspiratorially] But what they DON'T know is that two of these youngsters are going to be singled out for some good old-fashioned shame and humiliation, "Candid Camera" style! Let's see how this plays out! It should be fun. [Funt exits. Curtain rises. Lights up. We are now in a fourth grade class that is remarkably orderly and disciplined. Frumpy schoolmarm MRS. WARRICK stands in the middle of the room, surrounded by several desks where neat, clean YOUNGSTERS are seated -- eyes front, feet on the floor, minds on their schoolwork. In the foreground are two less- sanitary children, DON and MILDRED. There's a 48-star flag on the wall and a poster with the slogan "COMMIES ARE BAD. DON'T BE A COMMIE, OR YOUR PARENTS WILL STOP LOVING YOU."] WARRICK: And that, children, is why the "theory" of evolution is just a passing fad. Like the scandalous "race" music they're playing on the radio nowadays. Any questions? [There aren't any.] WARRICK: No? Good. Well, now, it's time to bring in John and Arlene, two students from the eighth grade. They're here to choose the two cleanest, neatest students in class for their upcoming assembly. The winners will have the honor of standing still for forty minutes while the school nurse explains the value of good posture. Doesn't that sound like fun? YOUNGSTERS: [perfect unison] Yes, Mrs. Warrick. WARRICK: I know your little hearts are beating a mile a minute, so we'll get on with it. [calling] John! Arlene! You can come in now and pass judgment on these fragile youths, possibly warping them forever in the process. [Two older yet equally tidy children, JOHN and ARLENE, enter. Arlene holds a large cardboard sign that reads "Come to the 8th Grade Party." They walk up and down the aisles, carefully inspecting each of the youngsters. The youngsters look terrified.] WARRICK: While John and Arlene evaluate your hygiene, I'll be down in the teacher's lounge having lunch with my old friend, Johnny Walker. [She exits. The tense scrutiny continues.] [Allen Funt steps back onto the stage. He can barely contain his joy over the situation. He again addresses the audience.] FUNT: Well, folks, we've set out the cheese. Now it's time to deliver the coup de gras. RANDOM AUDIENCE MEMBER: Hey! You're mixing your metaphors! FUNT: [indignant] Well, excuse me for living! [He walks off, annoyed.] [John and Arlene are still scrutinizing the youngsters. John stops in front of Don's chair. He eyes him up and down, like a Gestapo officer in a bad WWII movie. John inhales deeply.] JOHN: Phew! This is a ripe one! Come here, Arlene. Look at his hair! [Arlene comes over to inspect Don.] ARLENE: He must only have lathered once! JOHN: And it looks like he worked the shampoo into his hair with his fingernails instead of his fingers! [Don looks humiliated and on the verge of tears.] ARLENE: Speaking of nails, let's get a look at 'em. [Don's hands are folded under his desk.] JOHN: [menacing] Come on, Theodore! Let's see those hands! [Don reluctantly shows his hands to John and Arlene. They make a big show of inspecting them.] JOHN: My... God! ARLENE: They're filthy! JOHN: Do you even OWN a fingernail brush? Well... do you, maggot? DON: [crying] No! [Arlene has stooped down to inspect Don's feet.] ARLENE: And from the looks of these Hush Puppies, he doesn't own a shoeshine kit either. JOHN: [to Don] You make me sick! [Don buries his head in his hands, sobbing pitifully. Mildred, sitting in the desk right in front of him, lets out an audible whimper.] ARLENE: What was that you said? MILDRED: Nothing! I swear! JOHN: It sounds like SOMEONE here thinks she's God's gift to keeping clean and neat. MILDRED: No, honestly! JOHN: All right. Pop quiz, hotshot. When is the best time to cut your toenails? MILDRED: First thing in the morning? ARLENE: [right in Mildred's ear] WRONG! JOHN: Right after a bath, because toenails are softer then. Question number two -- do you cut toenails straight across or rounded? MILDRED: I-I don't know. Rounded? ALRENE: Wrong again, maggot! And don't you know you're supposed to wash your hair in the afternoon or evening so it has time to dry? JOHN: And see that sore place where you pulled away the skin on your finger? Next time, ask your Mother to cut it, and you won't HAVE a sore place. Do I make myself crystal clear, may-o-naise? MILDRED: Yes, sir. JOHN: I can't hear you! MILDRED: YES, SIR! I will ask my mother to cut it next time, sir! [By this time, Mildred is a nervous wreck. Allen Funt walks back out onto the stage and talks to the audience, still giddy.] FUNT: We've had plenty of fun, but I think it's time to let poor Don and Mildred off the hook. [Funt walks over to Don and Mildred's desks. Don looks up from his crying jag.] FUNT: Don? Mildred? Do you recognize me? I'm Allen Funt, and I host an enormously popular television show. [aside] For which I am grossly underpaid, I might add. [to Don and Mildred] But now, it's time to say my famous catchphrase and end these silly shenanigans. DON, MILDRED... SMILE! YOU'RE ON CAN... [Before he can finish, John and Arlene surround him and start looking him up and down.] JOHN: Look at this slobbo. ARLENE: He's worse than the kids! FUNT: Uh, look, kids. The bit's over. JOHN: [ignoring this] Garlicky breath, coffee stain on the tie... ARLENE: Belt not through all the loops. JOHN: This guy's a mess. ARLENE: I think we're going to have to take drastic steps with this one. FUNT: Drastic steps? JOHN: You don't mean bringing in...? ARLENE: Yes. It's the only way! FUNT: Bring in who? What are you talking about? JOHN & ARLENE; Doctor Wendell Yeo! FUNT: No! Not Yeo! [Funt tries to flee.] JOHN: Hold him! ARLENE: Don't let him get away! [John and Arlene grab Allen Funt by the arms. He struggles but cannot escape.] [DR. YEO kicks down the door. He is wearing blood-spattered medical scrubs and a surgical mask. He holds a bar of Lifebuoy in one hand and a Brillo pad in the other. He is a huge, terrifying man.] YEO: Relax, Mr. Funt. Soon this will all be over! [He stalks toward the beloved TV prankster. Funt lets out a blood- curdling scream.] [Abrupt blackout.] [THE END] ===================================================================== SAM PECKINPAH'S SALAD DAYS OF OUR YEARS ===================================================================== based on the short "The Days of Our Years" ===================================================================== [Lights up. Curtain rises to reveal park scene. Overhead is a banner reading: "ANNUAL UNION PACIFIC CHURCH PICNIC." There is a long buffet table with various casseroles, salads, gelatin desserts, and other church picnic foods.] [REVEREND REYNOLDS enters, clad in a full-length black robe. He is a dour, pink-faced man with a crew cut and a pious manner. He surveys the majesty of the buffet table. Somber music accompanies his dramatic entrance. He speaks to no one in particular. Maybe he's talking to us. I don't know.] REVEREND: [profound] Yes, this the heritage to which we are born, the blessings to which we may all look forward. Yet, here in my parish, there are some who can only look back. They are the victims, unable to reap the full enjoyment of this picnic. They are the victims... [dramatic pause] ...of themselves. My church is in a railroad town, not far from a big freight terminal and repair shop. In my congregation are railroad people in every capacity, many of whom have been crippled and maimed in horrible accidents, none of which were the fault of Union Pacific Railroad or its subsidiaries. No, the true culprit was simple human carelessness. Other than that sicko Ron Slezak who lives above the bowling alley, we all hate accidents. And yet, try as we may, do what we will, there comes a time... RANDOM AUDIENCE MEMBER FROM PREVIOUS PLAY: A time for what? REVEREND: A time for accidents, you stupid knob! What do you think I've been talking about up here? Weren't you paying any attention? Geez! RANDOM AUDIENCE MEMBER: Oh. Sorry. [Reverend Reynolds moves downstage and watches the members of his congregation come and go in the foreground.] [A young COUPLE enters. The MAN is wearing bandages on his head and has his arm in a cast. He wears a neck brace that keeps him from turning his head. The WOMAN is blind. She wears sunglasses and carries a cane. They walk unsteadily across the stage.] MAN: Come on, Carol, I think the three-legged race is over this way. WOMAN: All right, Todd. I'm coming. [Rev. Reynolds watches them and shakes his head sadly.] REVEREND: Todd and Carol Matthews. A week ago, they were as average a young couple as you'd ever want to meet. [Todd and Carol stop in their tracks.] CAROL: Huh? Is someone calling us? TODD: I think I heard someone say our names. [Rev. Reynolds continues his story.] REVEREND: But carelessness got the best of Todd and Carol at bell choir practice... and now look at them. Their dreams of happiness and fulfillment will never come true. [Todd and Carol search in vain for the source of the voice.] TODD: Who is that? Who's talking? [In trying to turn around, Todd falls to the ground.] TODD: Whoops! CAROL: [wildly waving her cane] Honey? Are you there? [Carol trips over Todd's prone body, and she, too, comes crashing to the ground.] [A young BOY limps onto the stage on crutches. He wears an eyepatch.] REVEREND: And there goes little Jimmy Halloran. Not long ago, Jimmy had two good eyes, and they were bright and shiny with the hope of youth. Of course, that was BEFORE Jimmy wandered off from the school field trip at the Union Pacific repair shop. [The boy turns to face Rev. Reynolds.] BOY: Oh, hey, Reverend! Great day for a church picnic, huh? [Rev. Reynolds just stares sadly back and shakes his head. The boy tries to wave to the reverend with one of his crutches, but loses his balance and falls directly onto Todd and Carol, who still haven't managed to get up.] [A young woman, SALLY, runs in, holding a cake server.] REVEREND: Sally Erwin, still untouched by the ravages of accidents, her beauty still unspoiled by carelessness. But how long can her luck hold out? SALLY: Hey, Reverend! I brought that cake server you said you wanted. [She trips over the pile of people and falls to the ground, impaling herself on the cake server in the process.] REVEREND: Not long, apparently. [The four people on the ground are crying and moaning with pain. The reverend merely looks at them and shakes his head.] JIMMY: Why does Union Pacific Railroad hate us so much, Reverend? REVEREND: No, Jimmy, you misunderstand. Union Pacific Railroad is merely the instrument through which God delivers his holy wrath? JIMMY: So, it... it's GOD that hates us? REVEREND: Exactly, Jimmy. [The lights dim and a spotlight hits the Reverend as he walks to the front of the stage to deliver the big closing moral lesson. Choir music fades in.] REVEREND: You see, despite their seeming randomness, "accidents" are in reality God's way of punishing and chastising the wicked for their sins. When God blinds you or makes you have a heart attack or puts you in a neck brace, ask yourself, "What did I do to incur His wrath?" JIMMY: But I'm not sure what we did wrong, Reverend. REVEREND: Don't worry, Jimmy. You'll have the rest of Eternity to ponder that question. SOMEONE OFFSTAGE: Hey, Reverend. Look out. [A frisbee comes sailing in and hits the Reverend in the head. He falls down. Choir music stops.] [Blackout. Curtain falls.] [THE END] ===================================================================== FINALE McBEAL ===================================================================== [Lights up. The curtain rises to reveal a sort of funky, hand- painted, Keith Haring-type mural showing a map of the world. Music begins. It's a brassy, Vegas rendition of "It's the End of the World as We Know It" by R.E.M.] [A chorus line of characters from the revue dance out. We recognize ROSS ALLEN from "Catching Trouble," OFFICER HAL from "Last Clear Chance," MR. OLSON from "A Day at the Fair," MILDRED and DON from "Keeping Clean and Neat," NICK BAXTER from "What To Do on a Date," and the REVEREND from "Days of Our Years."] [They sing, sing, sing!] ROSS: That's right. It started with Sportlight. Though I might look lily white, This macho hunter's not uptight! OFFICER: Eyes on the traffic signs! Watch for double yellow lines! Hear the signals, start to pray. Trains have got the right of way! MR. OLSON: Traveled to the state fair, won jack squat! MILDRED: Cleaning's not demeaning So keep neat, smell sweet! DON: Shower for an hour, sanitizing every nook! Don't worry 'bout a thing Except the way you look! NICK: Date with Kay, she sure can be a meanie With a weenie roasting on the fire! REVEREND: Accidents can leave you crippled, Crushed, mangled, maimed! Look at that train coming! Watch out! Uh oh! OFFICER: Traffic flow, mutilation! Trains can cause decapitation! Save yourself, honk your horn! MR. OLSEN: Try to grow your own corn! MILDRED: Make sure that your hair's dry. DON: Commies aren't your ally! REVEREND: And the reverend knows what's right, right. OFFICER: Be law abiding! NICK: Bike riding! ROSS: Sportlight! DON: Snowy white! MILDRED: Scrubbing gets me psyched! CAST: It's the end of this play, and we know it! We've been under-rehearsed, and we show it. Here's our big closing song! Let's not blow it! Don't screw this up! [The cast repeats the chorus as GRANDPA DIXON enters and sings the following counter-melody.] GRANDPA: Wish I had some Tylenol! Wish I had some Tylenol! [The rest of the cast comes out. Music slows down for big finale.] WHOLE CAST: This will end our careers, and we know it! But we... feel... fine! [Cast take their bows as fireworks shoot out from the mural.] [Lights dim. Curtain falls.] [THE END] ===================================================================== DISCLAIMER ===================================================================== This play is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real persons alive or dead without satiric purpose is unintentional. All rights reserved. Copyright 2002 by Joe Blevins