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                 THEY SHOOT MOON BEASTS, DON'T THEY?
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       A one act play by Joe Blevins (joeblev@concentric.net)
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            Based on the movie "Track of the Moon Beast"
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[Curtain rises.  The only thing on the stage is the mangled corpse of
an alcoholic bowler, his naugahyde bag spattered with blood, his
monogrammed shirt tattered beyond all recognition.  From offstage, we
hear a voice and the sound of footsteps.]

VOICE: And over here is that putrefying cadaver I was telling you 
       about!

[Two men enter, and we see that the voice belongs to MACK, a cherubic
yet condescending sheriff.  He is accompanied by alleged Indian JOHNNY
LONGBOW, who wears a traditional corduroy pantsuit.  Johnny tends to
speak in a stilted, overdramatic fashion while raising one eyebrow for
effect.  With little or no coaxing, he launches into long, dull stories
about exotic-sounding legends, very much in the tradition of the J.
Peterman character from "Seinfeld."]

MACK: Sorry to drag you away from your dimwitted friends, Johnny, but
      when I saw this corpse rotting in the sun, I immediately thought
      of you.
JOHNNY: [carefully raising his eyebrow] No problem, Mack.  I was merely
        preparing a sandwich made of salami, dill pickles, Miracle 
        Whip... [pauses and sighs] ...rye bread, American cheese, olive
        loaf...
MACK: That's great, Johnny.
JOHNNY: [undaunted] ...potato chip crumbs, canned tuna, iceberg 
        lettuce, cherry tomatoes....
MACK: Ya don't say.
JOHNNY: Yes, it's an ancient sandwich recipe that dates back to the
        days of Chief Wild Eagle of the Dekova tribe.
MACK: Fascinating.  But getting back to this rotting corpse...
JOHNNY: Yes, yes, the corpse.  You know, we could dress him up in a 
        ceremonial headdress and make do a sacred dance using wires
        and pulleys.  It could be quite a show.
MACK: [uncomfortable] Mmmm... yes... but, first I was wondering if you
      could tell me what killed him.  See, I'm not very good at that
      part of the job.
JOHNNY: Oh, well, sure.  I guess we could do *that* instead.  My first
        guess is that the victim's throat has been ripped out, making
        it very difficult for him to breathe.
MACK: Come on, Johnny, be serious.  What *really* killed him?
JOHNNY: Perhaps it's the fact that his spine has been snapped in two
        like a soda cracker.
MACK: Not even close.  Try again.

[In the background, PAUL, a buff but troubled man stumbles onto the
stage obviously in torment.  He holds his face in his hands, and his
shirt is unbuttoned.  He exits without either Johnny or Mack noticing.]

JOHNNY: Could those huge gaping holes in his cranium have played some
        part in his demise?
MACK: Look, Johnny, if you're not going to give me an intelligent 
      answer...

[PAUL briefly stumbles back onto the stage; this time he has a lizard
head on a human body.  His shirt is woefully absent.  Again, neither
Johnny nor Mack pays the slightest bit of attention.]

JOHNNY: Massive loss of blood?
MACK: Nope.
JOHNNY: Heart attack brought on by fear maybe?
MACK: Puh-leeze!

[PAUL once again staggers onto the stage.  He is now completely 
transformed into a lizard man.  He plods around in the background,
while Johnny and Mack carry on their idiotic guessing game.]

JOHNNY: High cholesterol?  Alcohol poisoning?  A broken heart?
MACK: Jeez, Johnny, were you dropped on your head at birth?  I might
      as well have asked an igneous rock!  [looks down at the ground]
      Hello, igneous rock, what do *you* think was the cause of this
      man's death?
JOHNNY: [desperate] All right!  All right!  There *is* one other 
        possible explanation.
MACK: I'm listening.
JOHNNY: A legend of the Silverheels tribe tells of a bowling god, 
        Kegelhuatl.
MACK: Now you're talking!
JOHNNY: He becomes angered when mortals debase his sport by combining
        it with alcohol consumption.
MACK: Go on, go on.
JOHNNY: Supposedly, on the 23rd of each month, he takes the form of an
        Avenging Lizard Coyote Angel...
MACK: And?  And?
JOHNNY: And swoops down on an unsuspecting bowler whose judgment is
        fogged by Miller High Life.  A bowler much like this one here!

[Johnny gestures towards the kegler's corpse.]

MACK: Now *that's* the kind of level-headed, plausible theory I was
      looking for all along.  Case closed!  What's say you and me go
      back to the station house, eat some hallucinogenic mushrooms,
      and watch "Fritz the Cat"?
JOHNNY: Now that sounds like quite a show, quite a show indeed.

[Mack puts his arm over Johnny's shoulder, and they exit together,
leaving Paul the Lizard Man alone onstage.  (Well, alone except for
the dead bowler, I guess.)]

PAUL: Hello?  Lizard man over here!  Hello?  Oh, forget it.

[He trudges offstage.]

[Lights dim.  Curtain falls.]


                        T H E       E N D