Tales From The Outer-Boroughs (5)
PUNDIT #3 Then again, I think one could say this whole baby phenomena says even more still to where we, as a nation, are going than where we, as a nation, have been. PUNDIT #2 Or not been. PUNDIT #1 Or not, not been. PUNDIT #2 Not been, not-been-not. PUNDIT #3 Yes, not-been-not. But not, been-been, not-not, been-not-been. PUNDIT #1 Been-not-been been-not. But not-been, been-not-been-been. PUNDIT #2 Or not been. LIGHTS down on the pundits. NARRATOR We interrupt this program to bring you a special Last Wish Baby medical update. We take you now, live, directly to the Hoppenscotch Medical Center in Tarmac, New Jersey. LIGHTS up on a team of SURGEONS. SURGEON #1 The operation to implant the baby heart into the Last Wish Baby was both a success and.... SURGEON #2 A failure. SURGEON #1 The heart was successfully sutured and continues to pump vigorously. Unfortunately, the baby.... SURGEON #3 ‘Zee baby, for reasons ‘ve do not fully understand, has ceased all other life sustaining functions and appears to be in a rapid state of... SURGEON #2 Decay. SURGEON #1 Decay. SURGEON #3 Jah, decay. LIGHTS down on the surgeons. We HEAR the thumping heart. NARRATOR There was no denying it. The Original Last Wish Baby, the baby born without a heart, was now and irretrievably a dead baby but, one with a very healthy heart. And that presented doctors and lawyers with an entirely new set of problems. For one, the baby could not be considered legally dead unless the heart were either stopped or removed. However, if the baby was not legally dead, then removing or stopping the heart would be, in a word, murder. Therefore, despite all appearances to the contrary, the Last Wish Baby was, in the eyes of the law, very much alive. Further, this being a democratic society, it did not take long for Americans to gaze upon their own dearly departed loved ones and find similar cause to stretch the definition of what constitutes life...and death. The thumping heart fades. LIGHTS up on a restaurant. MAITRE'D Chatterwok, party of four, your table is ready. Chatterwok, party of four. A DINER wheels in a well-dressed CORPSE in on a two-wheeler. The MAITRE'D is appalled. MAITRE’D Excusé-moi, monsieur! Excusé — Yo! What in God's name do you think you're doing? DINER Look here buddy...my wife may look a little ripe to you, but she's still getting mail, and that in my opinion, qualifies her for your early bird special. Oh, and uh, non-smoking, please. LIGHTS down on the restaurant. NARRATOR Suddenly, Americans became embroiled in an entirely new moral debate — when did life end? The question was not at all as simple as it sounded. After all, who in this country can say with any real certainty when life begins? LIGHTS up on a PREACHER as he takes the pulpit with two swaying deacons on either side. PREACHER The Bible, my friends, is very specific with regard to one thing. CONGREGANT #1 Tell it now! PREACHER No bones about it! It says so right here! CONGREGANT #2 Hallelujah! PREACHER It says, dust to dust! CONGREGANT #1 Dust to dust! CONGREGANT #2 Hallelujah! PREACHER Say it with me, everybody! PREACHER / CONGREGANTS Dust to dust! LIGHTS down on the Preacher. NARRATOR With those words, the "Right to Extended Life" movement was born. Also known as "Anti-funeralists", the movement cannily usurped the image of The Last Wish Baby and made it their own. Soon, that image was being bandied about as a symbol of protest in nearly every cemetery and crematorium in the country. LIGHTS up on a funeral as a WOMAN IN BLACK places a flower beside a grave marker. The Narrator joins her and offers a few comforting words. NARRATOR Bill was...he was a decent guy. A sensible guy. The kind of guy who let you know where he stood even when everything else around just got weirder and weirder - Two RIGHT TO EXTENDED LIFERS arch in. They are wearing Last Wish Baby/anti-funeralists t-shirts. RIGHT TO EXTENDED LIFER #1 Burial is murder! Burial is murder! Burial is murder! RIGHT TO EXTENDED LIFER #2 Save the undead! Save the undead! Save the undead! LIGHTS down on the funeral. The Narrator remains downstage. NARRATOR Despite their innocent-looking symbol, the movement stressed confrontation. Funeral homes were fire-bombed. Morticians and embalmers were forced to conceal their identities. Even limo drivers were suspect. Many believed reason would prevail and took comfort in the fact that the movement failed to win mainstream support. However, the ranks of the Anti-Funeralists continued to swell as old members never died off and new recruits were always just a few shovel-fulls away. Inevitably, highly-paid political pollsters were the first to see the writing on the wall. The Narrator returns to the podium. LIGHTS up on a Political Party meeting of POLITICIANS and a POLLSTER. POLITICIAN #1 Speaking for my constituents, I say cut the heart out of that damned baby and you kill the movement, it's that simple! POLLSTER You're dead wrong. Give them what they want. Embrace these people now and they might remember you in the fall. POLITICIAN #2 But that's insane. We'd be giving the right to vote to the dead! POLLSTER Dead, alive — c'mon, this is America — what's the difference? LIGHTS down on the political meeting. NARRATOR And so, in an historic Rose Garden ceremony President Jesse “The Mind, Body and Soul” Ventura, signed the so-called, "Last Wish Baby Bill" into law. The bill not only granted the living-impaired the right to vote but also guaranteed entitlements and protections historically denied to members of this community, a community regarded by many narrow-minded Americans as sloven, listless and, euphemistically-speaking, somewhat aromatic. (beat) As the years passed and the American political spectrum calcified, living-impaired voters inevitably sought a candidate from among their own ranks. Republican strategists boldly exhumed a former California vote-getter whose appeal cut across party lines and living tissue. The cast steps forward and fervently wave small American flags and a photograph or poster of Ronald Reagan. NARRATOR During his first news conference as President, the newly re-elected Ronald Reagan announced his plan to fund and build a massive protective shield which he claimed would act as a deterrent to foreign aggression and help staunch the flow of illegal immigration. They gradually lose their enthusiasm as we get some indication of a massive shield descending upon them. Lighting and/or perhaps a black scrim being lowered can achieve this effect or perhaps the actors can convey the idea with through their expressions. NARRATOR When completed, the shield did more than defend American shores, it stood as a symbol to all that here was a nation entombed, whose people sought no light to guide them and silenced any sound which might stir them. (beat) Except one... We HEAR the growing SOUND of the thump-thump-thumping of the baby heart. NARRATOR The never-ceasing, ever-pumping, always-thumping heart of the Original Last Wish Baby. The THUMPING continues as LIGHTS slowly fade to BLACK. END OF PLAY THE LAST OREO PLAY CAST Five characters as follows. SERGEANT male COOKIE One male COOKIE Two male STUFF female ELF male or female Set: A bench might be useful. Otherwise, there are no set requirements Props: Two whistles — one working, one not. A pop gun and a large industrial-sized dough hook — or something that approximates a large industrial dough hook. Costumes: An elf costume and a drill sergeant’s uniform. The cookies work fine if dressed in all black (including gloves) while Stuff is dressed in all white. They can wear leotards, sweats or whatever works best so long as it’s consistent. “THE LAST OREO PLAY” LIGHTS UP. The SERGEANT, front and center, puts a whistle to his mouth and blows — nothing. He tries again – nothing. He pockets the whistle and bellows: SERGEANT COOKIE! STUFF! COOKIE! Nothing. SERGEANT COOKIE! STUFF! COOKIE! Two Cookies (men in all black) and Stuff (a woman in all white) run out onto the stage and take their positions — Cookie One, Cookie Two and Stuff. SERGEANT COOKIE-RIGHT! STUFF-CENTER! COOKIE-LEFT! No one moves. SERGEANT COOKIE-RIGHT! STUFF-CENTER! COOKIE-LEFT! No one moves. The Sergeant confronts Cookie One SERGEANT Is there a some kind of problem here, cookie?! COOKIE ONE Well, yeah, I mean, why do you have to be so - SERGEANT Shut yer trap you over-baked glob of reconstituted dough ball! I don’t know what truck you lard-asses fell off of but this is MY BOX! And in my box we assemble ourselves one way and one way only! COOKIE-RIGHT! STUFF-CENTER! COOKIE-LEFT! DO IT! NOW! Stuff jumps in the middle. SERGEANT ‘TEN-HUT! They jump forward and stand at attention. SERGEANT CLOSE RANKS! The Cookies squeeze in on either side of Stuff. The Sergeant glares at them. They squeeze in tighter. Stuff emits a squeal of delight. The Sergeant does an about face, shoves his whistle in his mouth, blows and, once again, nothing. Furious, the Sergeant turns to both Cookies and Stuff. SERGEANT Your orders are to stand at attention and remain standing until I return or Lorna Doone sprouts wings whichever comes first! If there is any deviation from those orders you will find yourselves being carved up and sexually violated by a band of very angry, very bitter elves who have been known to commit unspeakable criminal acts within the confines of a hollow tree! Do I make myself clear? All three nod. The Sergeant EXITS. As soon as he does, Cookie One faints dead away. Cookie Two looks at Stuff. COOKIE TWO What do we do? Maybe we should help him? STUFF Not me, I’ve heard about those deranged elves. COOKIE TWO (a little kick at One) C’mon, wake up! Snap out of it! STUFF Forget it, we’ll have to make do without him. COOKIE TWO But that’s impossible. Isn’t it? STUFF Of course not. C’mere. Stand behind me and wrap your arms around me like this. He does as instructed. STUFF Tighter. There. Ooooooh, you’re so strong. What’s your name, handsome? COOKIE TWO My name? Oh, uh...Jeff. STUFF (would have preferred Renaldo) Jeff. That’s...ummm. Nice. Jeff. So, uh, Jeff...that’s better isn’t it? Feel’s good, doesn’t it? COOKIE TWO Good? Well, uh, actually... STUFF Yes? COOKIE TWO (steps away) This is all wrong. I’m sorry. We need him. I need him. To feel... complete. STUFF (dismissive) Guys. Always gotta’ have another guy around. Cookie One moans. Cookie Two helps One to his feet. One bolts awake. COOKIE ONE Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Where is he? Is he coming back? Of course he’s coming back! I’ve got to get out of here! Help me, you’ve got to help me! Get me out of here! Two slaps One hard across the cheek. OWWW! What was that for? COOKIE TWO I’m sorry. I had to. You were falling apart. COOKIE ONE Oh. I see. But there’s been a horrible mistake. I don’t belong here. STUFF Guys? C’mon, what say we fall in. COOKIE TWO What do you mean you don’t belong here? COOKIE ONE Yes, I know, I may look like I do but the truth of the matter is, my mother was a pfeffernusse. STUFF (snide) Archway? COOKIE ONE (rolls eyes) Hardly. No. She was a lady. And quite regal. I remember as a child I would watch her as she powdered herself again and again and again and then she’d dab a little, tiny hint of lemon oil behind both ears. “The secret of my astonishing success,” she would say with a laugh. COOKIE ONE (bitter) What she ever saw in my father I’ll never understand. STUFF What is this? Guys? Elves. Sergeant nuts-in-a-grinder. Remember? COOKIE TWO I never knew my dad. I got a letter once from a Fig Newton in Cleveland. I was seven. His penmanship was awful. He asked for a picture. I sent him one of my dog. COOKIE ONE My Da was a hard tack. He always used to say that being a hard tack was good enough for him so it damn well ought to be good enough for me. Thank God Mother was determined I not end up that way so one night she and I slipped out and made our way to the finest patisserie in town. She told them I had the makings of a really superior Pizzelle. They asked a few questions and I did a little pirouette. The dance of the snowflake. Two days later they called back. That same day my father found out. COOKIE TWO (sits beside Two, concerned) You mean about becoming a Pizzelle? COOKIE ONE (shakes his head) He found a tincture of anisette beneath my pillow. COOKIE TWO (fails to see the relevance) Anisette? COOKIE ONE Yes. COOKIE TWO I don’t...think...I...? STUFF Oh for God’s sake, Jeff, he’s a tea biscuit. Duh, like there was ever any doubt. COOKIE TWO A tea biscuit. What, you mean...? Cookie One acknowledges this with a shrug. STUFF That’s right — two cookies and noooooo stuff. COOKIE TWO No stuff? Can you do that? STUFF Oh you can try but just don’t come running back to me. COOKIE TWO But if you’re...? How’d ya’ end up here? With us? I mean, an ordinary chocolate wafer like me? A Jeff. COOKIE ONE I don’t know. My father, maybe. Fate. Perhaps. (he’s not heard the name before) Jeff? COOKIE TWO My name. COOKIE ONE Aw, well. Denzale. I must say, Jeff, you don’t hit me as some ordinary old chocolate wafer. COOKIE TWO Thanks. Denzel? Like the actor? COOKIE ONE Zale. Den-zale. COOKIE TWO Den-Zale. It sounds so...Euro – STUFF Stupid? Jeff, honey, he wants to be alone. He wants to do another pirouette and pretend he’s Judy Garland. Stuff grabs for Two. One takes Two’s other hand and places it against his cheek. COOKIE ONE It still stings. Did you leave a mark? COOKIE TWO I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. COOKIE ONE Might I...? Cookie One extends his hand in the manner of one schooled by Arthur Murray. Cookie Two accepts. They dance. A little tentatively at first but eventually with style. COOKIE ONE You’re strong. You must work out. COOKIE TWO Thanks. Stair master mostly. Which is great but, you know, I lack upper body strength. STUFF I don’t believe this. SERGEANT (o.s.) You say it’s working? Well we’ll just see about that! STUFF Oh great, Sergeant Rock is back! Just wait till he gets a load of you two. The Sergeant stomps in, marches front and center and blows his whistle. Nothing. He tries again. Nothing. Enraged, he pulls out his side-arm and places the barrel against the whistle. He brings the whistle and gun to his mouth and blows — nothing. SERGEANT I WILL NOT TOLERATE A DEFECTIVE! With that, the Sergeant shoots the whistle — still in his mouth. A stunned look crosses his face. He brings his hand up against the back of his head and comes away with blood. SERGEANT What the...! Oh for....see that? I just shot myself in the head! (looks around) And what the hell happened to my whistle! Aside from the blood on his hand, the Sergeant appears other-wise unaffected. Meanwhile, the others are shocked by this. The two cookies jump apart allowing Stuff to slip in between them. They close ranks as the Sergeant turns on them. SERGEANT Which one of you mass-produced blobs of indistinct cookie blather has got my whistle! STUFF (stepping out of line) Um...excuse me, but I think there’s been a mistake here....sir. SERGEANT Is that what you call it? A mistake? STUFF Well, I mean, hey, I got no problem with, you know, cookies that lean that way, but c’mon, I’ve got needs too. Stuff approaches the Sergeant while the two Cookies get better acquainted. SERGEANT A man puts a bullet through his head and loses his whistle and you call that a mistake? STUFF Oh, that. No. I’m sorry I - SERGEANT I shot an elf once. Caught him boring into a hundred year old spruce tree out back. I said, “get your ass outta’ my tree you little rat bastard!” He came at me with a dough hook. A big one. I pulled a forty-five. That’s when a bunch a’ his little elfin buddies dropped down like rain. Quick they were, too. Thank God I got one clear shot off before they beat the crap outta’ me. STUFF Did you kill him? SERGEANT Who? STUFF The elf. SERGEANT Naw. One better. Got him right in the nuts. Castrated the little…. And if you know anything about elves, you know they’re over-sexed. Alcoholics too, most of ‘em. Bitter about their pinkie-sized peckers. Damn thing of it is, he’s been after me ever since. (noticing the cookies) Say, what’s with them two? STUFF I think they’re in love. SERGEANT Love. Puh. I was in love once. A long time ago. And it was real, too. Or so I thought. So I thought. (emotional) Why’d you have ta’ go bring that up? STUFF I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to - SERGEANT I gave her everything I had. And she left me. Left me like a...like a... The Sergeant steps downstage and wails ala Stanley Kowalski. SERGEANT STELLA! (beat) D’ORO! The Sergeant collapses, sobbing. The cookies come over. COOKIE TWO Is he alright? SERGEANT I just shot myself in the head. Do you have any idea what that feeeels like? STUFF Is there anything I can get you? A glass of milk? The Sergeant tries to compose himself. He sits up and nods. SERGEANT My whistle. I need my whistle back and in working order, please. Stuff looks at the two Cookies. Cookie Two gives Cookie One a disapproving look. Stuff is shocked. Cookie One sighs heavily. COOKIE ONE Oh, alright. Here. He produces the whistle and hands it over to Stuff. Stuff kneels beside the Sergeant and gives him the whistle. He’s overcome with emotion. He gently puts it to his mouth and tries to blow. The sound is thin and reedy but it works. He blows again, this time louder and again, even louder. He rises up and laughs and marches about whistling and shouting hoo-rah. At that moment, an ELF appears with a giant dough hook. The Elf screams and bears down on the Sergeant. The Sergeant falls back and the hook slams down, missing by inches — flour poofs. The Sergeant jumps clear and flees. The Elf pursues. The two EXIT screaming. The two Cookies and Stuff follow the action offstage until a loud crash is heard. They all wince. COOKIE ONE Nothing so unrelenting as a castrated elf, hell-bent on revenge. COOKIE TWO So, what do we do now? COOKIE ONE Since you asked, I’m absolutely famished. What say we track down a little Thai restaurant I’ve heard mentioned in these parts. COOKIE TWO Sounds great. But what about - We then notice that Stuff has stepped forward and is in tears. COOKIE TWO Stuff...? Are you okay? STUFF If only you knew how hard I tried to get here. You see, as a child I was... heavy. Out to here. I couldn’t help myself. My parents said not to worry and sent me to a place called “Camp Double-stuff.” I thought they were going to help me trim down but they.... (a hard memory stops her) I ran away and lived on the streets. I fell in with a Nutter Butter named Pepe. He seemed so sweet at first. Turns out he was pimping for some Pecan Sandies and one or two double stuffs like me. I don’t know how but I got away and I determined right then and there that I was going to make it — as a stuff. You see, I realized that what I wanted, truly wanted, was to be loved and admired. Not just by a couple of self-involved chocolate wafers, although that would be nice, but held up, as an example of epicurean perfection, albeit one that is mass-produced but, perfection nonetheless. Cookie. Stuff. Cookie. Cookie’s 1 & 2 have joined Stuff on either side of her. Stuff extends her hands out. The Cookie’s each take a hand and they squeeze together. ALL THREE Cookie. Stuff. Cookie. LIGHTS DOWN. END OF PLAY OTHER STAGE PLAYS BY WM. SEEBRING “ S A F E H O U S E ” Three art thieves grab a valuable painting from a small town gallery then settle into their “safe-house” where they hope to lay low only to discover they have inadvertently walked into the home of the Chief of Police and his frustrated and somewhat ditzy wife who are, coincidentally, expecting a trio of house-guests — distant relatives who are coming to drop their troubled teen-age son off for discipline by the psychotic Chief. The thieves must play along, filling their designated roles as deemed by the Chief’s wife, however, complications arise when the real guests arrive and the painting disappears. Contemporary comedic farce. Mild adult situations. Excerpted in Smith & Krause’s, Best Stage Monologues for Men, ‘95 “ T H E G E L D I N G S ” When a drought threatens their ranch, the Gelding brothers are desperate to swing a deal with their sexually-frustrated neighbor, the Widow Claire, who has a spring-fed well on her spread. Dramatic need arises when we learn that the Gelding brothers are genital-free. Just when they think they’ve concocted a solution, the meanest gunslinger in the territory rides into town and takes a shine to the widow. A singing cowboy keeps tabs on the situation. Winner of The New American Comedy Festival, Ukiah CA. Comedic farce set in the mythical American West. A handful of songs and dancing and some mild adult situations — all played for comic effect.
Copyright © 1999 William Seebring |