A SHORT SOAP OPERA/PLAY: TROUBLE IN PARADISE

INTRODUCTION: I was hired to write a short soap opera/play in 2 days based on mexican soap operas where due to time constraints, the actors have not read the script, but get the lines fed directly to them via earpiece live onstage. Along with this, the only other guidelines i was given was that we only had three earpieces to work with at any one time, and that it was set in a bar with one male actor as the bartender and four female actors. I have not written a play since High School Drama. This was the result:

TROJANS : TROUBLE IN PARADISE.

BRETT: Bartender – Intense, dark.
MANDY: Caring, compassionate. Never angry. Always understanding and forgiving and full of love.
MINDY: Horrible person. Closet Eugenicist.
MOLLY: Dunno.
MOMBY: Deaf dumb idiot saviour of mankind. Her neutral state is a deeply serious, like a lost woman in a foriegn country, slightly bewildered, silent, worried.

ALL OF THIS IS TO PLAYED AS STRAIGHT AND SERIOUS AS POSSIBLE AND NOT FOR LAUGHS BUT AS A HYPER-EMOTIONAL MELODRAMA DONE IN A DEADLY SERIOUS MANNER.

FOR THE CHARACTERS WHO DON’T HAVE MICS, IF THE OTHER ACTOR IS INTERACTING WITH YOU, YOU MUST DO NOTHING.

SCENE WHA???

(BACKGROUND BAR CROWD NOISES – BUT DISTORTED, SLOWED DOWN WITH SLIGHT DISTORTION AND ECHO)

(BRETT is onstage polishing glasses and whistles for 45 seconds, while staring into space. Suddenly he stops activities, pauses then goes around to the other side of the bar and pretends to be a customer talking back to himself as the bartender.)

BRETT:(as customer) Martini please. Stirred, not shaken… And make it dirty.

(BRETT crosses back around to the other side)

BRETT:(as bartender)(intense) You like it dirty?

(BRETT crosses back around to the other side)

BRETT:(as customer)(intense) I want it dirty.

(BRETT crosses back around to the other side)

BRETT:(as bartender) Dirty huh?

(BRETT crosses back around to the other side)

BRETT:(as customer) Real dirty.

(BRETT crosses back around to the other side)

BRETT:(as bartender) One dirty martini, coming up.

(BRETT makes martini, puts it down and crosses back around to the other side.)

BRETT:(as customer)(taking out his wallet) How much do I owe you?

(BRETT crosses back around to the other side)

BRETT:(as bartender) It’s on the house.

(BRETT crosses back around to the other side)

BRETT: (as customer) You’re so kind… And handsome.
(BRETT as customer downs the drink in one gulp)

(BRETT crosses back around to the other side)

BRETT:(as bartender) (Nods his head.)

(BRETT crosses back around to the other side)

BRETT: (as customer) Gimme another one. Make it dirtier this time.

(BRETT crosses back around to the other side)

BRETT: (as bartender) I’ll make it double dirty this time. From one dirty creature to another.

(BRETT crosses back around to the other side)

BRETT: (as customer) Oh… You’re dirty?

(BRETT crosses back around to the other side)

BRETT: (as bartender) (intense) Real dirty.

(BRETT crosses back around to the other side)

BRETT: (as customer) I like it dirty.

(BRETT crosses back around to the other side)

BRETT: (as bartender) I know. I can smell it. (BRETT inhales slowly and sensually)

(BRETT crosses back around to the other side)

BRETT: (as customer) How’s business?

(BRETT crosses back around to the other side)

BRETT: (as bartender) (making two martinis) Slow… Very slow… I’d be losing it if it wasn’t for you. You’re my best customer. One for me… One for you (Brett downs one martini and then crosses to the otherside of the bar to down the second one, he remains seated as a customer.)

(MINDY, MOLLY, MANDY AND MOMBY enter the bar chatting loudly in a party mood but stop as soon as they see Brett talking to himself and stand watching him, unseen by him)

BRETT:(as customer talking to where Brett the bartender was standing) It must be hard… Serving drunk imbeciles all night… Listening to them go on about their idiotic problems. Well tell me this: Who is there for you? Who is the bartender’s bartender?

(BRETT crosses back around to the other side)

BRETT: (as bartender) If only you knew. (he puts his hands on the counter top, breathes heavily for a few moments before breaking down into manly sobs)

(BRETT crosses back around to the other side)

BRETT: (as customer) (Standing up and putting his finger up to BRETT-as-the-bartender’s imaginary lips)
Shhh… Don’t speak… I’ve been coming here for a long time… and not just for the cheap booze…. I love you Brett… I don’t need… Anyone else except you…

(BRETT crosses back around to the other side)

BRETT: (as bartender) (in a sobbing, loud whisper) You are not alone.

(BRETT crosses back around to the other side)

BRETT: (as customer) Then shut up and kiss me you dirty… Slut.

(BRETT-as-the-customer leans in and starts imaginarily making out with himself for 35 seconds and then suddenly breaks into sobs. He begins to slam his fist onto the table repeatedly)
(For this next bit, each ‘NO!’ should be said at irregular and varying intervals, some long, some short)

NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!

MANDY: Uhh are you okay?

(BRETT turns around. There is a pause)

BRETT: Umm Sorry… I’m uhh… rehearsing… for a play i’m in… i guess i lost myself in my character… ha… ha… ha…ha… ha…

GIRLS: Ha. Ha… Ha… Ha… Ha. Ha. Haha.

BRETT: Ha ha. Ha. Ha.

GIRLS: Ha. Ha. Ha. Haha haha.

BRETT: Ha.

GIRLS: Ha.

(MOLLY, who isn’t needed in this scene aside from two lines is on her phone the whole time)

BRETT: Ha. (pause) Grab a seat. What can I get you girls?

(BRETT crosses back to around the otherside of the bar)

MINDY: Who’s the character are you playing?

BRETT: (darkly, spitting) An asshole. A fucken asshole. An idiot. A coward. A wastrel. A man with no future. A man who cannot forgive himself for what happened in the past.

MANDY: What’s the play about?

BRETT: Stuff. I can’t tell you.

MINDY: Please?

BRETT: It’s about the game we all play.

MINDY: What game?

BRETT: What can i get you?

MINDY: What game?

BRETT: (curtly) What can I get you?

MANDY: A round of tequila please.

(BRETT pours them their drinks)

BRETT: Girl’s night out?

MANDY: Hen’s party actually.

BRETT: Who’s the unlucky criminal?

MINDY: (pointing at Momby) Momby.

BRETT: Momby?

MANDY: Momby.

BRETT: Momby.

MINDY: Momby.

MANDY: Momby.

MOLLY: (has to take the radio mic just for this one line) Momby.

MOMBY:(has to take the radio mic just for this one line) Momby.

BRETT: Ah… Momby… What kind of name is that?

MINDY: Some nignog ethnic bullshit.

MANDY: Mindy, please don’t speak like that.

MINDY: She’s deaf and mute so who gives a fuck? She can’t hear us.

MANDY: I can hear you and i don’t like the way you talk sometimes.

MINDY: They’re just words, loosen up faggot.

(awkward pause)

MANDY: (apologetically to Brett) She doesn’t really know what’s going on.

BRETT: Momby or (gesturing towards MINDY) her?

MANDY: Momby… But her too.

MINDY: She’s as dumb as a sack of dead retards. See look?

(CUE PANDA BEAR SONG- ‘FACES IN THE CROWD.’ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OfP37Y9SMJQ
-Starting at 0:08sec into the song. With a absolutely expressionless poker face MINDY does a weird and wriggly dance in front of her. She really gets into it, but maintains her poker face. MOMBY doesn’t react much. The dance lasts up till 1:41 sec into the song before being cut abruptly.)

BRETT: Who’s she marrying?

MANDY: Her financial analyst.

BRETT: How did they meet?

MANDY: At an illegal dogfight… In a revolving restaurant.

MINDY: They were the dogs. But instead of fighting, they fucked.(beat) Like dogs.

BRETT: We are all dogs. (shouting and slamming the counter with his fist )WE WILL ALL DIE… LIKE DOGS!

MANDY: A toast!

(Everyone raises their glass. Except Molly who is on her phone for the most part of this scene)

MINDY: To Momby, our pet retard. May your marriage not go to the shit like your parent’s after they had a spazz like you.

MANDY: Mindy, please. Why do you have to say those ugly words? Our friend is getting married tommorrow. Please be happy for her

MINDY: She can’t hear us, what does it matter? (yelling with her glass to the air) To Momby the spazz with a fake nigger name.

MANDY: Please don’t say that.

MINDY: What? She can’t hear us.

MANDY: She’s our friend.

MINDY: More like our cashed up mascot. May as well stick her in an animal onsie while we’re at it.

MANDY: Why?

MINDY: Why what?

MANDY: Why do you have to be this way?

MINDY: What way?

MANDY: Horrible. What do you get out of being so horrible?

MINDY: I’m just joking.

MANDY: No you’re not. You always say that, but you’re not

MINDY:(getting up in Mandy’s face, angry) Loosen up twinkle cunt… You need to get yourself a hard, black dick to sweep those cobwebs away… Maybe then you wouldn’t be such a fucken pussy.

MANDY: (compassionately) Why do you have to be this way? You don’t have to be this way.

MINDY: (getting up in Mandy’s face, angry) Get the fuck off my back.

MANDY: (quizzical) I don’t know why I’m friends with you sometimes.

MINDY: What do you mean?

MANDY: You are a horrible person Mindy.

MINDY: No I’m not. I just say what i want to say.

MANDY: (with extreme compassion) You really are. One of the worst i have ever met.

MINDY: I’m an acquired taste.

MANDY: No. No one likes you. Everyone hates you. It’s just that no one ever says anything to you about it.

MINDY: Huh?

MANDY: Everyone always says things behind your back, but no one ever says anything to your face because they are afraid of you.

MINDY: Why?

CUE MUSIC: ANIMAL COLLECTIVE ‘LOCH RAVEN’ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WiGI_UsWcWs -very softly in the background.

MANDY:(Turning to face MINDY front on, holding her hand and staring into her eyes with great compassion) Mindy, no one likes you. (caring) I don’t like you. I’ve known you for 15 years. I have tried my hardest to find some good in you. There is nothing good in you.

(All the while Brett stares into space polishing glasses, MOLLY is on her phone, MOMBY stands in a spot and turns from side to side, as if lost in a crowd.)

MINDY: Nothing?

MANDY: Absolutely nothing. You are terrible.. I’m saying this as a friend. You decrease the quality of life to everyone around you..

MINDY: Really?

MANDY: Yes. Really. If you killed yourself, there would be no tears. Not one. From anyone. Just sighs of relief.

MINDY: But… I just…

MANDY: I’m saying this as a friend. For the benefit of humanity. As an act of compassion. Please… Just end.

MINDY: You’re joking.

MANDY: No I’m not Mindy. I’m being serious. Nobody likes that you’re alive. On the same earth as them. These aren’t my words. Everyone says this.

MINDY: Everyone?

MANDY: Everyone that has met you that I’ve talked to.

MINDY:(tearing up) I can change.

MANDY: No you can’t. I know you Mindy. You are a terrible person. Through and through. I used to ask myself, ‘How did you get this way?’ and then i realised you were always this way. You were always awful, you will always be awful. You aren’t going to get better. The only positive act you can do is to end yourself. I’m saying this as a friend Mindy.

MINDY: You’re joking?

MANDY: No. I say this out of love and compassion. Genuinely. In total earnest. This is what we all think and what we have all been saying about you. Isn’t that right?

(MANDY gives her radio mic to MOLLY for this one line)

MOLLY: Yeah.

(MOLLY hands back radio mic to MANDY, who then hands it to MOMBY.)

MOMBY: (Plaintive. Forlorn) Momby.

MANDY: See? Everyone that knows or meets you, always says the same thing.

(MANDY Hands back radio mic to MOLLY)

MOLLY: ‘She makes me ashamed that i am the same species as her.’

MINDY: Everyone?

MANDY: Everyone that has met you that i have talked to.

MINDY: Why didn’t someone say something sooner?

MANDY: We were afraid of you. You hurt people.

MINDY: I wish someone had told me.

MANDY: There was no point. (staring into her eyes with extra love and care) It would be like asking hitler not to hate the jews.

MINDY: He didn’t hate them, he just thought they were evil.

MANDY: See Mindy? You’re defending Hitler. You’re terrible.

MINDY: He was just a dissappointed ideallist.

MANDY: Look Mindy (grabs her by the shoulders and looks deep into her eyes with compassion) You are a terrible person. A terrible terrible terrible terrible person. All of us loathe having to see you. We even have an acronym for it.

MINDY: An acronym?

MANDY: IMLMUAESWCL
(pronounced IMMIL-MOO-AES-WACKLE)

MINDY: IMLMUAESWCL
(pronounced IMMIL-MOO-AES-WACKLE)

MANDY: Yeah IMLMUAESWCL
(pronounced IMMIL-MOO-AES-WACKLE)
as in ‘It’s Mindy, Lets Make up an excuse so we can leave.’

(MINDY falls to the floor crying and sobbing. ‘COME UP AND GET ME’ by DEATH GRIPS https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HMVSQVn97es -starts playing in the background VERY LOUDLY so the actors have to shout over the top of it. MANDY gets down, cuddles her in a motherly fashion and strokes her hair soothingly.)

MANDY: (while hugging and stroking MINDY’s sobbing body on ground, shouting, but not angrily, but just to be heard over the top of the music)
How did you get this way?
How did you get this way?
How did you get this way?
Why do you live this way
Why do you live this way?
Why do you live this way?

(MUSIC STOPS ABRUPTLY. MINDY REMAINS ON GROUND SOBBING QUIETLY. She remains on the ground sobbing for the next two scenes the whole time)

BRETT: She needed to hear that.

MANDY: No one ever said anything. I thought maybe i should. It was time.

BRETT: No one ever tells these people. You did the right thing.

MANDY: Did I?

BRETT: You did.

MANDY: Did I?

BRETT: You did.

MANDY: Did I?

BRETT: You did.

MANDY: To Momby. May never the day end or the sunshine run out.

BRETT: Momby.

MINDY: (Still on floor) Momby.

MANDY: To momby.

BRETT: Momby. To Momby

MANDY: Molly? To Momby.
(MOLLY GIVES MOLLY HE RADIO MIC FOR THE NEXT LINE)

MOLLY: Momby.

MANDY: Momby? To Momby.
(MANDY gestures to Momby to toast and gives her her radio mic for just this next line)

MOMBY: Momby.

(CUE DEATH GRIPS ‘COME UP AND GET ME’. MOMBY, MANDY AND MOLLY ALL GROUP HUG AWKWARDLY FOR 40SEC. THE MUSIC STOPS.

BRETT: I feel like the monsoon rain on the back of a hot elephant.

(Suddenly there is flashing lights. CUE very loud WHITE NOISE and noises from all directions, breaking, smashing, crashing, explosions for 2minutes. MINDY wraps her arms around MOLLY and while holding her tightly, along with BRETT and MANDY they go into a hysterical tantrum type fugue state for the duration of the white noise. Suddenly the noise stops abruptly )

BRETT: What was that?

MANDY: I don’t know.

MINDY: What was that?

BRETT: Stay here, i will just check.

(BRETT goes to the door, but is unable to open it)

The doors jammed. Smoke. Sirens. There’s stuff blocking the door. Cant open it. Wait. Theres a little hole of light, i can just take a peek at what’s happening…

(BRETT peers through the crack in the door, then recoils melodramatically backwards, falling to the floor, writhing and screaming in absolute terror)
JESUS! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?? FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!

MANDY: What is it?

BRETT: (Still writhing on the ground and carrying on) IT’S HERE! I SAW IT. THE GAME. (loud whisper) IT WAS ALIVE. I SAW IT. IT LOOKED AT ME. IT KNEW I WAS CHEATING.

MANDY: (thoughtfully) You saw the game from inside the game.

BRETT: (writhing) It was alive. It said things to me.

MUSIC CUE- ‘No Wonder I’ by Lake https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=os8WIRrtu5o -is played during this up to the 1:30min mark

BRETT CARRIES ON WITH HIS HYSTERICAL CONNIPTIONS FOR ONE MINUTE THEN DIES. THE MUSIC PLAYS OUT WHILE BRETTS DEAD BODY FACES THE AUDIENCE. NO ONE on set does anything at all. just the music and the dead body

(CUT TO AD BREAK)

SCENE WHA??

BRETTS CORPSE LIES IN THE MIDDLE 0F THE BAR ON THE FLOOR. MINDY STILL SOBS ON THE FLOOR. MANDY POURS HERSELF, MOMBY AND MOLLY ALL A DRINK.

MANDY: He saw it.

MOLLY: Wonder what it looked like. Perhaps one of us should take a look. See if it’s still there.

MANDY: Are you kidding? whatever he saw out there killed him! Just cause he saw it.

MOMBY: Momby.

MOLLY: Momby.

MANDY: Momby.

MOLLY: Turn on the radio.

(MANDY TURNS ON THE RADIO)

RADIO ANNOUNCER: (EITHER HYSTERICAL OR LOUD DEADPAN) HOLY FUCK PEOPLE! ITS THE END OF THE WORLD! THERE IS NOWHERE TO RUN AND NOWHERE TO HIDE! FUCK! WEATHER FORECAST FOR THE NEXT WEEK: THE SKY’S ON FIRE!!! ACID RAIN, SUNNY WITH A TOP OF 300 degrees WITH COOLING WESTERLIES IN THE AFTERNOON. HERE’S KEITH WITH THE TRAFFIC REPORT…
KEITH: THERES SEVERAL HUGE… THINGS… ON THE HIGHWAY MOVING TOWARDS THE CITY! MOTHER OF GOD WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT? WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?

(MANDY TURNS OFF RADIO)

MANDY: Well.

MOLLY: What now?

MOMBY: (loud, distraught) Momby!

(MOMBY runs to go have a look out the crack in the door)

MANDY: MOMBY NO!

MOLLY: MOMBY!

MOMBY: MOMBY!

(MOMBY peers out of the crack in the door. Nothing happens.)

MANDY: That’s weird… (WALKING TOWARDS THE CRACK IN THE DOOR)
I guess the coast is clear then.

(MANDY peers through the crack in the door and is suddenly struck down and falls to the floor writhing)

MANDY: OH GOD FUCK! WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IS THAT? AARRRGGHGH GET AWAY! DONT LOOK THROUGH THE DOOR!!! DONT LOOK THROUGH THE DOOR! ARRRGGGGHHH

(Cue ‘NO WONDER I- by LAKE https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=os8WIRrtu5o playing during this up to the 1:30min mark and then repeated if nec while MANDY melodramatically dies thrashing, slowly and loudly, in great pain)

(MOLLY goes over to MANDY’s body to check for her pulse. At this point MANDY Gives MINDY her mic)

MOLLY: Shit. Shit. Shit. What do we do now?

MOMBY: MOMBY.

MOLLY: Shut up!

(MOLLY paces back and forth for a while, thinking)

MOLLY: OK! i have a plan!

(MOLLY goes behind the bar and grabs two bottles of whisky and puts one in Momby’s hands and holds the bottle up to toast)

MOLLY: To the end of the world.

(MOLLY drinks deeply, while assisting MOMBY to drink from her bottle.)

OK. I don’t have a plan. Let’s just drink.

(MOLLY stares into Momby’s eyes, with an arm on her shoulder comforting her) I’m so sorry Momby. You poor girl. You were finally about to get married and then the world had to end… Rotten luck… He was a real nice fella too… Life’s just not fair sometimes Momby. It’s a shame.

(MOLLY embraces her and holds her tight.)

MOMBY: (plaintive)Momby.

MOLLY:(consoling) Yes, Momby.(turning to face her, hands on her shoulders) You are Momby.

MOMBY: (plaintive) Momby.

MOLLY: (tenderly) Momby.

MOMBY: (forlorn)Momby.

MOLLY: (tenderly) Momby.

MOMBY: (sadly) Momby.

MOLLY: (tenderly) Momby.

MOMBY: (sadly) Momby.

MOLLY: (tenderly) Momby.

(CUE DEATH GRIPS ‘COME UP AND GET ME’ played through their hug at a piercing volume for the first 30 sec then skipped to the 1:40sec and then played up till 2.10 of the song. They are totally still during the song, only hugging each other tenderly and with great care, that turns into a very restrained slow dance of sorts. Suddenly Molly breaks their clasp. Music stops abruptly)

MOLLY: I got it! You will get your wedding my love. Right now. I will not have the world end without your wedding. You will not die alone. (slamming fist on the counter and shouting) You will not die alone… Like a… Like a Dog! (slamming fist on the counter repeatedly and shouting) You will not die alone!

MOLLY finds a white paper lace doily and grabs a rubber band from around the room.

MOLLY: Momby. i know this isnt a traditional wedding, but these aren’t traditional times we are living in… Momby. I dont think we are going to get through this one, but you will have your wedding if its the last thing you do. Here, come over here.

(MOLLY drags MOMBY to where BRETT’s corpse is. She put the white paper lace doily over Momby’s head.)

MOLLY: I know he isn’t your true love, but in these circumstances he will have to do…

(MOLLY TRIES TO PICK UP BRETT, WHO REMAINS INERT ON THE GROUND AND HEAVY AND HARD TO MOVE, MOLLY ABANDONS THE EFFORT)

MOLLY: OK. Thats not working. Your groom might have to just stay there. Ummm music. We need wedding music. Let’s see whats on the radio.

(MOLLY TURNS ON THE RADIO. Its the news)

RADIO ANNNOUNCER: OH GOD IT HURTS! EVERYTHING HURTS! WHY WON’T IT STOP?

(MOLLY turns to the next channel)

DIFF RADIO ANNOUNCER: AAAAHHHHHHHHHA OORORRRRGGHHHH

(MOLLY turns to another channel but there is no other ones so she just turns it to LOUD RADIO STATIC WHITE NOISE)

MOLLY: Okay! Uhhh Let’s see what else do we need. Well there is no aisle… Umm i guess i will have to be the priest then… uhhh… Stand here Momby. Actually… sit down with him.

(MOLLY gets Momby to sit down next to Bretts inert corpse)

MOLLY: OK… We are gathered here to uhh… Celebrate uhh…

MOMBY: Momby.

MOLLY: Momby.

MOMBY: MOMBY.

MOLLY: MOMBY… and her partner… I cant remember his name… Doesn’t matter… We are gathered here to…

(MOLLY breaks down crying)

MOLLY:(Regathering) I’m so sorry… I get emotional at these things… We are gathered here to… I’m not really sure how this goes… Let’s just skip to the main bit… Do you take this corpse to be your lawfully wedded husband?

MOMBY: Momby.

MOLLY: And do you take Momby to be your lawfully wedded wife?

(they wait for a while and let him lie there)

MOLLY: OK good. Then you may kiss the corpse.

(MOMBY doesn’t do anything)

MOLLY: Kiss the corpse.

(MOMBY just stands there)

MOLLY: Kiss the death Momby.

MOLLY: Momby. You have to kiss the corpse. He’s your husband now. You are married to death. Thats how weddings work.

(MOMBY just stands there)

MOLLY: Kiss him Momby.

(MOMBY Stands there)

MOLLY: Kiss him.

(Cue ‘NO WONDER I- by LAKE https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=os8WIRrtu5o playing during this up to the 1:30min mark and then repeated if nec MOLLY grabs MOMBY and tries to force her to kiss BRETT. She resists and a struggle ensues.)

MOLLY: YOU LOVE HIM!

MOMBY: MOMBY!

MOLLY: HE LOVES YOU.

(MOMBY KEEPS RESISTING)

MOLLY: You won’t be married if you don’t kiss him.

(MOMBY RESISTS. MOLLY continues to try and force MOMBY to kiss dead BRETT’s corpse.)

(MUSIC CUTS ABRUPTLY)

MINDY: (still lying down but not sobbing anymore) You forgot a bit.

MOLLY: What bit?

MINDY: That part about ‘If anyone has any objections to this couple, speak now or forever hold your peace’

MOLLY: What?

MINDY: You didn’t say that bit.

MOLLY: It’s too late now.

MINDY: No it’s not.

MOLLY: It’s not a real wedding. I’m not a real priest. I’m doing this for Momby.

MINDY: Molly. Momby is deaf. Dumb. Look at her. She doesn’t even know the world is ending. She doesn’t even realise she’s getting married.

MOLLY: Then why should i even bother saying that bit.

MINDY: Because if you’re going to do something, do it right.

MOLLY: Fine. Fine. (still holding MOMBY over BRETT) If anyone has any objections to this couple, speak now or forever hold your peace.

MINDY:(raising her hand) I have an objection.

MOLLY: You?

MINDY: I just want to say i object to this idiot marrying her future husband.

MOLLY: Why would you say that?

MINDY: Because…

(CUT TO AD BREAK OR MORE LOUDER NOISES)

SCENE WHA?

MOLLY: Because??

MINDY: Because I can. And i did. I object. I don’t have to have a reason. I dont have to have a reason.

MOLLY: Wow. You really are an awful, awful…. How could you betray our friend like this on her Wedding Day? How do you live this way?

MINDY: I just don’t think retarded people should get married.

MOLLY: What? She’s not retarded. Stop using that word.

MINDY: It goes against Nature. Besides, I’ve been fucking her fiance for months now.

MOLLY: What?

MINDY: She’s not much use to him while she’s alive. Sometimes we do it right in front of her. She doesnt even notice. The spoonhead may as well be in a fishtank.

MOLLY: How could you betray our friend like that?

MINDY: She’s not our friend. You think we’d hangout with old sperm brains here if her family wasn’t loaded? She’s just a fat wallet attached to sack of idiot pity meat.

(Shrieking, MOLLY leaps onto MINDY and they struggle, trying to strangle each other. CUE LAKE ‘NO WONDER I’ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=os8WIRrtu5o again stopped and repeated at 1:30sec point in song. This goes on for a while, as they each take turns gaining the upper hand and straddling on top of each other. Eventually MINDY gains the upper hands and strangles MOLLY to death. As MOLLY chokes to death, MINDY begins to tenderly kiss her on the face and lips. When she is finally dead, MINDY kisses her deeply on her dead flaccid lips for way too long then is necessary. MUSIC STOPS ABRUPTLY)

MINDY:(loudly whispering) I win. I always win.

(LAKE MUSIC STARTS AGAIN and MINDY continues to kiss MOLLY’S corpse for a 20 more seconds. The music fades out and MINDY continutes to kiss MOLLY’s corpse in silence. Eventually she grows tired of it, spits on her face, gets up and pours herself a drink.)

MINDY: Well look like it’s just me and you now.

MOMBY: Momby.

MINDY: (pouring herself another drink) I guess this is a happy ending right.

MOMBY: Momby.

MINDY: Answer me dammit! I won didn’t I?

MOMBY: (shrieking) MOMBY.

MINDY: Say something that isn’t your name!

MOMY: (Shrieking) MOMBY!

MINDY: Oh god. What have i done?

(MINDY runs back over to MOLLY’s corpse and starts shaking her)

Wake up MOLLY! I’m sorry! Don’t leave me with this idiot! Come back!

(MINDY gives up and sits down at the bar and pours herself another drink)

I guess we just have to wait for the world to end now.

MOMBY: Momby.

MINDY: Yeah yeah, i get it.

MOMBY: Momby.

MINDY: Shut up.

MOMBY: Momby.

MINDY: Don’t…

MOMBY: Momby.

(MINDY gets up with slow deliberation and slowly affixes her hands around MOMBY’s throat. CUE LAKE ‘NO WONDER I’ BUT DELIBERATELY RESTARTED AT IRREGULAR INTERVALS AND SKIPPING AROUND A LOT)

MOMBY: (choking) Mo-mby… Mo-mby…

MINDY: (spoken flatly, not sung) Here comes the bride. All dressed in white.

(MOMBY is choked to death and falls dead to the floor. MINDY goes around to the back of the bar and pretends to be the bartender.)

MINDY:(as bartender) What can i get you, you hot thing?

(MINDY Goes back to the other side of the bar)

MINDY:(as customer) four bodybags and a tequila.

(MINDY Goes back to the other side of the bar)

MINDY:(as bartender) (flatly) Ha ha ha.

(MINDY Goes back to the other side of the bar)

MINDY:(as customer) Hahaha.

(MINDY Goes back to the other side of the bar)

MINDY:(as bartender) (flatly) Ha ha ha.

(MINDY Goes back to the other side of the bar)

MINDY:(as customer) (flatly) Ha ha ha.

(MINDY Goes back to the other side of the bar)

MINDY:(as bartender) (flatly) Ha ha ha.

(MINDY Goes back to the other side of the bar)

MINDY:(as customer) It’s not a joke.

(MINDY Goes back to the other side of the bar)

MINDY:(as bartender) Oh. Well i only got one of those things.

(MINDY Goes back to the other side of the bar)

MINDY:(as customer) Do you think what they said was true? Am I an awful person?

(MINDY Goes back to the other side of the bar)

MINDY:(as bartender) No.

(MINDY Goes back to the other side of the bar)

MINDY:(as customer) Am i an awful person?

(MINDY Goes back to the other side of the bar)

MINDY:(as bartender) No.

(MINDY Goes back to the other side of the bar)

MINDY:(as customer) You fucken liar!

(CUE LAKE NO WONDER SKIPPING AND RESTARTED AND RRANDOM SECTIONS OF THE SONG MINDY starts throttling herself as the bartender violently)

DIE YOU BITCH! WHY WON’T YOU DIE??

(While MINDY is throttling MINDY-as-the-bartender, MOMBY rises from the dead and begins to walk around to each of the dead corpses and touch them on the heart and forehead, bring them back to life until they are all standing around and watching her. MANDY, MINDY, MOLLY have the mics)

MANDY: What are you doing?

(MINDY turns around startled)

MINDY: You’re … You’re alive!

MOLLY: You killed me.

MINDY: You tried to kill me!

MOLLY: Did you have to kiss me as you killed me?

MINDY: I got carried away.

MOLLY: You are not a good person.

MINDY: I’m sorry. It’s just that… You looked really pretty as the life ran out of you.

MOLLY: What am i supposed to say to that?

MINDY: You looked so vulnerable… I wanted to taste it.

MOLLY: How did you get this way?

MANDY: Guys. Stop. We need to put aside our differences. It’s the end of the world. We need to learn to forgive.

MOLLY: She killed me.

MANDY: Molly, i know she’s a terrible person, but you were the first to attack.

MOLLY: She sexually assaulted me as i died.

MANDY: We all make mistakes.

MINDY: It wasn’t a mistake. I enjoyed every second of it.

MOLLY: She’s evil.

MANDY: No. Just lost.

MINDY: I was trying to suck your soul out of you.

MOLLY: You are poison.

MANDY: We must learn to forgive. Otherwise we lose the game.

MINDY: … Just so i could have the satisfaction of shitting it out later… Hold on what game?

MOLLY: I’m not forgiving this monster.

MANDY: Say sorry Molly… Then we can leave the game.

MINDY: What game?

MOLLY: People like you are worse than the end of the world.

MANDY: Only forgiveness will redeem the wicked.

MOLLY: People like you are the end of the world. Mindy?

MINDY: Yes?

MOLLY: I forgive you for killing me.

MINDY: Get down on your knees and beg me.

MOLLY: What?

MINDY: It’s not real until you get down on your knees.

MOLLY: You… (begrudgingly, MOLLY gets down on her knees)

MINDY: I want total submission. I am your God and you have sinned

MANDY: Do what she says Molly.

MOLLY: What are you two working together now?

MANDY: Just do it. Otherwise we won’t be able to get to the next level of the game.

MINDY: What game?

MANDY: Nevermind.

MOLLY: (remembering) Right. The game. I keep forgetting.

MINDY: What game?

MANDY: You wouldn’t understand.

MINDY: Tell me! What game?

MANDY: Just get down on your knees and forgive Mindy, Molly.

MOLLY: Right. Sure thing.

(MOLLY gets down on one knee)

MINDY: (Agitated) Tell me about this game!

MOLLY: It’s none of your business. I am about to forgive you for killing me. Thats all that matters.

(MINDY looks confused. All the while MANDY creeps behind her)

Mindy? Will you marry me?

(MOLLY laughs)

I’m sorry, i couldn’t resist.
I sincerely forgive you MINDY, for killing me… And kissing me as i died.

MINDY: Tell me about this game or i wont accept your forgiveness.

MOLLY: (getting up) I dont give a shit if you dont accept my forgiveness. I played my part so I’m done.

(CUE: AISATSANA by APHEX TWIN plays softly in the background. MANDY grabs MINDY, pushes her to the ground and straddle her and begins to lovingly strangle her to death with great compassion. MANDY’s facial expression is ethereal.)

MANDY: (compassionately) This is the game Mindy. The aim is to lose. Whoever loses, wins. Whoever wins, loses…. The name of the game is, ‘Let’s call it a draw.’

(MINDY struggles)

We are not killing you out of hate, but out of compassion. For all other living things. This is a buddhist murder.

(MINDY slowly dies. MANDY kisses her tenderly on the forehead for a very long time. She sits straddling MINDY’s dead body for a few moments before getting up. Music stops. MANDY gives MINDY’S radio mic now to BRETT.)

MOLLY: What now?

MANDY: We wait.

BRETT: You guys want a drink?

MOLLY: Yes please. Make it strong.

(BRETT hands them each a bottle of drink)

MANDY: Turn on the radio please.

(BRETT TURNS ON RADIO)

RADIO: THIS JUST IN. EVERYTHING IS FINE. I REPEAT, EVERYTHING IS FINE. CARRY ON AS BEFORE. DO NOT PANIC. NOTHING IS WRONG. EVERYTHING IS GOOD.

MOLLY: We won.

MANDY: Yes.

BRETT:(Lifting his bottle to toast) Here’s to winning the game.

MANDY: Here’s to being.

MOLLY: Here’s to everything.

BRETT: To everything.

MANDY: Everything.

MOMBY:(MANDY HANDING HER RADIO MIC FOR THIS LINE) (joyful) MOMBY.

MANDY: MOMBY.

MOLLY: MOMBY.

BRETT: What kind of name is that?

MOMBY: (MANDY HANDS MOMBY HER MIC)
I AM MOMBY.
THE MOTHER OF ALL GHOSTS.
THE KILLER OF DEATH.
THE CLEANER OF THE STAIN.

BRETT: That doesn’t really answer my question.

MOLLY: You can talk?

MOMBY: No.

MOLLY: We… Thought you were deaf and dumb.

MOMBY: I am.

MOLLY: Are we still in the game?

MOMBY: No.

BRETT: What now?

MOMBY: We are free to go. Do as we please.

MOLLY: I’m scared. I don’t want to leave.

MOMBY: With freedom comes risk.

BRETT: Freedom is a cage. Cages are freedom.

MOMBY: All cages have doors. Look out there. Can you see the watchers?

MOLLY: The watchers?

MOMBY: Can’t you see them?

(BRETT AND MOLLY CRANE THEIR NECKS, FLAT OF THEIR HANDS OVER THEIR EYES)

BRETT: I can’t see anything.

MOLLY: I can’t see anything.

MOMBY: Here. Take my hands. Everyone.

(BRETT, MOLLY, MANDY, take MOMBY’s hand and walk into the crowd. Only MOMBY can see the crowd.)

MOMBY: See? Here’s one. And here’s another.

BRETT:(Touching an audience members face) I can’t see anything.

MOLLY:(Touching an audience member’s face) I can’t see anything either.

MANDY: (Touching an audience member’s body) I can’t see anything.

(CUE APHEX TWIN ‘AISATSANA’ PLAYS BUT WITH CONSTANT RESTARTING AND SKIPPING)

MOMBY: See? Here’s one. And here’s another.

BRETT:(Touching an audience members face) I can’t see anything.

MOLLY:(Touching an audience member’s face) I can’t see anything either.

MANDY: (Touching an audience member’s body) I can’t see anything.

MOMBY: I can see them.

BRETT:(Touching an audience members face) I can’t see anything.

MOLLY:(Touching an audience member’s face) I can’t see anything either.

MANDY: (Touching an audience member’s body) I can’t see anything.

MOMBY: I can see them.

BRETT:(Touching an audience members face) I can’t see anything.

MOLLY:(Touching an audience member’s face) I can’t see anything either.

MANDY: (Touching an audience member’s body) I can’t see anything.

MOMBY: I can see them.

BRETT:(Touching an audience members face) I can’t see anything.

MOLLY:(Touching an audience member’s face) I can’t see anything either.

MANDY: (Touching an audience member’s face) I can’t see anything.

MOMBY: I can see them.

BRETT:(Touching an audience members face) I can’t see anything.

MOLLY:(Touching an audience member’s face) I can’t see anything either.

MANDY: (Touching an audience member’s body) I can’t see anything.

MOMBY: I can see them.

BRETT:(Touching an audience members face) I can’t see anything.

MOLLY:(Touching an audience member’s face) I can’t see anything either.

MANDY: (Touching an audience member’s face) I can’t see anything.

MOMBY: I can see them.

BRETT:(Touching an audience members face) I can’t see anything.

MOLLY:(Touching an audience member’s face) I can’t see anything either.

MANDY: (Touching an audience member’s body) I can’t see anything.

MOMBY: See? Here’s one. And here’s another.

BRETT:(Touching an audience members face) I can’t see anything.

MOLLY:(Touching an audience member’s face) I can’t see anything either.

MANDY: (Touching an audience member’s face) I can’t see anything.

MOMBY: I can see them.

BRETT: (blindly touching an audience member’s face not seeing them)I can see them.

MOLLY: (blindly touching an audience member’s face not seeing them) I can see them too.

MANDY: (Touching an audience member’s facenot seeing them) I can see them.

(MUSIC STOPS. BLACKOUT)

END

LITTLE CHOO CHOO TRAIN OF NOTHING

I recieved a phonecall from my friend.
‘He dumped me.’ She said, breaking down into uncontrollable sobbing. I listened to her cry through my phone reciever. After a while I took the phone off of my ear because i realised i could do that, and when i did that, i didn’t feel so bad. I held the phone a few inches away from my ear. The sound of her crying was now small and distant. I imagined that she wasn’t a friend in pain anymore but instead, a small insect-type alien creature trapped inside the phone reciever who was crying because it couldn’t get out of it and return back to it’s hive somewhere on the underside of a meteor several million light years away.
Poor little thing, so far from home, I thought.
My friend, the small insect-type alien creature, continued to cry, her sobs leaking out of the reciever like tiny bubbles of sadness that popped in my face. I knew what she wanted. She wanted someone to tell her that everything would be okay and she wanted me to be that guy. I wasn’t sure if I could be that guy. From past experiences, I just wasn’t sure if i could say those lines with conviction. Sure, sometimes things would be okay, but sometimes things would not be okay. Sometimes things would be worse. Sometimes things would stay the same. Sometimes things would get worse and then get better and then stay the same and then get worse and then get better etc… Up and down, down and up, like a little choo choo train chugging over plateaus and valleys and peaks, until it eventually broke down somewhere or got buried in an avalanche of dirt or rotted, forgotten in a swamp to rust away to nothing.
Such was life.
Such was the little choo choo train of death.
I decided to put aside my own personal beliefs for once and be a good friend.
‘Hey uhh… Don’t worry… Mmmm…’ I stammered, warming up.
‘Yeah?’ She said, hopeful as a bee waiting under a drop of nectar hanging from a flower’s stamen.
‘Uhhh… Everything… Everything will be…’
‘Uh huh?’
‘EVERYTHING WILL BE ALRIGHT!!’ I shouted down the phone. The crying stopped. I sighed with relief. I’d done it. I had successfully performed a role i didn’t feel comfortable with performing in order to help a friend.
‘You really think so?’ She said, interrupting my premature self-congratulation. I was silent. This was not part of the script.
‘Hello? You still there?’
‘Huh? Yeah I’m still here.’ I said.
‘Well do you really think so?’
‘Do i really think what?’
‘Do you really think everything will be alright?’
‘What? Of course not! Dont be ridiculous!’
‘You can’t say that.’
‘Well you can’t do this!’
‘Do what?’
‘You can’t ask me to be the ‘Everything is going to be alright guy’ and then question me about it after, try and get me to qualify me as a certainty- that’s unreasonable…’
‘Why not?’
‘Why not? Because I don’t know if its going to be alright! It might be, it might not be… I’m not a fucking psychic… You know, life is a choo choo train of death and uhh… sometimes it breaks down and you gotta just catch the uhh choo choo bus?’
‘Choo choo train of death? What the fuck are you talking about?’
Look it could be alright for a while, but who knows maybe then it goes to shit then gets better and then gets shit and then gets boring… You just can’t tell. I’d be lying if i said everything was gonna be okay… You know… Life is a little choo choo train of death!’
‘You’re not supposed to say that.’
‘You’re not supposed to interrogate me about an empty platitude i’m obligated to dole out to you during your time of need.’
‘Wow. You really are an asshole.’
‘Why did you get me to be the ‘Everything is going to be alright guy’? You know me well enough to know that blind optimism in the face overwhelming evidence isn’t my bag…’
‘I tried to call other people, but no one else picked up.’
‘How far down on the list was I?’
‘Umm… 3rd… 4th… You were 9th on the list. No one else was up this late. They all have jobs.’
‘You should of waited till the morning.’
‘Well what now?’
‘What do you mean ‘what now’?’
‘I just don’t feel right. We can’t leave it like this.’
‘How about you hang up and pretend like this conversation didn’t happen and you can call me again, i will say ‘Everything will be alright.’ and you DON’T get me to qualify that statement…’
‘You’re really an asshole.’
‘I was being serious.’
‘Well I’m not sad anymore, now i’m just angry at you.’
‘Well i guess i kind of helped then.’
‘Look just say the words like you mean it. One more time. And we will leave it at that.’
‘You serious?’
‘JUST DO IT… AS A FRIEND… ONE MORE TIME! I JUST NEED TO FUCKING HEAR IT RIGHT NOW!’
I sat there with the phone a few inches from my ear, breathing heavily. She’d started crying again. The poor tiny alien insect-type creature. So far from home.
‘DON’T WORRY…’ I began.
‘Yeah?’
‘DON’T WORRY… EVERYTHING WILL… UHHH…’ I stammered.
‘SAY IT!’
‘Uhh…’
‘JUST FUCKING SAY IT! I NEED TO HEAR YOU SAY IT!’
‘DONT WORRY EVERYTHING WILL BE NOTHING!’ I yelled, hanging up.

I sat there trying to work out if i had done the right thing. Something wasn’t right. I called her, but her line was busy. I tried again, but it was still busy. Finally I got through.
‘Hey.’
‘I was trying to get through to you.’ She said.
‘Oh really? So was I. We were doing that thing where we were both trying to call each other at the same time and…’
‘Yeah i was trying to call you so i could tell you how much a fuckwit you were.’
‘Well i was calling to make amends.’
‘This better be good.’
‘Well, amendments to be clear. I didnt want to leave you like that . I know you were looking for a bit of hope and maybe saying that ‘dont worry everything will be nothing’ isn’t a very uplifting way to end a call from a friend in need…’
‘No shit.’
‘So what i wanted to say was that look, while sure, one day everything will be nothing, even nothing is something…’
There was silence on the other end. Finally she responded.
‘That’s it? You rang back to tell me that?’
‘Well yeah… I mean, doesn’t that cheer you up?’
‘What the fuck does that even mean -“Even nothing is something”?’
‘Well you know, even when everything is nothing, it’s not totally nothing, it’s still something and you got to hold onto that.’
‘You got to hold onto something that’s nothing?
‘Yeah… Something like that.’
‘You’re fucked.’ She said, hanging up.
I shrugged. Not as fucked as you i thought. She was a billion light years away from her asteroid home. By the time she got back, I was sure the asteroid would be nothing.
But even nothing was something.

I AM A BUG

I was returning to my hotel room after a gig, bag of snacks in hand when i noticed a cloud of bugs buzzing around a streetlight. I watched them dance in frenzied loops until they were exhausted. After a brief rest, they would begin all over again.
It was tiring to watch.
I looked up at the light. There was a crack in the covering where light leaked out. On the inside of the covering there were hundreds of dead bug shells collected in heaps. There were a few bugs who were alive that had found their way into the light box. They were zigging and zagging in the confined space between the light bulb and the pile of dead bugs. I hoped they’d found what they were looking for in there, but from their frantic buzzing it looked like they weren’t getting the hit they wanted.
‘How weird it must be to finally get what you were trying to get after so long, only to find dead bodies everywhere.’ I thought.

I arrived back at the hotel and went to my room, turned on the television and sat on the bed eating a bag of cheesy puffed corn snacks. After a few minutes it became apparent that I just couldn’t get enough of a flavour hit, no matter how many cheesy puffed corn snacks I stuffed into my mouth. I was always just a flavour molecule short of satisfaction. But I kept eating, trying to get to a place that I wasn’t sure was real, that place full of dead bodies. Hours passed as I tranced out, lost in the search for flavour. My fingers, mouth and the bedsheets were stained bright, lurid orange from the flavour particles and my face was frustrated yet blank. All I could think about was that Rolling Stones song, ‘Satisfaction’ and it’s grammatically incorrect message.
‘You’re damn right Mick, Keith, Charlie and Bill – I cannot recieve any satisfaction type emotional response.’ I thought, cramming more cheesy puffed corn snacks into my mouth. Then it hit me: If the Rolling Stones couldn’t get no satisfaction, what hope did I have? They had access to unlimited amounts of sex, drugs, booze and money. I on the otherhand, only had cheesy puffed corn snacks, infomercials and no groupies wanting to fuck me in my sterile hotel room.
Perhaps Buddhas was right. Cheesy puffed corn snacks were the root of all suffering. I sat up and attempted lotus position. I couldn’t do it. Physically, i wasn’t flexible enough. I settled for a cross-legged pose. My legs quickly begun to lose circulation. How was i ever going to reach enlightenment? My legs inability to cross themselves would always stand in my way.
I lay there, watching infomercials about butt-tightening brazilian workout regimes while stuffing my face with cheesy puffed corn snacks at an accelerating rate, waiting for my heart to give out and my non-brazilian butt to sag until the cheeks touched dirt.
A bug flew in through the window and sat on the edge of my bed, watching me cram the cheesy puffed corn snacks into my mouth. I looked at him in the eye.
‘Slow down’ It said.
‘I can’t stop.’
‘I think you have self-control issues.’
‘I think people with self control are the ones who have issues.’
‘What do you mean?’
“Ooh this thing that gives me pleasure? I’m going to do this as little as possible.” – Now that’s sick.’
‘I wasn’t judging. I’m a light junkie for bug’s sake. I can’t get enough of it. Anything for that hit. Closer each time but I never quite get there. I don’t know when to stop. Just like you.’
‘I know when to stop- when i’ve either passed out, or when a stream of projectile vomit prevents me from putting anything else into me.
‘Maybe we just have addictive personalities.’
‘No one has an addictive personality. We just have too many holes. I got nine holes in my body to stick stuff into. A sea urchin has one hole. If i had eat out of the same hole i fucked and shat out of, I’m pretty sure i would practise greater restraint. No more midnight snacks for example.’
‘That wouldn’t stop me. I’m a bug, my taste buds are on my feet and i eat shit anyway.’
‘Well you get my point. Holes, holes, holes. Your dad shoots sperm from his hole into your mother’s hole, your mother shoots you out of her hole. You spend most of your waking days trying to stick things into your holes or sticking your thing into other holes and so on… Then you get buried in a hole or you dissappear into that great hole in the sky as a plume of crematorium smoke… Life is full of holes.’
‘I’m sorry, i wasn’t paying attention- can you repeat that for me?’ The bug said.
‘No.’
‘Maybe you just don’t know what you want.’
‘I know what i want, i just can’t get it.’
‘What’s that?’
I brought a rolled up newspaper down hard onto the bug and he was gone. I sat back down on the bed, staring at the brazillian butt workout infomercial on TV. Maybe that bug was right, but I was pretty sure i was right. If only my dick had a mouth so it could eat a cheeseburger while it fucked, leaving my hands free to play computer games, my mouth free to chain smoke joints, my nose free to snort coke while listening to music and watching a DVD. Maybe only then would I reach some level of contentment in this lifetime.
I looked out of the window at the bug swarm in the golden beam as tears of empathy dripped from my eyes.
‘I FEEL YOUR PAIN!’ I yelled at them.
If only the street lights were bug zappers I thought. The moment of incineration would have to feel like the purest heroin flooding a junky’s blissed-out brain as he flatlined on a public bathroom floor and left the game.
I watched a calvalcade of TV celebrities flaunt what i didn’t have as i crammed the remaining cheesy puffed corn snacks into my frown and wished more holes upon them. I didn’t need much to be happy, just everyone else to have less than me. The bag was now empty, the contents now rotting in the great garbage bin inside of me. I turned the TV off.
I felt restless, like I wanted something but i didn’t know what it was. I left the hotel, wandering up the main strip until I found a late night burger joint. I went in.
‘What do you want?’ The guy at the counter asked me.
‘I don’t even know anymore.’ I replied.
‘What?’
‘You wouldn’t be able to give me what I wanted even if you had it.’
‘Well what are you after? We have a big menu…’
‘I want everything.’
‘You want everything?’
‘Yes. The lot.’
‘One burger with the lot, coming up.’ He said going to work.
‘No. I’m not talking about burgers. I’m talking about everything… I want THE lot.’
‘You want a hotdog?’ he asked, confused.
‘No i don’t want a hotdog, I want everything that feels good at the same time, all the time, repeatedly until I die.’
‘Our cheeseburgers are popular.’
I sighed.
‘Yeah yeah. I guess that’ll do for now.’
I gave him the money and he went ahead and made me a cheeseburger with the lot. It looked pretty good. A lot of stuff went into it. Bacon, egg, beetroot, pineapple, lettuce, tomato, pickles, jalapenos, onion, cheese, mustard, tomato sauce, mayo, some kind of unidentified chutney… My mouth was watering. He gave it to me and I returned to my hotel room. I lay on the bed and turned on the TV. The informercial was now for the magic bullet, some kind of blender. If only all my holes had a blender in them. I turned the TV off, unwrapped the burger and took a bite.
‘Holy fuck. This is a good fucken burger.’ I said out aloud, as a burst of multiple flavours hit me all at once in my pleasure centre.
I chewed in silence, my brain departing to some other place, a better place, a simpler place, while I watched the bugs buzz endlessly around the light outside. My eyes glazed over as i identified with cows i had watched in the past chewing their cud.
‘Mmmm cud.’ I turned the lights off and continued to eat in the dark, savouring the sensations and not thinking, just a bug perched on a turd floating in an ocean of insecticide.

The next morning on my way to the bus station, I walked past a field. I had some time to kill so i decided find a nice piece of grass to sit down on so I could meditate on the idea that cheesy puffed corn snacks were the root of all suffering.
I couldn’t find a suitable patch of grass. Each time I found a piece of grass that seemed adequate, another in the distance seemed more tempting. But upon arriving at the next patch, up close it was just as uneven, discoloured and covered in worm shit as the last.
It was then that I realised the literal truth of the phrase, ‘The grass is always greener’.
I settled for the astroturf cricket pitch in the middle and lay down. I tried to meditate but I couldn’t concentrate. I would keep opening my eyes and see a darker, lusher patch of grass in the distance. I watched this perfect patch of dark green slowly move all around the field, always just out of reach, taunting me.
I couldn’t handle it. I went to the store and bought a can of kerosene and some matches and then returned to the field. I doused it in petrol, set it alight and watched it burn until it was nothing but blackened dirt.
Then I caught the bus the hell out of there.

STANDUP BITS THAT NEVER WORKED

42. So apparently the world is made up of tiny subatomic strings… (delivered like a def jam style black comic) WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WIT DAT YO??? NEGRO PLEASE! (walks around in circles endlessly to no laughter)

8. Luke warm isn’t warm at all… It’s room temperature… Who is this Luke character anyway? And why is he that temperature? The public have the right to know. THE PUBLIC HAVE THE RIGHT TO KNOW.(jabs his finger in the air repeatedly to silence)

980. So what is the deal with all these new anti-terror laws eroding our individual rights? And the way this government is acting towards muslims and refugees and anyone who isnt them? Not really funny is it? No it’s not. I can’t even write jokes about this shit cause it just comes out angry. Man this country is fucked. i really hate whats happening it just fills me with… (gets down on the ground and begins to smash the stage with his fists until they are bloody lumps of bruised meat) FUCKING ASSHOLES! YOU FUCKING ASSHOLES SOMEBODY FUCKING KILL THESE FUCKING ASSHOLES MAKE THEM FUCKING PAY THESE FUCKING ASSHOLES ARRRGGGHHHHHHHAARRRARARGGGGHGHGHHGHGHGHGHGHGHHHHH! (regains composure, runs bloodied hand lumps through hair) So anyway, i was down at the locksmiths getting my keys cut when…

3. Doesn’t room temperature really depend on the temperature of the room? I mean if you are in a room in the middle of the sun, i imagine room temperature would be very high. The public have the right to know. THE PUBLIC HAVE A RIGHT TO KNOW (jabs his finger three times then gives up and sits on the lip of the stage and sings ‘Memory’)

43134. Yo yo yo! So i was buying eggs the other day- you know eggs? Yeah eggs. They got free range eggs, caged eggs and now they got BARN eggs… What the flippin flippertyjibberinjibbits are barn eggs yo? Like they are all like, ‘Hey I’m an egg, i hang out in Barns… I’m a barn egg.’ (delivered lying down and shouting at the roof) IT JUST DONT MAKE NO SENSE! NO SIR, NO SENSE AT ALL!

321. So what’s the deal with being a self aware organism? I mean you’re here, just walking around on this Earth- you didn’t ask to be and yet here you are, the consequences of actions that you were never a part of (Breaks down weeping, falls to his knees) WHAT IS THIS? WHY? WHY? WHY? (Stares at his hands) Whose hands made these hands? Who is my creator? (Looking up) The stars… Stars… So bright… So beautiful… I am nothing more than a mite sitting on a speck of stardust floating through the infinite void… Life is… Magical… Don’t forget it… The magic of it all (Starts crying uncontrollably)

2398. I set fire to this guy’s house in order to liberate him from his attachment to material possessions. Because when you die, you can take nothing away with you. YO,U HEAR ME? YOU HEAR ME MOTHERFUCKERS? YOU COME INTO THIS WORLD NAKED AND WITH NOTHING AND YOU LEAVE THIS WORLD WITH EVEN LESS!!! (grabs a member of audience in front row by the collar and shakes them roughly) DO YOU GET WHAT IM SAYING MAN? HAS THE WHOLE WORLD GONE INSANE? AM I THE ONLY ONE OUT THERE WHO KNOWS WHATS GOIN ON??

3489Y9. SO YEAH UHHHH A FUNNY THING HAPPENED TO ME ON THE WAY TO THE POLICE STATION TODAY… I UH…. HANDED MYSELF IN… I WENT IN AND I SAID, ‘IT’S ME, I DID IT.’ AND THEY SAID, ‘DID WHAT?’ AND I SAID, ‘EVERYTHING. I DID IT ALL. IT’S ALL MY FAULT. DON’T YOU GET IT??? NONE OF US ARE INNOCENT, WE ARE ALL GUILTY OF BEING BORN. BORN INTO THIS… MESS…’ AND THEY SAID, ‘WE NEED PROOF THAT YOU DID IT.’ AND I SAID, ‘THE ONLY PROOF YOU NEED IS THE EVIL IN MY FACE.’ AND THEY SAID, ‘THATS NOT EVIL, THATS JUST SOME DIRT, GO WASH IT OFF.’ SO I WENT OFF AND I WASHED IT OFF. THEY WERE RIGHT, IT WAS JUST A BIT OF DIRT. ‘COME BACK WITH SOME PROOF AND WE WILL LOCK YOU AWAY FOREVER.’ THEY SAID TO ME. SO I WENT OFF AND I DID A BUNCH OF CRIMES AND FILMED IT ON MY GO PRO BUT I DONT HAVE ANY TRAINING IN CAMERA WORK AND WHEN I LOOKED AT THE FILM IT WAS ALL OUT OF FOCUS AND COULDN’T TELL WHAT WAS HAPPENING SO IN THE END, I GAVE UP AND WENT TO BED AND I HAD A DREAM THAT I WAS A FUGITIVE ON THE RUN FROM WAKING UP. CAUSE IM ALWAYS RUNNNING YOU SEE? ALWAYS RUNNING… ALWAYS RUNNING… ARE YOU RUNNING TOO?

DEATH SHIT

Written by Nick Sun
Recorded and Produced by Dan McHugh
Taken from the Podcast ‘THEME’

https://m.facebook.com/themepodcast

http://m.soundcloud.com/theme-the-podcast

PART 4 OF FICTIONAL THRILLING COMEDIAN FICTIONAL WHO CARES ANYMORE JUST FUCKING GROW UP AND TAKE RESPONSIBILITY AND MAYBE REALISE THAT NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR FUCKING MYOPIC SELF ABSORBED LIFE YOU FUCKER FICTIONAL

Upon request he had his producer forward him the email concerning his apparently offensive social media activity. The worst bits of his blog and facebook postings had been cut and pasted out of context into one long email. It read like the disjointed internal monologue of a psychopath. He had to admit, he was quite proud of it. One of the main points of contention was a review he had written of a review that had been written about one of his shows. It had been a good show, but the review had been negative because the reviewer quite obviously did not get it, or as he had put it in his review of the review, the reviewer was ‘a stupid piece of shit who doesn’t know jack about what he’s talking about and I hope you die motherfucker with the shrapnel scarred hands of a flashbacking 3rd-world refugee wrapped around your useless, pointless throat you cunt.’
But something was amiss. After some quick research, it turned out that the social media coordinator for ABC TV was a douchebag the comedian had gotten into a pathetic facebook argument over regarding said review of a review, a few months previously. For legal reasons, the comedian could not disclose the social media coordinator’s real name so he referred to him by the moniker, ‘LUKE BUCKMASTER IS HIS REAL NAME AND HE IS A PIECE OF SHIT.’ Aka Puke Fucked Bastard. He was the social media coordinator- someone who was paid taxpayers money to go on facebook and twitter. How much more of an unnecessary human being could you be? To summarise the petty facebook fight, Puke Fucked Bastard had missed the point of the comedian’s piece and thought that instead of being a comedian writing from an edgy and offensive (to some) comedic point of view, he’d had been absolutely genuine and literal and blah blah blah the comedian called Puke Fucked Bastard the term ‘faggot’ many times, not for any homophobic reasons, but because it upset Puke Fucked Bastard and the comedian enjoyed upsetting him. Puke Fucked Bastard then defriended him, and after ten million tears were shed, the comedian moved on with his life. It seemed highly likely that Puke Fucked Bastard was behind all of this because it was this review of a review that was the main focus of the email that had been sent around detailing his offensive social media activities, even though a blog detailing a masturbation fantasy involving Tony Abbott having his ears and genitals cut off with a butchers knife and then bludgeoned to death and fed to sharks did not warrant a mention. It also turned out that the social media coordinator was a cocaine addict which is obviously someone you would want at the helm of a major networks social media site and the comedian sincerely hoped the next line he snorted would make his heart explode like a teenagers uterus at a Justin Beiber’s concert you despicable pointless stupid piece of shit who doesn’t know jack about what he’s talking about I hope you die motherfucker with the shrapnel scarred hands of a flashbacking 3rd-world refugee wrapped around your useless, pointless throat you cunt.

The next day his ex-producer called him up,
‘Have you signed that contract yet?’
‘I’m not signing it.’
‘Why not?’
‘There are all these confidentiality clauses in it which say i can’t talk about anything to do with the show or my termination which is counterproductive because i intend to write a fringe show and a story about it.’ He didn’t say.
‘I don’t feel like it.’ He said instead.
‘Don’t you want the money?’
‘Not as bad as i want to not get fucked.’ he thought.

He read over the contract for the 50th time. It was written in terrible English. Triple negatives, overlapping clauses etc… Designed to be impenetrable to the average schmuck reading it, to allow for maximum penetration from the fuckers trying to fuck him. The comedian needed professional help.
As stated before, except for prostitution, there was no business like showbusiness, but now it seemed the lawbusiness bore many similarities. $300 an hour was the cost to hire a lawyer, roughly the same price as a mid-range comedian, prostitute or combined comedian/prostitute.
Unfortunately, due to his dismissal, he had zero dollars in his bank account, as his last bank transfer had gone through for rent. He had no choice but to liquidate his assets. At the time, the only assets he had was an ounce of high-grade organic cherry bomb marijuana and 2 grams of crystal dimethyltryptamine.
The comedian went to his local 2 dollar shop and pointed to the small plastic baggies behind the counter that were commonly used to hold contraband.
‘I’ll take those please.’ He asked the Chinese lady behind the counter. She frowned suspiciously.
‘What? They are for uhh… Buttons.’ he said unconvincingly. He walked up and down the main street trying to find a shop that sold digital scales. Eventually he ended back at the two dollar shop again eyeing some scales that were semi-hidden behind the counter. ‘I’ll take those please.’ he asked the Chinese lady. She frowned suspiciously.
‘What? They are for uhhh… Weighing the buttons.’ he said unconvincingly. Why should she judge him for buying the products she stocked? Then he realised she wasn’t frowning at him because of his actions, she had always been frowning because she was horrifically unhappy with her life.

‘How ironic.’ the comedian thought as he weighed and bagged up the weed into $20 and $50 bags and the DMT into 1/8 and 1/4g bags to pay for his legal fees. He made a few calls and business was open. Drug dealing was by far the best job he’d ever had. The hours were great, you could get high on the job, you got to hang out with interesting people… It didn’t seem like work. The drug dealer even gave himself a raise for making enough money to pay for a months rent and a lawyer very quickly, much quicker then when he was a comedian or a call centre operator living the dream.
The lawyer advised the drug dealer that he didn’t have to sign the contract. But to get the termination pay out, he had to at least write an email saying that he would not discuss what had happened. So he wrote an email stating that he would not discuss any details concerning the show or how he had been dismissed, which as you can see he has since upheld to the best of his abilities.
Two days later, $3000 magically appeared in his bank account. He bought a house special breakfast and then later a Halloumi burger with the works for lunch that day.

Four weeks later, the drug dealer/comedian was at his friend’s house, who owned one of those flashing things he didn’t watch, watching the show that he’d been fired from. He had his pen and pad ready to write some disparaging jokes about what he was about to see. He had been replaced by an attractive non-ethnic lady who said unfunny lines like she believed in them to an adequate level and didn’t look at all like Danny Devito, much less than he did at least. The show was such a mediocre non-event that by the end, his pad was still blank, blank as the wall behind the TV screen that was far more entertaining than the show on the flashing box in front of it that he’d just watched.
It suddenly hit him that being fired from the show was probably the best thing that could of happened. He’d dodged a bullet. He hadn’t compromised his artistic integrity to be a part of a mediocre product, he had learnt a lot about contract law, his experiences had inspired a lot of material and finally, he had discovered his true calling as a drug dealer.

The End.

PART 3 OF FICTIONAL JOKE PIGS ADVENTURE IN FICTIONAL ENTERTAINMENT SEWERPIPEDREAM SHIT BLAH BLAH BALEKHflaeLg

The next day he got a call from his producer.
‘Hey Dick, listen ummm we gotta make a show with wide appeal and i know you’re edgy and offensive and all…’
‘I’m not edgy and offensive, I’m just desensitised.’ Dick replied. What the fuck was edgy and offensive these days anyway? He’d just read another racist anti-muslim headline story in the Daily Telegraph that had inferred that all muslims were terrorist sex criminals. That was pretty edgy. The government had just proposed to have the anti-discrimination law 18c to be altered in order to protect bigots. That was very edgy. He’d just seen videos of acid attack victims on the evening news while eating his chicken parmagiana dinner. That was pretty offensive. He’d just seen ‘The Bachelor.’ That was even more offensive. What was edgy and offensive to some was entertainment to others. There were no lines or standards, just a million different niche markets vying for profit from various consumer demographics. Consensus reality was just the collective hallucination that had the highest ratings. Just because more people were tuning into it, didn’t necessarily make it the best show, he thought scratching his balls through his trouser pockets.
‘Well whatever, the point is that you are edgy and offensive to us and all that’s why we got you on board, but is there some way we can compromise and find a middle ground?’
‘Sure.’
‘Really?’ The producer said surprised.
‘Yeah, but it will be shit.’
‘Hmmm.’ The producer said.
The comedian clearly was not playing game. He couldn’t help it. Like most human social relations, the TV industry seemed to be based on variations of their simian counterparts: A bunch of monkeys picking bugs off each other’s backs and eating them. You had to pick and eat the bugs off the backs of those higher up in the monkey ladder to get ahead, in order to get the chance to eat the bugs off the backs of monkeys even higher up. A lot of these monkeys fought tooth and nail for a chance to eat bugs off their superior’s backs. He guessed the goal was eventually to be the monkey at the top who didn’t have to eat bugs off the other monkey’s backs, while these other monkeys clamoured to eat their high-demand bugs off theirs’. Still, that didn’t change the fact that they were still a monkey hanging out with other monkeys and that if you didn’t hang out with dirty monkeys, you probably wouldn’t have any bugs on your back that needed picking and eating in the first place. The comedian didn’t even like eating bugs, so not having to eat bugs off the backs of any monkey seemed like the best possible outcome.

A few hours later the comedian got a call from one of the heads of the network. They’d found his blog site and facebook page and found the content on it to be highly offensive. The content in question pre-dated the project so he was a bit perplexed.
‘We were wondering if you could take your blogsite down for the duration of the show season and make your facebook profile private.’ Asked the network head gravely.
‘No problemo.’ It was only for 3 months so he complied.

The next day he got a phonecall from his producer telling him that he was on his way to his house and he would buy him lunch.
‘Sure. Lunch.’ Said the comedian, excited. But when he answered the door, something was wrong. His Producer’s face was grey and heavy.
Perhaps he had changed his mind about buying him lunch.
‘I got some bad news Dick.’
‘You’re not buying me lunch?’
‘No it’s not that.’
‘Phew. I was really excited about lunch.’
‘No it’s something far worse.’
‘Worse than lunch? Is there such a thing?’
The producer frowned.
‘I’m being fired arent I?’
‘How did you know?’
‘I’m an eternal optimist.’
They got into the car and they drove in silence to the cafe. Life had come full circle. This was how it started and this was how it would end: Some random guy buying him a meal at a cafe. He ordered a halloumi burger with the works.
‘I’m really sorry mate. I feel like i let you down.’ The producer said.
‘It’s not your fault.’ the comedian replied. It wasn’t. For all their differences, the producer was a genuinely good-hearted, well-meaning guy trapped between network funding and the egomaniac peformers. He was the meat in a fuck sandwich with shit for bread.
‘It’s not just you, after the recent defamation cases between the fictional comedy group, Le Chaseur and the right-wing commentators Piss Kenny and Cuntdrew Bolt, you were seen as a potential liability.’
These recent cases involved two right-wing commentators suing a comedy group for defamation. Piss Kenny had been dubbed a ‘Dogfucker’ in one of Le Chaseur’s sketches and took the case to court, in the process producing one of the finest, unwittingly comic quotes: “I’ll be remembered as the journalist called a dog fucker who stood up for his rights.”
All the comedian thought at the time was anyone who felt the need to contest such an absurd accusation in court was probably hiding some deep dark secret i.e. Piss Kenny really was a dogfucker who really did fuck dogs. But the way the comedian saw it, as long as the dog consented, who gave a flying dogfuck if you were a dogfucker anyway? Love transcended all boundaries- race, gender, religion, shame, species…
‘It’s not just your social media activity Dick, every network is frightened of edgy comedy right now.’
‘Couldn’t they of googled my name before i got asked to do this?’ he asked, as his huge Halloumi burger appeared in front of him, shaking it’s glistening rear in a suggestive manner.
‘Ummm yeah…’ The producer mumbled, pulling out a contract.
‘Sorry to get down to the paperwork, but as soon as you sign this confidentiality agreement i’ll deposit three grand into your bank account. What do you think?’
All the comedian could think about was how damn tasty the gigantic haloumi burger he’d just bitten into was. It had baby rocket leaves, wild green tomato chutney, shredded fresh beetroot, an egg, portobello mushrooms, red onions, creamy garlic aioli all in a sourdough panninis with those little black seeds on top that he didn’t know the name of.
‘What do you think?’ His ex-producer repeated.
‘Hmm? Oh… Yeah burger’s fucking awesome.’
‘I mean about the confidentiality agreement.’
‘When i chew it, I’m not here anymore. I don’t want to sign anything when i’m not here.’ He said, staring into space and chewing his way into flavour land.
Lunch ended and they went their seperate ways. He went home and sat in his room, staring at the walls with no giant collapsing building smiling faces. Pre-emptive resignation turned to self-righteous anger. He had been wronged. All they needed to of done was google him. All the ‘offensive’ material in question had been written before the program had been greenlit let alone contracts signed. Plus he’d quit his dream of working in a call centre to do the show. He had loved that job. He’d loved every hour-long, spiritually rewarding second that slid by in that tomb of joy. Now he was unemployed and left in a precarious financial position.
‘FUCK!!! IM UNEMPLOYED!’ he shouted, pacing around the empty house.
‘WHAT THE FUCK AM I GOING TO DO NOW?’
A few hours later he found himself smoking a huge spliff and watching Adventure Time cartoons on his wall screen projector.
‘WOOHOO!!! UNEMPLOYMENT IS AWESOME!’ he yelled at the characters on the wall.
‘WOOHOO!!! YOU ARE AWESOME!’ The characters yelled back, climbing off the wall and into the 3rd dimension. They put some banging Bugstep on and had a big dance party. Sweat condensed on the ceiling and dripped down into his eyes.
‘WOOHOO!!! MY EYES STING!’ The comedian screamed as he boogie-squerked.

(TO BE COUNTGKJINONEAEUAEgEagaeTED)
(I LOVE YOU PLEASE LOVE ME LOVE YOU)

WISH BIN

I was walking in the park one day when i happened upon a wishing well.

I took a counterfeit coin out of my counterfeit coin purse and threw it into the wishing well and made a wish.

My wish was that wishing wells worked.

I waited
and waited
and waited
and waited…

Suddenly I heard a noise. Then another one. Followed by another. Something large and wet was slippery sliding up the sides of the well wall. The sounds grew louder and louder until a pair of large slimy, off-white pseudopods gripped the brickwork edge and hoisted the rest of it’s mass over the side of the well.

It sat there staring at me, heaving gently.

It’s shape was of an obese teardrop ending in a long slimy flagellum. It was the size of an overweight teenage boy.
Many tiny faces appeared continuously on it’s surface, forming for a few brief seconds before dissolving like eddys in a stream.
The faces were all smiling, hopeful and dumb. Yet they all seemed to be hiding something.
Some kind of shame.

It sat there, oozing.

‘What?’ It asked.
‘What?’ I replied.
‘What do you want?’ It asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘You called on me.’
‘Did I? I dont know even know who or what you are.’
‘I am the Wishbringer.’
‘That’s a very unwieldy name.’
‘Everyone’s a critic. Look what do you want?’
‘I want wishing wells to work.’
‘Shitty wish.’ It said, reclining on the well’s edge. It left wet, sticky prints on every surface it touched.
‘What’s a good wish then?’
‘A selfless one. People want and hope all the time for what they want. The more they want, the less they get and even when they get what they wanted, it isn’t what they thought it would be or even if it is, it isn’t enough.’
‘Whatever. So you live in a wishing well?’
‘Well, the well is actually just an extension of the sewer system.’
‘You came from the sewers?’
‘Well cumalatively over the years, technically i’m from many places, mostly from the end of millions of various adolescent teenage boys ahem…’
‘Eewwww…’ I said. The creature seemed hurt.
‘I mean… Uhh you’re very well-spoken for a clump of a cum.’
‘Well you learn things when you got enough time on your hands.’
‘How about you, what do you wish for?’
‘What me? No one has ever asked me.’
‘Well I’m asking you now.’
‘I want to go home.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘No idea, if i knew i would go there.’
‘Well if you’re the accumalated ejaculations of millions of teenage boys… by logic that means…’
‘Ahh of course… Mmmmm! ‘
I pulled a penny, from my pocket.
‘This is all the money i have in the world.’
‘The value of money means nothing to a sentient mound of teen ejaculate. ‘
‘Ok, ok, I want to just make one wish come true for once.’
I threw the penny into the wishing well and listened to the dull tinkling as it tumbled downwards inside.
‘I wish for you to find your home.’
All the many swirling faces on the wishbringers surface beamed, and i caught a glimpse of my own teenage face wink at me before dissolving once more into the ambiguous medium.
‘It will be done.’
A distant rumbling sounded from deep within the well. The smell of fresh rust wafted out, as thick clotted blood began to spill over the well’s edges.
‘I owe you one.’ Said the Wishbringer.
‘No, you already done it. You made my wish come true.’
The wishbringer winked, turned and slowly slid into the thick, clumpy menses.
‘Aaaaaaaaaaahhhh oohhh yeeeahhhhh…’ it moaned, like a hardworking single mother entering a hot bath after a long day at the steel mill.
‘Home at last.’ It burbled happily.
I watched it’s form slowly dissolve, off-white fading into the rich bubbling cauldron of red, the many tiny faces losing shape, smiles slowly detaching and expanding and finally dissapating into the formless muck.
The unified concoction then slowly descended back down the well.
I smiled.
Wishes did come true.
Magic was real.
If you believed.

PART 2 OF THE FICTIONAL ADVENTURES OF FICTIONAL IDIOT IN FICTIONAL TV FICTIONAL LAND

A week later he met up with the producer and photographer to take promotional photographs for the show. The photo shoot took place in a room they had set up like the insides of a taxi company office that probably looked nothing like the actual thing. Tires were stacked up in front of a desk covered in papers, phones and tools, randomly strewn about.
It had somehow transpired that the comedian’s host character was to be based on Danny Devito’s character from the 1970’s hit series ‘Taxi’. He didn’t know where that idea came from, but he guessed to the network execs, as a six-foot hairy asian guy, he must of bore a striking resemblance to an aging, balding Italian dwarf. They dressed him in a bad 1970’s waist coat, pants, shirt, tie and shoes all various shades of faecal brown. Then they had him pull a variety of stock poses that were all variations of him looking like a fuckwit. For example:
– Hands waving, head tilted to the side.
– Arms folded, leg on the desk, groin exposed.
– Mock enraged, yelling down a phone with a second phone in his other hand and a third cradled in the crook of his neck.
All the while smiling, smiling, smiling that same fake smile he’d seen on the collapsing building faces of the network office walls.
But he couldn’t do it. Something was preventing him from doing what the photographer wanted him to do. Was it integrity or dignity? He wondered. Finally he concluded that no, it was that he didn’t want to look like a fuckwit.
His body was awkward and his eyes were dead as TV.
‘Come on mate. Throw me a bone.’ Pleaded the photographer. Sighing, he attempted the pose involving yelling down multiple phones once more,
‘I HATE YOU!’ The comedian yelled, secretly directing it at himself.
‘Yeah that’s it mate, now we’re getting somewhere.’ Said the photographer.
‘FUCK YOU! I HATE YOU SO MUCH!’ he screamed at himself again, really getting into it.
‘Yeah that’s it, that’s it… Now if you could just smile a bit more that would be perfect.’
‘I HATE YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE SELLOUT CUNT! 11 GRAND IS YOUR PRICE YOU CHEAP MOTHERFUCKER!’ He yelled at himself, wearing a wide, taut wire grin he contemplated using to slit his wrists later.
‘Ummm that’s kind of a bit too… Hmmm… Think of yourself as the boy next door. You’re the boy next door.’ The photographer said.
The plain fact of the matter was that the comedian was not the boy next door. He never was and he never would be. The last time he had been the boy next door, the neighbours on both sides quickly moved out because he was the boy next door. Then he quickly moved out because he was the boy next door to himself. Since then, he’d lived mostly in ditches at the end of long empty roads or in nests contructed out of discarded children’s toys perched precariously on remote, windswept cliffs above pools of black water he’d stare into until he dissolved. He was the boyman next door to no one.
The boyman next door to no one stood there, paralysed.
The photographer sighed.
‘Come on mate, work with me here, we need you to look approachable. Be approachable…’
The only way the comedian could look approachable was if he wasn’t there. He didn’t want to be approachable because he didn’t want to be approached. The comedian had had many bad experiences with the other homosapiens that had made him fear them and also become a comedian. He had since spent about 25 years cultivating a specific look, demeanour and comedy act designed to make other humans not want to approach him.
It was getting tense. Out of frustration, the comedian pulled a pose and a smile that to him seemed ridiculously sarcastic. Hand on hips thrust out to one side, head tilted at an unnatural angle and a face bearing the demented, open-mouthed smile of an intellectually challenged person on ecstasy.
‘That’s it! Perfect! Finally! Keep doing that.’ Said the photographer, snapping rapidly as the comedian continued to gurn like a special school raver.

A few days later, the producer asked him to supply a press quote that said why he was excited to do the show. Unfortunately, the truthful answer,’11 grand’ would not make for good copy, but TV was not about the truth, it was about saying whatever had to be said in order to get that 11 grand, so he was forced to make something up. This is what he came up with:
‘Hi, I’m Dick Moon and I’m really excited to be working on this show because it’s a great show.’
‘Can you go into a bit more detail than that?’ the producer asked.
He sent back a corrected version:
‘Hi, I’m Dick Moon and I’m really excited to be working on this show, because it’s a great show and im ethnic and excited and excited to be ethnic.’
‘Umm I’m not sure if you are really getting this. Remember, the show is about the truth. Have something about the truth in it.’ said the producer.
In the end they settled on:
‘Hi, I’m Dick Moon and I’m excited to be on this show, because there just isn’t enough comedy shows about the truth, and this show is about the truth. ‘
This of course turned out to be a lie.

Next they had to shoot the promo reel, that would be the show ads screened on TV. The script was a bunch of things that he didn’t believe in that he had to shout like he believed in them and was excited to believe in them. They made him point his finger a lot and shout like he was angry at there not being enough truth around and when he asked them why he had to shout like this, the director said, ‘Because that’s your character.’
‘What’s my character?’
‘You know, a shouty guy, who wants to get to the truth.’
To the comedian, this character sounded like an asshole.
‘Can we at least change the name of this character to something that’s not my name then?’
‘Don’t you want to be the face of the show? the producer asked.
‘Not really, no.’ he thought. The only faces he was interested in were the faces on all the sweet dollar dollar bills that would make up his 11 grand fee. In truth, he’d prefer to host the show wearing a paper bag over his head, a head that wouldn’t have a face on it because he’d cut it off as a failsafe measure, just in case an errant breeze blew the bag off of his head revealing his true identity on camera.

For the next three hours he shouted lots of lines he didn’t believe in like he was excited that he didn’t believe in them, at the studio cameras. A lot of the lines had the word ‘truth’ in it.
‘Take one commuter, one comedian, and put them in a cab. Destination: the truth!’ (Lie.)
‘No topic is taboo. Especially when it comes to the truth!’ (Lie.)
‘We take you where no comedian has taken you before!’ (Lie.)
‘We tackle the big issues and show you the truth!'(Massive Lie.)
‘Because the truth won’t take a backseat any longer!'(Yes it can and yes it did.)

Truth this, truth that… He was skeptical. Who the fuck knew what truth was anyway? Lunatic fascists and religious cult leaders who believed that god told them and their followers to drink strychnine laced Kool-Aid. The reality was that the deep truths, the truths that mattered, often upset the hell out of people and therefore the truth was very rarely welcomed on commercially-driven network television, especially when it was yelled angrily by a six-foot hairy asian guy dressed like a four-foot balding italian dwarf.
The comedian tried to sneak in a few lines of his own in a fasion that was amusing to him, in the hope that something representative of his true self might filter through.
(Smiling but defeated) ‘Get the truth up ya.’
(Genuinely) ‘We spit truths that make your ding dong wobble.’
(Exaggeratedly upbeat) ‘No topic is off-limits… Except for the things the network tells me that i can’t talk about.’
(Dead inside) ‘Because the truth wont take the backseat any longer, and the truth is that I’m only doing this for 11 grand!’
None of these made the final cut.
‘Dick, i have a great idea for a catchphrase for you.’ My producer said.
‘I want you to turn around to face the camera and point your finger and say excitedly, ‘Here comes the Sun.”‘
A shudder passed through the comedian’s body so intense, distant planets fell from the heavens.
‘I sorry, i can’t say do that.’
‘Why can’t you just do it?’
‘Well OK I can do it, but i won’t believe in it.’
‘Why can’t you believe in it?’
‘Because it’s shit.’ he didn’t have the heart to say. Despite unresolvable aesthetic differences, the producer was a good- hearted nice guy who meant well and the comedian liked him enough to not want to be truthful with him.
‘Because the show’s on at night and the Sun is only out during the day. It doesn’t make any sense.’ the comedian said instead.
‘Yeah.’ Said the producer.

(To be cont… (like you are still reading this right? If you are you are amazing. I have nothing this is all i do and im so lonely i tried to sexually assault my silouhette and i havent sold enough tickets to my fringe show fuck fuck fuck))

A FICTIONAL STORY ABOUT HOW A FICTIONAL COMEDIAN GOT FIRED FROM A FICTIONAL TV SHOW

PART 1

Once upon a time, this comedian got a phonecall from a stranger who wanted him to host a TV show he was producing. At the time the comedian was doing standup comedy to support his dream of working in a call centre. Despite the ecstasy of living every waking moment of this dream, he agreed to meetup.

They met in a cafe a few days later. Due to past experiences with TV people, he was very guarded at first, but then the producer bought him breakfast and he instantly decided that the Producer was an okay guy, because he’d bought him breakfast, and just like the breakfast, the comedian was easily bought. He was the kind of open-minded, anything-goes type of guy who if given a slice of cheesecake by a holocaust denier, while he wouldn’t openly agree with them, he would have to admit to himself that they weren’t all bad – of course depending on the quality of cheesecake.

The show idea was that comedians would pretend to be taxi drivers, pick up regular people and then… He couldn’t really remember the rest, he’d stopped listening at that point, too excited about the house special breakfast he’d ordered and how even though he wasn’t hungry (he’d already eaten breakfast), he was still going to eat it anyway (because it was tasty and free(that was the main reason)). The breakfast appeared.
‘So what do you think of the show idea?’ The producer asked. The comedian stared at the slices of fresh sourdough smeared with avocado and butter, the strips of organic bacon, the pork sausages, the scrambled free-range eggs, the home-cooked baked butter beans, the sauteed swiss brown mushrooms, the baked tomatoes and the caramelised onion and wild tamarillo chutney on the plate in front of him.
‘Yeah… Fantastic.’ he mumbled.
‘You think so?’ The producer asked.
He put a forkful of the eggs into his mouth. They were rich, fluffy and delicious. Must of used cream instead of milk in those… He thought to himself.
‘You really think so?’ The producer asked again.
‘Yeah…. Cream… Bacon’s really good too.’

To be honest he didn’t like the idea much. To be honest he didn’t like most ideas much. His usual default position to most things was ‘hate it’. But he had learnt from experience to not say this to someone who was buying him breakfast and waving potential cash in his face, especially when there was no one else buying him breakfast or waving potential cash in his face within a million light year radius.

Also, after eleven years of being immersed in comedy, his tastes had become very particular. What he found funny a lot of people found unfunny and vice versa. He was the guy in the cinema who would laugh loudly at all the wrong bits- say when one of the good guys got his head cut off- only to find out after the movie had ended that it hadn’t even been a comedy to begin with, it had been some kind of horror porn or celebrity snuff film.

He ate his breakfast and watched the producer’s mouth continue to make shapes, not hearing anything. Why did the producer choose him of all people to be the host for this particular show? It seemed incongruous. The comedian looked like suicide cult leader, hadn’t watched TV or read a newspaper in ten years and hardly ever had the money to catch taxis. Yet despite these hurdles and the bits of food visibly cascading down his pubic hair-like beard onto his lap, the producer must of thought,’That’s the guy alright.’ They shook hands and parted, the comedian quickly forgetting what had happened except that he had had a very satisfying second breakfast that day for some reason that had been free for some other reason.

Two months later he recieved a phonecall. The show had been picked up. He was going to be the host of a thing on one of those flashing box things he didn’t own.
‘I’m so excited. I really think this is going to be a great show.’ The producer said.
‘Yeah.’ he said.
‘Aren’t you excited about the show?’ The producer asked again.
‘Yeah, yeah.’
He didn’t give a fuck about the show, all he cared about was the 11 grand he’d be getting and how many house special breakfasts that would buy him.
‘So you’re excited?’ Asked the producer once more. Like an obscure religious cult, the TV industry depended on its participants being perpetually excited about something that might not be true.
‘Yeah, yeah… Bacon.’ Said the comedian.

The following week they went to the network headquarters for a meeting with the network heads. The office walls were all covered with gigantic pictures of the people who were on the TV shows the network made. Their giant faces smiled like they’d had a taser shoved into their spine, excited to be on that flashing box thing he didn’t own or watch, their huge grins like collapsing buildings, caving their faces in and crushing anyone within a certain radius.

They were ushered into the board room. The three network heads sat behind a desk, waiting. They all shook hands.
‘We are very excited to have you on board.’ said one.
‘Aren’t you excited to be a part of the show?’ said another.
‘Yeah.’ he said, thinking about 11 grand’s worth of house special breakfasts.
‘I mean where else do you see an ethnic host for a TV show?’ the network head continued.
‘Dunno.’ He replied.
Suddenly the comedian realised why he had been picked to host this show he wasn’t suited for. He was ethnic, and they probably just needed some tokens to appeal to the other tokens of his type. Not that he cared. As a 32 yr old creative autist with no backup option or financial stability, for 11 grand he would gladly tapdance on a beachball in blackface even if they’d never asked him to do so in the first place.
‘It’s so good to have ethnic host.’ The network heads all chanted.
‘I get it, i get it. I’m ethnic. It’s good.’
He hated the term ethnic. Wasn’t everyone ethnic? Wasn’t it all relative? Why was anyone who wasn’t caucasian considered ethnic and what did caucasian people not have that made them not ethnic? He didn’t even know what ethnic was. He didn’t speak the ancestral language or follow the customs. He just looked a certain way and people made assumptions about him. At heart he was just a Western pig in ethnic drag like so many other second generation non-caucasian ethnics. There was no race anymore, only a wider range of more easily accessible international cuisine options. He stood up and shook their outstretched hands.
‘Aren’t you excited?’ One asked again.
‘Yes, I’m excited and ethnic.’ he said.
He was excited to be ethnic for 11 grand.
There really was no business like show business, except for prostitution, which was pretty much the same thing only with less risk of catching a venereal disease.

(To be continued…)