Wednesday, April 23, 2003

 

Just So We're Clear On This

(A bedroom. JED and NAOMI, naked, in the bed, in the middle of the act.)

NAOMI
That’s not what I meant.

JED
That’s what you said.

NAOMI
No, actually, that’s not what I even said either.

JED
Why don’t you tell me / again, then!

NAOMI
Sh, sh sh!

JED
Sorry. Tell me what you said, again. Maybe I misunderstood you.

NAOMI
She has a point, that's all, forget it.

JED
Uh-huh and?

NAOMI
And? And? It factors in with some women. Now -

JED
Some women.

NAOMI
That’s all.

JED
You said women.

NAOMI
If I said that, I meant some women.

JED
With you?

NAOMI
Langley said it.

JED
Do you have a problem with it? Do you think it makes a man less attractive? (Beat. Huffing and puffing of the act.) How much?
(LANGLEY enters. She wears business attire)
Knock!

LANGLEY
Look I have to talk about this. I’m sorry, I started something.

JED
/ No.

NAOMI
No, it’s not a big deal.

LANGLEY
I’m always doing this, I’m always lighting fires, why don’t I just keep my mouth shut.

JED
NNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGH!
(JED finishes. During the following he rolls off of NAOMI.)

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Tuesday, April 22, 2003

 

between home and a holy city

(Morning. Desert road, southern Iraq, near Karbala. A burned-out military truck, older model. It’s turned on its side, so we only see the underbelly. It casts a shadow downstage. FATHER, 30s, enters, carrying a Kalashnikov [an old Soviet rifle], followed by SON, 8. Both are barefoot. FATHER carefully approaches the vehicle.)

SON
I don’t -

FATHER
Sh.
(FATHER gets closer, behind the truck. We hear metal containers moving.)

SON
There’s no one here.

FATHER (off:)
Sh.
(FATHER emerges on other side of vehicle.)

SON
There’s no one here.

FATHER
No.
(He lowers his Kalashnikov.)

SON
When’re you gonna let me hold the gun?

FATHER
When you’re married, that’s when.
(SON runs behind the truck, to the cab.)

SON
There’s a thing in here.

FATHER
Be careful.
(FATHER checks the sun.)
It’ll be time to pray soon.

SON
There’s chocolate bars in here.
(From far off, the roar of a fighter jet.)

FATHER
What?

SON
Chocolate bars. Look.
(The roar grows louder.)
I’ll show you.

FATHER
No, get inside, inside.
(SON hides in the cab. FATHER hugs the truck, scanning the sky. The roar grows and grows, loud, earth-shaking. A SPOKESPERSON appears above them. SPOKESPERSON wears a military uniform. FATHER and SON do not see or hear SPOKESPERSON. SPOKESPERSON is for our benefit.)

SPOKESPERSON
Across the world and in every part of America people of goodwill are hoping and praying for peace. Our goal is peace for our nation, for our friends and allies, for the people of the Middle East.
(The roar fades. SON reappears, mouth smeared in chocolate. FATHER continues to scan the sky.)

SON
I think it’s American.

FATHER
Of course it’s American.

SON
The chocolate.
(SON brings a cooler to his father. He has a half-eaten candy bar in his hand.)

FATHER
How many have you eaten?

SON
One.
(FATHER smacks him on the head.)
Three.
(FATHER takes the cooler and the half eaten bar, puts it in the cooler.)
I’m hungry.

FATHER
We got a long way to go. We don’t know what’s ahead. We don’t know what’s waiting in Karbala. Sit.

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Monday, April 21, 2003

 

Giving to a Higher Power

(DOUG, alone. He's got a Moterhead t-shirt, scraggly hair and a round, friendly face.)

DOUG (to audience:)
What would Jesus drink? That’s something you got to ask yourself before the party. I hope you’re not one of those twits who thinks Jesus was some highfalutin prohibition freak. The Bible says he likes to party, like when he hooked up those people by turning their Evian into Concha y Toro. I like to think he was into Jaegermeister, myself. It’s a people’s drink, and Jesus was most definitely a man of the people. Still, they probably got some of that fifty-year old Scotch in heaven, he probably drinks that.
(DOUG’s low-rent apartment. A party. Loud music. Knock on the door. DOUG answers.)
Jesus, what’s up man! Come on in!
(JESUS enters, wearing a leather jacket and robes. He carries a grocery bag.)
Just throw your coat on the bed. Hey ever-body, Jesus made it!
(Cheers.)

JESUS
I brought chips.

DOUG
Thanks, man. I’ll snag us a bowl for that.
(Looks at the bag.)
All right, Salt and Vinegar. My favorite.

JESUS
I know.

DOUG
Right, sure, you know me too well bro! Take off your coat, man, stay a while!
(JESUS takes off his jacket.)
Can I get you something from the beverge-ator? You wanna do a shot of Jaeger?

JESUS
No thanks, dude, I like can’t handle that stuff.

DOUG (disappointed)
Oh okay.

JESUS
I’ll just have a brew.

DOUG
Cool, cool, I got some stashed in the beverage-ator.
(DOUG steps out of the scene. To audience:)
Beer’s a whole ‘nother issue. There’s like three categories you got to classify them in. There’s Shit Beer, Beer Beer, and Fancy Beer. Shit beer is like Natty Light or Meister Brau, it’s your desperate-circumstances go-to beer. Beer beer covers your Budweisers, Rolling Rocks, Bass Ales, your standards. Fancy beers are all the microbrews, the premium-type beers. Yuppie beer, you know. That doesn’t mean that the guy who’s drinking it is a dickmonger, necessarily. For instance, you go to a bar and a guy’s drinking Pete’s Wicked, he’s still probably okay, although technically Pete’s Wicked is a Fancy Beer. On the other hand, if he’s drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon, he’s most definitely a dickmonger. Sure, Pabst is a shit beer, but it’s the choice of college fucks on the slum all across America.
(DOUG returns to the party. He’s at a refrigerator with JESUS.)
Yeah man, I decided to go for quantity over quality, so I stocked it with Milwaukee’s Best.
(JESUS lays hands on the refrigerator. Choirs of angels sing. Heavenly light fills the stage. JESUS then opens the door to reveal a fridge full of Sam Adams.)
Hey Oktoberfest! Good call, man.

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