A Dickening of Plays

Check us out on http://facebook.com/foptheater for info about our projects and more fun stuff! We're two playwrights, Ben Ferber and Donald McEwan. Together, we comprise the company Fop! Productions! We realized that we had a lot of ideas that were very dumb and one of us would immediately veto. These are their stories.

[foptheater-blog]

Good Cop Dadaist Cop

Lights up on a room. A table and chair are in the center of the room. A man, Frankfurt, sits in the chair. He is handcuffed. A second man, Grapefruit, is standing back stage right, wearing a lampshade on his head. A third man, Dusseldorf, enters stage left.

Dusseldorf: Hi.

Frankfurt: Hello.

Dusseldorf: Here to ask you a few questions.

Frankfurt: See how that goes.

Dusseldorf: Listen, we could easily leave you in here for a few hours to see if you decide to play ball.

Frankfurt: I dunno if that'll actually change anything.

Dusseldorf: Well how about we just talk then?

Frankfurt: I'm not telling you jack.

Dusseldorf: That's fine. I'm bored tonight anyway. I hate interrogations. Rather not do a formal one.

Frankfurt: What, you want to talk to me about the Red Sox or some bullshit to see if I say something like “Yeah, fucking Marlins. That's why I robbed that bank.”

Dusseldorf: No one said you robbed a bank.

Frankfurt: No shit, Sherlock. The point is it's not like baiting me is going to work. I didn't do anything.

Dusseldorf: Well I would like nothing better than to release you with no charges, but you're gonna have to talk to me first so I can determine that.

Frankfurt: Ain't talking without a lawyer. I know how this shit goes.

Dusseldorf: We don't need a lawyer here if you just want to talk to me. Doesn't have to be formal or recorded or nothin'.

Frankfurt: Not gonna happen.

Dusseldorf: Well we'll see how you feel when my partner gets here

(Dusseldorf turns towards stage left, expectantly. Beat.)

Dusseldorf: Oh uh...he was supposed to walk in then...

Frankfurt: So are you gonna let me go or continue with this bullshit? You can't detain me for this long.

Dusseldorf: Listen, if you'll just give a statement...

Frankfurt: Fuck you, pig.

(Grapefruit takes the lampshade off of his head and jumps onto the table.)

Grapefruit: THE WORLD IS ON FIRE.

Frankfurt: The fuck?!

Grapefruit: APPLE AND CONCRETE ARE THE SAME SOUND.

Frankfurt: I don't understand.

Dusseldorf: Oh there he is.

Frankfurt: What are you even trying to do?

Grapefruit: TEN SIX WEAR THE WOLF BLANGA SIT DOWN DINNER.

Frankfurt: Why is he yelling these things at me?

Dusseldorf: You can make this stop.

Grapefruit: STOP STOP stooooooooooop STOP STOP GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO YELLOW.

Frankfurt: His misuse of words makes me uneasy.

Dusseldorf: You're gonna want to ride that feeling.

Grapefruit: RIDE TO TICKET SHE RIDE IS TICKET GOT A SHE'S TICKET TO GOT RIDE SHE'S GOT RIDE TO TICKET TO RIDE GOT SHE'S RIDE GOT TO TICKET SHE'S A GOT TICKET IS RIDE SHE TICKET TO CAPITALISM RIDE.

Dusseldorf: This could all stop if you just confess.

Frankfurt: But-

Grapefruit: ANACONDA DON'T WANT SOME CANADA DRY LOW RIDER RIDES A LITTLE BUTTERFLY FLY FLY BUTTERFLY GARDEN OF MIDNIGHT

Frankfurt: I don't know if I can deal with this on a long term basis.

Dusseldorf: Well this is your future if you don't talk to us.

Frankfurt: That's inhumane. You can't do this to me!

Grapefruit: ART IS DEAD GOD IS DEAD I AM DEAD WE'RE ALL DEAD ALL ALIVE DEAD ALIVE PEEL THE SKIN EAT THE SKELETON.

Frankfurt: Rrrrghhhh make him stop!

Dusseldorf: Only you can do that.

Grapefruit: MACHINE MACHINE MACHINE MACHINE MACHINE MACHINE MACHINE MACHINE MACHINE MACHINE MACHINE MACHINE MACHINE.

Frankfurt: STOP! Fine. I did it! I hijacked that shipment of yogurt, but it was for a good cause!

Dusseldorf: Tell that to the judge. Officer!

(A police officer walks on stage left and hauls Frankfurt out stage left.)

Frankfurt: Another case duly solved. Good cop, Dadaist cop works every time.

Grapefruit: FUCK HORSES.

(Lights down.)

paid for by the national endowment for the arts

[foptheater-blog]

Re-death of a Salesman

(Lights up on the front door of a house. A man, Alvin, walks up to the door and knocks. A woman, Sandra, opens it.)

Sandra: Can I help you?

Alvin: Hi!

(Beat.)

Sanda: Well?

Alvin: I want to ask you something.

Sandra: Okay....

Alvin: When you look at the universe (gestures) do you think that there was a creator or that it happened by random chance?

Sandra: Why are you pointing at a tree?

Alvin: Well, it's the universe.

Sandra: It's a tree.

Alvin: It got there by nature.

Sandra: I planted it.

Alvin: Oh.

Sandra: I also am solely responsible for creating that particular species of tree.

Alvin: What?

Sandra: I'm a biologist.

Alvin: Neat!

Sandra: Not really. It's just my job.

Alvin: So what do you think about my question?

Sandra: Honestly, I don't really think about religion because I'm too busy actually accomplishing things.

Alvin: You've never thought about it?

Sandra: Not really. Honestly the response that works best for me is that I don't see why natural law and a creator have to be mutually exclusive.

Alvin: Exactly!

Sandra: I kind of feel the way about it that Einstein did, which is that perhaps natural law is God and it's not anything anthropomorphic. But we don't really know and it's a lie if you say you do.

Alvin: That's what I'm here to talk about!

Sandra: Wait, you're not a Jehovah's Witness?

Alvin: No, no. I'm a door to door agnostic.

Sandra: A what?

Alvin: I go around and assure people that they can't be sure of the existence of a god.

Sandra: Oh.

Alvin: So yeah. We don't know! And that's a lowercase “g” by the way.

Sandra: Right.

Alvin: Do you have any questions?

Sandra: Not really.

Alvin: Ah. Well could I leave you with some magazines and maybe come back later to talk to you about them?

Sandra: I guess.

Alvin: Now I won't be able to have real answers (laughs)! But we can talk about whatever you want.

Sandra: Fine. Just leave the magazines.

Alvin: Great!

(Alvin hands Sandra a stack of magazines.)

Sandra: This appears to be gay pornography.

Alvin: You can't prove that!

(Alvin runs away. Lights down.)

secretly they're pottery barn catalogs

[foptheater-blog]

The Apiacracy, part deaux

(Lights up on an office. A man, Jermaine, is sitting at a desk.)

Jermaine: (Speaking into a desk intercom) Janet, I need the folder on that wildflower account.

Janet: (Out of intercom) Right away.

(Pause.)

Janet: (Out of intercom) Sir, you have a meeting.

Jermaine: Do I? Oh well, send them in.

(Two young ladies, Beth and Jane enter the room.)

Jermaine: What can I do for you?

Beth: We're here about the Occupy movement.

Jermaine: The what now?

Jane: Occupy Wall Street?

Beth: We talked on the phone last week?

Jermaine: I thought you were selling girl scout cookies.

Beth: We want to talk to you about wealth distribution!

Jermaine: Well why on earth would I do that?

Jane: You're supposed to be an expert on the subject of money.

Jermaine: Err...I am?

Beth: That's literally all you do for a living.

Jermaine: Yes...that is...and only that....

Jane: So could you tell us why you think it's ethical to accumulate wealth while people around you are starving?

Jermaine: Well if they're starving, they should just make their own damn honey!

(Beat.)

Beth: Honey?

Jermaine: All those damnable bees trying to make all the honey and keep it to themselves and not share it with the rest of us! That's why I have to enslave them.

Jane: Well we're not literally suggesting-

Jermaine: THE BEES DON'T GET TO RUN THINGS. I GET TO RUN THINGS. I CONTROL THIS APIACRACY.

Beth: That's not a word.

Jermaine: ALL OF THE HONEY BELONGS TO ME.

Jane: Wait a second, none of this makes sense.

Beth: Well obviously.

Jane: But look at his suit, it's stretched super tight.

Jermaine: I have a weight problem!

Beth: Now that you mention it, he does appear to be covered entirely in fur.

Jermaine: I am a very hirsute gentleman and you will be sensitive to my condition!

Jane: And look at the picture on his wall! That's not the president, that's a bear!

Jermaine: That is President Bearack Obama!

Beth: You're a bear!

Jermaine: You can't prove that!

(Beat.)

Jermaine: Ok, maybe you can.

(Beat.)

Jermaine: Will you give me some honey?

(Blackout.)

[foptheater-blog]

Occupy Dick Street

(Lights up on a man, Adams, carrying a sign that says “Down With Capitalist Bees!”)

Adams: Honey for everyone! Down with bees! Honey for everyone! Down with bees!

(Pause.)

Adams: I was really hoping for a bigger turnout.

(Enter Stockton, a respectable-looking gentleman wearing a suit and tie.)

Stockton: What are you doing?

Adams: Um...down with capitalism!

Stockton: What?

Adams: We are the ninety nine percent!

Stockton: What does that mean?

Adams: Um.

Stockton: Well?

Adams: Can I have some money?

Stockton: I can't just give you money.

Adams: Corporate fat cat!

Stockton: No, that just literally is not how causality works.

Adams: Huh?

Stockton: Well you have to earn money.

Adams: You gambled on my future and ruined my life!

Stockton: I don't think that's true.

Adams: But...Wall Street...evil...

Stockton: Listen, I'm going to need you to get off my lawn.

Adams: You can't push me out! I have a right to be here!

Stockton: Actually you don't. You're on my lawn.

Adams: Um...down with bees?

Stockton: What?

Adams: The bees. One percent of bees keep ninety nine percent of the honey!

Stockton: I don't think you understand how this works.

Adams: Don't tread on me!

Stockton: This is an apiary!

Adams: And I will ruin it with my anger!

Stockton: I am calling the police.

Adams: You can't silence me!

Stockton: Wait, why are you eight feet tall?

Adams: No I'm not.

Stockton: Wait a second.

(Stockton tears off Adams' human suit, revealing that he is a bear.)

Stockton: You're a bear trying to steal honey again!

Adams: But it's so delicious!

Stockton: Then just buy some from me!

Adams: But that just supports the apiarchy!

Stockton: That isn't even a word!

(Pause.)

Adams: ...can I get some honey for free?

Stockton: No you may not.

(Blackout.)

the honey represents honey and the bear represents bears

(spoiler alert: we're not crazy republicans. this is just a light-hearted farce about bears and honey.)

[foptheater-blog]

What

(4:59:29 PM) Donnie McEwan: we've got to become famous

(4:59:39 PM) Donnie McEwan: it's very extremely important

(4:59:55 PM) Donnie McEwan: then we will purchase an entire palace full of expensive and garish hats

(5:00:04 PM) Ben Ferber: we are not gabe newell

(5:02:02 PM) Donnie McEwan: are too

(5:02:21 PM) Donnie McEwan: our destiny is to become the white Aretha Franklin

(5:02:33 PM) Donnie McEwan: oh my god Gabe Newell is aretha franklin in disguise

(5:02:42 PM) Ben Ferber: i can NOT let you do that starfox

(5:02:45 PM) Donnie McEwan: YOU'VE NEVER SEEN THEM IN ONE PLACE

(5:02:48 PM) Ben Ferber: stop RIGHT THERE

(5:02:51 PM) Ben Ferber: criminal scum

(5:03:05 PM) Donnie McEwan: it makes all kinds of sense

(5:04:27 PM) Donnie McEwan: but anyway

(5:04:52 PM) Donnie McEwan: it's been a wasted day if I haven't thought of a conspiracy theory involving Gabe Newell

(5:04:53 PM) Donnie McEwan: so

(5:04:59 PM) Donnie McEwan: today wasn't wasted

(5:04:59 PM) Ben Ferber: very true

(5:05:06 PM) Ben Ferber: also a play will be written about this

(5:05:08 PM) Donnie McEwan: yes

(5:05:20 PM) Ben Ferber: where someone says "YOU'VE NEVER SEEN THEM IN ONE PLACE"

(5:05:28 PM) Donnie McEwan: I can't let you do that starfox

(5:05:37 PM) Ben Ferber: it's just going to be this conversation isn't it'

(5:05:37 PM) Donnie McEwan: and then they battle

(5:05:43 PM) Donnie McEwan: it probably should

[foptheater-blog]

Dicken Soup for the Soul (The soul is made of dicks)

(Casey, a man in his 30's, is standing behind a small table on top of which is an enormous vat of soup. He is wearing an apron.)

Casey: Soup is like a rainbow you can eat with a spoon!

(Casey carefully dips a crystal spoon into the soup and takes a dainty sip. Another man, Abraham, runs up to the table. Abraham is wearing a purple domino mask and is wielding a sabre.)

Abraham: Avast! Your soup or your life!

Casey: Oh hello there!

Abraham: Your soup or your life!

Casey: Did you bring a bowl?

Abraham: Umm...no.

Casey: Well that's ok, we keep a stock of bowls in the back, let me go get one.

Abraham: Wait, no I'm-

Casey: Just a sec.

(Casey walks offstage.)

Abraham: Um.

(Pause. Abraham readjusts his domino mask. Casey returns with a large metal bowl and a spoon.)

Casey: Alright then! So I'll just ladle you out some soup.

Abraham: No! I am commandeering this soup!

Casey: But it's free.

Abraham: Don't make me kill you.

Casey: Seriously, I'll just give you some.

Abraham: But. I wanted to steal it.

Casey: This is a soup kitchen.

Abraham: Oh. Well...do you think I can point this sword at you while you ladle it?

Casey: I would be very uncomfortable with that.

Abraham: Piracy isn't supposed to be happy!

Casey: I already filled the bowl. Go sit down.

Abraham: ...I want another bowl!

Casey: You can come back for seconds.

Abraham: Oh fine.

(Abraham walks away. Casey waits a moment. He then unzips his fly and pisses in the soup.)

Casey: Freedom ain't free.

(Blackout.)

i work at wendys i cum in your chili i don't give a fuck

[foptheater-blog]

Thank you!

A million thanks to all who supported and attended The Dickening! We really couldn't have done it without you. More thanks in the days to come.

Love,

Ben and Donnie

[foptheater-blog]

Ralph Nader, a play for actors

(Lights up on the CNN studio. Wolf Blitzer sits at a desk.)

Wolf: Good evening everyone, I’m Wolf Blitzer, and my name is fucking ridiculous. Tonight, I have the privilege to inform you that the budget crisis is over! It’s been solved by a dark horse congressman. In fact, this horse is so dark that he is not a member of Congress, nor does he have any voting power. In the studio with us now, to give us the information from the horse’s mouth, is Ralph Nader.

Ralph: Thanks, Wolf. Not only did we solve the budget crisis, but we did it green. Pause for laughter.

Wolf: So explain to us exactly what you did to end the argument.

Ralph: Well, my three-part process was very simple. Part 1: isolate each program that is generally nonessential. Part 2: find parts of that program that we can put on the backburner. Part 3: punch all the goats to death. Pause for laughter.

(Pause.)

Wolf: Excuse me?

Ralph: Well, I gave every member of Congress a set of boxing gloves. Green boxing gloves, pause for laughter. I then told them to go out into the D.C. farmland and punch the shit out of all the goats they saw.

Wolf: You’re telling me this solved the budget crisis.

Ralph: Well yeah, it got all the stupid people out of the room so we could make a real budget.

Wolf: Now, Mr. Nader, how exactly did you involve yourself in making a budget when you’re not a member of Congress?

Ralph: Four more years! Four more years! Four more years! Pause for laughter!

(Pause.)

Wolf: That doesn’t really answer my question.

Ralph: Let’s just say that when the Congress chambers are completely empty because everyone followed John McCain out to punch some goats to death, “what happens in Congress stays in Congress.”

Wolf: So, is any of this legal?

Ralph: Pause for laughter.

Wolf: Why the hell are you saying that?!

Ralph: Well, this is the tonight show, right?

Wolf: The Situation Room.

Ralph: Oh dear. Pause for somber reflection.

(Pause.)

Wolf: Okay—

Ralph: Don’t you have some terrorists and celebrities to talk about.

Wolf: Crap, I completely forgot! Larry, switch to reel 2!

(Pictures of Amy Winehouse begin flashing on the screen.)

Wolf: Phew. That was a close one. Thanks, Ralph.

Ralph: Don’t mention it. And hey, would you like some boxing gloves? Laugh track.

(Pause.)

Wolf: No.

Ralph: Pause for somber reflection.

(Blackout.)

operation punch all the goats to death was a rousing success

[foptheater-blog]

Brains

(Lights up on two zombies, Blurgh and Urgh, who are sitting at a kitchen table in a dining room strewn with corpses. Urgh is missing the top half of his head, Blurgh is missing the bottom half.)

Blurgh: So how's that Asian.

Urgh: It's very well spiced.

Blurgh: Don't you think you'll be hungry again soon?

Urgh: Good, more Asian.

Blurgh: Well we have so many more to try.

Urgh: This is so fucking delicious.

Blurgh: Let's try this postman.

Urgh: Oh my god, it's so good.

Blurgh: You're eating the uniform.

Urgh: It tastes like brains.

Blurgh: What doesn't taste like brains?

Urgh: Huh?

Blurgh: Well what do brains taste like?

(Pause.)

Urgh: Brainsssssssssssss.

Blurgh: Tell me about the heaviness of that postman.

Urgh: He's not heavy enough, I want more of him.

Blurgh: That's not what I mean. Is his taste overbearing? Does he make you feel disgruntled? Where's your sense of symbolism?

Urgh: Brainsssssssssssss.

Blurgh: I'll just assume it's a pretty light dish. Now let's try this artist.

Urgh: So good. Like brains.

Blurgh: Are you sure the drug content isn't changing the aftertaste? What about the toughness of the meat? Surely it's overcooked.

Urgh: It is tender and delicious, like brains.

Blurgh: I guess you can't really tell if things are tough anymore because you lost all of your teeth trying to eat your own brain.

Urgh: Brains!?

Blurgh: No...

Urgh: Brainsssssssssssssss.

(Urgh smashes Blurgh's head in and eats his brains.)

Urgh: Brainsssssssssssssss.

(Blackout.)

zombies are a metaphor for soulless consumerism. and brains.

[foptheater-blog]

Beachplasty: a play for scalpels

(Lights up on a beach. Sitting in two lounge chairs are three doctors, Dr. Poivre [a plastic surgeon], Dr. Brun [a regular surgeon], and Dr. Scholl [a geneticist]. They are all sipping tropical drinks and wearing Hawaiian shirts and shutter shades.)

Brun: So you wanted to do WHAT?!

Poivre: Well, I just thought that we could change it so that his deformity was actually something correct.

Scholl: I think what Dr. Brun means is why would you do ninety very complicated things instead of one very simple thing?

Poivre: Again, I think the human body is naturally a beautiful thing. My work simply accentuates what is already beautiful.

Brun: That is just an absolute lie.

Scholl: I see where you’re coming from, Dr. Poivre, but this is just crazy.

Poivre: Am I crazy? Or do you just both have low self esteem? I offer a really great penoplasty procedure and I could get you both the insider rate of $6000. Recovery’s only three weeks.

Brun: Dr. Scholl, why did I let you invite this hack?

Scholl: I recall you saying something about his crazy balancing out MY crazy.

Brun: I must be crazy. Why would I think that would work?!

Poivre: Now, now, you know you need a plastic surgery consult at ALL relevant surgery consultations, particularly ones this dicey.

Brun: It’s not dicey. We’re LITERALLY just cutting off sixteen small membranes of skin between his fingers and toes. There are only capillaries joining them. But for SOME reason his insurance demanded a consult. So, here we are.

Poivre: I’m not going to vote “yes” unless you seriously consider my idea.

Brun: (Sighs.) Okay, I’m listening.

Poivre: To fix this man’s webbed toes and fingers, we must simply open several cosmetic holes in his neck to simulate gills, disconnect his main trachial tube, add a modest number of scale implants under his entire dermus, and attach skin grafts between his legs. Of course that would require a bit of a change for waste disposal. Don’t worry, I thought of that. His anus will be moved up to the small of his back.

(Pause.)

Brun: So you want to make him a fish?!

Poivre: Merman, actually.

Brun: And you don’t see how bad of an idea this is?!

Poivre: No, I do not.

Scholl: But I do. And we need a majority vote here.

Brun: Thank GOD. Can we just call this over, then?

Scholl: Well, you’ll have to listen to my alternative first.

(Pause.)

Brun: You have an alternative?

Scholl: We simply introduce a moderate quantity of synthetic protein into his system. This particular protein I’ve devised targets the “breathing” gene. It matches one found in infants who’ve developed SIDS, which we now theorize involves the gene for breathing being turned off. If placed in the right aquatic environment, and with a copious use of stem cells, I’m almost entirely sure our patient will develop rudimentary gills to replace his respiratory system within a few days.

(Pause.)

Scholl: It worked in mice!

(Pause.)

Brun: So, we’re going to remove the skin…

Poivre: Well, yeah, for this amount of skin grafts we’ll just need his entire ass.

Brun: NO. NOT YOUR IDEA.

Scholl: I’m serious, it’s a completely non-invasive procedure!

Brun: I don’t think you know what that means. Which brings me to another question. Why are we on this beach?

Scholl: Well, Dr. Poivre and I arranged to do whichever procedure we picked right here on this beach. In public. It’s a fundraiser of sorts, for the hospital. We’re calling it “Beachplasty.” We’re hoping that upon this successful surgery we’ll have a few other volunteers for a complimentary beachplasty. You know, we can just do the surgery right there. Someone wants bigger breasts? Dr. Poivre’s got it. Someone needs a horrendous genetic disorder cured? I keep syringes full of protein with me at all times.

Brun: Are you two even doctors?

Scholl: Well, I have a Ph.D.

Poivre: I’m technically a doctor.

(Pause.)

Poivre: A love doctor.

(Blackout.)

we really should change the title you get for Ph.Ds so people stop getting confused about this


[foptheater-blog]

Come see the last performance of The Dickening!

[foptheater-blog]

The Rent Is So Cheap Because He Watches You Sleep

(Lights up on a dingy first-floor apartment. It is empty apart from a worn couch and some stains on the carpet. A creepy old man, Ronald Augustine, enters with a pair of young girls, Brittany and Michelle.)

Ronald: I really think you’ll like this unit. It’s got a kitchenette, a bathroom, and a window that you can mount your own AC unit in.

Brittany: That’s…pretty basic, right? Like, without that it’s not an apartment.

Ronald: If you insist. But I must note, the rent will be $500 a month.

Michelle: Per person?!

Ronald: Total.

Brittany: Well, that’s definitely in our price range. The other similar units we’ve looked at have been more than twice that price.

Ronald: I knew you’d like it.

Michelle: What’s your pet policy?

Ronald: All pets welcome.

Michelle: All pets? Like, exotic pets?

Ronald: Yeah, that’s probably fine.

Michelle: Score. I’m getting an ocelot.

Brittany: Oh, I love ocelots! They have those cute tufty little ears.

Ronald: And they’re some of nature’s most dangerous killers.

(Pause.)

Ronald: Of hearts!

(They all laugh.)

Ronald: But seriously, they’ll gnaw your hearts out with those sharp little teeth.

(Pause.)

Brittany: What’s your noise policy?

Ronald: The more noise the better!

Brittany: Well, that’s pretty good I guess.

Michelle: What’s the catch with this place?

Ronald: The rent is so cheap because I watch you sleep.
(Pause.)

Brittany: What?

Ronald: I mean, if you don’t want a place for $250 a month just because the landlord watches you while you sleep and touches himself, you can just go. I’ve got people lined up out the door for this place.

Michelle: I’m…listen, the rent’s great and you seem nice, I guess.

Ronald: I just got back from prison.

(Pause.)

Ronald: By the way, I’m supposed to tell you that I’m a convicted sex offender.

(Pause.)

Brittany: I’m sorry?!

Ronald: I mean, again, if you don’t want the place it’s fine.

(Pause.)

Ronald: I mean, I got convicted for doing just this.

(Pause.)

Ronald: So can I expect your check on Monday?

(Pause.)

Brittany: Yeah…

Michelle: (Overlapping.) Yeah…you just can’t beat this price.

Ronald: And I can beat a lot of other things too!

(He laughs. They join him, nervously.)

Ronald: Like my dick.

(Brittany and Michelle stop laughing. Pause. Blackout.)

based on a true story about a real man named ronald augustine. hope prison’s treatin’ you well, ronny

[foptheater-blog]

Monkey Love: a screenplay

(Fade from black to three monkeys wearing waistcoats and tiny bowler hats sitting in a smoke-filled cigar bar.)

Lewis: Oh those damnable humans have really done it now.

Simmons: What happened this time?

Lewis: They have invented something that is just truly ghastly.

Simmons: Ghastly?

Lewis: Yes. And I dare not even mention what it is.

(Pause.)

Cromwell: Well out with it, man!

Simmons: Best not keep us in suspense. We'll find out soon regardless.

Lewis: I can't.

Simmons: You must!

Lewis: It is too horrible to tell.

Simmons: It can't be that bad.

Cromwell: Yes. What evil could those humans possible have created?

Lewis: (Sighs.) Well...you must promise to keep this between us three.

Simmons: Certainly.

Cromwell: On my mother's grave, sir.

Lewis: Very well.

(Pause.)

Lewis: The humans...they've invented homosexuality.

Cromwell: My god.

Lewis: Yes.

Simmons: How did you find this out?

Lewis: Well...look around you.

(Camera pans around bar to reveal dozens of men in mesh shirts and assless chaps dancing sexually.)

Lewis: The bar has been sold, you see.

Cromwell: I was wondering what that was.

Lewis: They're...homosexuals.

Simmons: Blasphemy and damnation. We must rid the world of this sequined scourge.

Cromwell: But how?

Lewis: I have a plan, actually.

Simmons: I'm listening.

Lewis: What if we create a mechanized killing machine.

Cromwell: I'm with you so far.

Lewis: And it destroy them all and burn all of their houses down. Also we can have it destroy all of the world's scarf shops.

Simmons: This sounds quite ambitious.

Cromwell: That is the essence of its charm, my good man.

Simmons: I just don't know if it's doable.

Lewis: Well do you have a better suggestion?

Simmons: Actually yes. What if we create a virus that kills all of the gays.

Lewis: How would that work?

Simmons: We'll engineer it to only be transmitted through gay sex.

Cromwell: BRILLIANT!

Lewis: I'm all for it.

Simmons: Then let's work out the details...at my laboratory....

(Zoom out to reveal that the entire scene was being played on a television screen in a living room. Mike Huckabee is sitting next to the TV.)

Mike: And that is why I am running for president.

Narrator: Vote Mike Huckabee for president in 2012. Because if he doesn't win, then the monkeys will turn on straight people next.

(Fade to white.)

because guns don't kill people, monkeys with AIDS do

[foptheater-blog]

Diplomacy: A Cautionary Tale

(Lights up on Hamburg. It lies in ruin. A medieval king stands next to a twenty-first century businessman.)

King: So, go over this with me again. You want all the rest of my feudal towns in exchange for WHAT?!

Businessman: Nuclear weapons.

King: I don’t know what those are. I could offer you some horses.

Businessman: I’ve evolved beyond the need for horses.

King: What could replace a horse?

Businessman: ROCKET CAR.

King: Well, the only other thing we have is a vast body of literary works in our library.

Businessman: What is a “literary?” And how does it work?

King: You know…books? You read them?

Businessman: I’m afraid I don’t understand the question.

King: Well, you know what WRITING is, right?

Businessman: “Writing?” Oh, we never researched that.

King: Then how did you build all of those weapons you slaughtered us with?

Businessman: With metal?

King: I don’t understand what metal is.

Businessman: Then research it.

King: We’ve only researched horses and writing.

Businessman: Well, we’ve only researched science. The boomy part of science. Hence why our cars have to have rockets on them.

King: We’re currently working on chivalry.

Businessman: Not interested. Give me your towns.

King: But I only have Berlin and Munich.

Businessman: Two, seriously?! I thought you had, like, at least four. Welp, guess I’ll just nuke ‘em.

(Several large explosions in the background. The businessman clicks his heels and runs away.)

Businessman: WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

King: I have nothing.

(Blackout.)

play civilization 5

[foptheater-blog]

A Slight Cake

(Lights up on the offices of the Oxford Urban Dictionary. Three linguists, Larry, Curly, and Sue-Bob, are hotly debating the latest entry.)

Larry: This is just unacceptable to our standards.

Curly: Is it?

Larry: It isn’t!

Sue-Bob: It doesn’t matter if it’s up to our standards. What matters is that it’s a widely-used word. It’s our job to account for a definition.

Larry: This word is undefinable.

Curly: Don’t be so butthurt.

Larry: I don’t even know what that means!

Sue-Bob: Well, we just have to keep using it until we figure out a definition.

Larry: I am not butthurt! “Butthurt” is not a thing!

Curly: The people have spoken and butthurt IS a thing.

Sue-Bob: Butthurt: The state of one’s butt being emotionally injured.

Larry: How would emotional injury affect your butt?

Sue-Bob: It’s a METAPHOR.

Larry: A metaphor for what?!

Sue-Bob: Don’t make me show you the pictures of distended anuses again.

Larry: I TOLD you, we cannot put those in the dictionary!

Curly: I think it’s important for our readers to have visual aids.

Larry: These pictures will give them visual AIDS.

Sue-Bob: Larry, we already told you visual AIDS is not a disease. Or anything for that matter.

Larry: Visual AIDS: The disorder one contracts upon viewing absolute drek, especially in dictionaries. Page 9842. We did this yesterday.

Sue-Bob: We let you have that one Larry. Please just let us put butthurt in.

Larry: I’m afraid until you provide me with a concrete example of “butthurt” I can’t comply.

Curly: Well you’re being pretty butthurt about the word butthurt being in our dictionary.

Larry: A non-recursive example!

Sue-Bob: I don’t even know what that means.

Larry: You can’t use a word in its own definition.

Curly: That wasn’t the definition. I was providing you with an example.

Larry: But the word butthurt is in the example!

Curly: Right. It’s an example within an example.

Larry: We need to go deeper than that!

Sue-Bob: Shut the fuck up, both of you. Butthurt: The process of making a dictionary.

(Pause.)

Larry: Okay, I’ll go with that one.

Curly: Thank god.

Sue-Bob: Next up: Broolicious.

(Blackout.)

butthurt (adj.). The process of making a dictionary. Ex: Larry was predictably butthurt about including the word butthurt in his dictionary.

[foptheater-blog]

By the way, we're small-time authors at Urban Dictionary. When more of our words are approved, we'll post 'em here!

[foptheater-blog]

Men’s Bewerehouse

(Lights up on a Men’s Wearhouse. A man, Will, is looking through a display of ties. He’s going to like the way he looks, and George Zimmer guarantees it. Enter Nick, a salesman.)

Nick: Can I help you find what you’re looking for today?

Will: Nah, I’m—actually, you know what, yeah. I’m looking for sort of a slate green tie. One that would match a lavender shirt well? Preferably with an understated pattern.

Nick: Sure, we’ve got some right over here.

Will: Great, thanks.

(Nick leads Will to a basket on the floor. Will peers inside.)

Will: This is…

Nick: I know they look a bit expensive, but I promise you they’re all under $20.

Will: Okay, I just am not even going to START on—

Nick: This one is a Roquefort-style pattern, it’s very gently ribbed—

Will: —how absolutely moronic this is. I know you probably—

Nick: —and actually the blue dots are processed bits of cotton.

Will: —think it’s very funny that you’re showing me a BASKET OF SNAKES, but—

Nick: Oh, this one, I think this would look good with your neck width—

Will: —this just clearly cannot be safe and I just want a tie—

Nick: —it’s very thick cut, and you see these thin dark orange stripes—

Will: —THAT IS A SCALE PATTERN!!!

Nick: Well, yes!

(Pause.)

Will: You’re waving snakes in my face.

Nick: Oh, apologies, I’ll just let you look through the basket yourself.

(Nick hands Will the basket.)

Nick: Let me know if you have any other questions or if you find one you like.

(Will proffers the basket back to Nick.)

Will: Are these poisonous?! What is wrong—

Nick: Ha! No, as I said, they’re all under $20.

Will: Take your goddamned snakes back!

(Nick takes the basket back and looks in it. Pause.)

Nick: Oh, you know what? I’m just so embarrassed that I gave you that basket.

Will: I wonder why?!

Nick: Those are glossy fabrics, not slate.

Will: THOSE ARE SNAKES, NOT TIES!!!

Nick: Let me just fetch this one…

(Nick fetches another basket of snakes.)

Will: Okay, good bye.

(Will begins to walk away.)

Nick: Oh, sir! I got it! Slate green.

Will: Good bye!

(Nick briskly walks towards Will, trips, and drops the snakes all over Will.)

Will: OH GOD WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU OH MY GOD THEY’RE EVERYWHERE!!!

Nick: Oopsie! Let me get a broom.

(Nick sheepishly walks to the back room.)

Will: THEY’RE BITING MY ARMS! PLEASE CALL AN AMBULANCE OH GOD!!!

Nick: (From the back.) I’ll be right back! Don’t pick any of those up, I’ve got ‘em!

(Blackout.)

slate green is an ugly color anyway