fuck.

A play in one act

Dramatis Personae:
Fantastic Reader: This would be you, doing whatever fantastic things you do.
RawkStah: This would be the author, breaking the 4th Wall and being all postmodern and pissy.

Setting: W.S. Burroughs' Interzone, since I feel like having it there.

RawkStah: (pacing back and forth, occasionally shaking his fist at the sky) Dammit dammit sonofabitch. Fucking, fucking, dipfuck shit, fuck shit shit fuck dill. Sweet Zombie Jeebus. Dammit, dammit, dammit. Fucking dammit, dammit. Damn it all. Fuck, damn, fuck. Crap boobs crap. Damn hell ass crap shit boobs.

Fantastic Reader: (enters from a nearby centipede bar) Whoa, what's going on here, man? Your wandering and pacing and menacing the petty, cruel Elder Gods with your fist is totally not cool. What's the deal?

RS: I'll tell you what the deal is, you closeted homo. I know you Interzone types, what with your smoking the black powder that you change Brazilian centipedes into, and your secret agent shenanigans. Oh, it doesn't bother me, because I'm on to you. And, since I know your gig, I might as well let you in on mine. Just to level the playing field, as it were. I am performing my Tourette's-esque swearing/pacing/shaking my fist at Hera thing that I'm performing because I am FRUSTRATED and PISSY.

FR: I gathered as such, my good man. But, honestly, such language nearly made me drop my monocle. What could have happened that would have put you in such a state? I know that I've seen you before, and you are generally a pretty mellow sort of fellow.

RS: Don't try any of your Morrocan ryhme-hypnosis on me, Jack. Got it? If you hypnotize me, you won't get the real truth. You'll get some sort of strange cut-up truth that Dr. Benway put inside of me as he massaged my heart with a plunger. You want real truth? You want me to mainline it right into your pituitary? You wanna know what sort of strange anger trip I'm on right now? I'll tell you. I am FRUSTRATED and PISSY because of THE GODDAMN PLAY that I AM DIRECTING.

FR: Please elaborate.

RS: Don't think I won't! I am in this foulest of moods, this pit of hopeless, bleak dispair because I have yet to see an ENTIRE CAST for THE GODDAMN PLAY, and I find out tonight that one of my LEAD ACTRESSES is going to be GONE for TWO WEEKS because her GRANDPA is DRUGGED UP or DYING or SOMETHING. That, my friend upon the man train, is why I am FRUSTRATED and PISSY.

FR: Well, that's entrely justifiable. But, don't you have a girlfriend now? I'm sure that she'd listen to you. I know that whenever I'm down, Danny Kaye... *ahem*, I mean, MY girlfriend is there to make me feel better.

RS: Dude, you just blew your cover.

FR: You're too crafty for me, RawkStah. I shall beat you yet! (vanishes in a puff of smoke)

*fin*

I suck at the playwriting.

Oh, well. I'm expecting a phone call. FROM MY GIRLFRIEND, who likes me. I also like her. And we will talk. On the phone. And now you know... the Rest of the Story.
posted by Grant Bennett at 10:59 PM

Comments by: YACCS

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