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January 26, 2010

The Odyssey of Ulysses S. Groan (Part 13: The Pit and The Penelope. Or, The Imp of The Penelope.)

Posted by Ryan McGivern under Comedy, Fiction, Love, Ulysses S. Groan
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Penelope was not his first love or even his love. She was his wife.
In the morning he would walk with coffee in hand past her bedroom and peek in to see her lying there under mounds of horribly colored bed covers. Ulysses would then shuffle out to the front gate and pick up the morning paper with a grunt that grew louder with each year’s gained weight. Glancing at the above the fold, he would see how the world was winding down. When she awoke she’d find the paper laid next to her, with the articles critical of him clipped out. This warmed her as it said that he still cared what she thought of him.

She thought little of him. As most do their spouses. Any person cowardly enough to accept the terms of betrothal laid them at the uninteresting and tedious altar of ‘true love’. And Penelope could have none of that. What she did love of him was his complete disregard for sense. Some chose to be selective in their senselessness and this trait was called ‘romanticism’. For Ulysses, there was only nonsense. A strict and unrelenting diet of madness, selfishness, and brain melting illogic. This made him triumphant in her eyes, the perfect leader and King.

Penel0pe and Ulysses met in high school when they were bathed in hormones. It was a Tuesday during the weekly high school hormone therapy bath. Of course, like all people bound to get married, they were absolutely wrong for each other. For the first years of schooling together, they would pass each other in hall with their own judgments: Penelope thinking that his shoulders slumped too much and that his gawkish maw could only look forward to being framed in a Haz-Mat suit working on sewage spills. Ulysses thought her hips too narrow and her breasts too little.

It was only when their son Telemachus time travelled from the future and played electric guitar at their school’s “Enchantment Under The Sea” dance that they were magically if not temporal-paradoxically brought together.

Their first kiss happened in health class while they were participating in a ‘buddy check’ colonoscopy.
They laid on the classroom floor in the figure of a caduceus and fed camera cables into each other.
Ulysses’ eyes left the monitor and gazed into Penelope’s face. This is why here polyps went undetected.
“Come on, admit it. Sometimes you think I’m all right.”
Penelope jammed another two feet of cord into his rectum, pinching her hand.
“Occasionally” she grimaced, “maybe…when you aren’t acting like an ignoramus.”
“Ignoramus? Ignoramus? I like the sound of that.”
Ulysses began to massage her tender and puckered sphincter.
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
Penelope’s face flushed with anger.
“Stop that! My b-hole is dirty.”
“My hands are dirty, too. What are you afraid of?”
Penelope looked into his glazed and bloodshot eyes. “Afraid?”
Ulysses loosened up and, using his dextrous rectal control, sucked in another foot of fiber optic camera.
“You’re trembling.” He said, just over a whisper.
“I’m not trembling.”
“You like me because I’m an ignoramus. There aren’t enough ignoramuses in your life.”
“I happen to like people who are not douchebags.”
“I’m a person who is not a douchebag.”
“No you’re not, you’re…” But her words were silenced by his lips.
They kissed deeply, gently, full of ridiculuous teenaged tongue action.
Just then the Health Teacher Droid stepped over them announcing: “Children, children! Remember to isolate the reverse flux power coupling!”

She gave him the best years of her life. He gave her cold sores.
They shared in the best and worst life had to offer. The best: wealth and fame. The worst: culturally expected monogamy….That is at least for the first year of marriage before Ulysses found the most honest joy marriage had to offer–cheating.

Penelope knew that he had his ‘dalliances’. Everyone did. She appreciated that he tried to hide his mistresses in the same way she appreciated his saying “sorry!” when he heard her fall into a toilet whose seat he’d neglected to put back down.
He thought of her as a Queen: nice to bring to parties and show off to dignitaries.
She thought of him as a pet turtle. No fun to be around and the possibility of being killed by his poop salmonella.

It was the voting block’s expectations of a nuclear family that had brought them together, but in the end, it was their devoted love that kept them together.

 

January 15, 2010

Duluth to Play Backdrop for Horror Comedy Film

Posted by Ryan McGivern under Art, Comedy, Places, Pop Culture
1 Comment 

Hollywood is coming home to Duluth!
Check out what the Duluth News Tribune wrote about the new movie being filmed there.
http://www.areavoices.com/fun/?blog=58702

Interested in being a part of a thrilling horror comedy that will bring Northern Minnesota the best time its had since last weekend ice fishing with Cousin Karl?
email:

sasquatchsbigllc@gmail.com

 

January 5, 2010

Brit Hume To Tiger Woods: “Take the Jesus Mulligan”

Posted by Ryan McGivern under Christianity, Comedy, Pop Culture
1 Comment 

Hello I’m Brit Hume. I’m not a  theologian, pastor, or even a remotely thoughtful person.
But I know what’s right for you and your most intimate soul-searching questions.
Why would you listen to me?…Just some ol’ hack that’s ended up on the scrap heap of tv ‘news’?
I’ll tell you why: because I love Jesus almost as much as I love judging people and telling them what to do.
Britney! You need Jesus.
Tony Danza, Repent!
Woody Allen: I’ve scheduled your exorcism.

I’m so glad that Tiger Woods was exposed to be doing what a large majority of married men do!
It gave me the opportunity to chime in on his personal life, perceived failings, and spirituality.
Think of the situation Tiger would be in if he hadn’t been caught cheating! He would never had the chance to hear about the Saving Power of Jesus from me, Brit Hume.
You can thank me later, Tiger. After you’re baptised that is. I don’t want the thanks of a heathen.

This is perfect timing for you to come to Jesus. Everybody gets a touch of the Jesus Crazy when they’re publicly shamed for something they probably really enjoy.
Doing meth and sucking off male prostitutes? No problem.
Embezzlement, conspiracy, theft, murder? Just start talkin’ Jesus and all your problems will go away.

Tiger, if you only would have been busy worshipping the God of my specific sect, you would never have come into these problems. But since you’re there now, listen to me, Brit Hume: Come get some of this red hot blood of the Lamb buddy. Jump right in. Everything floats down here.

Its hard being me. No one hardly ever listens to my spiritual direction. When my neighbor complained about my overgrown hedge blocking their sunlight and I told them to get right with God, they continued being Episcopalian! I’m praying for them.

People who listen to me never regret it. I listen to me all the time and I’ve never said a thing I didn’t like yet.
I love listening to me so much. Jesus must love to listen to me pray.
And I’ll be praying for you Tiger Woods. You’re on my Prayer List.
Also on my prayer list: A Vikings Superbowl win this year. Go Vikes!

 

December 29, 2009

Millions of Americans Hear of Yemen for First Time, Demand Its Destruction

Posted by Ryan McGivern under Comedy, Ethics, Love, Places, Violence, news
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Detroit–This week, Panty Raid bomber Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab breathed new life into a city long thought dead. The suspect enroute from the international house of pannekoeken, Amsterdam, sought to explode his “[genitals] so hot baby” but his attempt’s failure is being credited on his oversight to powder down his schwetty kibbles and bits.

The Nigerian Abdullmutallab’s stay in a strange and myterious land called “Yemen” has rankled the ire of Senator Joe Lieberman and millions of other droopy faced Americans.

“If I knew on what continent this supposed country was, assuming it is a real country and not a Narnia-eque playland of the imagination, I would bomb it myself.” Said Detroit’s Bethlehem Baptist Pastor Steve Utnam on Christmas Day.

Millions of Americans have been quizzically scouring over Google maps trying to locate the word ‘Yemen’ only to end up being distracted by smell of burning Pop Tarts from the other room. Google reports that searches for “Bomb the Forest Moon of Yemen”, “Tora Tora Tora Yemen”, “Blow Sum Shit Up Unquestioningly Yemen” quadrupled since the attempted Panty Raid.

Independent Senator from Connecticut Joe Lieberman said speaking with War Marketing Officials at Fox News, “Iraq was yesterday’s war, Afghanistan is today’s war. If we don’t act preemptively, Yemen will be tomorrow’s war…..The Iraq war is over. Boring. Been there, done that. Afghanistan is totally hot right now. Afghanistan is to heroin production and chaos what Amy Winehouse is to heroin comsumption and chaos. If we don’t wage an immediate illegal war with Yemen, we will have to wage a postponed illegal war against Yemen.”

“Any country remotely associated with a person who is black, Muslim, and tries something murderous, involving their panties or not, should be pre-emptively bombed, razed, and then occupied for a decade.” Said Tammy Sharms, a mother of eight from St. Louis, MO. “So long as that country is poor, under the control of warlords or despots, and has oil.” Mrs. Sharms was quick to point out “Saudia Arabia is not poor.”

America holds its breath to see whether America will ’snikt’ its ferocious and berzerker military might on Iran or move on to the greener pastures of Yemen. Either way, Americans are hopeful that by next Christmas they will have more loved ones serving in some war somewhere.

Said Pastor Utnam, “Was Jesus born in Yemen? That sounds familiar.”

 

December 28, 2009

Domino’s Reacharound: Changing The Pizza Face

Posted by Ryan McGivern under Comedy, Diarrhea, Food, Pop Culture, Recipe
[2] Comments 


We’ve been busy at our headquarters in Ann Arbor Michigan dreaming up a pizza that will change the way you think of Domino’s forever. You think you know Domino’s Pizza?
You don’t have a clue.
We’re doing for pizza what Agent Orange did for defoliation. We’re breaking all the rules: not wearing hairnets, sneezing directly into our mixing bowls, and taking a break from the eight foot bong which lives in the corner of our “brain storming room/bathroom”.

We realized we’d grown soft and lazy in our role of “biggest eyesore on strip mall blight aside from Starbucks” and “home of the stinkiest air exchange fan aside from Panda Express”.
It was time for a change. A new sensation. Like when you had to convince your girlfriend of 5 years it was time for ‘backdoor’.
Well we changed. And to make a cool reference, we were like that guy from that soccer movie and we “showed you the money!” We’re fresh and hip and we understand our 14-34 year old stoned male demographic. We know that you do stuff involving video games or whatever it is you’re always doing in the basement and we know that you sell your parents lawn tools on craigslist for weed money and Domino’s.

We normally perform surveys and taste-tests. That’s nothing new. But recently we threw out the rule book and did something different: We asked sober people to tell us what they thought of our pizza. When we got responses ranging from projectile vomiting, screams of anger and confusion, and babies born with developmental delays, we came to the conclusion that maybe our lawyers, honest friends, and sober family members were right: our pizza was barely within raccoon diet range.

We hit the ground running and hit our chief recipe director Sheila Simonsen in the face with a pestle. We told her that a woman named Adria told us to go fuck ourselves through a mouthful of blood, vomit, and pizza. We told her it was time to get our game back. Sheila met the challenge and pestle wound with gusto. “Mama’s got a brand new bag!” she said and produced a fatty sack of gooey Humboldt shrubs.

Listen to what we did!
We got new processed cheese substitute that has four new chemical additives that not only reduce your diarrhea levels, they make your stool smell like a gangrenous gallbladder because our new pizza recipe causes gallbladder gangrene.
We replaced our old meat substance with a wheat and corn enhanced ‘meat’ that uses only the finest slaughterhouse scraps from only the most tortured and depressed cattle.
Our other ingredients include: movie popcorn butter, teenaged shoulder grease, lip gloss, salt, sodium, dehydrated sea water, and the expulsions of a cadaver’s clogged arteries.

Our patented recipe will make you want to go to sleep and never wake up.

You know what we did next? We drove to Adria’s house. You remember Adria, that woman who cursed the day we were born and then succumbed to madcow and E. Coli? Well we paid her a visit at her house. Unannounced. 
But you’ll have to wait to find out what she did when she opened her door in her pajamas to see we’d tracked her down like a wounded antelope!

 

July 31, 2009

Script: At Gitmo, Friendship is Catchy (for two players)

Posted by Ryan McGivern under Comedy, Play, Prison, Script
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PinkEye: I think I’m coming down with a cold, DeliThin.
DeliThin: What? Well you are or you aren’t.
PE: Well…I…Think I am.
DT: Oh my god, just great!
PE: Well I might not be.
DT: Give it to me straight, PinkEye!
PE: Well I woke up with a sore throat and I feel some body aches.
DT: Great. Just great. You know—you know how susceptible I am to catching colds. You get a cold, and I get it twice as bad.  To serve as illustration–Your name is PinkEye yet it’s me who lost sight in his left eye because I picked at it too much.
PE: Well, I mean…Its just that no one made you pick at your eye so much.
DT: It hurt, PinkEye. It hurt. It itched. I had pink eye. I scratched at my eye until it imploded because I had pink eye. I had pink eye because you had pink eye. Your name is PinkEye!
PE: I woke up in the middle of the night and you were rubbing my fingers directly onto your retina.
DT: Besides the point.
PE: I tried pulling away.
DT: Are you quite done? You finished? You just have to get the last word in don’t you? God, [rubs temples] I think I’m getting a headache from you.
PE: Headaches aren’t catchy.
DT: I hope this isn’t a summer cold.
PE: Summer colds are the worst. I know.
DT: If it isn’t bad enough I got to be locked away for life—I’ve got to be locked away with the fucking Velveteen Rabbit.
PE: I asked you yesterday if you wanted me to throw poop at the guard and get sent to solitary to give you your personal space and you said ‘no’!
DT: Well I didn’t know that you were incubating Swine Flu did I?
PE: I don’t think you can get Swine Flu from rat bites.
DT: Besides the point.
PE: Look, I’m not looking for an argument. If we could keep track of days from this dungeon, we’d find that we argue every day. It doesn’t need to be this way.
DT: You don’t like me.
PE: That’s not what I said at all.
DT: You hate me—you just said it.
PE: You are so dramatic! Look, all I’m saying is that we have enough hardship as it is. Advanced Interrogation Techniques, cruel and demeaning treatment from the guards…With the time we have together we can choose to make the best of it.
DT: I am making the best of it. You ever see me complain about the hoods we have to wear over our heads when paraded out in front of the laughing guards? I like the smell inside my hood. It smells like my breath. You see me complain about the windowless cell? I thank God that I don’t have to worry about early aging due to sun damage. My only problem is you!
PE: DeliThin, that’s it. I’m not your best friend anymore. [turns back to him]
DT: [sighs] I’ve never told anyone this before…My father was known as the ‘Butcher of Seville’. He once killed twelve cattle with his bare mouth. I remember he would come home covered in blood and plop down on the couch and I’d bring him his pipe and slippers. One day he didn’t come home. State Troopers picked him up while trying to transport black market foie gras into Connecticut. He got life in prison. He sent a note to me in a capsule he’d fed a pigeon which was totally unnecessary because he had weekly phone privileges, but that’s besides the point. You know what that note said?
PE: Don’t take your cellmate for granted?
DT: “Become a vegetarian. It’s more humane and more healthy.”
PE: That’s it?
DT: That’s it. I changed my name legally to DeliThin the next day. I was a rebellious teenager…PinkEye, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking…
PE: Yeah? And?
DT: That’s it. I’ve been thinking….What?
PE: I’ve never told anyone this before…My dad was called Dr. Timothy Paulford. He had an ophthalmology practice in Malibu. He’d come home each day and check me for cataracts. One day he didn’t come home. He’d run off with his secretary. He sent me an email one day and you know what it said?
DT: Don’t give your cellmate colds?
PE: “Become a vegetarian. It’s more humane and more healthy.”
DT: We are so alike.
PE: More alike than either of us knew.
DT: Did you become a vegetarian?
PE: Of course! It’s more humane and more healthy!
DT: We are so unalike.
PE: More unalike than either of us will ever know.
DT: ….My headache is feeling better.
PE: I guess they are catchy because now I’m getting one.
DT: …I’d told you I’d been thinking, right?
PE: Yeah. And?
DT: That’s it. I’ve been thinking…What?

(END)

 

July 28, 2009

Script: Losing Weight and Saving Souls (for two players)

Posted by Ryan McGivern under Comedy, Drugs, Play, Script, Self Improvement
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Tina: This is going to be the most memorable summer ever!
Sarah: You’re right, Tina! This is one summer at Loon Lake Camp that we’ll never forget!
T: Look at how excited I am! I’m getting goose bumps!
S: My hands are shaking in part because I’m detoxing but certainly also because camp starts today!
T: I’ve got to say, Sarah, that I think I’m going to win ‘counselor of the year’.
S: Not so fast, Tina. I’ve held that honor for the last three years. I’m not going to give it up easily.
T: We’ll just have to wait and see! I think a lot of campers are going to find Jesus this summer.
S: And lose weight.
T: That’s right. Having Arizona’s only Baptist affiliated Fat Camp assures us we’re gonna get a lot of backslid chubbies. This is going to be a memorable year.
S: I’m going to remember it as the summer that our ‘no drownings’ streak ended.
T: The campers haven’t even arrived yet!
S: I know. It was the Camp Nurse, Ms. Burnett.
T: We don’t even have a lake! It dried up in last year’s drought!
S: I know. She drowned in a pool of her own blood.
T: The five year ‘no drowning’ streak is finally over? This IS going to be a memorable summer. Of course, this is also just my first year at Loon Lake so that makes it pretty memorable.
S: I remember my first year working here. I was a virgin then.
T: …I hope the campers come soon. I can’t wait to get into the craft shack and make friendship bracelets!
S: I used up all the thread. Sorry….I made an auto-asphyxiation noose.
T: …Kids are really going to meet Jesus here, I can feel it!
S: And lose weight.
T: Right- and lose weight. Speaking of, I’m hungry.
S: The camp cook died this morning so there won’t be dinner. Just to let you know.
T: How?
S: Slipped in Ms. Burnett’s blood. And then he drowned in it.
T: Two drownings in one day! After a 5 year streak! Where did all her blood come from anyway?
S: I can’t wait to get these kids started on a crash course diet!
T: And learn about martyrs, and spiritual warfare, and possession, and Ephesians,
S: Ha! Kids don’t care about that stuff anymore! Now its all “iPhone” this, and “Xbox” that. We haven’t even had a proper demon possession the last two summers.
T: Well, I’m sure that will change. I myself already had a demon of overeating cast out of me this morning.
S: And it shows, Tina. Looking good!
T: Oh, hush! You’re too kind. But you’re right. I’m looking pretty good. I really don’t know how I can eat all that I do and stay so slim!
S: Ah, the metabolism and vanity of youth.
T: This is going to be such a memorable summer.
S: I’m going to remember as much of this summer as I can, given all the heavy mind-erasing drugs I’ll be using. But before I forget, I should tell you that there will be a planned burning of the soccer field tomorrow.
T: Oh No! I’d planned a soccer tournament and tithe-drive on the field tomorrow! But I guess to prevent wildfires, you’ve just got to pre-burn some areas.
S: Oh, it has nothing to do with wildfires. I’m burning it as part of my soccer tournament and sermon illustration.
T: To show the kids what hell is like? Fight fire with fire as it were?
S: I didn’t think of that. No, its just for them to stand by it and sweat out some water weight.
T: Your sermon is….
S: “And Jesus Wept: Keeping your water weight down.”  It’s a three part series.
T: This is going to be so memorable!
S: It sure will be! Like I remember when I went into your room this morning and replaced your Tic Tacs with Sugarfree Tic-Tacs.
T: Tic-Tacs?….You mean my mood stabilizer and bi-polar medications? I thought they looked funny!
S: Whatever they were, you can expect to lose some weight with Sugarfree Tic-Tacs.
T: I’m on 4000 milligrams of anti-psychotics on an 8 hour cycle, Sarah! I’ll lose my mind before I lose weight!
S: All your screaming is really killing my crank buzz and crushing my heroine chill, man.
T: I’m sorry.
S: Thank you. Apology accepted.
T: I keep forgetting that you’re an old pro at this summer camp thing.
S: That’s right. And you’re just a greenhorn. You don’t know the grim realities of a Bible/Fat Camp.
T: Please show me the ropes.
S: I will. I promise to give you all the insider 411.
T: No, I mean your auto-asphyxiation noose. I’m feeling my brain chemistry radically changing and I’d like to regulate through a tabooed life-threatening form of erotic self-harm.
S: Now you’re talking like a seasoned Bible Camp Counselor.
T: Ah! A Bible/FAT Camp Counselor.
S: C’mon. Let’s go get you a noose and then burn the dead. We’ve got overweight Christian preteens to get ready for.

(End)

 

July 6, 2009

King Of Pop Religion Alive! Planning Comeback Tour

Posted by Ryan McGivern under Comedy, Magic, Pop Culture, Religion, Travel, news
[7] Comments 

Billions of people around the world think religious genius and Pop Religion Icon Jesus Christ is dead and buried but nothing could be further from the truth.

ALIVE – OR NOT?
You be the judge.

In fact, say religious sources around the world in a position to know, the ‘Original Jesus Christ Superstar’ died and then rose from the dead three days later to allow humanity to escape the crushing pressures of life in sin -and he is now socked away equally in heaven, in Christians’ hearts via the Holy Ghost, in communion wafers, in icons, in images burned into tortillas, and equally everywhere at once due to a power known as omnipresence.
And in the strangest twist of all, say the insiders, once he’s rested and ready, Jesus Christ, age 2009, will blow the lid off speculations that he is “either dead, gone, uncaring in a Deist way, or absolute sham” and make a comeback tour on May 21 2011. Adoring fans are already buying tickets to Frankenmuth Michigan’s World Beer Expo to celebrate his surprise career turn.

“Jesus Christ is following in the footsteps of others he greatly admired –Amelia Earhart, Elvis Presley, Michael Jackson, Jim Morrison, L. Ron Hubbard, all who faked their deaths and are still alive, and in hiding, today,” Pastor Joshua Loomis, of Topeka’s Victory Chapel said in this previous Sunday’s sermon.

“Make no mistake, Jesus Christ is Lord and Savior, both as a performer and as and showman and marketer and promoter. Remember when he made water into wine just to get the publicity? Remember when he reputedly was trying to combat imperialism, injustice, ethnic bigotry, and classism through non-violent protest and inclusive fellowship? If you look at his history of stunts he’s pulled to keep himself in the public eye, like loving social outcasts and committing himself to egoless service, the idea that he would rise from his death makes sense.” Loomis said.

“Let’s face it – Jesus Christ has been vilified by many in the the liberal media and by people who just don’t like him. He’s been called ‘Just A Good Man’ and ‘Chief Among the Prophets But Yet Not God’, ‘The Firstborn of Creation-Meaning an Angel’, ‘The Son of God, Meaning a Human Turned God Who Created This World And Is Son Of Elohim Who Lives Near The Planet Kolob’, et cetera, et cetera. When Jesus comes back May 21, 2011 he’ll set matters straight and by the way it will be awesome to hang out in Frankenmuth Michigan for their beer festival. I love Michigan!” The pastor said, to his congregation’s ‘amens’.

“Yes, he’s got billions of fans. Yes, he’s sold perhaps billions of books about him. But for all the love he gets, there are those who still get their rocks off by being asswipes to other people and justify it by using his name and legacy. It ain’t right, and it hurts overall sales. With all due respect to the President of United States, Jesus Christ on a ‘Back from the Dead, Gone, or Uncaring Tour’ will make Obama look like a B-List celebrity.” Pastor Loomis then quoted at length from I Corinthians chapter thirteen and Frankenmuth’s website.

More on this story as it develops – exclusively at www.mindflowers.net

But not everyone is convinced. There are some who believe that Jesus Christ has, in fact, died. Secular Humanist and volunteer firefighter Mike Gresch says Elvis Presley welcomed Jesus into the Great Nothingness. “Non-existence isn’t all that bad I’d imagine. Anywho, god bless him. I love that guy. Elvis, I mean. And Jesus too I guess. I wish them both well.” Gresch then added, “Frankenmuth Michigan is a great town and it has some of the nicest people you’d want to meet. Jesus or no Jesus, I’ll be there come May 21 2011.”

(Highlight @ 4:41)

 

July 6, 2009

Script: Love and Illegalities (a scene for three players)

Posted by Ryan McGivern under Animals, Comedy, Improvised Writing, Justice, Play, Romance, Script
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Police Officer Patty: Okay now Mr. Sherman-I know that you’ve gone through a lot but this will all be over soon.
Mr. Sherman: I can’t take anymore of this! This coffee that is. This is the worst police station coffee I’ve ever had!
POP: I’m sorry. Its just that with budget cuts and everything-
MS: I didn’t ask you for any excuses, Patty…Now, I’ve been waiting patiently for like an hour now-
POP: And I appreciate your patience. First we’ll get these handcuffs off you-
MS: Thank you! They’re on really tight. I can hardly even comb my fingers through my hair!
POP: We’ll get them off you as soon as we get the key. Officer Lou ate the key and he’s drinking Milk of Magnesia as we speak.
Police Officer Lou: (enters) hey guys-here’s that key. Sorry about that.
MS: About time, Lou!
POP: Lou, can you also get me the murder victim’s skull from the evidence locker?
POL: Uhhh…That might take a while to get the key to the evidence locker.
POP: (Looks gently accusing and shakes her head)
POL: I have an eating disorder, Patty. You KNOW that. (exits in a huff)
MS: Don’t make excuses for yourself, Lou! (Patty takes off MS’s cuffs) Ahhh. Now that’s better.
POP: And you’ll have to promise not to choke me again.
MS: No one can tell the future, Patty.
POP: I’m not asking you for a horoscope, Mr. Sherman- just that you won’t choke me again.
MS: Are you familiar with existentialism, Patty?
POP: Of course. My last murder case was committed with an extension cord. (MS looks unsure) And the murder victim was an octopus with an extra tentacle. (MS looks more unsure)…and it got me thinking about the meaning of my life. (MS finally looks appeased)
MS: Well, my point is, Patty-we can never be certain of what will be. Or WHO we’ll be at any given time. There is no essential ’self’, Patty.
POP: You…your wisdom is powerful. You’re like a philosopher king.
MS: (chokes Patty for three seconds and then sits, looking innocent)
POP: You just choked me!
MS: That was the Mr. Sherman of the past, Patty. I live in the now.
POP: You facinate me (looks romantically at MS).
Police Offficer Lou: (enters) Hey guys! (senses romantic aire) Sorry to interrupt. I got that skull for you. (holds up tiny
container)
POP: Thank you Lou…(looks at inquisitively) That’s much smaller than I had expected.
POL: Well it IS the skull of a squirrel.
POP: I know that! Of course I know that. Still-its remarkably small.
MS: That is small. Even for a squirrel.
POL: …and I cremated it…and I spilled some of it…and I ate some of it.
POP: That skull was our only evidence, Lou! Well this case has just been flushed down the toilet.
POL: Oh yeah. And I flushed some of it down the toilet too.
MS: Well then, in that case I think that I’ll be going.
POP: Lou, will you do me a favor and leave us alone for a minute?
POL: Hey, it was good to see you again Mr. Sherman! Hope to see you soon.
MS: Oh, I’m sure you will. I’m here everyday. Say ‘hi’ to the wife and kids for me.
POL: Will do. Oh, and I didn’t forget-I still have your DVDs of ‘Silence of the Lambs’ and ‘American Psycho’. I’ll bring them for you tomorrow. Seeya! (exits)
MS: Well, Patty-we’ve been doing this dance for how many years now? You bring me in on trumped up charges with
either no evidence or lots of evidence that is quickly ingested by your partner…why don’t we just stop playing these silly games and tell each other how we really feel?
POP: You’re right. Let’s stop playing charades with each other’s hearts. Let’s stop holding the sex themed playing cards of lust so close to our heaving chests. Let’s tell each other the truth.
MS: Where do I begin? (takes her in his arms) Firstly- I killed that squirrel. Secondly- I love you.
POP: And I must tell you Mr. Sherman that I plan on killing you right now. (she pulls free and points her gun at him)
MS: I wasn’t expecting that.
POP: I wouldn’t have expected you to expect this.
MS: I thought that we had a rapport together! The way that you’d tell me I looked handsome in handcuffs, the way that you let me couchsurf at your place last summer….we went to your sister’s Bat Mitzvah together for Christ’s sake.
POP: It was all an elaborate scheme to earn your trust. Seventeen years of botching your murder cases just to get in your good graces.
MS: You won’t kill me, Patty. You don’t have the balls. You wouldn’t hurt a fly.
POP: Truth be told-it was ME who killed that extra tentacled octopus I told you about earlier. And truth be told, I do have balls. And a fully functional and uncircumsized penis.
MS: But….but….Patty…you’re Jewish!
POP: And I consider killing you a mitzvah! (raises gun and pulls trigger but it is empty, nothing happens. She looks at it confused)
Police Officer Lou: (enters) Oh, sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to say goodnight to Mr. Sherman again. Goodnight, buddy. I love you. Sweet dreams. I’ll see you tomorrow. Oh and sorry Patty, I ate all the bullets that were in your gun. Sorry. (to MS in a whisper) I love you.
MS: So where do we go from here?
POP: I just wish we could start all over again. Go back to the way things were. I’ve been such a fool-been so afraid of love-
MS: I didn’t ask for any excuses, Patty. Besides, that was ‘us’ in the past. I live in the now. And right now-I want someone to spend the rest of my ‘nows’ with. I’ll tell you what…I’m going over to the wharf to club some catfish to death. And I sure would like some company.
POP: How could I say ‘no’ to someone who looks so handsome in handcuffs? (they link arms and walk for the exit)
MS: I know a nice little vegan cafe on the way. They have a great kosher menu. (they exit)

(End Scene)

 

July 5, 2009

A Vision of Corned Beef Hash

Posted by Ryan McGivern under Comedy, Food, Ideas
[3] Comments 

The night previous, I returned to my bed chamber after nodding in goodnight to my departing dinner guests and found my sleep to be hard fought. I thought it would be another night of wrestling with the demons of regret, the voices of “why did you bring up Charlemagne at dessert? You know Ms. Devonshire is Francophobic!” echoing in my fretful-host post-party reflections but I was soon alerted to it being something else entirely.
A hot eruption of vomit from my gullet across my down comforter and unto my stately new globe with the recently updated “passage to India” cartography told me that my third helping of corned beef hash was more than just a probable deciding factor in Ms. Devonshire’s declining my advances-it was an invitation to a shamanistic voyage of the mind. My friend and fellow member of the City’s exclusive Men’s Club, Dr. Mortolo had begun recently exploring the uncharted recesses of the human mind through the use of electromagnets, hypnoelectric shock, lightning rods, applications of leeches, and electrified leeches to great increase of knowledge. Among his findings, Dr. Mortolo concluded that Beef Hash was but one way to travel to the spirit realms which envelope the ether layer just below the watery heavens. The same effects could be reached through ample voltage directed through the brain pan or through the medicinal drug ‘cocaine’, but corned beef hash of the sort I’d eaten a pound and a half of was the most potent and successful means to achieve this altered state.
Another round of vomiting, this time painting my silk drapes, readied me for my spiritual voyage. I was not in the least worried nor upset. My upbringing was afterall, as a Methodist and I had grown accustomed to fearful flights into the edges of sanity.
The first thing I became aware of was that I was floating in a perfectly white space. Or rather, a white lack of space. There was absolutely nothing about. It was as though I’d been transported back to Minnesota in the winter (a devilish vision for anyone in of itself) and all about me was pure whiteout. I was fully aware of my body: my powdered wig, my parasol, my wooden clogs, my merkin, my wooden teeth, my ivory inlaid false eyebrows; all was in place only there was no reference point to gauge myself against.
I walked. Or rather, I made a walking motion for there was no ‘floor’ to be had. After what felt like an infinity of this repeated walking motion without any sensation of progress, I felt as one who has been attempting to solicit a direct answer from a politician or seminarian. At long last, I saw the dirty tip of a digging spade appear as a gnat before my face and then the entirety of said shovel as it ‘dug’ deeper then followed by a venturing hand. I was plucked from the dread whiteness as a gopher may from its burrow and came up in a humble farmer’s field.
“I thought you mighta’ been watermelon.” The oafish looking brute said in a purely working class accent.
“Watermelons grow above ground, dear sir.” I said, brushing off my crushed velvet cape and wiping clean my nez pince.
“Then how come I’ve never seen one?” he countered.
“If you’ve never seen one, then mayhap you have seen one and not known it, my good man.”
That put him in the throes of thought and I hated to have troubled his mind so. To relieve him of his efforts, I told him of my experience in the void. “I was afloat in a vacuum of nothing!” I concluded and half expected his proletariat’s ears to begin fuming.
“P’haps it was you that was everything.” he said back without a courteous bow. “That is,” he continued as he placed a plug of chewing tobacco in his jowly mouth, “If there was nothing else around, you composed the whole.”
I clicked open my pocket watch and saw the hands were moving backwards, a phenomenon I owed to either the beef hash or my nightcap of laudanum drank from my lead lined grail. “Sir,” I said “I haven’t the foggiest notion of what it is you are trying to express.”
“That is, when the universe was the size of you (which it was but briefly despite your great girth) that all was measured by it, and within it. Distance is a flexible and arbitrary idea-and by your description, I would say that before I plucked you like so much a beet or a watermelon (not to contradict your belief of watermelons) from the ground you were everywhere.” The farmer placed a plug of tobacco under his right eyelid.
I felt quite put off by the man’s haughty demeanor and I told him as much. With a smart lash of my riding crop across his mealy mouth, I bid him adeiu. If the tears in his eyes were any sign, my departing hail triggered an active Francophobia within him and I quickly replaced it with a “good day” accented by another taste of my riding crop.
As I turned to make my way towards a village I’d espied upon the horizon, I was transported upon a great gust of wind back to my four poster and the candlelight of my room.
My bedroom door opened and in came my maid inquiring to my well being. I threw my chamber pot at her and in my distress instructed her to fill it. Thankfully she quickly obliged and then left me to entertain my troubled thoughts of the night’s happenings. 
Had the night’s voyage been a trip through the astral plane? Or had I been privy to the ’seventh heaven’ spoken of by the Apostle? I put the guessing aside and settled down for bed joined by my fourteen wolfhounds and decided that the morning’s breakfast would be corned beef hash and  trepanation.

 

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