Tag: theatre

(Enter SANCHO, plodding dejectedly. He stops and looks offstage, waiting. Enter DON QUIXOTE, smokin’ a big ol’ blunt.)

SANCHO. Don Quixote, we must make haste if we are to reach the village by nightfall.

DON QUIXOTE. (in a strained full-inhale voice) Dude, chill. (He exhales. Normal voice.) You gotta learn to enjoy the trip, man. And call me Don. (Sancho sighs.) Dude, gimme a brownie.

SANCHO. Senor has eaten all the brownies.

DQ. No way! Man, major bummer. Well, Nacho, how about a Ding Dong?

SANCHO. Sancho.

DQ. What?

SANCHO. My name is Sancho, senor.

DQ. Whatever floats your boat, Nacho. How about the Ding Dong?

SANCHO. Senor has also eaten all the–(Don Quixote is staring into the audience.) Senor?

DQ. Dude. Nacho. Check…that…out.

SANCHO. There is nothing out there but a windmill, senor.

DQ. No, dude, the giant! He’s waving his arms around like he’s nuts or something.

SANCHO. That is a windmill, senor. Senor has smoked too much of the marijuana again. Senor, put down your bong.

DQ. No, man, I’m gonna smoke him out. He needs to chill. (he exits.)

SANCHO. Senor… (he sighs resignedly. he pulls out a brownie and starts eating it. )

DQ (offstage). Dude, just chill and take a hit, man. It’s good shit, man, not this schwaggy stuff you get around here. It’s Mexican. No, dude, it’s cool. I’ll light it for you–aaaaaagggh! (Sancho winces. DQ reenters, somewhat battered.)

DQ. Dude started tripping on me, man. I need to smoke a bowl. (DQ tries to light his bong, but it is too long. He struggles for a while, then turns to ask Sancho for help, but Sancho has gone to sleep. DQ turns to the audience.)

DQ. To dream…the impossible dream
To light…the unreachable bowl
To smoke…the unsmokable ganja
To roll…joints the brave do not roll
This is my quest…to light up my bong…
No matter how well-packed…no matter how long…
To reach…the unreachable…(Pause. Extremely off-key.) nooooootttteeee!

(Boos and hisses. Sancho and DQ are dragged off stage.)

Originally performed by The Fifth Humour

(Lights up on DAVE.)

DAVE. Well, this happened on a Saturday afternoon in August. I was hanging out with my friend Steve, and it was really hot. And we really wanted a drink. Well, just then we saw this soda machine, and we thought, “Wow, a soda would be really good right now.” So we dug into our shorts for some change, but we didn’t have enough. I had a nickel, and Steve had a dime, but that was it. We didn’t even have enough to call a friend and tell them about how much our lives suck cause we can’t buy a soda. So we’re looking at this soda machine, really bummed out cause we’re thirsty and we can’t have a soda, when we see this little sign on the machine. It says, “Do not rock machine back and forth. Injury or death may result. Vending machine will not dispense free product.”

So we got to thinking, “Of course that’s what they want you to think.” I mean, if you could get a free soda by rocking the machine, obviously they’d try to make you think you’d die or something, right? It’s not like a soda machine is actually going to fall over — I mean, it’s hella big! So me and Steve start rocking this vending machine back and forth, and we can hear the cans knocking around, and Steve crouches down by the slot where they come out, and he’s all, “A little further, man! It’s almost there! I can see it!” So I rock it a little bit further, but I guess I rocked it too far, because I couldn’t rock it back, and it fell over, and I got out of the way, but Steve didn’t get out in time. So Steve is lying there under the vending machine, and I’m like, “Oh shit! I better call 911!”, but then I’m like, “Fuck! We don’t have the money to make a call!” So I tell Steve to be cool and I’ll be right back.

And I’m running around asking everybody, “Dude, can I have just like five cents? My friend’s stuck under a vending machine and I need five cents to call 911”, but nobody seemed to have any change. So I’m asking people forever, and this one guy says, “get a job!”, so I say, “What, are you hiring?” And it turned out he was, cause he runs a restaurant and his busboy just quit, so I say I never was a busboy before but my Mom used to make me wash the dishes and he says good enough and so I got a job and that was great but then he says “Now wasn’t that easier than running around with a dumb line like that thing about your friend under the vending machine?” And I’m like, “Oh shit! Steve! Dude, can you advance me a nickel on my first paycheck, cause it’s true! I really gotta call 911!” And he’s like, “911 is free. You don’t need to pay.” So I’m all, “Why didn’t you tell me that to begin with? My friend could have died! Fuck your job, you white male capitalist oppressor!” And I run off to find a phone so I can call 911, and the girl at 911 sounded hella fine, but she was kind of a bitch. All she wanted to talk about was Steve. Man, that dude gets all the chicks, even when he’s pinned beneath half a ton of metal and plastic. So the paramedics came, and they got the vending machine off Steve and they took him to the hospital. It was a really bad scene. It took them like two hours to pry the soda out of his chest. I was still hella thirsty, so I asked if I could have it, and they said OK, so it all turned out OK, except it was a diet. And now Steve has this big soda-can-shaped dent in his chest which he shows to all the chicks at parties.

I told this story once, and some guy said that the moral of the story should be, “Read The Sign, Dumbass”. But I don’t think so, cause if you remember, the sign said that the soda machine wouldn’t give us a free soda, and it did, even if it was diet. So I think the moral of the story is: Vending Machine Will Dispense Free Product. Thank you.

Lights up on three chairs; NARRATOR, clad in khakis and silly safari hat, off to stage left; DENISE, sitting in middle chair.

NARRATOR. Good evening, and welcome to Nature’s Dirty Little Secrets. Tonight we examine the mating habits and courtship rituals of the sensitive ponytail man.

Enter FIRST SENSITIVE PONYTAIL MAN, with tray (mimed).

This is the sensitive ponytail man. He has acquired a cruelty-free, holistically balanced meal, and is ready to eat. But something is missing in his life. He needs a mate.

FSPM sees DENISE.

Observe as the sensitive ponytail man approaches his quarry…

FSPM. Is this seat taken?

DENISE. Hm? Oh. No.

FSPM. Say, weren’t we in the same Profundity in Literature class last term?

NARRATOR. Note as the Sensitive Ponytail Man establishes intellectual common ground.

DENISE. Yeah, I guess so. What was your name again?

FSPM. Gordon.

FSPM adjusts his ponytail.

NARRATOR. The sensitive ponytail man displays his plumage.

FSPM. So, are you going to the poetry reading Thursday night?

NARRATOR. He explores possibilities for further rendezvouses.

DENISE. I think so. I have some things I wanted to read.

FSPM. You write?

DENISE. Oh, a little.

FSPM. I’d love to read your stuff sometime.

DENISE. It’s not that good, but if you want…

NARRATOR. Our sensitive male has made considerable progress with this tack. It looks good for him. Maybe he’ll actually get a chance to use that safe sex kit he picked up at DUH.

SECOND SENSITIVE PONYTAIL MAN enters from rear, carrying a tray.

But wait! Suddenly, a rival appears…

SSPM. Denise? Hi. You might not remember me. I’m in your Poetic Sentimentalism seminar? I wanted to talk to you about yesterday’s lecture. I read your piece in the lit mag, and you seem so knowledgeable about the material…

NARRATOR. It looks bad for our friend. The interloper has won the advantage by knowing the quarry’s name, having read her poetry, having a more recent intellectual bond, and…

SSPM flips his ponytail over the shoulder next to female

having more impressive plumage. Our sensitive ponytail man is obviously taken by surprise. He searches for a way to regain ground.

FSPM. I think that one shouldn’t overlook the Postdeconstructionist influence on Sentimentalism, though.

SSPM. You know, it’s funny you should say that. Our professor — he’s a Nobel laureate, you should really try to get into a class with him if you can — spent most of yesterday’s lecture proving conclusively by statistical and thematic analysis that the Postdeconstructionist ethic is completely irrelevant to Sentimentalism except for a few late-period poets who should properly be grouped with the Postsentimentalists.

NARRATOR. Oh dear, our friend has been solidly snubbed by the new arrival. He appears to have been taken completely out of the loop…yes, yes, he’s toying with his food, a clear sign of submission. This signal will probably soon be followed by bad self-indulgent poetry or an article on how women don’t like nice guys. But wait…no! He’s making another attempt!

FSM. What about the Existentialists?

SSPM. Look….

FSPM. Gordon.

SSPM. Gordon. I don’t mean to be rude, but Denise and I are trying to discuss our coursework here. It’s very high level, and without taking the course… you really wouldn’t understand.

FSPM. I saw her first!

SSPM. What?

FSPM. I saw her first! Buzz off!

SSPM. Why should I?

FSPM. I was here first! Finders keepers!

SSPM. Well, my ponytail’s longer than yours!

FSPM. Hey, step off! Length doesn’t matter! It’s how you use it!

SSPM. Yeah, right.

Sensitive Ponytail Men set to tussling; freeze.

NARRATOR. It is due to this sort of incident that some draw a connection between the sensitive ponytail man and the beer-swilling macho guy. However, speculations are inconclusive without testing the two species’ ability to interbreed, which members of both species refuse vehemently to do, though the sensitive ponytail man will follow his refusal with repetition of the phrase…

SENSITIVE PONYTAIL MEN (together). Straight, but not narrow.

NARRATOR. …until he passes out.

SENSITIVE PONYTAIL MAN enters. Fighting stops; all turn to look.

ALL. Look! It’s Sensitive Ponytail Man! The superhero not afraid to wear tights!

SPM (to DENISE). I don’t mean to perpetuate any sort of rescuer-rescuee gender-role stereotypes, but if you are so inclined and in a state such that you can give consent, I’d really like to take you away from all this.

DENISE swoons into his arms. SPM stands there, supporting her. All look at him. Pause.

NARRATOR. Well?

SPM. Silence means no.

DENISE (coming out of swoon). Let’s go!

SPM. Right!

SPM carries her out through audience. NARRATOR leaves through the back. Silence. Puzzlement overcomes the Sensitive Ponytail Men.

SSPM. Do you want to come back to my place?

FSPM. Are you serious, or are you just trying to get out of the sketch?

SSPM. Oh, I’m just trying to get out of the sketch.

FSPM. Oh, all right then.

Exit stage left; lights down.