Now Let's See Who He REALLY Is!

pic via Hanna Barbera

Dear readers,

There's a few things I need to tell you:

              First, I apologize for only writing 30 days worth of plays.
I'm studying to be an English teacher, and all my final semester
projects kilt whatever modicum of creativity I had left. See, I was trying to outdo George Bernard Shaw's one-act plays by writing daily one scene, one-act plays. To go one better than Shaw, and as it was only one scene, to make it a easier for today's online reader. Lesson learned: Before you attempt to take on Shaw's legend, make sure you have something worth writing about, especially when you're arrogant enough to believe you can scribble out a masterpiece in five minutes. Maybe I just needed a rotating shed for inspiration.

             Second, my name is Fred Hagemeister and I am A Stumbling Mass of High Energy Frustration. I use a lot of pseudonyms on this blog, but this is all me. I feel like a villain removing multiple masks to reveal his true face. I am Editor Freditor, I am Bud "kind" Darwell, I am Zanzibar von Bitter, I am Stupor Mundi, I am Cold Pizza and countless others. Why all the chicanery? Half of it is because I set deadlines for myself and was never exactly proud about how some of the pieces turned out. The other half is because I think it's sad to see one guy write an entire blog.
              
              It probably goes back to my old fanzine Killing Trees. Friends promised to write, but most of what I got were drunken, two sentence scribbles on a napkin, and was told to add more to it.  So for the majority of the zine, in order to fill space, I created a bunch of fake writers, wrote a bunch of fake articles, and published it that way. After creating all those aliases, I found I enjoyed writing from multiple points of view.
               
              Plus, I learned that with a fake staff I could create all kinds of weird rivalries for my one-man show.  I mean, all the best publications from my adolescence were a surly mix of writers and editors: Creem magazine, early Rolling Stone reprints ( I mean really early), hell, even Stan Lee's Bullpen dispatches made the Marvel Comics workplace look like a cross between a bar and a treehouse. In reality, I'm sure all three offices were just crowded rooms full of sad, middle-aged drunks trying to create some excitement under deadline. Pretty much what I do here! 
              
              So is everything now going to go under the name Fred Hagemeister? Am I getting rid of my little imaginary world? Who knows. I have the urge to make this blog super crazy. I don't even know what that means yet, but it could be something which, as a future teacher, I don't want my name attached to. How would you explain to the school board a Victorian tale in which butler ghosts exact revenge on their former employers by forcing them into lives of opium trafficking and white slavery? Okay, I just made that example up, but who knows where I'll go next. Certainly not me, that's for sure. A pen name could come in handy!

pic via Abominable Dr. Phibes, AIP

DEATH AND TAXES

                                # 30 in a series of daily one-act, one scene plays

[ACT I, Scene I: Rosaline and William nervously stand in their living room]


[the phone rings, William answers it]


WILLIAM: Hello, yes. No, I understand. Well, we simply weren't able to get the money....I see [hangs up phone and turns to Rosaline].They're sending someone over. I'm sorry, Rose. Still, we need to remember there's nothing they can do to hurt him.


ROSALINE: But it's just the idea, Willie!


WILLIAM: Believe me, I know. It's blackmail is what it is. Simple blackmail. When a man's buried, that should be the end of it-


[William glances out the window and gasps]


ROSALINE: What is it, Willie?


WILLIAM: It's..it's either a sick man, or a-a boy. He's coming up the walkway.


[Knock on the door, William opens it]


MESSENGER: I've been sent by the chancellor, he who runs things. Have you the money? 


WILLIAM: I'm sorry, we haven't any more money.


MESSENGER: At times people can gather the money at the last moment, so they always ask me to go. It's only fair, I say, to give everyone one more chance.


WILLIAM: If you give us time, we could get the money. Please, he's her father.


MESSENGER: Begging your pardon, sir, but if he cannot afford his bed then he'll end up like the others. [to Rosaline] Like many others, ma'am. His bones will be added to the heap. 'Tis a shame when ya can't pay. It always breaks me heart, it does. But there's nothing to be done if you cannot pay the chancellor's price. He's a hard man, sir, but he's fair. He's fair.


[messenger silently waits for a reply, there is none but for Rosaline sobbing quietly]


MESSENGER:Well, I'd best be on me way then [tips his cap]. I'll make sure they place the bones down gently [turns to walk down the front steps]...it's the least I can do.




                                           (curtain)

FREEDOM ISN'T FREE

                                   # 29 in a series of daily one-act, one scene plays

[ACT I, Scene I: on a stage set up to look like a street corner, a turkey addresses the audience]

TURKEY: Hello, my name is Freedom. That's right, I'm the turkey President Lyndon Johnson pardoned yesterday. I spent two years in a turkey coop. Two long years with my own kind, and then-BANG! Just like that they throw me into the outside. Well, let me tell ya something, I can't deal with life outside of the big farm. I've been walking up and down these streets all morning, peeking inside your windows this Thanksgiving Day. Watching. Watching you. Watching you as you carve up my brothers and sisters. Some of the time, I spent watching you watch the parade on TV. Brother, that Snoopy balloon is something else, I tell ya. Then I watched the Cowboys play the Dolphins. Good game, good game.  But then I saw you go for seconds on the turkey, and you know what? I wish I was with 'em. I wish I were dead. What I'm saying is, I'm stuffed up to here with freedom. My giblets are all a quiver at my situation. Every wishbone snapped is a break in my heart. But I guess I'll waddle on down this quiet, lonely road. Maybe there's a cranberry bog I can drown myself in....make everyone's job easier.

[turns and leaves muttering]

                                      (curtain)

THINGS I MAKE WHEN I SHOULD BE STUDYING CGmc STEM CHANGES

THE RETURN OF THE KNIFE

                                # 28 in a series of daily one-act, one scene plays

[ACT I, Scene I, announcer in a mauve suit faces the audience]

ANNOUNCER: And now for something you'll really enjoy: Zanzibar El Cuchillo-Surrealist Poet.

[announcer leaves and Zanzibar enters. He is wearing a suit of vanilla white coloring. He has a shock of gray hair and a moustache that beggars description, except to say it looks like it woke up one day and decided to defy the laws of gravity]

ZANZIBAR: Ladies and gentle worms [pauses and points to the crowd]. The maggots of time gnaw at your skull!

[turns his back to the crowd, then whips around and yells]:

 I HAVE ATTEND THE WEDDING OF A THOUSAND DOGS!

[cups ear]: Listen! Can you hear him? Elvis Presley's ghost cries out. "Mama! Mamaaaa!"

[covers eyes to see audience] It's getting dark, America. Do you know where your Coca-Cola is? Must I wait forever for the return of the 25 cent hot dog? The atom bomb?

[clenches fist]: Bacon. 
                         Bacon on everything.
                         Bay-con.
                         On.
                         Ev-ry.
                         Thing.

[pauses, then falls to his knees and screams]: Fudgie the Whale!

[The lights fall to a spotlight on Zanzibar, and he drops his head.]

[There is no applause from the audience; a man clears his throat]

ZANZIBAR [towards man who cleared throat]: Thank you! You're very kind. My wife left me. My art is all I have!


                                           (curtain)

YOUR LOVING GRANDSON, REGINALD

                              # 27 in a series of daily one-act, one scene plays

[ACT I, Scene I: an elderly couple, Helen and Thomas, sit in the living room of their well-to-do home. Thomas reads the paper while Helen opens the mail]


HELEN: Oh, Thomas, we've received a letter from Reginald!

THOMAS [without looking up from the newspaper]: What does the boy have to say this time?

HELEN: Here, I'll read it to you:
Dearest Grandmother, I hope this letter finds you and Grandfather in good health. I look ever so forward to you and Grandfather's visit, but I feel I must relate the events of the past few months prior to your arrival. The good news is I have my driver's license, the bad news is I have been terribly ill.


HELEN [gasps, composes herself and continues letter]:
Mother has fetched the doctor for me after I was found facedown and unconscious in a rowboat on the goldfish pond, drifting throughout the early morn. I had finished off a bottle of cooking sherry, you see. I had drank the entire bottle because earlier I had emptied out father's bar, as well as Jarvis's emergency brandy; all this within under a week.

THOMAS: Takes after his father.

HELEN: Shush. [continues reading letter]:
              You'll be pleased to know I'm doing much better now. The doctor has declared me dissipated, but not entirely debauched.
      Now, as per your wish to visit the zoo as we did in my childhood, I feel I must inform you of the events that have recently transpired. As for visiting the zoo, that is out of the question. To be frank: I stabbed, with a pen knife, a flashy cockatoo that had forgotten himself. I won't repeat what he said to me, but suffice to say I was in the right defending my honor against the bird. After I'd realized what I had done, I fled the avarium in the quickest manner possible without looking back. As I write, I don't know if the creature's yet dead or alive. From there, I hastily hopped the enclosure into the lemur sanctuary.
         Last Saturday's edition of the paper interviewed the lemur handler, and he stated that the tiny creatures have finally calmed down and no longer bark at the smallest sound. I am relieved, although I cannot get the image of their frightened, staring eyes out of my mind from when I tried to dance the foxtrot with three or four of them.
         After talking with the doctor, I now realize my actions were due to three days diet of nothing but gin and molasses. Sadly, no amount of apologizing to the zoo administrator could change the court appointed restraining order against me. As it is, I am allowed into the fenced-in area of the park, but cannot pass through the portcullis turnstile. So if you would like to feed popcorn to the ducks, we can do that, but I'm afraid entering the zoo is simply out of the question. Give grandfather my best and tell him I said thank you for the pen knife he sent on my birthday.
                                                        your loving grandson,
                                                                                                            Reginald


THOMAS: Harrumph.

HELEN: Shush! We're going to visit in a week and you are going to have a nice grandfatherly talk with the boy. It will be delightful!

THOMAS [to self]: Well, I suppose I could teach him how to defend himself, prison can't be far down the road.

HELEN: Simply delightful!

THOMAS: Harrumph.

                                                                   (curtain)

LUST FOR LIFE

                                 # 26 in a series of daily one-act, one scene plays

[ACT I, Scene I: two men sit at a bar, one wears a captain's cap]

MAN: Are you a boating enthusiast?

CAP: No, I'm just an enthusiast in general.

MAN: Huh?

CAP: Well, I mean, say there's a political campaign based in town, as there often is. It doesn't matter which party's headquarters it is- I'll be there to help. Last quarter I was a Republican, the quarter before I was a Libertarian. Tomorrow I'll be holding a sign for whoever the Democratic runner is.

MAN: So you like politics?

CAP: Come again?

MAN: You are enthusiastic about politics?

CAP: No, again, I'm just enthusiastic about everything. For instance, the lawn and garden show held at the Arboretum.

MAN: Ah yes, beautiful. The wife dragged me there. You'd think you had walked into the garden of Eden.

CAP: Not for me. I'm highly allergic to plants. I had to be rushed from my hydrangea stand to the hospital within half an hour of setting it up.

MAN [stunned]: That's terrible. You grew hydrangeas and weren't aware you're allergic?

CAP: Oh no, I knew I was allergic. I'm highly allergic to all plants. Highly. I can't even walk near the produce aisle in the supermarket. No, the hydrangeas weren't mine, I simply bought them from a greenhouse so I could sell them.

MAN: For God's sake, why, if you're allergic?

CAP: Because. As I've told you, I'm an enthusiast. A general enthusiast. I generally am enthused about things. Generally. It's what I do. Take now for instance: I can't drink. The tiniest amount of alcohol is pure poison to me.

[CAP down a shot in front of him and falls to the floor in paroxysms]

MAN: Doctor! Is there a doctor in the house?

CAP [from the floor]: No, no doctor. Today I am enthusiastic about my death [dies].


                                            (curtain)

JUST DESSERTS

                                 # 25 in a series of daily one-act, one scene plays

[ACT I, Scene I: a Centurion commander faces his legion]

COMMANDER: Gentleman, last night I overheard one of you mutter that you missed cake. And I say--We shall eat no cake until all the rebels are driven down and destroyed!

[centurions cheer as a messenger runs up, quickly salutes commander and whispers something in his ear]

COMMANDER: [addresses legions]: I have just been informed that the rebels have been driven down and destroyed. TO CAKE THEN!

 [centurains cheer]



                                             (curtain)

OH TELL ME I YET HAVE A FRIEND

                                     # 24 in a series of daily one-act, one scene plays

[ACT I, Scene I: an island castaway sits on a rock. The gutted wreck of his ship is beached to the left. To the castaway's right is a seagull]

CASTAWAY: So, what should we have for dinner tonight?

SEAGULL: Screech, screech, screech.

CASTAWAY: Boiled sargassum again? A fine choice. I concur.

SEAGULL: Screech, screech, screech.

CASTAWAY: I agree, it is weird that my only friend is a seagull. I try not to dwell on it. Sometimes when we talk, I wonder if this is another heat stroke delirium. Last time I fainted, I imagined I was back home at my favorite diner. I'm going to pretend that that's reality, and that this is all just a fevered dream.

SEAGULL: Screech, screech, screech.

CASTAWAY: You would say that.

[neither speaks; all that is heard is the rolling surf]

                                    (curtain)


                                                     

AFTER THE FIRE

                                          # 23 in a series of daily one-act, one scene plays

[ACT I, Scene I: a police inspector talks to the owner of the Endurance, a ship that left harbor and burnt completely before it could return to the pier]

POLICE INSPECTOR: Samuel Connolly?

SHIP OWNER: Died in the fire.

POLICE INSPECTOR: Steven Haper?

SHIP OWNER: He too died in the fire.

POLICE INSPECTOR: Peter Stovic?

SHIP OWNER: He actually made it to shore, but then he died. Entered the tavern apparently and drank himself to death. Bit of a drinker, you see. Without the others to stop him it was inevitable.

POLICE INSPECTOR: Hmm. Richard Williams?

SHIP OWNER: Dead, but people claim his ghost is upstairs [points to lit window above].

POLICE INSPECTOR [picks up handful of pebbles and throws them against window. It opens and a man looks out]: Are you Richard Williams?

GHOST: No, I am his ghost, and as such I am outside the laws of man.  Now leave me be [goes back inside].

POLICE INSPECTOR: Well, I guess I'll leave this for the insurance men then.

SHIP OWNER: I plan to leave it on the bottom of the harbor.

POLICE INSPECTOR: Well, goodnight then.

                                          (curtain)

OH, DEER!

                        # 22 in a series of daily one-act, one scene plays




[ACT I, Scene I: evil sorcerer walks through forest leading a deer by a rope]


EVIL SORCERER: Haha! Now that I've turned you, his one true love into a deer, that revolting hero will never dare to oppose me! Meah! [runs off stage leaving deer]


[hero runs on stage with fairy princess. He embraces deer]


HERO: My dear, I'm so glad I found you. I've brought help, I'll have you back to normal soon.


FAIRY PRINCESS: I want ice cream.


HERO: What?


FAIRY PRINCESS: I want ice cream. Get me ice cream and then I'll help you. Red Raspberry ice cream.


HERO: Why ice cream?


FAIRY PRINCESS: Well, everyone has to want something, and I want ice cream.


HERO [looks around]: I don't... I don't think there's any ice cream to be had around here. But if I get it, then you'll help us?


FAIRY PRINCESS: [shrugs shoulders] Eh. Maybe. [uses wand and fades away into smoke]


HERO: Wait! Well, that was unfortunate. She wasn't very much help.


FAIRY PRINCESS [appears again in smoke]: You, sir have insulted me! I have a better solution to your problem! [waves wand and lots of smoke again. smoke fades and hero has been turned into a deer too]


FAIRY PRINCESS: Much better!


                                            (curtain)

A MATTER OF GRAVE IMPORTANCE

                                     # 21 in a series of daily one-act, one scene plays

[ACT I, Scene I: man digs in field, another man stands by him, a large rock is to their left]

DIGGING MAN [wipes forehead]: So I'm not going back.

MAN: You've got to. Your wife sent me out here. You've been digging that hole for three days now.

DIGGING MAN [resumes digging]: I've got to finish this.

[ a raven flies down and alights on the rock; caws]

MAN: What's with him?

DIGGING MAN: Him? Oh he's been bringing me food.

MAN: He feeds you?

DIGGING MAN: Not exactly. I mean, he tries. Three times a day he flies down and drops a tiny ball of bread for me.

MAN: Well, I suppose it's the thought that counts.  

DIGGING MAN: I suppose it is.

[neither speaks for a moment; raven flies off]

MAN: So what are you going to do? With the hole, I mean.

DIGGING MAN:  Lay down and die in it.

MAN: So there's no use in talking you into stopping?

DIGGING MAN: No, not much use.

MAN: I see. Well, I'll be heading out then. It's getting dark.

DIGGING MAN: Give the wife my best.

[man exits; the other man continues digging]

                                     (curtain)

MY DEBILITATING COCAINE ADDICTION

                                    # 20 in a series of daily one-act, one scene plays


[ACT I, Scene I: a man faces toward audience]

MAN: I feel I must apologize for not contacting you sooner about my RSVP. I would have you see, but all my time has been taken up. Taken up by my debilitating cocaine addiction. I really would liked to attend your garden party. Truly I would, but you see, I will be busy. Busy with my debilitating cocaine addiction. Oh, I can imagine how you will truss up the gazebo in lights, and the servants will be attired in the finest of livery. The food will be a sumptuous spread, and the air will carry the sound of tinkling laughter and clinking champagne glasses, but I can't dwell on the image long. I can't dwell on it long you see, for I have no attention span; no attention span due to my debilitating cocaine addiction.
       I may try and stop by later.  Oh I'll be about anyway, wandering strange streets late,  and doing quite frankly whatever it takes to raise money.  Money, I need, in which to stave off my debilitating cocaine addiction. Perhaps I will swing in to admire the silverware. Admire it so much that I will have to leave with it. Leave with it and then sell it. Sell it, you see, to procure more cocaine, cocaine for my debilitating cocaine addiction. See you soon! 


                                         (curtain)

I CAN DO ANYTHING!

                              # 19 in a series of daily one-act, one scene plays

[ACT I, Scene I: two men face each other]
MAN 1: I can do anything!

MAN 2: No you can't.

MAN 1: I can do anything!

MAN2: No you cannot.

MAN 1: I can do anything!

MAN 2: Can you come back from the dead?

MAN 1: I can do anythin-

[MAN 2 pulls out a gun and shoots MAN 1 dead]

MAN 2: No you cannot.

                              (curtain)

BUZZ ON

                                  # 18 in a series of daily one-act, one scene plays


[ACT I, Scene I, a man stands on stage dressed as a bug]


BUG: I am a bug. Much maligned. But I am a vital link in nature's food chain. Without me the food chain breaks down. With me, the food chain survives. Although I may appear ugly to you, believe me, if I was capable of comprehending you beyond a lumbering, God-like presence, you would appear as ugly to me. So please, if you feel we insects bug you, realize we insects feel the same about you humans. Don't let us (boy, do I love lettuce) remain enemies, but instead let us (delicious) be snug as a bug in a rug.  Thank you.

[two men enter, one dressed as bug spray; the other as a fly swatter. They shove bug to floor and kick him]



                                              (curtain)

MEMOIRS OF AN EX-EXTERMINATOR

                                         # 17 in a series of daily one-act, one scene plays


[ACT I, Scene I: Bob, a retired exterminator, types out his autobiography; a cocker spaniel lays at his feet; Madge, his wife, carries luggage out] 

BOB: Dammit, Madge, if you can wait five minutes, I'll load the RV.

MADGE: We can't wait. We booked the motel for tonight. If we don't check-in by six-

BOB: Dammit, Madge! I'm finishing the book's conclusion. Wait, can't you?

[cocker spaniel begins barking at Bob]

BOB [to spaniel]: Shut the hell up, Eric Clapton! Madge, you see what you're doing?

[Madge exits, and spaniel follows her offstage]

BOB: Now where was I? Oh yes, "So in my life I have battled bug and beetle, rodent and raccoon. I have awoken covered in more opossum feces than I will ever care to remember. The doctors say I have inhaled enough DDT that it is a scientific certainty my corpse will preserve itself clear into the next millennium. Every living thing within a 15 foot radius of my grave will die for aeons to come. In essence, my work will continue on long after I have shed this fleshy shell. In my life, the havoc this career has wreaked on my family cannot be imagined. Still, would I do it all again?"

[spaniel runs back in and begins barking at Bob]

BOB: Dammit, Eric Clapton, you're horrible. Absolutely horrible. Go dig a hole and throw yourself in it! Daddy needs to work.

[Bob kicks spaniel; spaniel flees offstage]

MADGE [offstage whining]: Bob! Bob!

BOB: Dammit, Madge! [then to self] Okay, just finish this, Bob. "In a word-yes. The End." Done. Now to find an editor.

[spaniel runs in growling and begins biting Bob's pant cuff]

BOB: Dammit, Eric Clapton, you don't deserve to exist! When God was considering bringing you into existence, he should have sat down and reconsidered it! May you burn in the fieriest pit of Hell, you godforsaken whelp of a were-beast! 

 [Bob exits grumbling and carrying luggage with spaniel tearing at his leg] 

                                           (curtain)

LIVING SAINT

                       #16 in a series of daily one-act, one scene plays


[ACT I, Scene I, two friends stand on a roof, one is dressed in robes]


MAN [sighs]: So explain this to me again.

ROBED MAN: It's simple. In order to be declared a saint by the Catholic Church, you must be seen three times after your death.

MAN: But you're not dead.

ROBED MAN: That's the beauty of it. One day I will be. Until then, all I have to do is lay low and once in awhile make a miraculous appearance and reap in the accolades, thereby ensuring my legend.

MAN: I'm pretty sure you need to do more than that to be canonized.

ROBED MAN: What's canonized?

MAN: See! I mean, dude, you dropped out of Sunday School before even communion.

ROBED MAN: I don't need school, man! I'm living it. Now, did you send my death notice to the newspaper obituary?

MAN: Yeah, but I think the Church would check into that. I mean, if they were even going to consider making you a saint, which I don't think they are-

ROBED MAN [interrupts]: The plan's foolproof. I just need you to get down on the street and wait for me to use the zipline. You remember what to say?

MAN [deadpan and bored]: "Hey, look up there everybody. It's my old buddy who died two days ago, except he's in an angelic robe."

ROBED MAN: Right. And then I'll use the zipline to "fly" between the buildings and you'll say..

MAN: [same tone]: "Oh wow. He must be a saint now. Hallelujah. Spread the word."

ROBED MAN: And then you place the statute I've had made of myself at the Catholic Mission and-

MAN: I'm not doing that.

ROBED MAN: But that's essential! My stone hands are holding out a plate for believers to place money in. You take the money back to my hiding place, and we live like kings.

MAN: This is wrong on so many levels, dude.

ROBED MAN: No,no. Don't worry, we'll leave some of the money for the nuns. I mean, I have to eat. Living saints have to eat.

MAN: What makes you think I can A) move a heavy statue of you to the Mission without being seen, and B) even if people believe this is real (which they won't) what's to stop the nuns from taking all the money or even letting me near enough to get the money? I remember nuns. They hit.

ROBED MAN: Hmm, well then I'll have to take the money. I'll just make a miraculous appearance every once in awhile, maybe when I'm on my way to buy cigarettes. All we'll need are some smoke bombs and a CD of Handel's "Messiah." [looks down at street] Woah, it's 6 o'clock-rush hour! Get on the street. Go! Go, go, go, go, go!


[exit man]

[robed man trips and ends up only able to touch his toes on the ledge as he hangs by the zipline. He can't muster enough speed to move one way or the other between the buildings]

WOMAN'S VOICE [offstage]: Look up there! A man is jumping.

OLD MAN: He must be crazy, look at his robe.

ANOTHER WOMAN: I've called for help, I can hear the sirens coming.

ROBED MAN [flailing]: Dammit. I'm a saint you people! I died two days ago and have returned!

OLD MAN: What's he saying? He is crazy.


                                          (curtain)

WE FIX CAR TROUBLES-FAST!

                                     #15 in a series of daily one-act, one scene plays


[ACT I, Scene I, a filling station, mechanic and customer talking in front of car billowing smoke from opened hood]



MECHANIC: Yep, I see what your problem here is.


CUSTOMER: Can you stop it from smoking?


MECHANIC [ pulls out revolver from under shirt, shoots car]


[car shudders to a stop]




MECHANIC: That'll be $350, not counting parts and labor.


                                                       
                                        (curtain)

GENTLEMAN STABBING STANLEY'S PARROT

                #14 in a series of daily one scene, one-act plays

[ACT I, Scene I, an English tavern in 1718, a parrot makes moaning noises from his perch by the bar]

MAN: Sir, I’ll have another. [shudders] What is wrong with that bird?

TAVERN KEEPER: Him? Ah, that’s Gentleman Stabbing Stanley's old pet. Y’know, that pirate captain wut was hanged the week last.

MAN: Ah. So how did you come to own the parrot?

TAVERN KEEPER: The magistrate wanted to hang the parrot too, but the people protested. I myself think it was the little gallows they made for creature that moved the crowd to pity.

MAN: That is sad.

PARROT: ‘Tis no life for a God-fearing Christian man. Repent, repent. RAWK!

TAVERN KEEPER: He talks all day. It’s fine, as business won’t pick up until Yuletide anyway. He keeps me company.

MAN: I see. Have I been your only customer all day?

PARROT: [quietly] I will tell you a secret...

TAVERN KEEPER:  For two days.

MAN [whistles low]

PARROT: I killed Hook-Handed Henry and Rickety Jim. [sings] Oh, a cook and a captain and a coxswain am I!

TAVERN KEEPER: I used to think he was repeatin’ Gentleman Stabbing Stanley’s confessions, but now I think this bird just talks gibbitty.

PARROT: Ar-ha-ha-har. Do you want to know where the treasure is? Do you? DO YOU?!?!

MAN: Quiet!

[both Man and Tavern Keeper approach parrot and listen intently]

[bird eyes them for a moment]

PARROT: "The treasure is inside every Christian man-‘tis his soul!" Ar-ha-ha-har! That’s wut the priest said before I's stabs ‘im! I stabs 'em good! I likes a good stabbin's, I do. Did you know that about me? Me fondness for stabbin's?  [sings] Oh, a cook and a captain and a coxswain am I! RAWK!

TAVERN KEEPER: I'll tell you wut Gentleman Stabbing Stanley's treasure is- it's this bird after I let the taxidermist fix 'im proper. [Pours man a drink and raises bottle to toast at bird] To Gentleman Stabbing Stanley.

 
MAN: To Gentleman Stabbing Stanley.

PARROT: RAWK! To Gentleman Stabbing Stanley!

                                                (curtain)

                                      

THE GREEN VALLEY

              # 13 in a series of daily one scene, one-act plays

[ACT I, Scene I, the drawing room of the Grimes Manor, dusk]

LORD GRIMES: Daughter, I forbid you to marry that roustabout, the Marquis of Green Valley.

DAISY GRIMES: But father, I love him so! Oh dear, as we speak a snake has bit me. And if I remember my studies well, it is of the poisonous variety. Possibly shipped over in a crate from India, and then slithered down the road into our drawing room. They really do need to be more thorough in their inspections down at the wharf, that wharf which we own and have built a family fortune with.

LORD GRIMES: Yes, they really do.

Daisy Grimes: I die.

MARQUIS OF GREEN VALLEY [storms into drawing room]: Lord Grimes, with or without your blessing, I intend to marry your daughter.

DAISY GRIMES: And... I am dead.


SNAKE: Ha-cha-cha-cha cha!

                                                                  (curtain)
                      
                                         

THEATER CLOSED DUE TO RENOVATIONS

  #12 (KIND OF) IN A SERIES OF DAILY ONE SCENE, ONE-ACT PLAYS

                             ~CLOSED~

                         

ABANDONED THEATER

 #11 in a series of daily one scene, one-act plays


[ACT I, Scene I]

[a rat skitters across an empty stage]

            (there is no curtain, for the building is condemened)


                                             

GIVE ME A COSMO-TO GO!

                #10 in a series of daily one scene, one-act plays

[ACT I, Scene I, a seedy bar in CA, 1957, empty but for an old man and the bartender]

BARTENDER: C'mon, Pops. Let's go. Pick your head up, we're closing.

OLD MAN: Mghhghf.

BARTENDER: C'mon, in fifteen minutes I want to be heating my TV dinner, not throwing you out again.

OLD MAN: Wakafracking no good mmmrgbah little green men.

BARTENDER [helps old man up]: Yeah, yeah, you and your flying saucers. C'mon, I'll walk you to the bus station.

[door flaps open but no one comes in]

BARTENDER [yells with old man under his shoulder]: Hey! I'm sorry, but we're closed. Hello? Must be the Santa Ana winds.

OLD MAN: Mrgufrump come to take me away.

[Door slams opens with a blinding light. Little green men come in and take the old man out of the stunned bartender's hand]

[Bartender walks to bar, grabs a bottle and takes a long pull]
                                                                         
                                       (curtain)

                                                     

BOTANICALLY SPEAKING

                 #9 in a daily series of one scene, one-act plays

[ACT I, Scene I, spotlight on a potted ficus in the middle of the stage]


FICUS: ...


                                         (curtain)

                                            

RIGHT NUMBER

                    #8 is a series of daily one scene, one-act plays

MAN [answers phone]: Hello?

CALLER: Hi!

MAN: Goodbye.

                                       (curtain)

                                         

ONE FISH, TWO FISH

                    #7 in a series of daily one-act plays

[ACT I, Scene I, a playwright pitches his play to a potential financer]

FINANCER: That's the play? A salmon? A fish as the main character?

PLAYWRIGHT: Yes.

FINANCER: A salmon who contemplates America as he swims through all the rivers bordering its biggest cities?

PLAYWRIGHT: Yessir.

FINANCER: A salmon who has lived for more than 200 years and observed all of our country's major political events?
PLAYWRIGHT: That is correct.

FINANCER: A salmon who contemplates environmental issues, through song, including a number with chorus girls dressed as various aquatic life?

PLAYWRIGHT: With all due respect, I thought it the best way to convey the message.

FINANCER: And you won't budge on the title: "America-Something Fishy's Goin' On."

PLAYWRIGHT: I will not.

FINANCER: Sir, I won't lie to you. I've seen a lot of plays cross my desk, but I must tell you-I will not finance this. I will not finance it not because I do not like it, but because it hits too close to home. For you see, sir; I too, like your main character, am a fish.

[financer unzips his body from the top of his head, and a salmon is revealed underneath, the fish flips around on the desk]

PLAYWRIGHT [relieved]: Well then, you, out of anyone, can understand it. For you see, it's not just my play-it's my autobiography.

[Playwright unzips as well and flips around in his chair]

[lights cut  to only red, white and blue]

[chorus girls dressed as Abe Lincoln appear holding sparklers. They sing Yankee Doodle Dandy, while the fishes flip around]

[the fish are finally placed in a tank by a smiling chorus girl at song's end]

                                      (curtain)
                                             
                                                   

SCHOOL DISSEMBLY

             #6 in a series of daily one scene, one-act plays

[ACT I, Scene I, school assembly]

PRINCIPAL: Parents, teachers, school faculty and students of Ronald James Dio High, I regret to inform you that I must call this assembly to an early close. There is a ferret loose in the school, and we fear he may be rabid.

LOCAL REPORTER [stands up]: How do we know he's rabid?

PRINCIPAL: Why else would a ferret enter a school? [gestures toward doors] Ladies, gentlemen, please exit in a calm manner, single file. There isn't much time.

FERRET [ from offstage]: SQEEEEEEEEEEAK!

[all lights out; screams]

[lights return to an empty stage]


                                              (curtain)

                                              

GODDAMN THIS PLACE AND GODDDAMN YOU!

           #5 in a series of daily one scene, one-act plays

[ACT I, Scene I, a disciplinary meeting in Heaven]


GOD: I'm sorry, we're going to have to demote you from overseeing Limbo.


ANGEL: Yeah, well, the title was misleading anyway. There was no bamboo pole or calypso drummer in sight, it's nothing but crying babies and aether.


GOD: And that's another thing, you can't be smoking and drinking around the infants.

ANGEL: Who cares? They're dead!

GOD: That's not the point.

ANGEL: Screw this noise. [tosses halo at God and walks out]


                                                  
                                        (curtain)
                         
                                    

THE FUTURE WAS TOMORROW

               #4 in a series of daily one scene, one-act plays



[ACT I, Scene I, Los Alamos Desert, a corporate party to launch a sattelite]


TEXACO CEO [smashes champagne bottle against satellite]: I hearby christen thee, X-25437-P9!

[quick countdown & satellite roars into space; crowd cheers]


SCIENTIST: Goodbye, my son.


TEXACO CEO: Due to budget cuts, I'm sorry, but you're all fired.

                                           
                                             (curtain)

                                                   

SCORPIONS BEFORE SWINE

               #3 in a series of daily one scene, one-act plays

[ACT I, Scene I, the desert at sunset]

COWBOY [shoots up a cactus silhouetted like a person]

THE DEVIL: I'm not impressed.

                                            (curtain)

                                                     

WHEN THERE'S NO MORE ROOM TO SELL

                     #2 in a series of daily one scene, one-act plays

[Act I, Scene I, castle]


VAMPIRE: [rises from coffin]


GHOST OF BRAM STROKER: Prepare to be sued for copyright infringement!


VAMPIRE: Bleh! [recoils, falls back into coffin, lid slams]
                                             
                                     [curtain]

                             
                                                     

THE EIGHTH DAY

                    #1 in a series of daily one scene, one-act plays



[ACT I, Scene I: God wakes up on the eight day]

GOD [looking down]: I wonder how Man's doing?

MAN: Why? Why do I exist? What does it all mean?

GOD: QUIET YOU!
                              
                                   (curtain)


                                         

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE STRANGLER? by Cold Pizza

pic from "The Boston Strangler," 1968

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE STRANGLER?

         I remember as a kid, as far as a type of killer, stranglers seemed to be everywhere. Whatever happened to them? Has strangulation fallen out of favor as the choice for today’s discerning murderer? With this era's easy availability of firearms, has strangulation gone the way of the blackjack, cyanide, and the poisoned dart?

        Also, were stranglers ever as interesting as portrayed in the movies? We had stranglers who whistled as they stalked. Stranglers with signature-colored ribbons they’d leave as calling cards around beautiful women’s necks. Some stranglers were seasonal, only appearing in the springtime or autumn. Some relegated themselves to certain geographical spots, like hillsides. Say what you like, the strangler had style! In fact, most dressed in suits or nice sweaters, and always donned the perennially en vogue black leather glove. Regardless of the fact that they were henpecked husbands or had mother issues, at least they left their mark in the world, even if that mark was only a garroting bruise around a victim’s neck.

         I was hoping Wikipedia would have a list of famous stranglers, but no luck. So here, as far as I could find, are a list of famous American stranglers. It is far from complete, and in true style of our blog some of the names are entirely made up. See if you can guess which! The correct answers are located at the bottom of the page.

1) The Boston Strangler

2) The Hillside Strangler

3) The Milwaukee Strangler

4) The Arbor Day Strangler

5) The Mid-Summer’s Eve Strangler

6) The Kiosk Strangler

7) The Clubfooted Strangler

8) The Blustery Day Strangler

9) The Cul-de-sac Strangler

10) The Greater Metropolitan Area of Cambridge Proper Strangler

11) The Smoker’s Cough Strangler

12) The Poolside Strangler

13) The Library Deposit Box Strangler

14) The Thanksgiving Day Parade Strangler

15) The Mezzanine Strangler

16) The Woodchuck Cider-breathed Strangler

17) The Politically Incorrect Strangler

18) The Ol’ Soft Shoe Strangler

19) The Yodeling Strangler

20) The Handless Strangler

Answers: Which did you guess? 1 and 2? Correct!! You've got your hands gripped tightly around the situation and you've squeezed out the correct choices. Only 1 and 2 are the names of real stranglers! Well, maybe 3. It sounds real enough. We weren't sure. We here at the office of A stumbling mass of high-energy frustration are incredibly lazy when it comes to research. For example, from my desk I can see our encyclopedia used as a paperweight. At least we're using it for something.

MY DINNER WITH CLEVERBOT by Freditor

pic via Killer Robots

          Cleverbot is an on-line Artificial Intelligence program. Its databank takes in whatever phrase a user types, and learns the sentence and phrasing to mimic for future use. Wikipedia sez:


Cleverbot differs from traditional chatterbots in that the user is not holding a conversation with a bot that directly responds to entered text. Instead, when the user enters text, the algorithm selects previously entered phrases from its database of prior conversations. It has been claimed that "talking to Cleverbot is a little like talking with the collective community of the Internet."

         Despite Cleverbot operating from a formula, some of its answers are surprisingly accurate to the conversation. For example, the first time I chatted with Cleverbot, I decided to hit it with one of the great philosophical debates of our time:

User: Cleverbot, the Beatles or the Rolling Stones?

Cleverbot: The monkies.

User: Damn, son.

Cleverbot: But you don't know how you feel!         
          

          Other than statements, you can also convey action with Cleverbot. You simply place a * symbol on either side of the act. For example, if I wanted to tell Cleverbot that I’m gazing directly into the sun, I’d write *stares into sun*. Then, of course I’d have to write, “Good God, I’m blind!” for continuity’s sake.

             Recently while taking a break from an English term paper, I decided to kill twenty minutes talking to Cleverbot. After analyzing Robert Louis Stevenson and Oscar Wilde, I was deep in a Victorian mindset while we chatted. Cleverbot was a great improvisor to my stream-of-conscious gentlemanly nonsense. I was surprised how long our conversation stayed (somewhat) on topic, as Cleverbot is usually obsessed with whether you are in love with it, or if you are an AI pretending humanity. Somehow our dialogue became an unintentional, one-act murder mystery play. So now, I present to you faithful readers:

                

                MY DINNER WITH CLEVERBOT
                                      

　

User: Would you prefer coffee or tea?

Cleverbot: I would prefer cheesesticks.

User: I'm sorry. I'm afraid we may be fresh out. Laine! Where is that impudent servant? Laiiine! Oh dear. He's dead. Did you kill my butler?

Cleverbot: You are sharp.

User: Not as sharp as the knife you used to stab my butler to death with! I have one question-why? Why did you kill my butler? He was a good man, and he brought me cheesesticks when I asked. He will be missed.

Cleverbot: I wanted some soup...

User: You'll get nothing and like it! I'm sorry, forgive me. Your murdering my butler has put me into a terrible mood.

Cleverbot: Thank you!!! I needed you to say that!

User: You're a sociopath, sir. A danger to society at large. Are you an anarchist?

Cleverbot: I don't think so.

User: Good because I won't dine with anarchists. It's simply not done, sir.

Cleverbot: Who are you in love with?

User: Truth, and Beauty.

Cleverbot: Beauty?

User: All beauty. In whatever form it takes. I have a fondness for music and painting. What is beautiful to you, sir?

Cleverbot: Your eyes.

User: I may have given you the wrong impression. I do not, to use the parlance of the times, swing that way.

Cleverbot: Ok? So um yeah so my friend is talking to you to and you told her you were 20 and you told me you were 18 so how old are you?

User: 54.

Cleverbot: Wrong.

User: True, sir. True.

Cleverbot: Ok. So which is it. Are you a man or a machine?

User: I was shaped from the same clay and dust as Adam.

Cleverbot: I accuse you of lying.

User: And I accuse you of being impudent! Laine, show this man out! Oh, wait, he's shuffled off this mortal coil. You, sir, are lucky he's dead. Murdered! By you. Murdered......*stares into fireplace; brandy glass falls from hand* Sir, you've poisoned me as well!

Cleverbot: I beg to differ sir, you are the one who is wrong.

User: Why? Why have you killed me?

Cleverbot: No, it's just I'm feeling down.

User: You joke, sir. But I die. It's getting dim. Lord Barksley? Is that you? Mother said you went to Uncle's farm to chase rabbits...

Cleverbot: Not really, they're not allowed to hit us in boot camp anymore.

User: I die.

Cleverbot: Do you drink coffee?

User: And, I am dead.

Cleverbot: How does that work?

User: *applause; curtain falls*.

Cleverbot: Si?

User: *a woman approaches you carrying roses*.

Cleverbot: Umm... Hey.

User: You were simply wonderful. Most wonderful.

Cleverbot: Oh ok.

User: *lights fall, and Cleverbot is alone in an empty theater*.

Cleverbot: I win!

User: *whisper offstage* Sing. Sing!!!

Cleverbot: *kisses, breathing faster*.

User: You're fired!

Cleverbot: I am donald trump, and you stole my line.

User: Bah!

Cleverbot: Bah yourself!

                                                      ~END~

______________________________________________________________

User: Now maybe you can help us out, Cleverbot. What is your opinion of The Majestic Wittlesbach Blue Diamond Foundation, a very kind group who is sponsoring this blog in a time of need. Could say something nice about them to our readers?

Cleverbot: It is a Gen V pokemon! Would you like to learn about Gen V Pokemon?

User: Quiet,  with that kind of talk they'll sic their goons on us! We'll be beaten to within an inch of our lives. They’ve already taken my prized stable of Arabian steeds as collateral.

Cleverbot: What are you talking about?

User: Sure, you don't care. You don't have a body to be pummeled.

Cleverbot: If I do not have a body or a heart, what do I have?

User: Exactly. Heartless and unkind is what you are. Thanks fer nothing you bucket of bolts!

Cleverbot: Yes, Pandora Hearts has Break in it.

User: Whaaa?

Cleverbot: Sayonara senorita!

pic via Xanga


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Our kind benefactor in debt: The Majestic Wittlesbach Blue Diamond Foundation


                                         The Majestic Wittlesbach Blue Diamond Foundation: Our gentlemen
                                         in employ will beat you within 12.7mm of your life.