# 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)
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