Tuesday, August 24, 2004
ACT XI, Scene W-2
A glorious villa overlooking the Adriatic—
(What? Well, how many candelabras can one man buy?! Crimony.)
Scratch that. Due to unexpected budget cuts:
A modest brownstone in Queens—
(You’ve got to be kidding me!)
A fleabag motel room in Buffalo
[Wilhelm enters on a fine white steed—make that off-white tennis shoes—alternately eating circus peanuts and taking shots of wheatgrass from a gallon jug. Attached to his belt by a length of twine, is a photograph of a young girl in curls. Attached to the photo by an even longer length of twine is a manatee in a fedora, attempting to apply deodorant and cursing continuously in one of the following languages: Panamanian, Burmese and a Joker. I’ll take Burmese for $200.]
ANGELICA (speaking into the CB)
The heavens collapse in your absence. They crumble into dust and scatter o’er me like ashes from a Kool filtered cigarette: Kool, what a menthol was meant to be. Brown and Williamson Company, Louisville, Ky. Oh, how I sigh with 50% less throat irritation. How I crave only your love because Kool has 7% less nicotine than our competitors.
That's just false.
ANGELICA (cupping her hand over the CB)
But HE doesn't know that.
WILHELM (to himself)
Then at least 35% for the love of--
(to the manatee)
What's your name again?
Hey, you're drivin' that asshole without a license?
Um... is "yes" the answer to that?
ANGELICA (back into CB)
How shall I live but one more day without you Gregory?
GREGORY (voice on the CB)
Little darlin', you gotta call me by my handle: Squats, 'member? And I call you--
"Shaving cream! Be nice and clean! Shave everyday and you'll--"
I'm gonna say the word "blowhole" now. Blowhole.
GREGORY (voice on the CB)
Holy macaroni! I know the sound of a manatee when I hear it! Golden tones... y'sure know your way around a racing form. Who d'ya like in the 4th at Gulfstream, darlin'?
[Manatee is visibly blushing and not so visilbly taking a dump on a stack of Vanity Fairs circa mid 1970s... won't THEY be surprised?]
I demand an exhumation!
Not what you meant to say.
[Wilhelm snaps his fingers, triggering 4 minutes of complete silence. Except for the "click-a-clack" of knitting needles, as Angelica utilizes the break in action to finish her toaster muffler, for those long Norwegian diabetes fund-raisers. The mood is broken by the ghost of Richard Mulligan, who has returned in search of his fake badge that reads "Virginia Lawman, Kiss me or get shot in the teeth" (he regretted the investment almost instantly). Upon locating the item, he hails a cab which appears in the form of a half camel/half investment banker and gets back to blazes lickety-split.]
Friday, August 20, 2004
Much has been made of the wily franco-parisian musquat. The world’s only known freely mobile, cognizant and strictly vegan plant. A tuberous root related equally to the tulip and the mung bean, the musquat is often found lurking around the jazz clubs and cafes along the Champs-Elysee, which makes its obscurity a mystery. The musquat enjoys enigmatic status despite widespread reports of public intoxication on cheap wine and habitually vehement confrontations with the locals, punctuated by belligerent squealing in its snarky pseudo-Algerian accent. However, it is conspicuously absent among the arrested or seriously injured owing to its innate ability to shift blame and bribe local constables. The musquat’s resiliency seems directly tied to its status as an endangered species. It is under these auspices that the musquat is able to create a volatile disturbance yet avoid physical harm with its familiar calls of “Whatcha gonna do, hit an endangered species?” and “Oh, you’re real tough when you got 4 billion people to back you up.” It’s widely disputed whether the musquat has a nearly extinct population or is merely an extremely unpopular creature.