TOTAL ECLIPSE OF THE EYES ( Part 1 of 2 )

        A GROUP of friends are assembled on a park bench.  From left to right, they are MW, COURTNEY, BENTO, and ZERACODY.  Courtney has a dazed look about him, and the group is quick to address it.

 

BENTO:  ( to MW )  What’s the deal with Courtney?

MW:  This dummy looked directly into that eclipse last week without any eye protection, and he’s been sitting on this bench like this ever since.

BENTO:   ( to Courtney )  Courtney, is that true?  Tell me you didn’t do some dumb shit like that, did you?

MW: He can’t talk.  He’s in some kind of trance, or coma, or state of mental bankruptcy right now, because of the eclipse.

BENTO:  ( to MW )  Did you watch the eclipse last week?

MW:  Yeah, I watched it, but I used eye protection.

BENTO:  Sunglasses?

MW:  Sunglasses and I wrapped condoms around them just to be sure.

BENTO:  How’d it work out?

MW:  Good… except now every time I look into the sun I get an erection.  Is that weird?

BENTO:  Yeah, and that could be problematic at the beach.

MW:  Or near the window in the line at the all-you-can-eat buffet.

BENTO:  Oh yeah.

MW:  Did you watch it?

BENTO:  Yes, and like you I used eye protection.

MW:  Sunglasses?

BENTO:  Yup… and sunscreen lotion.

MW:  You put sunscreen lotion on the sunglasses?

BENTO:  No… in my eyes.

MW:  Did it burn?

BENTO:  Not really.

MW:  Sting?

BENTO:  Nope.

MW:  Make your eyes water?

BENTO:  Not at all.

MW:  Huh… seems like putting sunscreen lotion in your eyes would definitely cause problems.

BENTO:  Not if you spray a protective layer of WD40 in your eyes first.

MW:  Okay, now that make perfect sense, sunscreen lotion protection, improved range of vision, and a reduction in ocular squeaks.

BENTO:  Exactly!

Bento pivots his attention back to Courtney.

BENTO:   Damn, he looks really bad.   Are those blisters on his eyeballs?

MW:  I think so.  Either that… or they’re fish eggs.

ZERACODY:  Those are most certainly NOT blisters… nor are they fish eggs!

 

MW:  Well, what are they then?

ZERACODY:  Those are what I like to call… visionary memory sacs.

BENTO:  Visionary memory sacs?

ZERACODY:  Yes, it’s the optic nerve and the retinal ganglia cells reacting to a lack of visual stimuli.

BENTO:  Meaning?

ZERACODY:  Courtney’s optic nerve is working twice as hard in an attempt to process visual information.

MW:  Meaning?

ZERACODY:  His eyeballs are sweating.

BENTO:  What the f-?!

MW:  Nonsense, just because you’re blind doesn’t make you and expert on eyes.

BENTO:  Yeah, that would be like… a man with no hands giving advice on juggling.

ZERACODY:  Juggling what?

BENTO:  Bowling pins and chainsaws.

MW:  An axe, a tea kettle and a seven cufflinks.

ZERACODY:  Well, maybe not on that, but he could most certainly give advice on how to juggle a new career versus family, right?

MW and Bento look at each other, dumbfounded.

MW:  ( to Zeracody ) Whatever.

Bento gestures to Courtney.

BENTO:  What are we gonna do about this?

MW:  Rub some antiperspirant in his eyes?

BENTO:  Yeah, let’s put some roll on antiperspirant in his eyes.

COURTNEY:  I’m allergic to roll on antiperspirant.

They all look at Courtney.

MW:  Courtney, you’re back!

COURTNEY:  Yes.

BENTO:  Where’d you go, do you remember anything?

COURTNEY:  Not much. ( thinks )  There was the eclipse…

MW:  Right.

COURTNEY:  And then people coming and going… sunset… sunrise… sunset… sunrise.   But nothing out of the ordinary.

BENTO:  Okay.

Courtney thinks a bit deeper.

COUTNEY:  Oh, wait… there was that striped bass…

MW:  Striped bass?

COURTNEY:  …. in a tux…

BENTO:  In a tux?

COURTNEY …who walked up on land, hopped up on the bench… and then hopped up on my shoulder… and then onto my face…

ZERACODY:  On your face?

COURTNEY: … and laid tiny fish eggs in both my eyes.

MW, Bento, and Zeracody look at one another.

COURTNEY:  Other than that, my week sitting on this bench was relatively uneventful.

THEND

                  CROOKED CROOK

 

A group of CRIMINALS are sitting around a table plotting their next heist.  From left to right, they are Phil, Allen, and Jimmy.

PHIL:  ( to Allen )   Okay, Allen, after we get into the foyer, you’re gonna jimmy the lock on the door to the main room where the diamonds are kept.  Got it?

ALLEN:  Yeah, but I… I gotta question.

PHIL:  Okay, what?

ALLEN:  Are we still getting pizza?

PHIL:  Yes, after the meeting.  Anything else?

ALLEN:  Yeah.

PHIL: What?

ALLEN:  Why am I gonna be the one to jimmy the lock?

PHIL:  Because that’s what you do, you’re the lock smith.

ALLEN:  Yeah, but it would make more sense if Jimmy here… ( points to Jimmy) was the one to jimmy the lock.

PHIL:  It doesn’t work that way.  Jimmy can’t  pick locks.

JIMMY:  Yeah… but I’ve never really tried.  Maybe…

PHIL:  ( to Allen ) You’re gonna jimmy the lock, alright?  You straight now on what you gotta do?

ALLEN:  Yeah, I got it.  I jimmy the lock on the door to the main room.  Got it.

PHIL:  Right, okay cool.

Phil turns to Jimmy.

PHIL:  Okay Jimmy, after we get into the main room, you’re gonna open the circuit breaker panel with an Allen wrench and then shut off the power to the alarm system.  Got it?

JIMMY:  Yeah, got it?  Just one question though.

PHIL: ( sighs )  What is it?

JIMMY:  Yeah… it seems to me that it would make more sense if Allen would be responsible for opening the panel with the Allen wrench, and shutting off the power to the alarm system.  You know what I mean?

PHIL:  No, I don’t!  Because that’s not how this operation works.  You don’t get assigned to a specific job because the name of a tool or process related to that job just happens to be your name.   That’s not how this works!

ALLEN:  But why not?  It would make things a lot easier to remember.  My name is Allen, I do Allen wrench related operations.  Easy.

JIMMY:  Yeah, I’m Jimmy, and I should jimmy all the locks on our jobs.  It’s more straight forward and makes the operation foolproof.

PHIL:  Obviously not!

JIMMY:  What’s that suppose to mean, Phil?

PHIL:  Nothing, let’s just stick to the original plan, can we do that?!

ALLEN:  Okayyyy, calm down.

JIMMY:  Yeah, chill out, man.

PHIL:  Okay… ( deep breath )  let’s continue.

Allen and Jimmy refocus on the plan.

PHIL:  Okay, after the power is shut off, I’m gonna break the glass to the diamond case with a large Phillips screw driver.  That’s when you two-

JIMMY:  ( suspicious )  Wait a minute, hold, hold, hold on.   I see what’s going on here.

PHIL:  What?

JIMMY:  Why do you, Phil, get to use a Phillips screw driver to break the glass?

ALLEN:  Because his whole name his Phillip!

JIMMY:  It would make way more sense to use a hammer to break the glass, don’t you think… Phillip!

ALLEN:  Yeah, who uses a screw driver to break glass?

PHIL: I said it was a large screwdriver.

JIMMY:  Bullshit!  If you get to break glass with a Phillips screw driver, then I want to be the one to jimmy the lock.

ALLEN:  And I want to use the Allen wrench to open the panel and shut off the power!

PHIL: Will you two shut the fuck up!  I’m trying to run an operation here!  Okay, so I was randomly selected to break the glass with a Phillips screwdriver.  But, it’s just a coincidence.  No conspiracies or special selection, or insider trading going on here.  Can we just get back to business?

JIMMY:  Okay… back to biz!

ALLEN:  Okay.

PHIL:  Okay, now I’ve got a guy on the inside who is going to disable the back up power to the security guard elevator off the hallway to the main room.

ALLEN:  What guy?

PHIL:  Huh?

ALLEN:  What guy?

JIMMY: Who’s the guy, Phil?  Who’s the elevator guy?

PHIL:  Oh… it’s my uncle Otis.  He’s inside, he’s gonna disable the backup power to the elevator.  Any problems with that?

ALLEN:  Nope.

JIMMY:  ( suspicious )  Except there is.

PHIL:  What’s the problem, Jimmy?

JIMMY:  Well… Otis was the name of the man who invented the elevator.

ALLEN:  ( realizing )  Yeah Jimmy’s right!  The dude’s name was Elisha Otis, and he invented the elevator somewhere around 1856!

JIMMY:  This shit ain’t fair!  First, you, Phillip, and your Phillips screwdriver.  And now your uncle Otis and the Otis elevator.   This ain’t nothing but straight up nepotism, Jimmy, that’s what this is!

ALLEN:  ( to Jimmy )   I think you mean necrophilia, Jimmy.  Necrophilia.

JIMMY:  Huh?

ALLEN:  The word your trying to –

JIMMY:  ( to Allen )  Idiot, necrophilia is when people fuck dead people.

ALLEN: Naw…. I don’t think so, Jimmy.  That’s –

PHIL:  The word is nepotism, but it’s not!  I swear on my mother’s grave that these things are just a matter of crazy… coincidences.  I wouldn’t unfairly game this operation just so that me or my family members can have tools, machines, or responsibilities that are associated with our names. C’mon, fellas, that would make zero sense as far as efficiency and likelihood of success, am I right?

Jimmy and Allen look at one another.

PHIL: C’mon, guys, I’m just trying my damnedest to put together a foolproof plan that will make us all rich.  Trust me, there is no nepotism going on here.

JIMMY:  Alright Phil, we trust you.

Allen gives an approving nod.

PHIL:  Okay… any questions?

Jimmy raises his hand.

PHIL: Yes, Jimmy?

JIMMY:  Who’s driving the getaway car?

PHIL:  Don’t worry about that, I’ve got that covered.

JIMMY:  Yeah, but with who?

ALLEN:  Yeah, who, Phil?

PHIL:  My cousin will be driving the getaway car.  She’s reliable and has a good driving record.  No DUIs, no nothing.

ALLEN:  Your cousin?

PHIL:  Yup.

JIMMY:  What’s her name, Phil?

PHIL:  I think for the sake of security, it’s better if we didn’t get into that.

ALLEN:  What’s her name, Phil?

PHIL: Okay… her name is Chevelle.

JIMMY:  And what kind of car is she driving for our getaway?

ALLEN:  Yeah.. tell us, Phil.

PHIL:  It’s a… it’s a… ah…1976 Chevrolet… Chevelle.

JIMMY:  Son of a bitch!

ALLEN:  This definitely means no pizza.

 

THEND

 

 

 

 

 

 

                     CAKE LADY

A small birthday party is underway.  In attendance from left to right is MW, INDIGO, BENTO, ZERACODY ( a snake), and RUXTON, a King Kong nipple.  A LADY pops out of the top of a large BIRTHDAY CAKE and… here we go.

CAKE LADY:  Happy Birthday, BMW!

BENTO: ( to Cake Lady ). Wait, wait, wait… what’s going on here?  Who are you?

CAKE LADY:  ( to Bento ) Happy Birthday, BMW!

BENTO:  Stop… first of all, I’m not BMW.  That’s the birthday guy over there!  ( points to MW )

The Cake Lady turns to MW.

CAKE LADY:  Happy Birthday –

MW: I’m not BMW either… it’s just MW.

CAKE LADY:  MW?

MW: Yes.

CAKE LADY: You sure?

MW:  Pretty sure.

BENTO:  No offense to you ma’am, but why did the agency send you over here?  I ordered the birthday cake package with Heather in it.

CAKE LADY:  Well, yesterday, Heather got fired for selling cake batter and candles on the black market, so the agency sent over the next best thing… me.

BENTO: I mean, you kinda look like Heather… if Heather was born during the Dust Bowl era, and had coils showing through the tread on her tires.

CAKE LADY:  What are you trying to say exactly?

INDIGO:  You’re old!

 

MW:  Yeah… and somewhat haggard… despite your enthusiastic arrival.

ZERACODY:  And with rather large breasts that appear to be doing push ups around your ankles.  No offense, you understand?

 

CAKE LADY:  Well, I most certainly do take offense.  I didn’t come here to be insulted by a cadre of freaks!

ZERACODY:  Freaks? Hey, lady, you’re the one popping out of cakes looking like a rubber band titty tree.

CAKE LADY:  Shut your mouth!  You don’t know anything about me, you blind snake!

RUXTON:  I’m not blind, Lady.  In fact, I can see far better than most.  And right about now, I can see that this knee jerk surface pain that you are illustrating goes much deeper.  I’m I right?

CAKE LADY:  Yes, you’re right.  At this moment, I feel an abject level of shame that I’ve never felt before.

INDIGO:  Why, because you’re exposing yourself to female objectification?

CAKE LADY:  No, because I peed inside the cake.

BENTO: Uggg, that’s disgusting!

MW:  That’s sooo wrong!

ZERACODY:  I’m never eating yellow cake again.

CAKE LADY:  You thought the cake was moist, now you know why!

BENTO:  Damn, and I ate two pieces from the back!

INDIGO:  ( to Cake Lady ) You ought to be ashamed of yourself!  How long have you’re been doing this sort of thing?

CAKE LADY:  What do you mean?!

INDIGO:  Jumping out of cakes with assorted shenanigans and… why?!

CAKE LADY:  None of your goddamn business!  None of you have the right to judge me.

ZERACODY:  Let me guess… you’re only doing this to pay your way through school.

CAKE LADY:  Yes, I am!

MW:  Lady, you’re like… a million years old.  What are you talking about?  What type of octogenarian middle school that specializes in abacuses and long division are we taking about here?

CAKE LADY:  That’s none of your business, BWM, MW, and… double fuck you anyway!

MW:  Okay, fair enough.

The Cake Lady looks at Ruxton who’s been silent up until now.

CAKE LADY:  ( to Ruxton ) And you?

RUXTON:  Well… with all that being said… I think your nipples appear to have some abstract aesthetic value.  That’s only applicable in a non-mammary glandular type of setting, you understand.

CAKE LADY:  ( suspicious ) What… and why would you -?

MW: Because he is a nipple.

ZERACODY:  Yes, a nipple is he.

CAKE LADY:  What?

INDIGO:  He’s one of King Kong’s original nipples.

CAKE LADY:  What?  That’s nonsense.

RUXTON:  It’s true.  I popped off his areola when the big monkey hit the payment back in 1933.

CAKE LADY:  What?!  Nonsense… was right. You all are a cadre of freaks!  I should have known something was off when I saw WormHole Square as the address on the service request form. ( scowls )  Duces!!

The Cake Lady gives the peace sign and then sinks down into the cake.  After a moment, Bento climbs up and looks inside the cake.

BENTO:  She’s gone.

MW:  What?

BENTO:  Yeah, she like… vanished.

Everyone looks at each other, miffed.

MW:  Sooooooo, who wants some cake?!

 

THEND

 

 

 

                            THRIFT STORE COUCH

 

Bento and MW are perusing a thrift store, when a gravelly SOUND is heard coming from inside a grey COUCH.  Bento turns his attention towards the couch.

COUCH: ( to Bento ) Hey, Buddy… I like them sneakers.

BENTO:  What?

COUCH:  You… with the round head and the Iron Man junior varsity suit on… I like your sneakers.

Bento looks closer at the couch and sees two eyes staring out at him.

BENTO:  You talking to me?

COUCH: Yeah, Buddy, you most certainly fit my aforementioned description.

BENTO:  Oh…( concern ) are you okay?

COUCH:  Yeah, I’m goooood, thanks for asking.  How are you, Buddy?

BENTO:  I’m doing okayyyyy.  I’m mean- are you stuck inside this couch or something?  Do you need help getting out?

COUCH:  Getting out?

BENTO:  Yes… getting out…

The couch falls silent, its eyes continue to stare out at Bento.

BENTO:  …. of the couch.

COUCH:  Ahhhhh… you seem to have misappropriated my position, Buddy.

BENTO:  What do you mean?

COUCH:  I am… the couch.

BENTO:  What do you mean you are the couch?  From where I sit, it looks like you’re inside the couch.  As if you were sleeping on the couch at some point in recent time, and somehow got wrapped up inside the couch.  So… I’m saying if you need help getting out of there, here’s your chance.  If not… duces and truces to you.

COUCH:  I am telling you, Buddy, that I am an integral, physiological part of this furniture.  And that any attempt to dislodge me from its framework would result in a catastrophic calamity.

BENTO:  Meaning?

COUCH:  Motherfucka, I am the couch!

BENTO:  Okay… I’m done.  Did you really have to go all Samuel L. Jackson on me?   I mean- I offered to help you out of a predicament and this is the thanks I get?!

COUCH:  And I gave you a compliment and this is the thanks I get?!

BENTO:  What… what compliment?

COUCH:  I said I liked your sneakers.

BENTO:  Some compliment… generic at best.  I suspect some ulterior motive lurking inside that cushioned spring box of yours.  Am I right?

COUCH:  No, you’re not right!  And… how was your offer of help  beneficial to me in any way, shape, or form, when it would be like pulling my lungs out?!

BENTO:  You know what… fuck you!

COUCH:  No, fuck you, Buddy!

BENTO:  No, fuck you, and stop calling me Buddy!  Why do you keep calling me that?

MW has caught wind of the exchange between Bento and the Couch and has come over to see what’s the matter.

COUCH:  Because I heard this guy call you that earlier.  Is Buddy not your name?

MW:  No, his name is Bento.  ( looks around puzzled ) Wait, who the fuck am I talking to?

BENTO: ( pointing )  Nobody, except for this asshole inside this couch.

MW:  What the hell are you doing in that couch?

COUCH:  Minding my own fucking beeswax.  How bout you?

MW: Actually, I’m allergic to beeswax, so I can’t relate to that.  However, it seems to me, you would have to be one stupid, dumb ass to try to mind your own beeswax while stuck inside a couch.  I mean, there hardly seems like enough space in there to mind bees, let alone, wax.

COUCH:  I am the goddamn couch!

MW:  Okay, good enough.  ( to Bento )   You ready?  I can’t find anything in this thrift store I want to buy right now.

BENTO:  Yeah, I’m ready.

COUCH:  ( softens tone )  Whoa, whoa, whoaaaaa, fellas, don’t rush off all angry and irate now.  You know what… I apologize.  I apologize for acting so disrespectful to you gents earlier.  I was having a bad day, you know?  People keep flopping down on me and… earlier, an old man with a ninety- five year old colon sat down on me and farted into the middle cushion… right over my head.  And I just haven’t been my self since.  Let’s start over, what do you say?

MW and Bento look at one another and then agree with nods.

BENTO: Okay… I’m sorry I called you an asshole.

MW:  Yeah, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry about thinking that assholes are usually found on the couch, but in this instance, the asshole was actually in the couch.

COUCH:  You thought that?

MW:  Yup.

COUCH:  Wow, that’s pretty brutal.  You know – thinking about someone in that way.

MW:  Sorry.

COUCH:  Stripping them of their humanity.

MW:  I mean – does humanity really apply to this situation if you are the couch?

BENTO:  ( to Couch )  Your words.

COUCH:  I see what you’re saying, and that makes perfect sense.  But you know what would make even better sense?

BENTO:  What?

COUCH:  If you guys would buy me.  Take me home with you.  I don’t smell musty and I don’t have bugs, I swear!  I’m only 49.99!

BENTO:  I knew it, I knew it!  I knew you had an ulterior motive when you started off with that Buddy shit!

COUCH:  No, no, no, no, I really thought Buddy was your name, Benzo.

MW:  His name is Bento, Couch!

COUCH:  My bad, Bento.  I’m still light-headed from the fumes.  C’mon fellas, buy me, free me from this thrift store nightmare place I’ve been stuck in for ages!

MW:  Yeah, nobody wants you, Couch!  Nobody wants a musty, thrift store threadbare, bug infested over grown sofa, with a noxious level of accumulated fart dust imbedded in the cushions.  Accept it!

BENTO:  Accept it, Couch!

MW and Bento leave the thrift store.

COUCH:  I don’t accept that!  No, one day someone will take me home.  Someday I will be sat upon, relaxed upon, loved upon, and accessorized again.  And as the sofa Gods are my witnesses, I will exact my revenge upon you two fuckwits for insulting me!  I will have my revenge!

 

 

THEND

 

 

 

                         SPACE DEER CROSSING

A SPACECRAFT zips through outer space with two occupants, BENTO and MW.  A DEER CROSSING SIGN flashes by under their ship.  And then… BOOM, the space craft hits an object.

MW:  Hey, did you hear that?  ( listens )  What was that?

BENTO:  What was what?  I didn’t hear nothing.

MW:  No, it’s sounded like you just hit something… something big, like a moose or something.

BENTO: ( chuckles )  And what in the hell would a moose be doing up here in outer space?

MW:  I’m not saying it was a moose you hit.  I’m just saying it sounded like you hit something big like a moose.  It could have been something else like… ( thinks ) like a medium sized walrus… with whiskers and stretch marks under her flippers.

BENTO: And again, what would a walrus with – ?

MW: I don’t know – never mind. ( looks out ) Where in the hell are we?

BENTO:  According to my calculations, we should be about one half of a parsec south of the Andromeda Galaxy.

MW:  You sure?

BENTO:  Of course.

MW:  Well, I just saw a joint selling chicken boxes back there, so it looks like we might be closer to Baltimore than the Andromeda Galaxy.

BENTO:  That’s impossible.  ( checks dashboard gauges ). Oh shit.

MW: What?

BENTO:  I didn’t set the ship’s clock forward one hour for daylight savings time.   Our coordinates are all fucked up.

MW: Great, soooo…

BENTO: So…I have no idea where we are.

MW: ( exasperated ) Ideas?

BENTO:  ( thinks ) I could run an ultra high tech cross navigation beta simulation model, ah… with a retro-time stamp or…

MW: Or?

BENTO: Or I we could go ultra low tech and pull over and ask for directions.

MW:  Are you out of your fucking mind?  I just told you we might be somewhere near Baltimore City.

BENTO:  Baltimore isn’t that bad.

MW:  Really, do you not remember the last time we went through there?

BENTO:  Yes, and it wasn’t that bad.

MW:  Really?  First of all, what about all the those squeegee kids converging on our spaceship practically extorting us for money?

BENTO:  Yeah, there was that.

MW:  Yeah, and I got questions.

BENTO:  What questions?

MW:  How far is space from the ground?

BENTO: About sixty-two miles.

MW:  So, where in the natural hell do those squeegee kids get them sixty-two mile high ladders to clean people windshields?

BENTO:  I don’t know, Lowes maybe?

MW:  Or maybe… The Church Of Ladder Day Saints.

BENTO:  Yeah, that would be a tall order, or… ( looks out ) … maybe, just maybe, I just figured out a way to get us back home to WormHole Square.

MW:  How?

BENTO:  Look over there.

MW looks out to his left.

MW:  What the fuck?  Is that a moose?

BENTO:  It’s a deer.  Although a moose would be technically in the deer family, that’s a deer.

MW:  Yeah, well, whether sister, uncle, or second cousin, it’s that same deer you hit earlier.  I knew you hit something!

BENTO:  I didn’t hit that deer.

MW:  No, I’m pretty sure you did.

BENTO:  MW, if I hit that deer at the speed we’re traveling, it would be splattered all to smithereens, don’t you think?

MW:  Well maybe that’s some kind of super-modified deer.  After all, it’s surviving in outer space without a fucking space suit!

BENTO:  Yeah, there’s that.

MW:  Yeah, that… but tell me how that gets us any closer to getting home?

BENTO:  Well, that’s a white tail, deer.

MW: A super- modified white tail deer.

BENTO:  And they migrate to the south of WormHole Square during the mating season.

MW:  Okay.

BENTO: ( listens ) You hear that?

Music can be heard coming from the cosmos.

MW:  ( listens )  Yeah… is that Teddy Pendergrass I’m hearing right now?

BENTO: Oh yeah.

MW:  Are those…  ( looks closer )… are those burning candles out there?

BENTO:  Abso- fucking -lutely.

MW:  It’s deer mating season like a motherfuc-!

BENTO:  Shut yo mouth!

MW: Hey, I’m just talking about deer mating season.

BENTO:  So, if my calculations are right, WormHole Square should be exactly south of our present location.

MW looks down and sees a familiar landmark.

MW: Yo, Bento, there’s Indigo’s art studio!

BENTO:  Where?  Are you talking about that building with the adjacent blue neon, large phallic symbol protruding up in the sky?

MW: The dildo? Yes, that’s her studio.

BENTO:  Well… I guess outer space, black holes, and large, phallic symbols can mean only one thing.

MW:  WormHole Square!  You goddamn right, Bento.  You goddamn right!

Bento steers the spaceship south and the two head home.

 

THEND

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                        Dragon To Electric Mandate

MW, a WATER HEATER, and a DRAGON are seated in a living room.  The water heater’s name is Bobby, and the dragon is called Nathaniel. There is a bit of tension in the air.

MW: So… this new WormHole Square climate change mandate means you both have to convert to all electric by 2030.

BOBBY:  What, MW, the water’s not hot enough for you?  I don’t hear you complaining while you’re taking one of you twenty minute showers…whilst thinking about that girl from the club some years ago who told you she had two vaginas.

MW: I gotta stop thinking out loud.

NATHANIEL: Yeah, and stop using up all the hot water!  Cold showers make me sad.

MW: What… wait, how did you even fit into my shower?

NATHANIEL: Ergonomics and a feng shui.

MW: Well, stay out of my shower.  Why can’t you take a shower in a lake like other dragons do?

NATHANIEL: Because lake water is cold and full of bacteria, and you know I’m prone to conjunctivitis.

BOBBY:  And my underwear are prone to static cling when I get near electricity.

NATHANIEL:  And the turtles keep stealing my soap.

MW:  Well… stop dropping it.

NATHANIEL:  MW, you gotta stop this mandate.  I’m a fire breaking dragon.  How am I gonna convert to electricity? How?!

MW:  Look, guys, this new mandate has nothing to do with me.  This is a governmental sorta, kinda… type thing.

BOBBY:  Yeah, right.  I heard you run things around this place?

MW:  What place?

BOBBY: WormHole Square.

MW:  Not really.

NATHANIEL: MW, this is really going to have an adverse affect on my day to day dragon activities.

MW:  Not really, Nathaniel.  You’ll still be able to lay waste to villages, towns, and hamlets.  But after converting to electric, you’ll be able to do it in a much more climate friendly manner.

NATHANIEL:  Yeah right.

MW:  What about you, Bobby?  Don’t you want to do your part to combat global warming?

Bobby is skeptical, thinks for a second and the has a small revelation.

BOBBY:  Wait a second, here, MW.  Don’t you draw cartoons and stupid shit all day?

MW:  Yeah… but what’s with the… and stupid shit stuff?  What’s your point?

BOBBY:  You use paper right?

MW: Right… and?

BOBBY:  And paper is made out of trees right?

MW:  Right, and I know where this is headed.

NATHANIEL: So cutting all them trees down only makes it worse, because trees remove… helium from the atmosphere and then…

BOBBY: … And then the helium gets soaked into their barks and then… fluoride is released back into the atmosphere.

MW: I think you idiots mean trees remove carbon dioxide from the air and then release oxygen back into the atmosphere.

BOBBY:  Whatever!

NATHANIEL:  Yeah, whatever!

MW:  But your point is well taken.  So… I’ll make a deal with you guys.  If you agree to convert to electric, I’ll do my part as well.

Nathaniel and Bobby look at each other skeptically, and then back at MW.

NATHANIEL:  Okay, I’ll convert.

BOBBY: Yeah, fuck it.

MW:  Thanks, guys!  I thank you, the planet and future generations thank you.  And for my part… from this day forth, I’m gonna start using a solar powered pencil.

THEND

                 Wizard Of WormHole Square City

 

WIZARD:  Sorry folks, I’m all out of brains, hearts, and courage.  Can I interest you all in some NFT’s, crypto currency, or WormHole Square City time shares?

MW:  What?   No, we’re not interested in any of that stuff.  Bento here,    ( points to Bento ) needs a new actuator for one of his knees.

BENTO:  I got a fucked up knee, Doc.  Sometimes it gets so bad that I walk around like Jack Sparrow after doing an 8 ball.

MW:  And Indigo here, wants… ah (embarrassed ). Actually, I’ll let her tell you herself.

INDIGO:  Indigo needs a wireless self pleasuring device… with voice activation.  You feel me, Mr. Wizard, sir?

WIZARD:  Indeed.

MW: And I want…

WIZARD: Want, want, want, who am I, Santa Claus around this motherfu- ?

BENTO: No, no, no, we’re not saying that.

INDIGO:  We’re not saying that at all.

MW: What we’re saying is… MW wants a copy of Supertramp’s Breakfast In America… on eight track.

WIZARD: Nawwww, sorry, I don’t think I can help you with that or any of your requests.

MW: Damn.

WIZARD:  Sorry, but like I said, maybe you folks would consider some WormHole Square City timeshares instead.  Or perhaps dare to wade into the cryto currency waters.

INDIGO: What, no! We came all the way here to WormHole Square City because we heard you were a great and powerful wizard who could grant our requests!

WIZARD:  Who told you that?

MW:  Are you even a real wizard?!

BENTO:  Yeahhhhhh, who are you?  Are you catfishing us right now?!

WIZARD:  No, no, no, this is no catfishing scenario, I assure you, my good man.  And yes, I am a real wizard.

INDIGO:  No, you strike me more as a feckless warlock who’s on the down low.

WIZARD:  No, I assure you, I am a wizard.

MW:  Then what’s the problem, dude?  Why can’t you grant our respective requests?

INDIGO: Yeah!

BENTO:  Yeah.

WIZARD:   Well, it’s quite a complicated mechanism concerning the power brokers on the City Council… and the trustees inside the Lollipop Guild, etcetra, so forth and so on, you understand.

MW:  We must certainly do not fucking understand that sideways jibberish!

INDIGO:  You’re suppose to be all powerful.

BENTO:  You’re supposed to be the shit around here!

WIZARD:  Well, sir, despite my reputation preceding me, I assure you, I am not the proverbial shit around here… or anywhere else for that matter.  I’m sorry.

INDIGO:  So… you mean, I’m not going to get my voice activated wireless self pleasuring device?

WIZARD:  I’m afraid not, my dear.  I’m sorry.

BENTO:  And I’m not going to get my titanium micro lateral actuator for my left knee?

WIZARD:  I’m afraid not.

MW:  And I’m not gonna get Breakfast In America on 8 track?

WIZARD:  No, I’m sorry.

BENTO:  You’re sorry?  Is that all you can say… you’re sorry?  You have any idea what we had to go through to get here?

WIZARD:  Ahh, not really.

INDIGO: Lions and tigers and…

WIZARD:  …bears?

MW:  No… Baltimore.

WIZARD:  Oh my… God!

BENTO:  Yeah, G, we had to go through Baltimore to get here and all you have to offer us is sorry excuses.

The Wizard’s attitude completely changes from dismal to upbeat.

WIZARD: Baltimore… well why didn’t you say so?

INDIGO:  You’ve been there?

WIZARD:  Hellllllllll no, what are you crazy?   But I’ve heard stories from  folks who have been through that particular stretch of alternative landscape and lived to tell about it.   And these feats are tantamount to the heroic feats of the bravest and most noble warriors of both past and contemporary times.  Dare I say, even more noble than vanquishing wicked witches.  So because of your collective indomitable sprit and valiant efforts, what I’m going to do is grant each and everyone of your requests…

INDIGO: Really?!

WIZARD: Ahhhh… sort of.  What I mean to say is… ahh, in lieu of granting you actually requests…  ( pulls coupons out of his vest pocket ) please accept these coupons on behalf of all the citizens of WormHole Square City.  Good at any brick and mortar store and online, including Amazon.  Give them the special wizardry QR code at the bottom to access any item currently available… and save 25% off!

INDIGO: Twenty five percent off?

MW:  You mean we still have to pay for this stuff?  We assumed it would be free.

WIZARD:  Free?  C’mon, a brother has to make a little on the side.  A wizard’s overhead is quite challenging in these time.  You understand, right?

The trio reluctantly capitulates.

WIZARD:  Now… have you made a decision on those timeshares?

 

 THEND

 

                  Conjoined Twins, Double Agent

A BAR.  MW sits at stool.  His Siamese twin, NOEL, who is attached to him at the lower back, is playing a CELLO.

MW: ( whisper) Quiet, Noel, you’re gonna blow my cover!

NOEL: Oh, please, why is it always about you?  We’re conjoined twins and we’re supposed to have equal time enjoying our different interests.

MW:  I understand that, Noel.  But at the moment, I’m on a top secret mission to catch an international illegal arms dealer.

NOEL: ( chuckles ) Hmmm, you might mean an under arms dealer.  Did you put on deodora-?

MW: Shut up!

NOEL:  And by the looks of this joint, about the only thing you’re gonna catch in here is an international case of scabies.

MW: Will you stop playing that damn thing.  You’re gonna blow my cover!

NOEL: Never in the history of time has Bach’s Cello Suite No. 4 in E flat major, ever blown anyone’s cover.

MW:  You don’t know that.  Somewhere back in the 17th century, there could have been a double agent trying to uncover a ring of blasphemers, witches, and, or, market stall coupon abusers…

Noel stops playing the cello.

NOEL:  Market stall coupon abusers?

MW: Yeah, and then as soon as the double agent was about to get the evidence on the blasphemers, witches, and, or, market stall coupon abusers… somebody starts playing Bach’s Cello Suite Number 5-

NOEL: Number 4.

MW: Number 4… in E flat minor.

NOEL: Major.

MW: Major… and everyone is thinking how strange that is… because up until then, they’ve only been playing covers songs of Tom Petty… on the lute.  Red flag raised, cover blown!

BARTENDER:  Did they play Free Falling?  I love that song.

The other seated Patron tunes into the conversation.  His name is DOUG.

DOUG:  What about Runaway Train?  Did they play that?

BARTENDER: ( to Doug ) That’s not Tom Petty, that’s Soul Asylum?

Doug:  You sure?

BARTENDER:  Yep.

MW:  It doesn’t matter, it’s all theoretical!

The Bartender and Doug nod to themselves respectively.  Doug returns to his drink, and the Bartenders goes back to making a drink for another patron.

NOEL: Look, MW, all I’m asking for is a little more equity for the things I like to do.  Today is Monday.  Monday is my scheduled day to play my cello, and you’re taking that away from me, because you want to spy on some dude selling illegal shotguns.

MW:  Not shotguns, he’s selling illegal rocket launchers.

BARTENDER:  Who is this guy, the Coyote?

MW: How do you know that name?  Are you involved in this?

BARTENDER:  No, man, I was talking about the Coyote on the Roadrunner cartoon show.  We used to play that shit every Saturday afternoon, here at Blizz’s.  Customers loved it.

MW:  Wait, the name of this place is Blizz?

BARTENDER:  Yeah.

NOEL: Yes, MW, ( points across the room ) it’s right there in bright neon fucking letters… BLIZZ.

MW turns, sees the name… BLIZZ.

MW:  Shit.

NOEL:  Let me guess, we’re in the wrong fucking place?

MW: ( begrudgingly ) Yeah.

MW dismounts from his stool, heads out with Noel dangling from his back, the cello dragging behind them.  Noel plays Runaway Train on the cello as they reach the door and then exit.

Doug hums along.

DOUG:  I could have sworn that was Tom Petty.

 

THEND

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                              LITTLE FRIEND

 

TONY: Say heylooo to my little-

A small BOX TURTLE peaks his head out from behind a box.  This is ELSNORE.

ELSNORE: Hello, everyone, my name is –

GUN FIRE is heard outside the door.

ELSNORE: Okaaay, what is happening here?!

TONY:  Don’tchu worry about nothin’ man.  No prolens.

ELSNORE:  Are you sure, Tony?  It sounds like at least 99 problems on the other side of that door.

TONY:  Yeah, maybe 99 cockaaroaches!  But I take care of theen.  They don’t know who dey fuckin’ wit’!

ELSNORE: Yeah, I think they do know.  They’ve been specifically calling you out by your name for several minutes now.

TONY:   Okay, maybe, but when they fuck wit me, they fuckin’ wit de bes!

ELSNORE:  Yeah, I don’t think so.

TONY:  Whatchu talkin’ bout, mainnn?!

ELSNORE:  Tony, I’m your little friend and I love you but…

TONY:  But wha?

ELSNORE:  If you’re talking about being a drug lord and running a successful, sustainable, multi-million dollar empire, then no.  No, you’re not the best.

TONY:  That’s hurtful.  That’s reelly hurtful.  And I disaglee, becuus I an de best.

ELSNORE:  Okay, maybe if you’re talking about getting high on your own supply of coke.  Yes, you are the best at that.   No argument here.

TONY:  No that.

ELSNORE:  Yes, that.  And if you talking about portraying a Cuban drug lord with an over the top caricaturistic Spanish accent, then yes, you are the best at that.

TONY:  Oh my godddddd, sonn frien chu are, mainn.

ELSNORE:   I’m just keeping it real, Tony.

TONY:  I showchu real!

Tony aims his bazooka and blows the bedroom door to smithereens.

ELSNORE:  See, that’s what I’m talking about.

TONY:  Wha?

ELSNORE:  Why blow the door open, when you could have simply opened it like a normal human being?

TONY:  I’m making a point, Elsnore!  I’m Tony-fucking- Monta-

ELSNORE:  Let me stop you there.  You’re more like Tony the Tiger… but you’re not “great” at that either.

TONY:   I’ll showchu who’s great!

Tony walks out of the room through the blown out door way.  From the hallway we hear….

TONY:  Fuckchu cockaaaroaches!!!

GUNFIRE.  A Pause and then Tony plunges into the water fountain below

SPLASH!

THEND

 

 

 

MW sits alone contemplating some of the most important questions ever posed to human beings.  A joint dangles from his fingers, smoke adding cosmic curls to his hair and the atmosphere.

MW:  (thinking)  Sooooooooo… is God a man or a woman?  Is God made of flesh and bones?  And what would SpongeBob Square Pants look like with a BBL?

Suddenly… POOF!

MW:  God?

GOD:  Yes, my son – well maybe… for sure probably, well, depending on whatever your weed is broadcasting to you right about now.

MW:  Cool.  Actually, this is not weed.  It’s incense.

GOD:  Incense?

MW:  Yeah, it’s got some of the cremated ashes of Jimmy Hoffa in it, combined with a sprinkle or two of soot from the window sill of a Tibetan monastery.  And I never smoke it.  I just light it up and let the smoke do its thing.

GOD:  Okay, so… to answer you first question; I am neither man nor woman.  I am non-binary.  At least I am this week.  I change up from time to time.  Last week I was a Whirling Dervish NFT.

MW:  Nice.

GOD:  To answer you second question, I am of neither flesh nor bones.  I consist mostly of spirit, watered down Red Bull, and the crumbs of two hundred and eighty-seven Olive Garden breadsticks.

MW: Awesome.

GOD: And to answer your third question…

MW:  Hmmmmm?  Nahhhhhh, that BBL’s not a good look.

GOD:  I agree.

MW:  And it’s not practical.   How can he cook Krabby Patties if he has to drag that big-asssssss….

GOD: Ass…?

MW: Around.

GOD:  Right.  All settled then.  Any more questions before I go?

MW:  Nope, I’m good, your deityness.

GOD:  Okay, and by the way, you don’t have any of Hoffa’s cremated ashes in your weed.

MW: Incense.

GOD:  Yeah, that.  Hoffa’s alive and well.

MW:  No shit?

GOD:  He’s working as a manager in a bowling alley.  Not gonna say where.

MW:  Okay.  ( thinks ) Then who’s cremated ashes are in my incense?

GOD:  ( sniffs )  Not sure.

MW:  But you’re God.  You’re suppose to know all the answers.

GOD:  Well, I don’t.  I can’t even qualify to get on the Jeopardy game show.  Tried six times.  I have trouble with certain categories like, World History and 80’s Rappers.

MW:  Me too, God, me too.  So don’t beat yourself up about it.

GOD:  ( nods ) Anyway.  Be good, my son.

MW:  No worries, your deityness, no worries.

POOF!   God disappears.

MW is left alone as he was before.  He ponders, ruminates as the smoke from his incense swirls around him.

MW: ( thinking ) What is funky cold medina exactly?

 

 

THEND