The New Don't Steal Show: Episode IX

`(Thursday April 26, 2012. Janie Smuthers and I tour a planetarium.) Smuthers: I still don't understand about the aging. Wouldn't they age the same? Myself: Yes, but in different conditions. Because time is slowed down by the great speed at which he travels through space, the astronaut ages slower than his wife back home on Earth. Were she able to see through the walls of his spaceship with a telescope, to her eyes he would appear almost frozen. But inside the vessel, the passing of time would seem normal. A thousand-year voyage would pass as though it were only a few months. (We come to a space capsule with its hatch ajar. An overhead sign reads 'Time Capsule: 1969'. I enter the capsule and sit down in the pilot's chair to tie my laces. Smuthers follows me in and sits next to me in the co-pilot's chair.) Smuthers: And why are you telling me this? Myself: To explain how the technology to leap forward in time exists right now. Smuthers: Why? Myself: Because I think I may have made such a leap. Smuthers: You went into the future? To where? Myself: To Saturday morning. Smuthers: Ha! That's a good one. Myself: Just listen. This is the last place I remember being before weird things started happening. Smuthers: What weird things? Myself: When I went to the library to update one of my blogs, the work had already been done. Smuthers: What if you just did it and forgot about it? Myself: Impossible. I would know. And look at this. (I hold out a hand for inspection.) Callouses from guitar playing. But I haven't picked up the thing in almost a week. Smuthers: What about that cabinet you sanded? Myself: That wouldn't do anything to my hands. And get this. I put my earplugs in on Friday night to block out the hooting and hollering. (I pull out my earplugs, show them to her, and tuck them in my shirt pocket.) Smuthers: I thought you said there was a jackhammer running non-stop in front of your building all week. Myself: Yes, but the worker never shouted a word. (Commercial.) (I familiarize myself with the controls.) Myself: In the movie the time engine was activated by pushing on a lever. (I crank the lever forward.) Smuthers: That won't do anything. Myself: (looking around) Maybe you're right. Could you go get us some coffees? I'll wait here and double-check. (I hand her a coin. Exit Smuthers.) (Enter a uniformed guard.) Guard: May I see your pass? Myself: You want to check my ticket? (I show the guard my fare.) Guard: That won't do. All citizens must carry their passes with them at all times. Do you have documentation for that vehicle? Myself: Vehicle? It's a public display. Guard: It is unlawful to operate a vehicle without a license. Myself: What? I wasn't driving it. I was only sitting in it. Guard: Yeah? Well you can tell it to your lawyer. (He reaches for his truncheon.) Myself: Now just hold on there. Guard: I'm afraid you're going to have to come with me. Myself: What did I do? Guard: Don't make me use this on you. (Enter Smuthers running. She jumps back into her chair and grabs the lever. With a pull, the threatening guard vanishes.) Myself: You look traumatized. What happened? Smuthers: (between huffs and puffs) It was awful. They changed their name from Sunrise to Nemesis. Death metal played softly and everyone glowered at me as I chose two 'Grande Mussolini's' from the menu. Myself: You poor dear! Smuthers: And that's not the worst of it. I saw something evil back there; something that would have made life in that time unbearable. I won't forget it as long as I live. Myself: Good heavens! What did you see? Smuthers: Artificial sweetener. (Commercial.) Boy: Hey, how long are you going to stay in there, mister? Myself: Now look. I'm onto something very important here. The fate of the world could very well hang in the balance. Boy: You've used up your time. Smuthers: Maybe we should let him have his turn. Myself: We can't let him in here! We must protect this machine from falling into the wrong hands! Boy: Let me in. Myself: Why don't you explore some of the other fascinating exhibits? Boy: Because this one's of special interest to me. Myself: Well, I can't let you in here. Boy: Why not? Myself: Because you're too young for it. Boy: Too young? Myself: That's right. I can't just let a child loose in here, pushing buttons for sport. It could change history from the way it is supposed to unfold in the future. Now go away! This ship is no toy! Boy: You don't understand. I must get back in there. I'm seventy-four years old. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Commercial: The Shortcut Guide to Success (A mother and her son watch a war movie on television.) Son: Mom, can I be a war hero too? Mother: Maybe if you work hard, you can be one when you grow up. Son: Aw! I want to be a one now! Announcer: Who says it takes a lifetime to achieve something historic? Get your glory when you want it with The Shortcut, the handy new guide to success in the modern world. (An army recruiting centre. The boy is interviewed by an officer.) Announcer: Learn how to wow them with your credentials. Officer: You know, we don't normally put children in charge of fleets, but I can see from your resume that you are more than qualified. Announcer: Discover how to make helpful connections. (The Pentagon. A staff meeting is interrupted when one of the generals receives a giant birthday cake. A girl jumps out of it to hand him a note.) General: (reading) Happy Birthday, General. (smiling) I'm going to have to thank that boy. Announcer: No matter how far you go, The Shortcut will get you there. (On board a ship during a battle.) First Officer: Sir, the captain of the enemy ship wants to know what kind of flowers he should send to your mother for your funeral. Boy: (Poring nervously over his copy of The Shortcut) Shut up! Can't you see I'm trying to concentrate? Announcer: Save your struggle for when you've already made it. Take The Shortcut. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ (Saturday April 28, 2012. The time capsule display.) Myself: (pushing buttons on the control panel) It took me two days, but I've managed to set the telemetry for Thursday April 26, 2012. Smuthers: I thought you said we can only travel forward in time. Myself: Yes, but time is round. If you go forward far enough, you hit the past. Smuthers: It is not. Myself: It is, and this will prove it. Now the success of this experiment depends on perfect execution in a tightly controlled environment. The slightest disturbance of these delicate instruments could steer us into a disaster of cataclysmic proportions. So don't make a move as I take the lever. Smuthers: I wish you hadn't told me that. Myself: What's the problem? Smuthers: I have to sneeze. Myself: Then do it now. Smuthers: I can't. Myself: Why not? Smuthers: I can only sneeze when I'm not supposed to. Myself: Try holding it in. (I reach for the lever.) Smuthers: I can't. Ah… ah… Myself: For God's sake, it's all in your mind! Now pull yourself together or we may never get out of here! Smuthers: Okay. I'm in control. Myself: You're not going to sneeze? Smuthers: I'll breathe through my mouth. Myself: That's better. (I take the lever and start to pull it back when Smuthers goes into a coughing fit, hitting my arm and sending the capsule into a Paleozoic landscape.) Smuthers: Sorry about that. It couldn't be helped. I'm allergic to museum dust. Myself: I hope you're not allergic to dinosaurs. (Commercial.)
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The New Don't Steal Show: Episode VIII

(A dilapidated alley.) Myself: We've been doing a lot of comedy in the last few shows, so tonight I thought we'd take a turn and discuss a question that might appeal to our more serious viewers: how to become a star. Smuthers: Ha! That's a laugh! Myself: What's so funny about it? Smuthers: If you were a star, we wouldn't be in an alleyway. Myself: You don't have to be a star to talk about it. Smuthers: Are you sure you're not jeopardizing my safety by taking me to a place like this? Myself: What do you mean? Look around you. We have it all to ourselves. Smuthers: I see it. It's unsightly. Look at that cardboard box on the ground. Myself: That? You just kick it out of the way. (I kick the box and it gives out a muffled cry of pain. A hobo emerges from it with his hands behind his head in surrender as Smuthers recoils.) Hobo: Take me to my bed, officers. Myself: We're not cops. Hobo: You're not? Damn! Smuthers: See that? And it's smelly. Myself: (finding a spray-can) That must be what this is for. I'll just give it a spray. (I release a jet of the compound into the air, causing the hobo to pounce on me.) Hobo: Hey, what are you doing! (He tears the can from my grasp.) (Commercial.) (Smuthers and I on makeshift chairs.) Myself: Now not all stars are musicians or actors. Some of them are athletes. And here's a gal who takes the show biz expression 'Break a leg!' literally, figure skating champ, Sonya Hardy! (In glides Hardy, building to a double lutz before taking her seat on a milk carton.) Myself: I bet you're not afraid of being in an alley. Hardy: If anyone tries anything funny, I'll give em a taste of this. (She brandishes brass knuckles.) Myself: Nice. Hardy: Wanna see 'em up close? Myself: No, thank you. We just want to talk. Do you have any advice for people like yourself out there who are trying to make it? Hardy: If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. Someone's in your way, you take care of them at night, attacking from the rear. Make sure no one sees you. (Smuthers reaches for a piece of scrap metal.) What 'cha got your hand on there, Missy? Smuthers: (gripping the object firmly) This? This is just to club the rats with. Myself: Miss Hardy, don't you think the competition is getting out of hand when people are carried off to the hospital in stretchers? Hardy: It happens in football. Myself: (confounded) I guess you're right. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Commercial: The School of the Deforming Arts (Postcard image of the campus with its sign in the foreground.) Announcer: Looking to beef up your arts eduction? Put that high kick to use in the School of the Deforming Arts. (An auditorium. A dance instructor in top hat and cane delivers her lecture.) Instructor: If you want to make it to the top of the dance profession, you need the right hardware. (She slides the stem of the cane off to expose a deadly knife.) Announcer: Cut down the competition. (A classroom. Wires run out of a piano for a physics lesson by a lab-coated science professor with a German accent.) Professor: And so the charge will only be detonated on the last note of the melody he will play - as long as he doesn't make a mistake and end it on the wrong note Announcer: Give explosive performances. (An outdoor concert. All goes up in flames as jet engines roar overhead. Switch to a group of students in combat fatigues. One of them peers through binoculars and taps the other on the shoulder. The other pulls out a walkie-talkie.) Student: (into walkie-talkie) Roger that. We have just received visual confirmation that the payload has reached its target. Announcer: Learn the hottest new techniques in the business. (Target practice with assault rifles.) Announcer: Enlist in the School of the Deforming Arts. And don't just aim for stardom, shoot for it. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ (The improvised guest chair lies open.) Smuthers: That was tense. I hope your next guest is a little less physically threatening. Myself: You've got to expect that from ambitious athletes, but our next guest is just an actress. Smuthers: That's a relief. Myself: Here to tell us how to be a star, teen idol, Loni Lonnigan! (In struts Lonnigan. She pulls the milk carton in and straddles it.) Myself: Miss Lonnigan, do let me apologize for the humble accommodations. I know you're used to a lot better. Lonnigan: Who's the bimbo? Myself: Are you referring to my assistant, Janie Smuthers? Lonnigan: I don't like the way she's looking at me. Myself: Janie, stop looking at her like that. Smuthers: I'm not doing anything! Lonnigan: Tell her to stop squealing or I'll have to do a number on her. Myself: A musical number? Smuthers: You and whose army? Lonnigan: That does it! We're in an alley, eh? How convenient. (She rolls up her sleeves.) Smuthers: (tapping her free hand with her rat club) Oh yeah? Well I don't need to hide in alleyways, but if you went down in public, the people would cheer. (The girls get up from their chairs, forcing me to stand between them.) Myself: Ladies! Ladies! Control yourselves! Smuthers: If she makes a move, she's getting it with this. Lonnigan: Fuck you, bitch! (She lunges for Smuthers. Smuthers raises her weapon.) Myself: No! (The girls push me out of the way, drop their arms and embrace in a warm hug.) What in the world? Smuthers: You were always such a kidder! Lonnigan: I think about you every day. (Commercial.) Myself: If I were to gather anything from our show so far, it's that you have to be tough to survive in show business. Doesn't it make you wonder, Janie? Smuthers: Wonder about what? Myself: About whether it's fair to the talent. You can be talented without being tough. Smuthers: I don't pity them. Myself: Why not? Smuthers: They have too much talent. Myself: Right. Well, Wailin' Will is a popular independent artist who says that he sometimes fears for his life because of his talent. And here he is to tell us more! (Enter an impostor.) Myself: You're not Wailin' Will. Impostor: Yes, I am. Myself: You don't look anything like him. Impostor: Plastic surgery. This is my new look. Myself: You're three inches shorter. Impostor: I'm just not in my platforms. Myself: Your voice is different. Impostor: I had laryngitis before, but it's all cleared up now. Myself: You're not Wailin' Will. I went to school with Wailin' Will. Impostor: Sure I am. (to Smuthers:) Don't you recognize me, baby? Smuthers: Keep away from me! (A sawed off shotgun falls out of the impostor's pocket.) Impostor: (putting the weapon back in his coat) Go ahead. Ask me a question. Myself: All right. What have you done with the body? (Commercial.)
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The New Don't Steal Show: Episode VII

(A television studio.) Smuthers: What kind of people did you invite for us tonight? Myself: What makes you think people are coming? Smuthers: Don't tell me we're having another show with no guests. Myself: What makes you think the guests will be people? Smuthers: Uh because they can talk? Myself: Gods can talk. Smuthers: Gods? You invited gods to the show? Myself: Yes, I did. That's why we're in a real TV studio today. Wouldn't want them to feel disrespected. Smuthers: You're talking about rock stars, right? Myself: No. Gods. Smuthers: How did you do that? Myself: By believing in them. Gods can't appear unless you believe in them. Smuthers: What if I don't believe in them? Myself: It doesn't matter as long as I believe in them. Smuthers: So where are they? Myself: They'll be along. (The floor shakes and dust falls from the ceiling.) Smuthers: Oh no! An earthquake! Myself: Don't panic. It's just our first guest. (A beautiful charioteer in flowing garments brings her winged horse to rest on the stage and takes a seat as the audience cheers. Presenting… the goddess, Magnesia! (Trumpet blast.) Myself: Thank you for joining us, Your Highness. Magnesia: My pleasure. It feels good to be believed in again. Myself: How long has it been since they last erected a temple in your honour? Magnesia: About two and a half millennia. Myself: What a shame. Magnesia: Oh, I understand. You mortals like to do things for yourself. Myself: And you were once the chief goddess of philosophy. Magnesia: Yes. That's why ancient philosophy is so advanced. Aristotle swore by me. Myself: So now that you can no longer meddle in our affairs, how do you gods pass the time? Magnesia: Gambling mostly. We place bets with each other on the outcomes of your wars and athletic competitions. We can still see all from our celestial perch in Mount Olympus. Myself: And here's a question that only you might know the answer to. Why do bad things happen to good people? Magnesia: (rising to leave) And now I must be off. Myself: But you're the goddess of philosophy! Magnesia: (boarding her chariot and taking the reins) I'm also the goddess of regularity. Wouldn't want to be late for my appointment with the hair stylist. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Commercial: Tasty Pastries (A classroom.) Teacher: And the gods were so angry at Prometheus for stealing their fire that they gouged out his eyes, spun him around, and made him play pin the tail on the porcupine with a live porcupine. You may now break for lunch. (The children get up from their desks.) (At the table in the cafeteria.) Girl: Is that pastry? Boy: Yeah. So? Girl: My grandpa said that pastry was the food of the gods. You better not eat it or you might wind up like Prometheus. Boy: Aw, that's just a lot of hooey! (He bites spitefully into his danish.) Girl: Don't say I didn't warn you. (The next morning on the way to school.) Girl#2: Is that Kevin? Girl: I think so. Girl#2: Why is he tied naked to a tree as a bird pecks at his liver? Girl: Probably something he ate. (Product shot.) Announcer: Tasty Pastries. Because what the gods don't know won't hurt you. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Myself: Up next is a person well known for his gods-given superhuman strength - though he never had to work in a warehouse, stacking ranges by hand. The mighty Hercules! (Trumpet blast.) (A gushing wind accompanies Hercules as he descends gracefully to the stage, landing squarely on his sandals. He takes his seat as Smuthers drools.) Myself: No chariot? Hercules: I prefer to land on my own two feet. Why was I summoned here? Myself: Because the people have a burning question that only you can answer. Hercules: Ask it then. Myself: Was Newton gay? Hercules: Gay? Well he wasn't as merry as Toot… Myself: Sorry. I forgot that you might not be up to date with modern colloquialisms. Gay means homosexual. Hercules: What does homosexual mean? Myself: It's when boys have sex with other boys. Hercules: Oh. That was so widely practised that we had no word for it. We just called it love. But Newton wasn't a boy. He was a centaur. Myself: I know. But you must admit that he had a rather suspect laugh. Hercules: I'm not sure he even had a reproductive organ. Myself: And you? Hercules: Yes? Myself: You were never tempted by that cute little furry behind wiggling in front of you all the time? Hercules: Great Zeus! I wouldn't do that to Newton! Why, he's like my own stallion's son. Myself: Then why are you single? Women are crazy about you. Do you suffer from some sort of dysfunction? Hercules: Is that what you think? I'll rape this mortal right in front of you if you need a demonstration. Smuthers: (swooning) O-o-oh! Hercules: I simply decided to stay single after the disastrous results of my last relationship. Myself: (skeptically) Sure. And with whom was that? Hercules: Helen of Troy. (Commercial.) Myself: And now… the Romans called him Bacchus, the Americans called him Jim Morrison… He's the god of drunken revelry and he's always out looking for a good time… I give you… Dionysus! (The god appears in a billowing plume of green smoke as the Beastie Boys' Fight for Your Right to Party blasts through the loudspeakers.) Myself: Thank you for being here. Dionysus: I wouldn't miss it, Dave. We're very fond of your music, you know. It's great for partying and dancing. Myself: Did you hear that, Janie? The gods celebrate my music! Cool! Which songs do you party to? Dionysus: Well, let's see. There's that one about being too old. Myself: Careful? That's not a party song. That's a slow, tragic ballad about some of my worst suffering. Dionysus: It rocks. And then there's that one about how they laughed at your heartache as they made fun of you. Myself: Whiner? Don't you think it's a little too painful sounding for a get-together? Dionysus: Not at all. Myself: Well, I won't question a god on his musical tastes. Dionysus: Smart boy. Myself: Too bad you gods have to take a back seat to Jesus now. Dionysus: Yes, well, we tried to put up a fight when he got into that boat with his disciples, but he calmed the storm on us. That's when we knew we were licked. Myself: Are you bitter about it? Dionysus: Not really. You're in good hands. I can do a lot, but turning water into wine? God knows how that's accomplished. (Commercial.)
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The New Don't Steal Show: Episode VI

(A saloon.) Myself: Janie, why do women like men who are rebels? Smuthers: Why do you ask? Myself: Because it doesn't agree with their biological programming. They want a mate who can give them security and comfort. Smuthers: Programming? Where did you get that from? The Stepford Wives? Myself: Do you like guys who are rebels? Smuthers: It depends. Myself: On what? Smuthers: On how much money they have. Myself: Perhaps I should rephrase the question. Why do women like wealthy, rebellious men more than wealthy, conformist men? Smuthers: I don't know. More interesting, perhaps? Myself: Well then it's bound to be an interesting show tonight because our guests are all rebels. Smuthers: Is that why we're in a bar, drinking ginger ale? Myself: No. That's just because I'm poor. Oh look. Here comes our first guest. (Enter a captivating blonde. She pulls up a stool and orders a drink. I smile in appreciation as Smuthers glares at me.) Glad you could make it. Smuthers: Aren't you going to introduce her? Myself: Oh uh… (reading my notes) Gretchen Fetchin, thank you for joining us. (Fetchin and I exchange smiles.) Smuthers: Aren't you going to tell us what kind of a rebel she is? Fetchin: I'm a nudist. Smuthers: I see. Myself: I think nudists are among the most morally advanced rebels. Fetchin: Thank you. Smuthers: I don't. Myself: You dare to contradict me in front of a guest? This better be good. Smuthers: I think clothes are an improvement on most people. Myself: Philistine! Smuthers: But I'll grant you that she is a rebel. Fetchin: I don't see myself that way. I only shed my clothes among other nudists. A real rebel would have come to this bar in the nude. Smuthers: You did. Fetchin: But I'm dressed! Smuthers: Not in his eyes. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Commercial: Yum Yum Sugar Sauce (A suburban home. A little girl plays with her doll. Enter the man of the house, home from work.) Girl: (running over to greet him with a hug) Daddy! Daddy! Father: Hi baby! And here's something for my favourite girl. (He hands her a lollipop. She pulls the wrapper off and gives it a lick, but seems disappointed.) Father: What's the matter, precious? Girl: It's not sweet enough. Announcer: We at Yum Yum Food Products know that you want to make your children happy. And we also know that they love sugar. That's why we developed a sauce that can turn any meal into a rich dessert. (He takes out a dispenser of Yum Yum and pours it on the candy for the girl.) Father: (handing back the lolli) Try it now. Girl: Mmmm! Yum! Yum! Announcer: Once your children have tasted our sauce, they'll want to use it on everything they eat. Let the dentist worry about their teeth. (Father and daughter at the dentist's office. The child sits on the chair with her mouth open as the dentist peers in. He turns to the father with a grave expression.) Father: Bad news, Doc? Dentist: I'm afraid so. Father: Braces? Dentist: No. Dentures. Announcer: Sweeten the meal with Yum Yum Sugar Sauce. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Myself: Our next guest is an Irishman, Mister Shane Shaughnessy! (Enter Shaughnessy.) Myself: Thank you for being here. Shaughnessy: You're welcome. Why am I here? Myself: Because you're a rebel. Shaughnessy: What makes you say that? Myself: You're Irish. Shaughnessy: You think that makes me a rebel? Myself: Didn't your people rebel against the English? Shaughnessy: Yes, but we were just defending ourselves. We didn't go into their land and starve half of their people to death. Myself: No, but you attacked Newfoundland. Shaughnessy: They were trying to steal all our jigs! But when you give the Irish a fair chance, they're model citizens. Wasn't law and order kept by Irish police officers in your country for the better part of a century? Myself: No, you're thinking of New York City there. But I see your point. Shaughnessy: You shouldn't stereotype people like that. Now give us a pint. Myself: All I can afford is ginger ale. Shaughnessy: Fine. I can use it as a chaser. (He pulls out a forty-ounce bottle of liquor from his coat, unscrews the cap, and guzzles it as Smuthers looks at him in horror.) (Commercial.) Myself: He's the ultimate rebel and an excellent pilot, to boot. Here on a six-week furlough from his duties at the rebel stronghold, it's Duke Flypaper! (Enter Flypaper in his flight suit, holding his space helmet at his side.) Smuthers: How did you get him? Flypaper: Dave knows how to use the source. Smuthers: How did you learn that? Myself: My uncle was a Knight of Columbus. Still, I'm surprised you could make it, Duke. I heard that that evil empire is building another dearth star. Flypaper: Actually, I came on business. There's another doomsday machine, far more destructive than any dearth star, that exists right here on your world. Myself: Worse than a dearth star? It must be pretty bad. Flypaper: It is. It threatens the integrity of the whole universe. Myself: Wow! What is it? Flypaper: Muzak. (Commercial.)
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The New Don't Steal Show: Episode V

(My small room. I sleep on my cot. I don't hear her knocking and Janie Smuthers enters through the unlocked door. She pokes me a couple times to wake me, but I just roll over and show her my back. She rolls up a newspaper and whacks me over the head with it. No response. At last she decides to utter a word that is sure to accomplish her aim.) Smuthers: Klingons! Myself: (startled to conciousness) Where? Smuthers: Come on, get up. It's time to do another show. Myself: (groggily) Isn't it Saturday yet? Smuthers: Snap out of it! Your first guest will be here any minute. Myself: I didn't book any guests. Smuthers: What? Why not? Myself: (stretching) Didn't feel like it. (I lie back down.) Smuthers: How are you going to have a show without guests? Myself: The show's not about my guests. It's about my life. Smuthers: Well did you at least prepare a script so I have have something to say and don't have to stand here like a dummy for half an hour? Myself: The show writes itself out of my life experience. Smuthers: (eyeing my desolate surroundings) Or lack thereof. Myself: Besides, you're doing just fine. (I yawn and shut my eyes.) Smuthers: I'm going home if there's nothing for me to do here. (Someone knocks on the door.) Myself: Could you get that please? Smuthers: (complying with a look of bewilderment) Yes? Staff Person: Hotel Staff. (Smuthers looks back at me for guidance.) Myself: Let him in. (Enter staff person.) Staff Person: If you need to stay for another month, we can extend your lease. Myself: No thanks. Nothing against the building or management. This location is too crowded for me. Staff Person: Okay. Come see us to get your security deposit back at the end of the month. Myself: Thanks, Bill. (Exit staff.) Smuthers: Is that all you needed me for? Myself: Why don't you stick around and see what happens? Don't be so lazy. (Commercial.) (Smuthers and I play backgammon.) Smuthers: It's your turn. Myself: Could you roll the dice for me? Smuthers: Tsk! (She rolls.) Seven. What's gotten into you today? Myself: It might be more precise to ask what's gotten out of me. I feel so drained. For twenty years they've been milking my life for all it's worth and look where they leave me. And now some people think I'm old. But I wasn't old twenty years ago when they first started stealing my work and cashing it in behind my back. It's so demotivating. Smuthers: God will put it right. Myself: In this life or the next? Smuthers: Either way, you win. Myself: Maybe in this universe. But I wonder if there isn't some parallel universe out there where that band that ripped me off got to play on that show that ripped me off while I was subjected to unspeakable tortures in jail and everyone cheered; and as soon as I got out of jail, I killed myself and went to Hell for it. Do you know what they had people calling that creep who stole all my music? Jesus! Jesus, for Christ's sake! Makes me wonder about the kind of monsters who commit such crimes. I wonder if Satan promoted them out of Hell to a fleeting position of influence in this world, with the goal of dragging as many souls as possible back down to Hell with them. Jack the Ripper admitted that he was from Hell, you know. Smuthers: You sound depressed. Do you want your medication? Myself: That would be nice. (Smuthers gets up and pulls a box of Captain Crunch out of the cupboard. She prepares a bowl of the cereal and hands it to me.) Myself: Thank you. (A knock at the door.) Sigh! Could you get that please? (Smuthers goes over and opens the door.) Cleaning Lady: Cleaning lady. (Smuthers turns to me.) Myself: (between bites) That's all right, Margarita. No mess here. When you got nothing, you got nothing to clean. -------------------------------------------- Commercial: The Hot Seat (A warehouse. Two workers busy themselves in front of their supervisor.) Supervisor: We need this place shipshape and bristol fashion by lunch. I'll leave you to it. (Exit supervisor.) Worker #1: I thought he'd never leave. (He sits down and stretches his legs.) Aaah! Worker #2: Hey, that's not fair! Worker #1: I'll cover for you next time. Worker #2: I don't want cover. I want help. (Product shot resembling a heating coil.) Announcer: Tired of holding up the team? Get them up off their asses with the Hot Seat. (Worker #2 happily fits Worker #1's empty chair with the product.) Announcer: Easy to install and handled by remote control, the Hot Seat can make sitting down a bad decision in any chair. (The warehouse a few days later.) Worker #1: Time to relax… Do you smell something burning? (The fire alarm goes off, drawing the supervisor to the scene.) Supervisor: Where's that smoke coming from? Oh it's you! Who made this chair a Hot Seat? Worker #2: (holding remote control behind his back) Not me. Supervisor: Well if you can stand to sit on that, we have a place for you in the office. Come with me. (Exit Worker #1 and Supervisor.) Announcer: The Hot Seat. Burning for you. -------------------------------------------- Myself: What do you think of the show so far? Smuthers: I think it sucks. You should have put on a repeat instead of this. Myself: Which one isn't already a repeat? Smuthers: There's no theme. Myself: That is the theme. Smuthers: No guests. Myself: What do you call Bill and Margarita? Smuthers: Yes, but you need three guests. Myself: New format. The number of guests is no longer fixed. Smuthers: But you always have three guests. Myself: Coincidence. Smuthers: And there isn't enough humour. In fact, it's a little depressing. Myself: Mental illness can be contagious, you know. I think I got mine from the guy down the hall. Smuthers: You know, Dave, I hate to say it but this show is kind of… (She hesitates to complete the sentence.) Myself: Kind of what? Don't leave me in suspense. Smuthers: Kind of half-assed. Myself: What did you just say? Smuthers: Kind of - Myself: (making her wince) I KNOW WHAT YOU SAID! So that's my reward for twenty years of impossible hardships! I give out everything in my heart just to end up with an assistant that calls me half-assed! Take it back! Smuthers: Calm down! Myself: Take it back, I said! (I slide open the window and hang outside by my hands on the ledge, making Smuthers scream.) Take it back! Take it back! Smuthers: All right, I take it back! The show is not half-assed! Now get back in here! Myself: Can you help? (She pulls me back to safety and I lie back down on my cot.) You didn't have to say it, you know, if you didn't really mean it. Smuthers: I meant it, Dave. What you may lack in humour on rare occasions, you more than make up for with drama. (Commercial.)
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The New Don't Steal Show: Episode IV

(I take Smuthers into a bowling alley.) Smuthers: Oh well. I'm not keen on it, but I guess it's something to do. Myself: Now you know we can't afford those kinds of luxuries. Smuthers: Then why... Forget it. I'm not going to ask. Myself: Tell me, have you ever noticed how people who are hated often don't seem to know it? Smuthers: Not really. But it makes sense. Myself: Why? Smuthers: Because if they knew it, they'd do something about it and they wouldn't be hated. Myself: Ah, but they would need to know why they are hated first. Smuthers: Yeah, so? Myself: So tonight we're going to help a few assholes to learn why they are assholes so they can stop being assholes. Smuthers: How are you going to do that? Myself: By utilizing my formidable powers as a psychoanalyst. Smuthers: I thought your background was in internet development. Myself: It is. But I also sat through every episode of The Bob Newhart Show as a child. I've already figured out two of our scheduled guests from mere surface observations, but this first one will require an interview. He's just a regular kind of guy with a job in a warehouse, Bob Douglas! (Enter Douglas.) Myself: So Bob - Douglas: Robert. Myself: Sorry. Robert, I used to drive a forklift, myself. Douglas: So? Myself: So I thought we had something in common since you work in a warehouse. Douglas: You're making a poor association there. Myself: I am? Seems like every warehouse I've ever worked in had at least one forklift. Douglas: Not every warehouse has a forklift. I resent the kind of stereotypes caused by presumptuous people like you. Myself: But you listed your forklift ticket with your credentials on your sheet. Douglas: Impossible. Myself: (thrusting the paper in front of his eyes) Look! There it is in your own hand! Douglas: More presumptions. How do you know I wrote that? Myself: (after taking a moment to size up my guest) The sky is blue. Douglas: Actually, blue is just the colour of our atmosphere. The sky's true colour - Myself: Robert, would you like to know why you have no friends? Douglas: Who says that? Myself: Because you disagree with everything people say when they try to communicate to you. Douglas: I do not! -------------------------------------------- Commercial: Do-It-Yourself Lawyer (A Legal Aid Clinic.) Plaintiff: But you've got to help me! They got my dying mother to sign away her house when she was in the hospital under anaesthesia! Lawyer: I'm sorry. Those kinds of things are not covered in our curriculum. Announcer: Is free legal aid a whole lot less than you expected? Take legal matters into your own hands with the Do-It-Yourself Lawyer! (The plaintiff at home, unpacking the newly purchased product.) Announcer: Legal solutions can often be hopelessly evasive, demanding hours of research. That's why the Do-It-Yourself Lawyer comes with a built in research monkey to help you home in on the information you need. Just plug its cute little tail into your computer's USB port and wait for its nose to light up. Or if you're blind, wait for the bell to sound. No other home legal protection device is so fully equipped. (A courtroom.) Judge: (slamming down his gavel) The court finds in favour of Mother Plaintiff! (Plaintiff and Mother Plaintiff stand and hug.) Mother Plaintiff: We did it! Plaintiff: And we owe it all to Bonzo - I mean - the Do-It-Yourself Lawyer! Announcer: Don't wait for the rich to make justice affordable for you. Sue them now with the Do-It-Yourself Lawyer! -------------------------------------------- Myself: Our next guest is a visitor from the old country. Smuthers: Egypt? Myself: No! Merry old England! Smuthers: Ooo I love that accent! Myself: Yes, so do I. But it's not helping him for some reason. I guess we'll find out why. And now would you please welcome all the way from 'across the pond', Mr Nigel Hawthorne! (Enter Hawthorne.) Myself: Mr Hawthorne, I understand that you are having a hard time adjusting to life in this country. Hawthorne: Everyone's so bloody nice! Myself: That's because we all grew up in small towns. Hawthorne: Well, it's hard to believe that this was once a British colony. Myself: Why's that? Aren't we uptight enough about personal issues? Hawthorne: Christ! You bring them up with strangers on the train! Haven't you people ever heard the phrase 'too much information'? Myself: Don't our drinking establishments shut down at an early enough hour? Hawthorne: You don't go to the pub. I sit there alone while you take your beer home and drink it in front of the telly like a lot of sots! Not much help to the social life. Myself: So it's our fault that you haven't made any friends here yet. Hawthorne: Clearly. Myself: Mister Hawthorne, do you know what one of your authors, George Orwell, said about English people in an essay entitled 'England, Your England'? He said that among the first things one might notice about them is their hypocrisy. Hawthorne: I'm not a hypocrite. Myself: What else do you call someone who expects people to love him in return for brushing them off? And that smug imperialism won't get you far here. It's the American influence. Hawthorne: Oh! Smug imperialist, am I? The Yanks are the ones building an empire! Myself: And what were British troops ever doing in India or China? Hawthorne: But we outgrew our empire. Myself: Yeah, sure. Too bad the rest of the world can't be as mature as your country. Why did you come over here anyway? Hawthorne: To vote in your election. (Commercial.) Myself: Well, Janie, how am I doing so far? Smuthers: Two out of two, Dave. I must say I'm impressed. Myself: And our next guest is a no-brainer. A rich banker! (We burst into derisive laughter.) Here to discover why he is so hated, J. Paul Pinchpenny! (Enter Pinchpenny.) Pinchpenny: Tell me why I'm in a bowling alley and make it fast. Time is money. Myself: Because I read somewhere that it troubles you when people don't like you because you see no reason for it. Pinchpenny: What about it? Myself: People don't hate for no reason. Pinchpenny: You think there's something wrong with me? What did I ever do to them? Myself: You're a banker, right? Pinchpenny: So? It's not hurting anyone. (Janie suppresses a smirk.) Myself: Don't banks profit from war? Pinchpenny: What's wrong with profit? Myself: What's right with war? And how many helpless old lady's homes have you repossessed so far this year? Pinchpenny: That's not a fair question. Myself: Make no mistake, sir. I respect you. Everyone respects you. But it's a bit much to expect us to like you. Pinchpenny: And why is that? Myself: Because you put money first. That means you put it ahead of people. And that means you put it ahead of morals. Pinchpenny: That's complete and utter nonsense. I donate to charity all the time. Why, just this morning I made a very sizeable donation to an organization that teaches boys survival skills. Myself: The Boy Scouts? Pinchpenny: No. The Hitler Youth of America. (Commercial.)
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The New Don't Steal Show: Episode III

Smuthers: Why are we at a fast food outlet? Myself: Janie, what do you think of when you think of slavery? Smuthers: I don't know. The image of Jesus with his hands tied to the oars of that Roman rowboat comes to mind. Myself: That was Ben Hur from two thousand years ago. And I bet you think that we've come a long way since then. Smuthers: Boat motors helped, I guess. Myself: Yes. Machines took over much of the heavy labour, but there are always unpleasant jobs that no one wants to do. How do you suppose they get done? Smuthers: What kind of jobs are you talking about? Myself: Take our first guest, for example. He works in a poppy field. Probably half the junkies in the world owe this guy and they leave him to toil hopelessly for some prick who won't feed him anything but a spoonful of poppy milk at the end of every long shift - after making him get on his knees and beg for it. Doesn't that sound like slavery? Smuthers: I don't know. Maybe it needs to be debated on a television network. Myself: Why? So they can muddle your mind some more? They've already got you thinking that our money system is so complex that it's 'over your head' when all it is is the government borrowing money at interest from the bank, turning us all into debt slaves. But you know what you'll never hear them talk about? You'll never hear them say what a crime it is to steal someone's work from the internet. And you'll never hear them confess how much money their sponsors pay them to commit such crimes. You can't listen to dishonest people like that without fucking up your head. They just want to keep you psychologically enslaved to their overlords - like the cable company that apparently paid them to rip me off. They treat you like you don't have a brain. Why do you watch that shit? Smuthers: It pacifies me as I wash your socks. Myself: Well, try humming instead, will you? Not too loud. And now for our first guest. Please control your applause as he is unaccustomed to receiving any kind of acknowledgement or respect. Mister Mukmar Marmaduki! (Enter Marmaduki on a leash held by his burly escort. The escort leads him to his chair and stands at his side.) Myself: Is that really necessary? Escort: It helps him feel more comfortable. Besides, I can translate his answers into English for you. Myself: Have it your way. Ask him how he ended up in such a dead-end job. (The escort passes the question on to Marmaduki.) Marmaduki: Blook d'ha. Escort: He said it was for doing a very bad thing. He taught some girls how to read. Myself: Is that what he said? It only sounded like two words. Escort: Yes, translating directly to English as 'bad lesson'. Myself: Oh. Then if he's being punished for a crime, ask him why he works for a drug lord. (The question is passed on in Marmaduki's tongue.) Marmaduki: (smiling) Abla dee yablada. Escort: He said that it is because of the corruption and hypocrisy of you people in the West that the only paying jobs in his country are in organized crime. Myself: He didn't say all that! Escort: Yes he did. Myself: Well he certainly has a sweeping way of expressing himself. Then ask him if he would like to stay here as a refugee. (The escort gives me a scathing look and translates the question.) Marmaduki: (shrugging shoulders) Maynod da-ood. Escort: He said he would rather stay in his country and avoid the temptations of your lying, cheating, Satanic culture. He said that in the next life, all the people who made him suffer here will be his slaves. And he plans to treat them the same way they treated him. Myself: He did? That sounded like quite a mouthful compared to the words he spoke. Are you sure it isn't just his translator talking? (The translator is confused. Then Marmaduki appears to explain the question to him.) -------------------------------------------- Commercial: The Church of the Branch Sectarians (Outside a church after a service.) Priest: Are you sure you won't reconsider? Worshipper: No, I'm afraid I've made up my mind. This faith is just too behind the times for me. (He gets in his car and drives away.) Announcer: Is your God too old fashioned? We at the Church of the Branch Sectarians may be able to help. (The car arrives at a military compound and the newcomer is led into a movie cinema for 'orientation'.) Announcer: Pay us a visit and learn what you've been missing from your religion - like the knowledge of how evil was spread into the world by a cosmic hermaphrodite riding on Haley's Comet 74,000 years ago. (The newcomer sits listlessly among brainwashed zombies in the cafeteria.) Announcer: Meet others who share your thoughts. (The newcomer makes a break for the fence and is pulled down after climbing it halfway.) Announcer: Get lots of exercise. It's the perfect place to start your life over. (Logo: an astronaut on a cross.) Announcer: Bring your faith up to date with the Church of the Branch Sectarians. We have asteroids in our bible. -------------------------------------------- Myself: That's a very nice top you have on there, Janie. Is it a designer label? Smuthers: Why yes! Thank you for noticing! Myself: I couldn't miss it when I think of our next guest. He's a nine-year-old boy who works in a sweat shop making designer garments for thirty cents a week to support his dying mother. Smuthers: Well why didn't you warn me? I would have put on something else. Myself: You got the memo. Smuthers: But you made me use it to roll your cigarettes. Myself: Can't you roll and read at the same time? And joining us now to make you all feel better about your crumby jobs, Sr. Buenos Nachos! (Enter Nachos with his donkey. He ties the animal to a rail and takes his seat.) Myself: I didn't know you needed a donkey for your job. Nachos: I work nights at the cocoa plantation. Myself: (to Smuthers:) Hear that? See what mindless consumers like you are doing to the world? (turning to Nachos:) That's a pretty big schedule for such a small boy. Nachos: Oh, I manage. Myself: How? Nachos: If I get tired, I just wrap some cocoa beans in a coca leaf. Myself: Yuck! That must taste terrible. Nachos: No, no. Is not for eating. Is for snorting. Pick you right up! Ready for more work! Myself: Buenos, I'm concerned. One of those workplaces like yours was recently closed down by authorities. The children who worked there had to be hospitalized for malnutrition and many of them complained about impossible workloads and brutal beatings. If you stay in such a job, you won't survive to attend your mother's funeral. Is there no other job you can find? Nachos: I suppose I can go back to work for the funny man. Myself: The funny man? What's so funny about him? You didn't let him touch your private parts, did you? Nachos: (laughing) Oh no! He is funny because he is always singing and playing his flute. And he would get all of the orphans to sing and dance before we went to work for him, picking the pockets of tourists in the town. Myself: Well that's better than working in a crooked sweat shop. Why did you leave? Nachos: Because as a thief I was afraid I would get sent to Hell. (Commercial.) Restaurant Worker: Sir, these seats are for paying customers. Myself: I'm not finished my coffee yet. Smuthers: I'm finished mine. (The worker looks at me.) Myself: Fine. One more coffee, please. (I hand the worker a coin.) Restaurant Worker: (sarcastically) Sure, big spender. (Exit worker.) Myself: You know, Janie, it's money that turns us all into slaves. You can't get any respect without it, but you're expected to sell your soul for it. Even if others respect you for having money, how can you respect yourself for selling your soul? Smuthers: By not thinking about it very long. Myself: Well the truth will catch up with them. Fools. And in some countries, parents will even sell their daughters into prostitution for money, as my next guest will attest from personal experience. I'm talking about Maya Pang! (Enter Pang, elegantly dressed. Re-enter worker.) Worker: Oh no you don't! If she stays, you pay. Myself: Please. It'll just be a few more minutes. I don't want to miss the game. Pang: That's all right. I don't mind paying. (She pulls out a massive wad of bank notes and peels one off for the worker.) Is that enough? Worker: (sweetly) Do you want cream and sugar, ma-am? Pang: No, I'll take it black. Thank you. Would either of you like something to eat? It's on me. Janie: I could go for a - Myself: That's quite all right, Miss Pang. We can take care of ourselves. You're here to tell us of your terrible ordeal as a sex slave. Don't you miss your relatives? Pang: To tell you the truth, I can't remember them. I left them as a small child. Myself: But you must feel so betrayed by them. Pang: The way I understand it is that they sold me into a better life. They couldn't afford me. It was an act of love. Myself: But you're a sex-slave! Pang: Everyone's a slave. I just get more money for my slavery. Myself: Well I am only God's slave. Pang: Really? You should find a middle man to cut you a better deal. You look emaciated. Well, it's been nice, but I have to go. Myself: Do you have to meet a customer? Pang: No, I'm off to the game. Wouldn't want to waste those sky-box seats. Too-da-loo! (Exit Pang.) Janie: Take me with you! (Commercial.)
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The New Don't Steal Show: Episode II

(On the way down a gloomy stone stairway:) Smuthers: Where are you taking me? Myself: You heard what the officer said about not having a permit. (I reach the floor and light a torch on the wall. Smuthers advances cautiously.) Anyway, this will suit the theme of tonight's show. Smuthers: What's that? Medieval punishments? Myself: (leading her down a corridor) No. Megalomania. Don't you know your spy movies? Evil plans for world domination are always devised in subterranean bases. Smuthers: And kidnapped women's cries for help are always silenced in suburban basements. Myself: Oh, we wouldn't do that. We just want to wage global war. Smuthers: Who's we? Myself: Don't worry. You'll like them. (Arriving at a door, I knock.) Ominous Voice: What's the password? Myself: What? There's no password. Is that you, Morton? Stop horsing around and let us in. Ominous Voice: I can't let you in without the password. Myself: (losing composure) Would you like to say the password? Smuthers: Me? How would I know the password? They're your friends. Myself: Just stand in front of that little peephole and say whatever. Smuthers: If you say so. (taking front and centre) Whatever. (The door swings open and Smuthers reluctantly follows me into a cavernous library. In the background, classical music plays serenely. A map of the world with markers on it lies on a table around which sit three bachelors. One of them gets up to offer Smuthers a seat but she decides to disappear into the privacy of the reading materials.) Myself: My three guests tonight are my gentleman competitors in a most serious game: Rodney Von Zant, Nathan Bates, and the nefarious Professor Jiles Morton. There may be three of them, but I plan to face them one at a time. Von Zant: A girl, eh? Well she won't get away with using her feminine powers to upset an an already disastrously volatile balance of power. Myself: Never mind the girl! Are your forces in the southwest ready to stand down? Von Zant: Oh you'd like that, wouldn't you? And clear the way for an attack on my flank from your fleet when my back is turned. Myself: Your men can retreat safely now if they want. We'll just laugh merrily at them as they run for their lives. Von Zant: I have left them with strict orders to fight to the last man. Myself: (gravely) So you insist upon a bloodbath. Very well. Hand me those dice. (Commercial.) Bates: (To Smuthers) Would you help us to resolve a dispute? Myself: Her? She won't help you. She's as loyal as they come. Smuthers: What's the problem? Bates: This war is turning him into some kind of monster. Myself: It is not. Bates: He sent his forces through neutral territory. Smuthers: That sounds illegal to me. Myself: They stayed neutral as they crossed it. Bates: One of his submarines sank a tourist vessel on its maiden voyage and drowned all the passengers. Smuthers: What did you do that for? Myself: It was the only way we could get the spy. Bates: He even lied and told everyone I attacked him first. Smuthers: Well that's not very nice. You shouldn't lie. Myself: That's just normal propaganda. It's always the other side that starts it. Look at the World War Two broadcast about a Polish attack on German soil. And then there was that Vietnam War fabrication of a Vietnamese attack on U.S. ships in the Gulf of Tonkin. Bates: And why have you chosen to conduct your campaign against me with the tactics of the losing side for both of those wars? Myself: Because it makes it more of a challenge. -------------------------------------------- Commercial: Bloodfist Interactive Video Game. (A living room.) Baby Brother: Take that! And that! Older Sister: What are you doing? Baby Brother: I'm playing my interactive video game. It lets me be a tough guy the same way it lets me be good at sports. See? (He throws a punch at the air and sends his animated onscreen adversary tumbling.) Older Sister: Well that might work on a TV screen, but if you're ever in a real fight, you should always start with a taunt before you throw any punches. Baby Brother: What's a taunt? Older Sister: That's when you say something mean. (The next day at the cafeteria.) Baby Brother: Who ate my brownie? Bully: I did Baby Brother: You come from your mother's bum! (That evening at home. Older sister's friend is enjoying the video game.) Friend: Great game! But doesn't it belong to your baby brother? Why isn't he playing it? Older Sister: He's in the hospital. Announcer: Bring home the streets with Bloodfist. -------------------------------------------- Morton: Your fleet is paralyzed. Your planes lie smashed on the ground. And your once proud cities have been reduced to bombed out ruins. Nothing left to do now but hit you with a cruise missile. (He rattles the dice.) Myself: No! Wait! You can have Australia. Morton: That's not enough. I want the girl. Myself: Who, Janie? Those Aussie girls could drink her under the table. Besides, I don't think she could ever leave me. Morton: Then prepare to be annihilated. Myself: Oh Janie! Janie honey! Where are you, sweetie? Smuthers: (from the bookshelves) I'm over here, talking to some old guy on a ladder. Myself: Could you come out for a minute, sweetheart? Smuthers: (appearing) What's with all the gooey talk? Myself: You know I love you. Smuthers: Sure. What do you want? Myself: Could you turn around once for the gentleman? Smuthers: (disapproving of Morton's lascivious leer) For him? Who do you think I am? Myself: I'll let you have candy popcorn for breakfast. Smuthers: Oh, all right. (She completes a circle.) Myself: Is it a deal? Morton: You may withdraw in peace and have time to repair your badly damaged war machine. Myself: Excellent. Then I'll see you next year. (I make for the exit.) Smuthers: We're going? Good. It feels like a dungeon down here. Myself: Well one of us is going. Smuthers: What do you mean one of us? You didn't just trade me to your friend right now, did you? Myself: Tune in tomorrow for another - Smuthers: You're not finished. You still have to do the song. Myself: That's what videos are for. Have a nice life. (Exit myself.) Von Zant: Gentlemen, I think we may safely presume that by the time we are through fighting each other over this girl, no stone of our great labyrinth will have been unturned. (Commercial)
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The New Don't Steal Show: Episode I

(A deserted playground.) Myself: Hello out there! Welcome to The New Don't Steal Show. Here I am, back for more. I still haven't been paid for the first round of shows - sigh! - but I won't hold that against all you nice people who watch me in good faith. And we've made some exciting new changes to our format, which we'll be introducing as we go along. One of them is the addition of my charming new assistant, Miss Janie Smuthers. Let's have a big round of applause everyone! (Zoom out to show the girl sitting beside me. She smiles and waves.) How do you like being on the show, Janie? Smuthers: Why are we in a park? Myself: New format. Back to basics. We didn't need that overpriced studio. Besides, it's nice here. Smuthers: It's creepy. Myself: No, it isn't. You should like being out in the open air where you can enjoy the bright colours of a modern playground. Smuthers: With no children? I can almost hear their echoing laughter and the tinkling of that dreadful nursery rhyme. Myself: You're watching too many horror movies. Smuthers: And what's that over there? Is that a doll? That's spooky. Myself Don't be silly. It's just a cute little toy. Smuthers: A child wouldn't abandon her doll like that. I wonder if it was left behind from an abduction. Myself: You're reading too many newspapers. Smuthers: Oh yeah? Maybe we should call the cops. A young girl's life could depend on it. Myself: Who says it belongs to a young girl? Smuthers: Well who else - oh. (She looks at me cockeyed.) (Commercial.) (Smuthers stretches out with a paperback.) Myself: Could you sit up please? Smuthers: Why? Myself: To make room for our guest. Smuthers: But I'm tired. Myself: You'll have plenty of time to sleep in the car later. Now get up. Smuthers: (complying with a groan) Who's the guest? Myself: He's a magician here to explain some of the mysteries of his profession. Smuthers: Good. Maybe he can make this book interesting. (She goes back to reading.) Myself: Taking time out from his busy blackjack tour to amaze us with his ESP, it's Marvin! (Enter Marvin.) Myself: So you can read minds. Marvin: I knew you were going to say that. Myself: Can you tell us what Janie is thinking right now? Marvin: I'm afraid not. Myself: Why not? Marvin: Because I hear only silence. Young lady, are you sure you are reading that thing? Smuthers: (looking up) Watch it, four-eyes! (Marvin turns to me and shrugs.) Myself: Try it on me then. Marvin: You are thinking 'If I don't act like this guy can read my mind, the audience will want their money back.' Am I right? Myself: He's right, folks! (Applause.) Wow! That's truly amazing! And I hear you can do more than just read minds. Marvin: Yes, I can control them. Myself: Awesome. You must tell us your secret. Marvin: Nothing to it, really. My father worked for a science lab in the Central Intelligence Agency at a time when they were developing a serum to give their agents mental powers. You can understand how useful such a facility might be to them. As a boy I found the potion on the kitchen counter and drank it, mistaking it for a flask of Kool-Aid. Myself: You mean the CIA has ESP? Did you hear that, Janie? This is the kind of break I've been waiting for. What a scoop! Oh boy! I'm finally going to be respected! But aren't you worried about compromising national security? Marvin: No. Myself: Why not? Marvin: Because on the count of three, you and everyone watching will forget all that I just told you. One... Myself: Oh well. It was good while it lasted. Marvin: Two... THREE! (Commercial.) (Smuthers in costume.) Myself: And this guest needs no introduction, since we all watch her and dream of her as Jeannie! (TV theme song, applause.) And Jeannie, now that your midriff is exposed, you must explain how you made your navel vanish. (No answer.) Jeannie? Smuthers: Oh, sorry. I can't get used to that name. Myself: What's it like to be a genie? Smuthers: Boring. Myself: Can you do a magic trick for us? Smuthers: (rolling her eyes) I can only use my powers for the master. Myself: I see. Then how can I get my own genie? Smuthers: (producing a water pipe) You need to rub this. Myself: (I take the bong and rub it.) Nothing's happening. Isn't smoke supposed to be coming out of it? Smuthers: You make the smoke by putting that hose in your mouth. Now I'll give you a light. (She lights the pipe with a cigarette lighter.) And you inhale. There you are. (Smoke crawls out of the pipe.) Myself: I could use a drink of water. (I get up to use the fountain.) Smuthers: There comes your genie now. Can you see her? Myself: (to the fountain) Are you my genie? Smuthers: Now you can ask her to grant your wish. Myself: That's too bad. I can't remember what it was. -------------------------------------------- Commercial: Zip-Zap Rolling Papers (Two hippies share a tobacco cigarette in a basement apartment.) Hippy #1: Hey myan, pass that thing! (Hippy #2 hands him the cigarette. He takes a deep draw and starts choking violently.) Aw myan! Like what did you use to roll that with? Horse blankets? Hippy #2: Generic brand rolling papers. Too raunchy? Hippy #1: Like I can't tell if my vision is blurred from the weed or from my eyes watering. Myan! If only someone could invent like a rolling paper that doesn't interfere with my buzz. (Enter a familiar-looking bearded French sailor with a lit cigarette between his lips. A trumpet blasts out the first measure of the French national anthem, heralding his appearance.) Hippies: (saucer-eyed) Who are you? Sailor: (strong French accent) I am Black Jack Tabac! - zee roughest, toughest sailor in zuh seven seas! Tsk! How did you Eenglish manage to take over zuh world when you can't even roll properly your cigarettes? Here. Try 'zees. (He puts a pack of rolling papers on the table in front of them. Hippy #2 picks it up.) Hippy #2: (reading package) Zip-Zap -uh- papiers a cigarettes. Sailor: Zee same brand used by Napoleon when he kicked your Eenglish asses at zuh Battle of Whitby! Hippy #1: The Battle of Whitby? I never heard of that one. Sailor: Zat eez because you are culturally biased! Now shut up and roll! And don't make me come here again! (Exit sailor.) (Later that night. A closeup of Hippy #1's crossed eyes as he puffs blissfully on a tobacco cigarette. Zoom out to show Hippy #2 smiling at him.) Hippy #2: Is that better, myan? Hippy #1: Way better. So pure. Hippy #2: Are you getting the munchies? Hippy #1: Sure am. Hippy #2: There's some potato chips in the cupboard. Hippy #1: No crepes suzette? (Product shot.) Announcer: Zip-Zap tobacco rolling papers: The brand of choice for burly, surly French sailors. -------------------------------------------- Myself: Well tonight's show is about magic. It's a subject that fascinates me and I'm not learning a bloody thing. But I hope my next guest can teach me how to use this Ouija board. All the way from the Ouija board factory, it's Frank Wright! (Enter Wright. I produce a Ouija board.) Now I understand that you stencilled the letters on this. Wright: That's my job. Myself: And you say you can use this thing to open a door to the spirit world. Wright: Absolutely. Myself: Why doesn't it work for me? Wright: You're not holding it right. It should be up tight against your nose. Myself: (muffled from following the suggestion) Like this? Why? Wright: So you can get a whiff of that paint. Myself: (drawing deeply) Is that was that is? Wright: You should smell it when its wet. Myself: I see what you mean. Wright: Can you see the ghosts? Myself: (putting down the board and pointing to empty space) Yes. That's them, all right. I thought they were invisible but they were just transparent. I guess that means I've never had privacy. Wright: What is your date of birth? Myself: (Unable to remember) Damn! (Commercial.)
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© 2007, 2012. Scripts, lyrics and music by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.