Narrator. Last time on Twyzzlers for Everyone Forever, there were some events. These events would take too long to tell you about in narrative form for me to do that here. However I will offer you a synopsis in the form of interpretive dance, in the form of a clip show…

DSNT. The walrus and the carpenter were walking close at hand

Fluid. You don’t want to talk? We can find ways of making you talk.

Rachel. I’m just not that into redheads

Grandma. I’d like to diversify my investments.

Vera. But Mora, if you try to access that folder directly, it will trip the failsafe device and blow up the entire orphanage!

Station Manager. I have to know who my mother is, orphans be damned!

Phil. And that is why I must resign from my position as Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas in order to tour the world with U2.

Chad. Chris…you’re alive!

Rachel. My name’s not Chris, although for 50 bucks, I’ll be whoever you want me to be, sugar.

Chad. Could you wear this armadillo suit and yell about how you’re not a furry for four seasons?

Rachel. (Buzzes lips while screaming in a high pitched voice and shaking head from side to side.)

SFX. Explosion.

Grandma. So Rachel, how many units of toast have we sold?

Rachel. We have sold zero units. We haven’t even left the house yet.

Grandma. But I thought we had a big order put in at the toast emporium.

Rachel. Grandma, yesterday we sat outside with homemade toast and sold it to passersby for five cents a slice. With the small amount of money we made from that, we bought a quarter gallon of gas to put in the toast truck. Upon returning home we discovered that the engine of the toast truck only runs on saturated fat.

Grandma. That never happened!

Rachel. How do you not remember that happening?!

Grandma. Yesterday was my acid flashback day.

Rachel. You can’t schedule that!

Grandma. It’s been on the calendar for a month!

Rachel. When did you even do acid?

Grandma. Back in the Civil war, General PTG Beauregard brought it over from France so we could forget about our horrendous losses.

Rachel. Acid flashbacks are random! You can’t plan them.

Grandma. What is the point of having a calendar if you don’t use it?

Rachel. You’re solving the wrong problem!

Grandma. If you’d just tape Teletubbies when I ask you to, it wouldn’t be an issue.

SFX. Truck backing up.

Rachel. Oh good, our fat is here.

Grandma. Our fat was already here. You really need to cut back on the danishes or I’ll never get grandchildren.

Rachel. Grandma, I’ve had seven children by eight different fathers. You’ve killed every single one of my children because you were convinced they were commie babies.

Grandma. And I’d have gotten away with it too, if it wasn’t for those meddling Bolsheviks.

Rachel. Grandma, maybe you shouldn’t talk about communists right now. We got all of our extra fat from the communist wing of KFC.

SFX. Door crash.

Lenin. Did someone say COMMUNE?!

Rachel. Oh hi, Vladimir. Can you fill up the truck and put the rest in the above ground pool?

Lenin. Sure. While I’m at it, should I drain the saturated fat out of the bourgeosie.

(Beat.)

Lenin. It’s kind of my thing…I was doing a bit…

Grandma. Just leave. I fought your kind back in WWII.

Rachel. Grandma, for the love of god, don’t start this now.

Grandma. I’LL KILL YOU, YOU CAPITALIST PIG!!!

Lenin. What?

Grandma. DIE!

SFX. Murder.

Grandma. That’ll learn ya.

Lenin. Saturated fat…my only weakness…

Rachel. Well, actually she used her tommy gun.

Grandma. But I used it like a knife!

Rachel. I think sharpening the barrel makes it useless.

Grandma. But now I have a permanent bayonet! Just like back in the War of the Roses. Also now we have fat AND the weed!

Rachel. Oh Grandma…

SFX. Laugh track.

Narrator. Meanwhile, in court, A Fluid Thing is defending himself in the legal battle of a lifetime.

Fluid. But Johnny Cochran’s 1000 Legal Recipes HAS to reach shelves! It’s my finest work! It’s the culmination of my pathetic, gasping wretch of a life!

Chad. Mr. Thing, I’d like to remind you that–

Fluid. AND I HAVE A BOOK SIGNING AT BARNES AND NOBLE TOMORROW!!! IT’S…SO…IMPORTANT TO ME!!!

Chad. Mr. Thing, this court case is about your radio show. Whatever objectionable content is in your book will have to wait until later to be sued for.

Fluid. Oh. Well, what did I do?

Chad. (Sighs.) You caused the physical peril of several furries via the methods of cooking you publicly professed on your program.

Fluid. We weren’t cooking peas.

Chad. ALLITERATION IS THE GREATEST LEGAL DEVICE. Now, your instruction in your steak recipe to quote, “pour the flaming Worcestershire sauce on your shirt and do the cha cha” caused the destruction of several finely-made fursuits.

Fluid. Well, if you LISTENED to the disclaimer at the beginning of my show–

Chad. There is no disclaimer at the beginning of your show.

(Beat.)

Fluid. Damn.

Chad. I find the defendant guilty!

Judge. That’s my job!

Chad. Sorry, Judge Fudge, I thought you were too busy being delicious.

Judge. Thanks for your concern. For that, I find the defendant especially guilty.

(Beat.)

Fluid. Can I still sell my book?

Judge. Yes. But you can never talk about Worstershire sauce in public again. And MAY GOD HAVE MERCY ON YOUR SOUL.

SFX. Gavel.

Fluid. YAY!!!

Narrator. Later, in Chad’s house…

Chad. Another case duly won. Well, I lost, but I was right morally, which is what really matters to me in furry defense. Now to put on my polar bear suit and cry myself to sleep.

(Pause.)

SFX. Zipper.

(Beat.)

Chad. (Sobs.)

(Beat.)

SFX. Explosion.

Station Manager. Stop right there, criminal scum. No one breaks the law on my watch!

Chad. What? But you’re not a police officer! And I wasn’t breaking the law!

Vera. That polar bear suit says otherwise!

Chad. What I do in the privacy of my own home is my business.

Vera. Privacy? There’s a big open section of your wall right there where children could see you practicing your furversion.

Chad. That’s a skylight. Oh wait, do you mean the hole you just exploded in my wall? Because that’s illegal. While we’re on the subject what do you think of my skylight? Because I just had it installed and-

Station Manager. Why isn’t he afraid of me?

Vera. Did you mention that his stolen goods are forfeit?

Station Manager. Oh! I forgot that part. Can I start over?

Vera. Well…no. You lose all your authority that way.

Station Manager. What if I use my evil sorceress powers?

Chad. You realize I know both of you, right?

Vera. You don’t know me. We were in totally different seasons.

Chad. Well, no, I was in Season 3 episode 7, we just weren’t in a scene together.

Vera. Then how do you know me?

Chad. I’m stalking you. Ever since Chris passed away, I’ve been looking for a replacement. You’ll fit nicely into her fursuit, we’ll just have to alter the bust.

Vera. Ok, you can use your evil sorceress powers

Station Manager. Ok, here’s the deal. You can either pay your fine or go to my stomach.

Chad. What’s the fine?

Station Manager. ME EATING YOU!

Chad. I’m still confused about why you’re in my house at 4AM.

Station Manager. I’m here to anger all the furries in the world by eating you.

Chad. How would you think that would work? Not every furry knows about me.

Station Manager. I AM GOING TO EAT YOU.

Chad. Let’s go to the internet and see how many furries know me… www.askjeeves.com…we’ll search…furry…oh my, 100 billion hits.

Vera. The internet is 98% furries, did I forget to mention?

Chad. I’ve sealed my own doom haven’t I? Damn you George Foreman for being so popular among the furry community! My final words are…that I regret having never bought a George Foreman product.

SFX. The feeding.

Station Manager. I don’t feel any different. Are the furries angry?

Vera. Well…they’re always angry, what with the public disgust about yiffing. But you need to give it some time. I advise that–

Station Manager. I’m not taking your advice. Remember the bees? By the way, did you get proof of this to put on the internets?

Vera. Was I supposed to film this? I’m not into voraphilia.

Station Manager. What’s voraphilia?

(Beat.)

Vera. I’m a little into voraphilia.

Narrator. Meanwhile, in Mora’s stomach…

SFX. Horrible stomach noises combined with rainforest and Vietnam noises.

Chad. Oh god…where am I? IS THAT A CLOWN!?

Clown. I’m meltingggggggggggg.

Chad. Correction: is that a melting clown?

Clown. Yes. I am. Though I did always aspire to be in a Salvador Dali painting. Sadly, I never realized my dream of becoming a clock.

Chad. How do I get out of here?

Clown. How did you get in here?

Chad. It’s all a bit hazy…something about…Vietnam…

Clown. No.

Chad. Oh.

(Pause.)

Chad. So how did you get in here?

Clown. It’s all a bit hazy…something about…Vietnam.

Chad. Really?

Clown. No.

Chad. So how did you get in here?

Clown. It’s all a bit hazy…something about…I don’t know…

Chad. Vietnam?

Clown. I WAS EATEN!

(Pause.)

Chad. Oh yeah, me too.

Clown. Listen…you have to get out of here.

Chad. I don’t wanna.

Clown. You must overcome a series of three challenges to do this

Chad. Really?

Clown. No. You just have to climb out. Try that biplane.

Chad. What biplane?

Clown. I dunno. It’s somewhere in here. You just have to go look. Ask some of the other humans.

Chad. I was wondering why there was such a crowd in here. Why aren’t any of them talking?

Clown. That would be confusing. Also their vocal cords were melted by stomach acid.

Chad. Evil stomach acid?

Clown. No. Fairly standard stomach acid. You know, made of HYDROCHLORIC ACID.

(Beat.)

Clown. Also we might just both be hallucinating this because of the horrible fumes in here. I think she ate a lot of LSD at some point.

Chad. Why do I hear purple?

Narrator. Meanwhile, outside of Mora’s stomach.

Station Manager. Why do I hear purple?

Vera. Did you drop acid again?

Station Manager. I knew eating that hippie was bad news, man.

Vera. THERE ARE LOBSTERS ON THE CEILING.

Station Manager. (Screams.)

Vera. I hear horrific imagery is helpful to get you down from a bad trip.

Station Manager. LOBSTERS EVERYWERE!

Vera. Don’t forget their laser-mounted top hats!

Station Manager. IT’S BOTH CLASSY AND SOUL-WRENCHINGLY DISTURBING!

Vera. I knew you’d come around. Well, I’ll just leave you in this bathtub full of unplugged hairdryers and knives. Power outlet’s over there. I’m headed to dinner.

Narrator. Back inside Station Manager…

Chad. GOTTA…FIND…BIPLANE…

Clown. How’s that going for you?

Chad. Well, I haven’t found the biplane yet. So, instead I think I’ll reminisce about the good old days of being a Furry Defense Lawyer.

Clown. Wait, are you that Chad? I heard about you on the internets.

Chad. Well, apparently ninety eight percent of the internet is aware of me.

Clown. How’s that?

Chad. Ninety eight percent of the internet is furries.

Clown. I was wondering why you were wearing that polar bear suit.

Chad. I was wondering why you were wearing that clown makeup.

Clown. I’m a very special kind of furry. My fursona is a man in a furry suit who, on top of said furry suit, wears a fatsuit and a clown costume.

Chad. Oh. So, that’s why you’re so horribly misshapen.

Clown. Yes…that’s why.

(Beat.)

Clown. Did I mention my name is Quasimodo?

Chad. Oh. I thought your furry suit was just a camel suit. That explains the hump.

(Beat.)

Clown. (Sobs.)

Chad. So…I’m gonna go, now.

Clown. That’s fine. I’ll just finish digesting.

SFX. Sizzle.

Chad. Well…have fun!

SFX. Squishy footsteps.

Clown. Well, I suppose I’ll just die now.

Narrator. We now go to Phil Collins’s private office…

SFX. Train overpass

Phil. Well that certainly was an invigorating tour! Now, to curl up by my cardboard box and read about the Alamo…

SFX. Phone rings.

Phil. Hello!

Art Critic. Mr. Collins?

Phil. Speaking!

Art Critic. I’m an art critic for the NY Times and I’d like to discuss your recent piece of performance art.

Phil. Performance art?

Art Critic. The piece you did at John Quincy Adams Elementary school in Idaho.

Phil. Ah, the reunion tour?

Art Critic. Well that answers my first question. But are you able to give me an interview right now, or should I call back?

Phil. Wait, what was your first question?

Art Critic. The name of your piece.

Phil. Well I think I did Something Happened on the Way to Heaven first...

Art Critic. So can you do an interview?

Phil. I’m not sure. I suppose I can talk, so I’m capable of giving one.

Art Critic. Fantastic, let me just get my Dictaphone out.

Phyllis. Who is that, dear?

Art Critic. I’m sorry, who am I speaking to?

Phil. Oh, that was just me wife.

Art Critic. You’re married?

Phil. Well…we did just get divorced this morning.

Art Critic. This morning?

Phyllis. Don’t tell him about our divorce life, honey! Don’t make me marry you all over again!

Art Critic. Divorce life?

Phil. Now honey, let’s not get into that again. We already went through all this before breakfast.

Art Critic. If we could–

Phil. Twice. It makes me wonder why I even bother with doing this all the time.

Art Critic. Wait, doing what?

Phil. The divorcing! The marrying! The divorcing! The marrying! The feeding! The divorcing! The murder! The divorcing! The marrying! The volunteer work! The divorcing!

(Beat.)

Art Critic. What?

Phil. The divorcing! The ostrich mating! The drumming! The marrying! The divorcing! The divorcing! The divorcing! The treason! The divorcing!

Art Critic. I’m not sure it’s any of my business, but who–

Phil. I’m starting to think maybe this is all some kind of sham! Maybe a sham to keep me artistic creativity back!

Phyllis. It’s not like that! I just like divorcing! And ostriches!

Art Critic. Are you suggesting some kind of conspiracy?

Phil. I’m not just suggesting it! I found these papers today that prove it!

Art Critic. Prove a conspiracy?

Phyllis. Those don’t prove a thing!

Phil. Then what are they? Hmm?!

Art Critic. Ok…um…you really should have this special little conversation with yourself later. I just called to talk to you about your career.

Phil. Cool it, Randy, I’m having a discussion with me former ex future soon-to-be-not but then probably a little bit later former future ex ex future former ex exxx now that’s ex with three x’s I’m not even going to begin to get into what that means ex ex-wife here!

Phyllis. Those papers aren’t what you think!

Phil. What are they then?!

Phyllis. You wouldn’t understand!

Phil. Try to make me!

Art Critic. Oh wait, is this another piece? Is it ok that I’m recording this?

Phil. Make me understand, you disingenuous hussy!

Phyllis. Phil…I…divorced someone else…

Art Critic. You what?

Phil. YOU WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Phyllis. I knew you’d never understand…

Art Critic. I’m not sure I do either.

Phil. Who is it?!

Phyllis. It’s….Phlad

Phil. PHLAD?! THAT BASTARD! I’LL RUIN HIM!

Art Critic. Who is Phlad?

Phil. How could you do this to me, Phyllis?!

Phyllis. Well…he was just…so available. And even though vampires are really kitsch and don’t have any deep meaning, I just thought I’d go with what would be the most popular.

Phil. But how could you do this!? I mean so much more!

Phyllis. It…was very easy.

Phil. But I’m so much more complicated and satisfying in the long term!

Phyllis. Yeah, but you change! I can’t deal with change! He’s a vampire, so he’s like… immortal and stuff and will always be the same way. It’s comforting

Art Critic. Ok…I think I know what this is about…

Phil. But he’s a vampire! How could you divorce a vampire?!

Phyllis. It wasn’t easy…we had to do it at night…in a graveyard…

Art Critic. Is this supposed to be a piece about your artistic side coming to terms with your pop music side?

Phil. SHUT UP RANDY, ADULTS ARE TALKING.

Phyllis. Honeybunch…I really think you should talk to Phlad about this. He might be able to help.

Phil. I am NOT talking to that ex-wife-stealing bastard!

Art Critic. Wait, he’s a person?

Phlad. Vla!

Phil. HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!

Phlad. Well your ex-wife…she’s like…hot.

Phil. But she’s my ex-wife!

Phlad. Sometimes you need to let the people you love spread their wings and do something else.

Phil. But she should have been happy divorcing me!

Phlad. Not everyone is into just divorcing you. Sometimes people need an easy divorce. So they can know what they’re getting into before they get into it.

Phil. I don’t understand why!

Phlad. People like comfort. Vla!

Phil. You should talk! You sleep in a coffin!

Art Critic. Is this really happening?

Phlad. Listen, Phil, this may be a vast right-stick conspiracy, but you need to listen.

Phil. I knew me drumsticks were conspiring against me!

Art Critic. Wait, your drum sticks are sentient?!

Phlad. They have your best interests in mind!

Phil. Then why didn’t they tell me about any of this!

Phlad. They were the sticks you deserved, not the sticks you needed.

Phil. Oh. That makes sense I guess.

(Beat.)

Phil. So could you tell me what me sticks were-

Phlad. I was getting to that! So the thing is, your drumsticks…wanted to do more than just pop music.

Phil. So why would they conspire against me!? And how?!

Phlad. Well, they made you wear a series of wigs.

Phil. But you’re not a wig!

Phlad. Well…no. I am the greatest of your disguises.

Phil. But wearing a cape and fake vampire teeth made of candy corn doesn’t make me a vampire. Or a different person for that matter. What is WRONG with you?!

Phlad. But you think you’re a different person. The important thing is what you think And the important thing to your sticks is what you play! And they want to do more than offbeats and fills. And to sit up on your mantle while you read about the Alamo.

Phil. I see.

Phyllis. Do it for us, honeybunch!

Phil Fish. That’s right, my boy. Do it for us!

Puxatawney Phil. Squeek! Squeek squeek squeek!

Phyleesha. Yeah boy. You best make some fun-kay music soon!

Phlad. You see? All of your different personalities were a different side of your musical consciousness that you were suppressing in order to make soulless pop music.

Phil. But I was the voice of a generation!

Phlad. Maybe, but at what cost?

Phil. And Sussudio is the greatest song in recent memory!

Phlad. Stop lying to yourself, Phil. You know you’re the greatest prog-rock and jazz fusion drummer of all time. Embrace your destiny.

Phil. I guess it might be time to hang up me wigs. And me badge and gun…

Phlad. So you willingly release your alter-egos?

Phil. …Yes. I’ll cast them back into the ether.

SFX. All of Phil’s voices say something…that sounds…sort ok? I dunno, we’ll splice it all together into some kind of cool sound effect with ghosty filters. It’s going to be great. But I guess what I’m saying is this is ad libbed.

Phil. Oh my god! Me head is so much more empty than ever before!

Art Critic. Mr. Collins! That was the most brilliant piece of pop art I have ever heard. It’s as if you used your circular breathing technique to create hundreds of different personalities at once all of which show a different side of your artistic soul! I feel we have truly spoken today. I got all of that on my Dictaphone, and I will help you produce your latest album which will simply be what you just did looped until the end of a CD. This is I believe your greatest performance. I will be in contact with you shortly. I am honored to work with you. This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

SFX. Click.

(Beat.)

Phil. Wait, why am I wearing all these wigs?

SFX. Telephone rings, picks up.

Publisher. Oh, hello there. My name is John Q. Publicsher and I just read the first draft of your latest novel, Bonfire of the Dickeries. Sadly, reading it made me go blind, but I think you’ve secured yourself a publishing deal. We would be honored to publish your work, which I‘m sure will be the next great American novel. We already have Fabio set up to shoot the cover. The printing will be done entirely on recycled first drafts of unpublished J.D. Salinger novels. If you’d like to accept this offer, please feel free to sigh angrily and hang up the phone. Now that I have your draft, I’ll be publishing it whether you like it or not. This is great literature and I can’t let it go to waste.

DSNT. Can you pay me in furlongs?

Publisher. I don’t see any reason why not.

DSNT. But, that’s a unit of length.

Publisher. We’ll get our scientists on it immediately. Here at DoubleDay Publishing we pride ourselves on science.

DSNT. That’s not science, that’s–

Publisher. Here at DoubleDay Publishing we pride ourselves on science. Please take this complimentary basket of magnets featuring horses from the 2010 Horse of the Week calendar.

DSNT. How could I accept that? We’re speaking over the phone.

(Beat.)

Publisher. We’ll see you at headquarters on Monday for briefing and your first public reading.

SFX. Telephone hangs up.

Narrator. Meanwhile, in Station Manager’s cavernous stomach…

Chad. Thank God I found you, Mr. Bacca. Now, tell me, are you a furry or just a horrible monster?

Chewbacca. (Noise.)

Chad. Huh! I had no idea you could even be a hybrid of those two things. Now, where are you taking me?

Chewbacca. (Noise.)

Chad. OH MY GOD IT’S THE MILLENNIUM FALCON.

Chewbacca. (Noise.)

Chad. Okay, I suppose it does look more like a biplane than the Millennium Falcon, but it’s still really cool. Can we get out of here using it?

Chewbacca. (Noise.)

Chad. Awesome!

Narrator. Outside Station Manager’s stomach…

Station Manager. Thanks for talking me down from my bad trip, Vera. While I was out, was there any furry rage against me? Am I going to be murdered yet?

Vera. Not yet. We’ll have to bide our time until word gets out you killed Chad.

Station Manager. Where are we, anyway? Things get sort of hazy after the part where I ate Chad.

Vera. We’re at a hunting store.

Station Manager. Why?

Vera. You insisted on buying weapons since we were walking home alone at night.

Mora. It’s daylight out.

Vera. We’ve been buying a lot of weapons.

Mora. What kind of weapons?

Vera. How do you feel about switchblades?

SFX. Door is kicked in.

Police. Stop right there, criminal scum!

Vera. I promise it wasn’t me who stole all those bendy straws! Those bendy straws walked away of their own volition and turned up in my apartment as part of a vast right wing bendy straw conspiracy. You can’t send me to prison for stealing bendy straws! They’d eat me alive there! WITH BENDY STRAWS!

Police. You’re both under arrest for indecent exposure. Come with me.

Station Manager. Well, I thought it was pretty decent.

Police. Come with me to the station for processing.

Vera. Quick, Mora! Eat him! I can’t go to prison again I mean to prison a first time!

Station Manager. He doesn’t have a blowhole. Nor is he a lawyer. Remember, I don’t eat anything else anymore.

Police. Well, I was born with a blowhole but I lost it.

Station Manager. How?

Police. I think I left it at a concert. But that’s beside the point. You’re going to have to come with me, sirs.

Vera. What exactly is wrong with indecent exposure?

Police. Well, it’s illegal. You can’t, you know, be showing the kiddies you breasticles. You know.

Vera. What about just one?

Police. Yeah, actually, that’s why you’re being arrested.

Vera. But that was just a wardrobe malfunction!

Police. Ms. Boinsley, having Justin Timberlake expose you on national television does not count as a malfunction. Sorry.

Vera. But, I wanted to be like Janet!

Station Manager. And I helped!

Police. Aiding and embedding indecent exposers gets you arrested on the same charge. Come with me, please.

SFX. Footsteps, car door.

Vera. I don’t understand why you’re arresting me! I wasn’t hurting anyone.

Police. It’s not really about hurting people, it’s just the fact that you were nude in public.

Vera. But, it doesn’t hurt anyone! It’s not a violent crime or anything. When have breasts ever hurt anyone?

Police. Madonna.

Vera. Come on, you and I both know that was just Dennis Rodman having self-control and her breasts being really pointy.

Police. But if Madonna weaponized her breasts, then who’s to say you couldn’t, too?

Vera. It’s my body and I can weaponize it if I want to!

(Beat.)

Police. You have a point there. But you’re still under arrest.

SFX. Car drives away, siren.

Narrator. Meanwhile, in Barnes and Noble…

SFX. Crowd.

Fluid. DSNT! DSNT! DSNT! DSNT! DSNT! DSNT! DSNT! DSNT!!!

DSNT. You’re standing right next to me. What the dick do you want?

Fluid. I dunno, I just saw you here. Are you doing a book signing, too?

DSNT. I was. Then you kept interrupting me. And when you stop interrupting me I’ll still be doing a book signing.

Fluid. Perfect. Can you sign my breasts?

DSNT. As a rule, I’d say no. But since this is for charity…

SFX. Sharpie.

Fluid. So, after you’re done will you come to my book signing?

DSNT. I thought the UN had very strict rules about people violating human rights accords.

Fluid. It’s my latest bestseller: Johnny Cochran’s 1000 Legal Recipes.

DSNT. I’m going to have to place you under citizen’s arrest.

Fluid. Oh, silly DSNT. People with cooking shows have diplomatic immunity.

DSNT. I don’t think that’s how that works.

Fluid. I have a badge that says so right here.

DSNT. That appears to be a certificate that you are a potty trained young man.

Fluid. Oh, is that what this is? I’m surprised I still have this. I got it, like, three episodes ago.

DSNT. Three what ago?

Fluid. Just come to my book signing. It’ll all end in tears, I just know it.

DSNT. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have a public reading at three, you should come see it.

Fluid. Fantastic! My signing’s right after that.

DSNT. I suppose I’ll see you there.

Narrator. And then suddenly, time went forward at the rate of one second per second for about an hour. And then we focused our attention on the book reading.

SFX. Big room, silent.

DSNT. Hello ladies and germs!

SFX. Crickets.

DSNT. Umm…ok. So that was my opening joke. See…it’s funny.

SFX. Sheep bleating.

DSNT. I mean, jokes aren’t as funny when you have to explain them. You really should just all laugh at this joke so we can get on with this show.

(Beat.)

DSNT. Jesus tapdancing Christ! Do I have to explain everything to you people!? Ok, see, it’s funny because most people address an audience as “ladies and gentlemen”. But see, I said “germs” instead of “gentlemen”, so it’s funny because it’s not what you’re expecting me to say. At least, if you’re thick. So it works on that one level. But see, lots of people have said that joke at this point, so it’s like, that kind of edgy, ironic humor because it’s funny because it’s NOT funny, so you’re laughing not just at the joke itself, but at the people who do say it un-ironically because they don’t get how lame they are. And we’re also laughing at the entire group of people who in the past at one point thought that was a clever turn of phrase because we, a hipper group of people, understand that it’s a totally lame joke. So it works on that level, too.

(Beat.)

DSNT. But see, it’s also a kind of meta-humor on the subject of people who tell jokes in general because it’s all just preexisting material so in a way people who tell good jokes they didn’t come up with on the spot are in a way just the same as people who say “ladies and germs” because they’re all just rehashing material and trotting out the same old stuff every time they get in front of people. Even though they’re in the creative arts, they have the same kind of general malaise and soul-deadness and “let’s do this crap one more time to get the check” that your regular 9 to 5 schlubb has.

(Beat.)

SFX. Crickets.

DSNT. OH COME ON THAT’S A THREE-LAYERED JOKE, HOW CAN YOU CRETINS NOT FIND THAT FUNNY?! IF YOU DON’T THINK THAT’S FUNNY, THEN YOU’RE EXACTLY THE BRAIN-DEAD PHILISTINES WHO WON’T FIND MY WORK ENLIGHTENING AND I WILL BE LEAVING YOU FILTHY POLLACKS. GOOD NIGHT!

SFX. Footsteps.

(Beat.)

SFX. Footsteps.

DSNT. Ok, so I’ve just been informed that I am actually contractually obligated to read to you guys, so…I guess I’ll do that. And, umm…to the lady in the eighth row: I’m very sorry, I didn’t know you were Polish when I made that statement, so uh…sorry. Anyway, I’m going to read you an excerpt from my book “The Descent of Man 2: Objects in Labcoats May Be Larger Than They Appear”. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m DJ DSNT and I have been starting the literary revolution known as evolutionary biology fan-fiction.

(Beat.)

DSNT. Let’s begin: As Richard Dawkins was sitting in his laboratory, stroking his test tubes thoughtfully, he realized something was missing in his life. As he stroked ever harder, he realized that it must be love that he was missing. “Well, I’m never going to find love by sitting in here and stroking my test tubes!” he said, and with that, finished what he was doing and went back to his dressing cubicle. He donned a pair of assless chaps, applied lube in the proper places and headed out for a night on the town.

Crowd. WHAT?!

DSNT. Ma’am, please keep your shirt on. I promise I’m available for a conjugal autograph later. As I was saying: Mr. Dawkins headed out to his favorite dance club “The Petting Zoo” at the same time that another great scientist was headed to the same location hoping to score himself an anonymous sex partner. Little did they know that magic was about to happen…and also…science!

Crowd. This is blasphemy!

DSNT. Yeah and I’m pretty sure it’s libel, too, can you just let me finish please?!

Crowd. No! We’re starting a riot! Rarrrrr!

DSNT. But I haven’t even begun to start writing the oyster love scene!

Narrator. Elsewhere, in the toast truck…

SFX. Truck interior.

Grandma. It’s not every day that you get to see a man die. It’s a blessing, and you should be thankful!

Rachel. I think I might snap any minute now.

Grandma. So, how much toast have we sold?

Rachel. NO TOAST. WE HAVE BEEN DRIVING AROUND BARNES AND NOBLE IN CIRCLES FOR FIVE HOURS. WHENEVER SOMEONE TRIES TO HAIL US TO STOP, YOU RUN THEM OVER.

Grandma. Sorry, hon, but not everyone is worthy of my toast.

Rachel. This is just…you’re just…

Grandma. HOLY CRAP A POLLACK, LET’S HIT HIM!!!

SFX. Screech. Slam.

Rachel. That’s it. Can you let me out?!

Grandma. WE CAN’T DRIVE UNDER FIFTY FIVE MILES PER HOUR OR I’LL EXPLODE INTO A MILLION PIECES.

Rachel. This is not a Keanu Reeves film!

SFX. Mob gaggle fades in. Slams.

Grandma. Oh, no! The Pollacks brought their friends!

Rachel. Look what you’ve done!

Crowd. TOPPLE THE TRUCK!!!

SFX. Crash.

Grandma. I’LL GO DOWN FIGHTING!!!

Crowd. MUST TOPPLE OTHER STUFF TO QUELL ANGER AT TERRIBLE LITERATURE.

SFX. Fade out mob gaggle.

Narrator. Meanwhile, in a very different motor vehicle…

Station Manager. Can you let us off with a misdemeanor?

Police. Listen, trollops, I can’t let your crimes go unpunished!

Vera. What if I use THIS BREAST BOMB?! HA HA HA!!!

SFX. Smoke bomb.

Police. (Coughing.) WHERE WERE YOU HIDING THAT SMOKE BOMB OH WAIT I UNDERSTAND.

SFX. Car crashes. Mob gaggle fades in.

Station Manager. Brilliant save, Vera! Let’s get out of–

Crowd. LET’S TOPPLE THIS CAR, TOO!!! IT WILL MAKE US FEEL BETTER ABOUT OURSELVES!!!

SFX. Crash.

Vera. Well, that didn’t work. In fact, I’d say we’ve been toppled over in this police car by an angry mob for no reason.

Crowd. WE’RE NOT AN ANGRY MOB.

Vera. That’s not what your actions tell me. And actions speak louder than words.

Crowd. WELL, OKAY, I GUESS, BUT STILL.

Vera. Not convincing me.

Station Manager. I feel funny…

SFX. Muffled biplane/hyperdrive. Squelch. Unmuffled biplane/hyperdrive. Gigantic crash. Flames. Mob stops gaggling.

Crowd. OH MY GOD, DID THAT INSANE WOMAN JUST COUGH UP A MILLENNIUM FALCON SHAPED BIPLANE THAT THEN CRASHED INTO THAT TRUCK SHAPED LIKE A TOASTER WE JUST TURNED OVER?!

Station Manager. I’m not insane!

SFX. Running.

Fluid. Oh my God, what happened?!

DSNT. I think the angry mob gathered together and invented some sort of…JALOPY CRASH THING.

Fluid. It looks more like a plane crashed into a truck.

Station Manager. I feel liberated! Like I’ve just been freed from an awful prison!

SFX. Running.

Grandma. You destroyed our truck, you bastards! I worked night and day in The Great War fighting in the trenches against those goddamned French bastards to get the kind of money necessary to buy that truck!

Rachel. Actually, she stole my late husband’s bequeathal to me.

Grandma. SAME DIFFERENCE!!!

Rachel. That’s it! I’m going home.

SFX. Footsteps.

Grandma. WAIT UP!!! I HAVE MORE RANTING TO DO!!!

SFX. Footsteps.

DSNT. Wait, why is the violent angry mob not being a violent angry mob any more?

Fluid. ‘Twas beauty killed the beast.

(Beat.)

Crowd. THAT WAS POETIC. WE’RE GOING TO GO HOME NOW.

SFX. Crowd disperses.

DSNT. I think we all learned a valuable lesson today. Never write literature. Ever. It will cause shit like this to happen.

Vera. I learned that my breasts are my greatest pocket.

Station Manager. I learned that the source of my evil sorceress powers was a biplane slash fictional starship lodged in my stomach that has now been destroyed. I imagine this ends the cycle of Amelia Earhart’s evil forever.

(Beat.)

DSNT. Shut up, Station Manager.

SFX. Weak footsteps.

Chad. Oh my God. I made it out. Chewbacca’s badly injured, but I made it out.

Chewbacca. (Noise.)

Chad. Chewbacca, hold on! HOLD ON MAN!!!

Chewbacca. (Fateful noise.)

Chad. I LOVE YOU CHEWBACCA!!!

Chewbacca. (Death noise.)

Chad. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

(Beat.)

Fluid. We just witnessed something horrible.

Chad. Fluid! I’m so sorry I pretended I didn’t know you! I LOVE YOU TOO!!!

(Beat.)

Fluid. I’m going home and pretending today didn’t happen.

DSNT. I’ll come with you. I have to burn the five thousand three hundred and eighty seven pages of my unpublished writings in our fireplace.

Station Manager. I’ll come, too. I think I left my pots and pans at your place, and I’ll need them now that I’m no longer magically compelled under penalty of death to eat people alive.

Fluid. Those are my pans now and you cannot have them back.

Station Manager. Can I at least have my Worcestershire sauce back?

Fluid. I’m not allowed to answer that question.

Chad. Sorry about that…

Narrator. And so Fluid, DSNT, Station Manager, Vera, and Chad returned to Fluid and DSNT’s house to make up and become much better people. And, indeed, they became productive, lovely people. OR DID THEY?!

(Beat.)

Narrator. Nope, they didn’t. They’re pretty awful people. Meanwhile, in the toast truck family’s house…

Grandma. Oh sweet Shiva, our business is ruined!

Rachel. I can’t believe that just happened.

Grandma. It’s all because of those damned furries! I should kill all the Wookies on this planet! A long long time ago in a galaxy far away, I served Emperor Palpatine, and boy did he hate wookies. Stupid furballs. You couldn’t even cook them because the bandoliers would explode! Ah, sure, we could’ve removed them but that would’ve been against the Sith religion. ‘Course, back then to go to church you had to take the ferry. It only cost a nickel, but nickels were hard to come by those days. And we used to call ‘em a Swedish biplane. ‘Course only I knew that.

Rachel. Mmmhm…

Grandma. Are you listening to me?! This could save your life one day.

Rachel. We should probably be figuring out what to do about the horrible wreckage where our toast truck used to be!

Grandma. What was I saying? Oh right. So back when I was a Sith, we weren’t allowed to take more than three wives. And unlike you kids we actually followed rules! They were there for our protection, see.

Rachel. I don’t see what that has to do–

Grandma. You respect your elders, now!

Rachel. But grandma, the Sith have a long-standing tradition of betraying and killing their elders!

Grandma. Just the way God intended! Things sure were better in those days. We didn’t have nursing homes.

Rachel. That’s it. I’m taking you to a home.

Grandma. …please don’t take me to a home.

Rachel. Then stop telling long rambling stories about nothing! We need to get rid of this wreckage!

Grandma. Have you tried eating it?

Rachel. How would that even work?!

Grandma. Easy. Back in WWII, we made a sport out of eating downed aircraft. Course, back then we would always be able to eat it with homemade cinnamon jam. And the aircrafts were made of matzo crackers.

Rachel. That doesn’t make any sense!

Grandma. Well I’m offering solutions, you’re just gabbing.

Rachel. Ok, so I think we definitely should call the police.

Grandma. No! Don’t call the police!

Rachel. Why not?

Grandma. Because I have the death sentence on twelve systems!

Rachel. THIS IS NOT STAR WARS AND YOU ARE NOT THAT CHARACTER.

Grandma. DON’T TELL ME WHO I CAN’T BE.

Rachel. YOU CANNOT BE A CHARACTER FROM A FICTIONAL SERIES.

Grandma. BACK IN MY DAY, WE KEPT OUR FICTIONAL SERIES THE WAY WE KEPT OUR HORSE-WOMEN: TIED UP TO A FENCE OUT BACK WITH A CARROT STUCK IN EACH NOSTRIL!

Rachel. Ok, that’s it. I’m calling the police, and you’re going to a nursing home first thing on Monday, I cannot deal with this anymore.

SFX. Sirens. De-flashback.

Rachel. And that’s how I saved Christmas!

Regis. What a harrowing tale of survival! And so when did you see the true image of God in the form of a water filter?

Rachel. Well, Regis, that happened a week or so after I took Grandma to the home. It was after I had been eating nothing but airplane glue seasoned with a little basil for a few days. I had passed out in the living room, and I saw God. He told me…(Sniff.) he told me (Crying.) that the truest endeavor that anyone can try to undertake is to change water filters. So after I had managed to cut myself out of the carpet, I formed the Hare Brita-shnas.

Regis. And what is the purpose of your church.

Rachel. We break into people’s homes and change their water filters at gunpoint.

Regis. What if they don’t have a Brita water filter?

Rachel. Then we rob them and leave a strongly-worded letter about the importance of water filters.

Regis. Don’t you understand that what you’re doing is illegal?

Rachel. The calling of filtering people’s water is above any law.

Regis. Wise words, Rachel. Next on our show, we have a squirrel who has become very good friends with a dog!

Narrator. That’s all we have for today! Join us someday in the future for our finest hour. That or our eventual deaths.

Everyone. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!