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Trude holds up the prize pumpkin.

TRUDE

How long was you planning to keep this pumpkin hid?

CLIFF

Until sich time as you’d treat it proper.

TRUDE
A real man don’t hide his pumpkins!

CLIFF

(awestruck)
That’s why I never saw daddy’s vegetation.
CURTAIN

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Lisette plays with a cracked baby doll.

NANNY

(sternly)

I have bad news, Lisette.

 

LISETTE
Is it about my dead hamster?

NANNY

(tauntingly)

I will no longer ready you those Pippi Longstocking tales.

LISETTE
(stares out the window)

It is all coming true.

 

CURTAIN

She was dancing to the rhythm of the cat

But then one day had a sudden realization that cats have no particular rhythm

And they’re not known for dancing in general

Which transformed her dancing to a hollow charade

A mangled false tribute to a mammalian carnival that didn’t even exist

A misguided, poorly conceived cross-species shadow saturnalia

Making a mockery of her own purported feline expertise

Implicating participation in a perversion of cat values

A misinterpretation that called into question her previous cat culture efforts

And so the dancing stopped before her catness damage was unsalvageable

And instead she stood in the garden by the rows of celery.

Throughout the novel, she clutches at her toothbrush.

Throughout the novel, she nearly boards the wrong train.

Throughout the novel, she has a knock-down, drag-out fight with an oversize bottle of Listerine.

Throughout the novel, she is attacked by socks with a mind of their own, controlled by a Russian pataphysician.

Throughout the novel, she is confronted by victims of her own offensiveness and has to deal with the remittable claims of a charity goods man.

Throughout the novel, she refuses to make her macaroni-and-cheesecake confection despite being urged on by remarkable men.

Throughout the novel, she becomes a balloon of defeat, hesitating over whether the mountebank will injure himself.

Throughout the novel, she has a jellybean fixation which is only cured by her tussle with an undercooked filet.

Throughout the novel, she swims with a talking otter in a permutated parody of one of Tolstoy’s less successful carnival games.

Throughout the novel, she confidently takes a swinging barroom door and transforms it into a fun-loving winter sled complete with steel runners.

Throughout the novel, she develops a poison of remarkable solidity that can elucidate the jungle content of any oceanic solution.

Throughout the novel, she brandished a water bracelet sluiced with miniature guppies.

Throughout the novel, she wrote a puzzling work with doorknobs located at its center.

Throughout the novel, she juggled simulacra of lettuce with a fervent agility.

Throughout the novel, she sold overpriced red cars.

Throughout the novel, she made a call to Iowa.

Throughout the novel, she sadly lacked chips.

The director sat at the head of the long table wearing a large smile and a dark green shirt that complemented his deep tan. “The casting job was amazing, Percy.” He spoke in a low tone to the screenwriter, seated at his right side and looking unrested in a ragged pullover shirt and three days of beard stubble. “You won’t believe it. Felice found the perfect actor for every part. She went like three extra miles to be mega-diverse, with a capital m-d.”

Percy Luttington gulped at his iced espresso, which was now mostly ice and less espresso, nodding nervously at the table of actors. “Felice is very real. She’s always on it. The thing for me, Rule, is it’s all about the story. Whoever can tell the truth of this story, that’s who we need.”

Continued: http://bit.ly/2KeKM5i

A dimly lit Taco Bell.

LEN

Do you have any tacos for vegans?

CLERK

We don’t serve no space creatures.

LEN I’m from this planet.

CLERK Then don’t feed them alien overlords!

CURTAIN

 

 

A dimly lit Taco Bell.

ICE OFFICER
We’ve had reports of an undocumented chalupa biting cattle. I heard you serve those here.

CLERK
Don’t you mean a chupacabra?

ICE OFFICER
Do you serve those, too?

CLERK
Only if they can pay for their order.

CURTAIN

She played guacamole games with a doctor from Japan

She laid on polo fields with a Venezuelan man

She danced in failed skirts with a designer also-ran

She took trains to Albuquerque with a fascist Indian

But on a Sunday evening, when her paramours had fled

She watched a taco program and ate Fritos on her bed.

Even T. S. Eliot couldn’t get a deal

when he pitched The Wasteland limited series,

so that crazy premise based on your lame

lemonade stand verses won’t get off the ground.

You don’t even have fateful fortune tellers or

impatient barmen and your childhood characters

are trite and unreflective of grander social mores.

You should return to your drafts, have the

stand burn down, get sunk in a deep morass of

moss-draped swamp water, dissolve like a

shipwreck from the Near East and entrap

beneath its counter tokens of ill-starred scamps.

Depict distressed clients, kicking thin cups on the

sidewalk and bedraggled housemaids clinging to

some forlorn hunk of pulp, hoping for a fresh

squirt to transform their existence.

Then maybe you’ll get a second look.

“We should have a flashback,” said Jeff spreading

his hands, “of the time he stowed away, scared,

riding in a test capsule with no one,

trapped in  a long orbit he never made.”

At which Leslie puffed on her cigarette.

“Don’t make me laugh, you hack. That’s the oldest

cliché in the book. The dark childhood mess

come back to enmesh him in its tight grasp.”

Her straight brunette bangs jittered. “Rollo stares

space in the face, unafraid. A mighty

white-suited orbit warrior, darting

into the far reaches of the unknown.”

Milton rubbed at the ache in his forehead.

“We know Rollo’s tough, but we gotta glimpse

his tender side. Maybe a space babe, a

statuesque princess from Mars with some spunk.”

“You have to be kidding,” sneered dry Leslie.

“The last thing we need is a Mars vixen,

a small-brained twit to simper at space hunks.”

“Let’s just do a jelly monster,” urged Jeff,

“like the one in ‘Moon of the Unhallowed’.

we can all get behind slimy feelers.”

There were reluctant nods. The meeting stopped

at four with notes on grappling tentacles.