Two girls. Two dance sequences. How many oranges?
Last minute gifts for your Great Aunt Bertrude
We all have a Great Aunt Betrude. Even if you don’t have a Great Aunt Betrude, you have a Great Aunt Betrude. Except for me. My Great Aunt Betrude died. RIP Betrude. Except not really. Because she is haunting me. That bitch. So I still have to get her a Christmas gift. It helps appease the restless spirit.
I know I often forget to get my Great Aunt Betrude a gift. And now it is already December 23rd! That’s, what? Negative eight shopping days left till Christmas? I really don’t understand the whole “shopping days” thing (or the metric system, for that matter).
But anyway, I have compiled a list of Great-Aunt-Betrude-friendly gifts that are DIY and IMDB and FBI and quick and easy!
- A mug. Any idiot loves a mug. And, as Scientists have proven, Great Aunt Betrudes are often idiots. If you, on the off chance, have a smart Great Aunt Betrude, skip this one.
- An endless mist. Great Aunt Betrudes are totally weird, so naturally they love endless mists. Especially ghost Betrudes, because it allows them to haunt with more ease. Endless mists aren’t quite DIY, but if you stop by your local sorcerer with a copy of a well-worn Dan Brown book, they’ll know what to do. If they don’t, well, at least you have proven your local sorcerer to be a fraud. Silver lining, y’know?
- A replica of a replica of Auguste Rodin’s sculpture, “The Thinker.” (If you want to go really cheap, get a replica of a replica of a replica.) Great Aunt Betrudes rarely think enough. It’s one of their Top 92.5 Flaws. So when they see their replica of a replica (of a replica) they will be reminded to churn out a few thoughts. I know a guy who can get you a replica of a replica (of a replica) for only a few cans of black beans (low sodium).
- The antidote to your favorite poison. This one is great because it gives your Great Aunt Betrude a free pass to live the next time you poison them.
- The antidote to your second favorite poison. You never know.
- A jar. Great Aunt Betrudes are always running out of places to put their used bandages. If you find a cool jar (or a horribly boring one) they won’t have to leave their used bandages strewn about on the floor! Just label it “bandage jar” and place in a gift bag!
- The key to your ex-boyfriend’s house. It’s been laying around for months now and you really need to move on. Give it to your Great Aunt Betrude. Maybe she can use it to whittle you a knife with which you can stab said ex.
- A fruit bowl. Just throw some fuckin fruit in a bowl. You don’t give a shit. Great Aunt Betrude doesn’t give a shit. Nobody gives a shit.
- The harness for a winged beast. Who knows what kind of shenanigans Great Aunt Betrudes are getting themselves into? (Answer: the local shaman, but that’s beside the point.) The harness for a winged beast is always handy, and you can pick them up at any gas station.
- Membership to the cheese of the month club. Most Great Aunt Betrudes are lactose-intolerant. Screw them. Quit haunting me.
That time of year
It’s that time of year again. You know what I’m talking about. All the lights, the anticipation. People get so excited. And the songs! Don’t get me started on the songs. It’s an important day. And we’re almost there! December 21st. National Flashlight Day.
It’s like the old National Flashlight Day (NFD, for we purists) song, “Oh Shit, NFD Time”:
Yo yo yo yo yo it’s national flashlight day
lights lights lights lights
where would we be without light
in the dark, that’s where
except for, of course, the sun
all hail the mighty sun god Ra
also go flashlights! they’re sooooo cool
that’s why december 21st was even invented
in England they call them torches
This day is the most important day of the year for one reason and one reason only: I forget. But it just is, okay? Okay? Is that not enough for you? I mean, jesus, can’t you just trust me this one time? It’s a fucking important day. And you’re going to celebrate it. Or I’m never purchasing mugs from this establishment again! So, yeah. You think about that.
It’s just like the other classic NFD song, “Ever Heard of a Flashlight Dumbass?”:
Ever heard of a flashlight dumbass
you fucking idiot
you incredible dumbass
flashliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiights
lights flashin, lights flashin
it’s a lightbulb in a tube
you disgusting moron
no one has ever loved you
flashliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiights
tube lightbulb
I remember my first NFD. I was five years old. It was dark all the time. Because I lived in a cave. So dark. And it was so scary. My god. The dark. Anyway, then someone gave me a flashlight and I was like literally what and then the darkness was gone. It melted away before my eyes and I saw what light felt like. I cried. I cried so hard.
That reminds me of the newer, but still great NFD song, “And We Murdered the Dark”:
That black ink that covered our fingers and eyes
we murdered it, we can see again
blindfolds bleeding no more red
we murdered it, we can see again
get out of your hospital bed
we murdered it, we can see again
As we hear these songs on the radio, listen to carolers with their dub step remixes, and sing these to our collections of rare ferns, we must remember what NFD is all about: flashlights. And the national day we have created for them.
The Fuck is My Cat: A War of the Heart
By Emma Wren and Abi Smith
A catholic church. Members of the congregation are seated. At the altar, Father O’Malley hands out communion to the people lined up. Peggy sneaks into the service holding a safety deposit box and goes to kneel in a pew. She is followed by Frowny BonBigfoot, an aging clown. Frowny bursts in, searching, then joins the line to receive communion. When Frowny reaches Father O’Malley:
FROWNY BONBIGFOOT The fuck is my cat?
A meow is heard from Peggy’s box. Frowny slowly turns.
FATHER O’MALLEY Son, be seated.
Another meow.
FROWNY BONBIGFOOT How do you expect me to be seated? I hear my cat. Peggy. You bitch. Show yourself.
FATHER O’MALLEY I am not sure there is ever a time for this but I am sure it is not during communion. You are in a house of worship!
FROWNY BONBIGFOOT As is my cat!
Frowny marches up the aisle, hears another meow, turns, and spots Peggy.
FROWNY BONBIGFOOT Ahaha! The cat thief in the flesh.
PEGGY Frowny! You found me!
FROWNY BONBIGFOOT I told you to call me Earl!
PEGGY I thought you were a method clown.
FROWNY BONBIGFOOT We can discuss my approach to the art of clowning at a later date. Where is my cat?
Coffee and me: not really a story
So, coffee, right? You’ve heard of the stuff? Interesting. So have I, but I’ve mostly ignored it until recently. For a few reasons: 1)new things are scary and I fear the ever-tightening grip of death, 2)is caffeine bad for you? it’s bad for you right? what’s the whole deal there, really? 3)what are the rules to this world? this world of coffee? Can someone please define their fucking terms? Scientific method, people. It’s not that hard.
This summer I started getting into it. Coffee, not the scientific method. Not by my own choosing or anything like that, but by the one true indicator of destiny: convenience. My place of summer employment featured a selection of coffee one could acquire, free of charge. Everyone already knows this, but when things are free of charge, we start to like them more and more. So I began down this pathway. This pathway paved with coffee beans. It smelled pretty good.
I only drank a cup here or there, always out of droopy-eyelidded necessity. Cut to: this semester of my college education. Merriam-Webster’s dictionary defines sleep as: ????? (no citation needed, because it is technically a falsehood). So I began to coffee (the verb) more and more. Always cappuccinos. I feel like this is supposed to be embarrassing? Not knowing coffee? That many cappuccinos? If it’s not, could someone please alert me? Because I am thoroughly embarrassed. (Yes, that embarrassment is part of my chemical make-up but it also has a lot to do with the coffee crap).
I only knew cappuccinos because of my mom. I did not come from a line of coffee drinkers. I have no guide. No role models. I have heard about the internet, of course, but google is only really useful when you know what to google. The problem is, I don’t know what I don’t know.
I’m standing on top of this iceberg made of coffee, looking down into the water, which is also coffee. (In this scenario there are oceans of coffee! Imagine!) I’m looking down and I can practically smell the 90% that is submerged. But I forgot my wetsuit at home! Also, even if I had brought my wetsuit the coffee-ocean would probably be too opaque to see the coffeeberg and might induce a claustrophobic panic attack in me!
So there I was. Constantly ordering cappuccinos. I don’t know what the fuck steamed milk means. What is the difference between a latte and a cappuccino? Yeah, someone has explained it to me before but the words all taste the same to my idiot brain. What can I add a shot of espresso to? Is espresso like ketchup? Do people put it in everything? Shots of flavor: while the term is fun, what do they do? Are they commonplace or are you that guy when you get a shot of flavor? What is a Spanish latte? Why do Spaniards get their own latte? Seems greedy to me. Also: different roasts? I can’t even formulate a question about those. How many monocles do I have to wear when I address the barista? Does the barista know the future? Maybe that’s another issue.
Am I supposed to feel like the world’s stupidest person when I’m in line at the coffee place? Is that completely by design, or is it an added perk? I ordered a small coffee today and I don’t know if people were actually laughing at me or that was just my perception, but hey: it mostly has the same effect.
I fear I am doomed to not know. But either way: knowing or not knowing, it’s time I owned up to my idiocy. So, here you go world, something I’m literally terrible at. Eat it up, you monsters.
But this reflection has taught me one thing. Now I definitely know how to spell cappuccino. Baby steps.
The Council is Assembled
The council members, Jaslene, George, and Tabitha, are seated in a semi circle. Clark stands and pounds his fist on the table. It is the future.
CLARK Council members! We are gathered here today!
Clark pounds his fist on the table again.
CLARK The alien lords have taken over the mountain region, yes, but we shall persevere!
The council members grunt in approval. Some smack their hands against the tables.
CLARK As the leaders of our society, we must present a united front! This council is the backbone of our livelihood. And as such, we must dress like leaders.
GEORGE Okay, all good stuff, but one thing, what do you mean by that?
TABITHA Maybe we should just focus on the alien lords, military strategy, relocation of native mountain peoples… stuff like that.
CLARK But above all, we must be united! United in color scheme!
TABITHA That’s definitely a concern, but I feel like strategy is probably a little more important.
CLARK There is nothing more important than the morale of the people! And that comes from a killer uniform, as we all know.
JASLENE Okay Clark, but maybe Tabitha has a point.
CLARK No no no. Clark knows what he’s talking about.
JASLENE Did you just refer to yourself in the third person?
CLARK (doing too many finger guns) Clark did!
Urns
Alex and Kerry, sisters, browse through a selection of cremation urns. Kerry looks like she has been crying. Alex doesn’t show any emotion. They are both on edge.
ALEX How about this one?
KERRY She wouldn’t have liked this one.
ALEX She liked blue.
KERRY Fuck blue, it’s a square!
ALEX What’s wrong with squares?
KERRY Almost everything. It’s a square.
ALEX You’re not answering the question. And it’s a cube.
KERRY I just know that she wouldn’t have liked it.
ALEX Fine, then which one would she have liked?
KERRY I don’t know.
ALEX Well you had such strong opinions about this one!
KERRY I don’t know!
ALEX How do you not know?
KERRY I just don’t know, Alex!
ALEX Are you trying to tell me none of these fine urns are catching your eye?
KERRY (cry-laughing) They’re all the worst.
ALEX I know. They’re terrible.
KERRY Look at this one. Was it painted by a blind man?
ALEX This one is just a cylinder.
KERRY And this one is a ceramic soccer ball?
ALEX (picking up the ceramic soccer ball urn) I think mom watched the world cup once?
KERRY You’re right. We should go with that one.
ALEX (holding up the urn in triumph) It’ll be perfect.
Kerry is silent for a moment, then begins to cry.
KERRY No it won’t be.
ALEX (the urn becomes somehow becomes heavier) Kerry.
KERRY This is the worst.
ALEX I know it’s the worst. But we have to find an urn.
KERRY I don’t want to find an urn.
ALEX We have to find an urn.
KERRY But it’s too hard.
ALEX Well we can’t keep her in a tupperware.
KERRY Are you sure?
ALEX Am I sure that we can’t keep our mother’s cremated remains in a tupperware?
KERRY Well when you say it like that…
ALEX We have to do this. Mark could not be trusted to do this.
KERRY Has he even called the church?
ALEX Probably not. I will probably have to call the church.
KERRY Probably.
ALEX Plus, Mark would have picked the one that the blind guy probably painted.
Josh, the store owner, comes over to help. He is quiet and gentle. He has a name tag. It says Josh.
JOSH Hello. Do you need any help?
ALEX Do you have any recommendations?
JOSH For urns?
ALEX What’s your most popular urn?
JOSH Our most popular urn?
ALEX Perhaps the blue?
JOSH Yes, yes, the blue is very popular.
KERRY Great. Well I hate the blue.
JOSH Oh- I’m sorry-
ALEX Yeah, the blue is awful.
JOSH Maybe this lovely green?
ALEX The green is okay I guess, but you should really get that blue checked out.
KERRY The blue is really an eyesore, honestly.
ALEX Why do you sell the blue?
KERRY We just don’t understand.
JOSH (calmly) I know this is probably a hard time for you, you just lost a loved one…
KERRY We did. We did, uh, Josh. Our mom just died. And it sucks. It sucks so much. But we really just hate that fucking blue urn.
ALEX I think you should burn it, Josh.
KERRY Just get it out of here, Josh!
JOSH (taking it personally) I’m really sorry that you don’t like the blue urn.
KERRY Oh, Josh, no.
JOSH I just wanted to help you select…
ALEX (blurting it out) We’ll take the blue urn.
KERRY We want the blue one. We want it.
JOSH Are you sure?
KERRY We love the urn. It’s your best urn.
ALEX Our mom would’ve loved it.
JOSH It’s a really nice urn.
KERRY We think it’s great.
JOSH Thanks guys. I’ll go ring it up.
Josh takes the urn with a weak smile and exits.
Alex and Kerry wait a moment after he leaves.
KERRY That urn is goddamn nightmare.
ALEX I know. (beat) I’ll go call the church.
Sexy _____
Imagine this for a minute: It’s October 27. You have four days to think of a Halloween costume. I know, I know, you technically had 361 days to think about this, but you pretty much forgot about it until now. So what do you do? You definitely know you want to be Sexy ________. But here’s the problem: sexy is actually incredibly subjective. Think about it: some people are attracted to nice cheek bones, but other people are attracted to people with the incorrect amount of toes. And I’m sure there’s someone who’s attracted to both of those things.
Say you wanted to go as garbage. So you just dress up as regular garbage. You know, just a traditional garbage costume. Nothing fancy or anything. Classic garbage. Just a real stereotypical garbage. But get this, at least one guy on Halloween night is going to be like, “Oh I know what you are! You’re Sexy Garbage!” And then some other guy will be all, “I like your costume! Unattractive Garbage!” Both those guys are Indiana Jones, by the way (not Sexy version.)
Usually Sexy _____ costumes are achieved by WomenFolk with the classic Boobs and Butthole combination. For a Sexy _____ costume you just have to show your Boobs (at least one of them) and your Butthole (at least one of them). But what if you don’t have either of these? Then you’re basically fucked. What if you’re a burn victim or a dolphin? How can you ever hope to be Sexy ______? How can you achieve that dream? You fucking can’t. Unless you think outside the box. The box of what is “sexy,” that is.
Let’s re-imagine the box. The sexy box. Ooh, boxes. I’m getting carried away. I think I’m blushing. (Boxes are secretly in my sexy box.) How many Buttholes does this box have? None actually, because my sexy has almost nothing to do with Buttholes. My sexy box is full of surprises. Let’s put some leg muscles in there, the color maroon, the concept of being marooned, general pirate culture, any Mediterranean spice, bird watching (very important: not bird hearing or smelling), some minor phobias, and to top it off, even more leg muscles. I just want this fucking box to ripple with quads and hams.
Now you’re thinking: how the h*ck do I think of a costume to Sexify in this manner? There’s the challenge! While we’re on the subject: how is anyone anything?
But really, whatever you’re going to be for Halloween: it’s already Sexy That Thing to some weirdo freak out there, you beautiful slab of perfectly marbled meat.
Okay, okay, I think I’ve decided. I think I’m going to be Sexy Burn Victim Dolphin Garbage.
the Coffee Hut
(This is a short play. If you want to
read it as a .pdf, you can do that here.)
Noonish. AMY and JASON are in a small art house/coffee shop. It is old and homey, but in a stellar location. There is a small raised stage set up for a slam poetry reading tonight. JASON, early 20s, doesn’t wear an early 1900s Newsies-type hat, but he wouldn’t look out of place in one. AMY, late 20s, wears beads and calming neutrals and scans the room with fidgety hawk eyes.
AMY
Jason?
JASON
Everything is ready.
AMY
The stage?
JASON
The stage.
AMY
The fruit bowl?
JASON
The fruit bowl.
AMY
The chairs?
JASON
The chairs.
AMY taps a pencil against her temple rapidly and glances down at her phone.
AMY
I don’t have patience for the whole issue like last week, okay. I’ll be reading my new piece. It’s called “Manual Labor.”
JASON
I know. Everything will be perfect. I’ve thought of it all.
Who Cares?
Two friends sit in a busy restaurant late at night. Moonlight filters through the windows. Their waiter is nowhere to be seen.
RACHEL
I just don’t understand the whole pumpkin spice craze, ya know?
BARB
Definitely.
RACHEL
It’s like, who cares?
BARB
Yeah. Who cares?
RACHEL
I tried one the other day. A pumpkin spice latte from Starbucks. It honestly wasn’t bad, but it’s more about the principle of the thing.
BARB
And that principle is…
RACHEL
Who cares! It’s just a stupid thing to like.
Barb’s hand begins to twitch ever so slightly.
BARB
Right. Who cares?! Who indeed. Not me. I don’t care. I’m fine.
RACHEL
Of course you’re fine! Now, what are you going to get?
BARB
Gosh, so many options.
RACHEL
Options galore!
BARB
It’s stressful, this many options.
RACHEL
Yeah, but do you know what’s more stressful? No options. Nowhere to go.
BARB
Right of course. But I find that the opposite is also true.
RACHEL
Every extreme is extremely its own.
BARB
What?
RACHEL
Who cares!
BARB
Right! Who cares!
But really Rachel, there’s something I need to tell you.
RACHEL
Yeah totally I want to be here for you.
Barb struggles to find the words.
RACHEL
Oooh the beet salad sounds really good!
BARB
I thought you didn’t like beets.
RACHEL
That was two weeks ago.
BARB
Right, but…
RACHEL
People change, Barb.
BARB
Yeah, about that.
Under the table, Barb’s foot begins to bounce in an odd rhythm.
RACHEL
So what did you want to tell me?
BARB
Okay, this is going to sound really strange, but you’re my only friend in this city and I haven’t been here for very long and I really don’t know who to talk to-
RACHEL
Barb, I’m the queen of strange.
BARB
No, but this is really-
RACHEL
Who cares! I mean, I do, because I’m your friend, but hey: who cares! Whatever it is, just remember: who cares. It’s probably not worth losing your head over.
Barb chuckles along lightly, unsure of what to do or say or how to do or say it.
BARB
Haha! Right! Who cares!
Well, the steak looks good.
RACHEL
You mean the word “steak?” The word “steak” looks good? I haven’t seen a steak around here.
BARB
Yeah, I guess I meant the word “steak.” The word “steak” looks really good.
Beat.
Except, no that wasn’t what I meant. The steak looks good. That’s a thing people say, even if they haven’t seen the dish with their own eyes. It’s got cipollini onions on it and it looks good. That’s a thing that people say to other people.
RACHEL
Huh. You sure it’s not a pumpkin spice thing?
BARB
I don’t know what you’re trying to say to me.
RACHEL
You never know what I’m trying to say to you, Barb. I feel like you don’t feel the same way about the pumpkin spice thing and you just said that so I would stop talking about it.
BARB
The pumpkin spice thing?
RACHEL
Yeah. It’s just so stupid.
BARB
I mean, sure…
RACHEL
I feel like you don’t think it’s stupid.
BARB
I mean, who cares if people like pumpkin spice? It doesn’t hurt me.
RACHEL
Right! Who cares. It’s just so stupid.
BARB
Yeah, but I don’t care, even if it’s stupid.
Beat.
RACHEL
I think I’m going to get the beet salad.
BARB
I’m going to get the steak.
RACHEL
If the waiter ever shows up.
Barb’s whole body begins to vibrate with a strange energy.
RACHEL
Are you okay?
Barb tries to act normal.
BARB
What? I’m fine. Everything’s good here.
Barb begins to make strange sounds.
RACHEL
What is going on with you?!
BARB
Huh?
RACHEL
(to the table next to them)
Sorry about this, I think she ate some raw fish or something.
BARB
That doesn’t make sense as a cause, Rachel.
RACHEL
Sorry for trying to diffuse an awkward situation. Are you going to tell me what’s wrong with you?
Barb shivers violently, then stills.
BARB
(manic, then like a demon)
Haha! Who cares! Who cares! I’m completely fine. I’ve never been better. My blood is hot with the curse of the ancients. I feel my skin ripple into a million pieces and I know that my power is growing.
Barb’s limbs twitch and flail. She gets up from the table and begins to throw chairs around the restaurant.
RACHEL
What is going on with you?
BARB
(with the dark confidence of a supreme being)
I tried to tell you, Rachel. I’m a werewolf.
RACHEL
A what?
BARB
Who cares? Hahahaha! Who. Cares. Fuck you Rachel. You don’t like beets.
RACHEL
I- Yes I do! I like them a lot!
BARB
(to the rest of the restaurant)
She’s lying! She doesn’t like beets at all! People don’t change.
RACHEL
What are you doing right now?
BARB
Ugh, yeah, okay, fair point.
RACHEL
What is your problem?
BARB
I don’t know, okay. I’m just dealing with a lot right now. Ugh, Rachel. Just, who cares?!
RACHEL
Fine. Whatever.
(she flags down the waiter from across the restaurant)
My friend is a monster. Can I get the beet salad to go?
Emma "the wren" Wren 