Not All Who Wonder Are Lost

A one-act play

ACT 1

(Older woman enters from the right, sits in a chair facing the audience and loudly exhales)

Ever have one of those days when you can’t decide whether you’re Boy George or Girl Friday?

(pause)

Or maybe Boy George and Girl Friday?

(laughs)

Now, I don’t mean to brag but windows see through me because I am the most fascinating woman in the world. You haven’t seen me perform in television commercials so allow me to present my verbal résumé in order to back up my assertion.

I spent my salad days in Chugwater, Wyoming and found it true that prophets are never accepted in their hometowns. Jesus and I are tight on that one

(holds up middle and forefinger together on right hand)

which only pissed off people there more when I told them that. Living life hollowed out, locked and loaded is not for me. I say we all deserve better than being prisoners of war in our own community. You see, it’s acceptable to think different there, but it has to be the right different and better not be done by a woman.

I got out mostly intact—the nature was beautiful but the nurture was an IV testosterone drip—and headed to New York City to learn more about life and the world outside Wyoming. Manhattan was the land of museums and libraries, and I needed that infusion. I thought I had a certain way with words holding down the best salon in Wyoming, and it seemed like most everyone in New York City, at least on television, was very verbal.

Initially, I did a little of everything in order to get by in Manhattan. But tell me why a man will respond with ‘Oh you’re so industrious and hardworking’ if a man were in my shoes, but he will think a woman must have been Jezebel-ing spread-eagled in Times Square.

I eventually got a position—do not snicker—taking dictation for the editor of the New York Post. I learned quickly to either offer boffo headline quips regardless of your position—remember “Headless Body in Topless Bar”?—or be sent packing. I’m no high society hobnobber, but it frustrated me to no end that the majority of our readership, even if given a first edition of “La Comédie humaine,” couldn’t tell the difference between Balzac and a nut sack.

During that time, and it has apparently been lost to antiquity, I authored “The Brotherhood of the Traveling Boxers.” Can I call it a book if it never appeared in that form? When I pitched it to various publishers, some were confused whether I was referring to gay men’s underwear, pugilism unity, or a dog act within a circus. I later learned a usurper borrowed my concept and got rich after making a few changes. When I gently inquired about receiving royalties, well, so much for the divinity of sisterhood, Ya-Ya or no Ya-Ya.

Soon the musical lure of Greenwich Village was calling my name. I met Dylan, Baez, Dave Van Ronk, you name ‘em. One time over the phone, Bobby told me he had writer’s block and couldn’t shake it. I told him to move two blocks over.

(laughs again)

No, I sang him a verse from a song I was writing at the time.

(pretends she is playing a guitar and sings extremely nasally):

“My ass is on fire and I’m peeing blood
my doctor is babbling like Elmer Fudd
so forgive me Father if I have sinned
noshing at the breast of Heather Prynn…”

Bobby stopped calling after that.

Oh yes, I must confess I was once a Calvinist, back when I was in Wyoming. Those rants about total depravity and limited atonement were attractive for a while in a punkish sort of way. But Calvinists are a very tough crowd. Anyone who would complain that Jesus was a show-off and really needed to tone it down…

(entire body shivers)

I was also close to becoming a Protestant and I will tell you why. Addressing someone as Parson sounded hip. But the religion wasn’t.

(pause)

At least the way I interpreted it. Some people think they are masters of their universe when they aren’t even a player in their own sandbox.

As for Catholicism, it was too much of the saints and the aints for me. The fixation on eternal bleeding just became morbid.

And yes, I have previously been married but now I’m dispossessed. It was to a man named Dooley Noted. What attracted me was dear Dooley possessed the elocution of a Puritan circumcisioner. We had triplets, Hickory, Dickory and Dock. Yes, Dooley had quite the thing for Mother Goose. Reading him nursery rhymes was his Viagra back then. However, I eventually discovered he was running up someone else’s clock on the side so I became a savant at alimony.

Now I have reached what I’ll call a certain number of years. It is said that with age comes wisdom but I don’t think it’s necessarily always a twofer. Some people seem born stupid and make it a point to dearly hold on to that anchor. Others always offer unasked-for advice when their lives have been lifelong trainwrecks. It seems to be men mostly.

Okay, here’s a little something I wrote about a typical lifespan. I sent it off to “The New Yorker” some years ago but never heard back. Damn that William Shawn.

“At 20, you have spark. Life is a series of starburst dreams. The possibilities are endless and each is phenomenal. You dive in headfirst to a mix of “Climb Every Mountain” and “The Impossible Dream” on repeat, and attempt to change the world to conform to your vision.

Come the 30s, life is put on hold if you have a kid or kids. Or if you married one.

As for the 40s, settling settles in. It starts happening with your body too. What once was so important recedes to being a distant crackerjack.

In your 50s, you ask yourself, internally of course, “what the hell have I accomplished and where did my drive go?”

The 60s, oh the 60s, are a never ending battle for satisfactional supremacy between bowel movements and naps. Mortality begins taking repeated punches at you and, unfortunately, some connect.

Life begins so promising amidst vivid colors, even in Chugwater. As time passes, our skin wrinkles, our hair grays, and our original bulb of brilliance dims. Desperate to halt the inevitable decline, we fruitlessly thrash about trying one remedy or another. Finally, a panorama of white envelops us until the light goes out and what is individually us is extinguished.”

Believe it or not, Fred Rogers co-wrote that last part with me but never wanted attribution.

And afterwards, so many seem to want to be boxed up and deposited underground. Not me. We live in a box, drive one, and work in one. That’s enough hemming in. My late friend Nettie was among the casket choosers although first she donated her brain to science. Nettie always had a knack for

(laughs)

thinking outside the box.

Now I’m not Hindu but I think when I’ve bought the ranch I’m going out with a funeral pyre in my backyard. Just think of the consternation when the fire truck pulls up and begins their investigation. I don’t know what the Post headline will be but it should be a doozy.

Let me finish with my prime resentment of older age: being treated differently because I’m wrinkled and elderly. A compilation of decades doesn’t imply feeblemindedness. I don’t necessarily contribute less to society due to my advancing age. I’m finally educated—thanks to those insightful classes at the 92nd Street Y and the New York Public Library—and I’m going to rage and celebrate and continue learning into that good night. Yes, it seems I have a thing for Dylans.

(stands)

My lifelong motto is to forego the taut stomach but have a taught mind. I am the most fascinating woman in the world.

The Id, Ego and Superego

A one-act play

ACT 1


A brother and sister return to town for their mother’s funeral. Both have been gone since graduating high school. Another brother never left home.


They all meet for the first time in small room adjacent to the parlor where the funeral service will soon take place.


Funeral music plays in the background. All are dressed in black.

ARNIE

(enters room)

Greggie, Janey, Hey, how long’s it been? How ya guys doing?

JANE

Hello Arnie, we’re holding up, doing okay. (looks at watch) And to answer your question, nine years, seven months, sixteen days.

(walks over and starts to hug Arnie)

ARNIE

(backs away, looks at Jane)

So, Janey, are you no longer one of them?

GREGORY

Arnie, not now, shush!

ARNIE

C’mon, it’s not like Ma’s gonna sit up and take notice.

JANE

Sorry to disappoint you Arnie but, yep, I remain a card-carrying member. A dyke, a lezzie, or whatever pejorative du jour you’re calling people like me nowadays. However, I do have a surprise for

ARNIE

(interrupting)

Weeeellll, since you’re family…Janey’ll do for you.

JANE

(mockingly)

Fine with me homo…sapien.

GREGORY

(throws up his hands)

What am I going to do with you two? Mother is dead and you’re both acting like you’re back at Hormone High and nothing’s changed.

ARNIE

(shrugs)

We’re just picking up where we left off. I couldn’t stand to be in the house with her and I’m sure the feeling was,

(chuckles)

is, mutual. We couldn’t wait to get out. Come graduation and its bye, bye, birdy.

(walks over to the window and pulls back the curtain)

You got Ma in a coffin or a refrigerator box?

GREGORY

(angrily)

That’s uncalled for Arnie. I did the best I could, no thanks to you. 10 years go by, no contact, nothing, until now

ARNIE

(interrupting)

So, does anybody know if HE is gonna be here today?

GREGORY

Beats me.

JANE

(addresses Gregory)

Does he know about Mom’s death?

GREGORY

Not that I am aware of. Once in a while he send pictures of his new family.

ARNIE

That scummy bastard’s still rubbin’ it in. You won’t be seein’ me at his funeral.

JANE

I want to be there just so he isn’t canonized by the time it’s over. You know, there ought to be a moment at funerals, like there is at weddings, where you can stand and object before the veneer of sainthood is applied.

GREGORY

C’mon, this isn’t about him. It’s about Mom.

JANE

You’re right, Gregory…Hey, there’s something you both need to

ARNIE

(interrupting, rummaging through drawers and cabinets)

Man, I’m starving. All we got was some cheap ass peanuts on the plane. You think we got time for a Domino’s delivery?

GREGORY & JANE

(loud voices in unison)

Arnie!

JANE

(to Gregory)

So, now do you finally believe me that Mom adopted him and didn’t tell us?

ARNIE

(backing down)

Okay, okay. But I need something. We’ll have to talk to all these old farts afterwards and miss out on the spread.

GREGORY

(shakes head and turns to Jane)

So, how are you doing? Really doing?

JANE

I’m doing fine. Really well, actually. I’ve never been happier and neither has my partner. One reason I came early

GREGORY

(interrupting)

I’m happy for you Jane. You deserve it. Don’t you think so Arnie?

ARNIE

(sarcastically)

Yeah, I’ve been meanin’ to send a bouquet.

(voice back to normal)

Hey Janey, answer me this. Remember when you were always after me about my boots. And then it was my men’s magazines.

(imitates female teenager voice)

Let me borrow this. Let me wear that.

(voice back to normal)

You were such a pain in the ass and you just wouldn’t let up. What was that all about?

JANE

Diversionary tactics. Fake left and go right. You were clueless. What I was interested in was a couple of your girlfriends. Like Rachel.

(sighs)

Now Rachel, she could’ve been a model.

ARNIE

Rachel? Hah! If you’re a model, then you’re a model. Otherwise, you’re just a broad with small tits.

JANE

Bequeath us more eloquence, my dearest Arnold.

ARNIE

(excited)

Hey, you think Rach will be here today?

JANE

Down boy, down. Okay. Now, ever since I got here, I’ve been trying to

GREGORY

(suddenly butting in)

All my life, I’ve wanted a girlfriend named Kris, with a ‘K’. Has to be a ‘K’.

(smiling off into space)

With a name like that, she would be beautiful. And kind. Chris with a ‘C’

(shakes his head)

would be too chancey.

(Arnie and Jane turn towards Gregory with looks of astonishment)

JANE

My, my, am I mistaken or did we just have a libido moment? Gregory, my world has just been turned upside down.

(goes and sit down, starts fanning herself)

I’m a bit faint.

ARNIE

So, Greggie, let me get this straight: you’re rejecting babes because of their first names?

(turns to Jane)

Is he on medication for this?

GREGORY

Arnie, you wouldn’t understand. You never did.

JANE

But Arnie, is that any different than you chasing women based solely on their looks?

ARNIE

(dismisses Jane with a wave of his arm)

Okay, Greggie, tell me, who’ve you been puttin’ the moves on lately? Who you got in your radar?

GREGORY

(staring off into space)

I remember the first and only time I saw Mom cry.
(addressing Jane)

It was the day you left. Mom went to her room, shut the door and just cried and cried. I felt so helpless. It was just her and me and I didn’t know what to do.

JANE

I’m sorry Gregory. But I had to get out, get away from here. From this town, this house…this family. I just thought it was best for all. I never knew she took it so hard. She and I just couldn’t talk about my life.

GREGORY

She talked about it with me, but just once. She felt she failed you. What scared her most was how you would be treated, how hard your life would be.

ARNIE

I knew it would happen but figured it was all just a phase and you’d be the one to return.

JANE

Well, then it’s the longest running phase this family has known.

(pause)

But your skirt chasing runs a close second.

ARNIE

(smugly)

Can I help it if I’m just popular AND particular?

JANE

(assumes pose as if holding a clipboard)

Let’s see. Pulse, check. Vagina, check. Willingness, check.

(as if a boxing announcer)

Let’s get ready to tumble.

ARNIE

(wincing)

I did almost get serious once.

(holding up thumb and forefinger an inch apart)

It was this close.

JANE

(sarcastically)

Was that your dream mate, the visually impaired mute?

ARNIE

Yeah, right. Look it, I’m a M-A-N, not a social worker. And, hey, someone has to make up for all loneliness Greggie’s causing in the female population.

(addressing Gregory)

By the way, did you e-v-e-r have a date in high school?

GREGORY

You know I was very shy back then. Sensitive and shy.

ARNIE

Clue numero uno Greggie. You got a great act. There’s women out there that eat up that shy and sensitive crap. But try pullin’ it off. Like tellin’ ’em

(in soft, sensitive voice)

it’s my first time since my wife died…or asking them if they’re sure, really sure…having to talk afterwards
(shudders)

JANE

Speaking of relationships, you both need to

GREGORY

(again staring off into space, interrupting)

I did almost kiss Audrey Kaplansky once.

ARNIE

(ebulliently)

All-right Greggie. I knew you had it in you. I remember she was a hot little number. Wouldn’t give me the time of day though. C’mon, c’mon, spill the juice.

GREGORY

(adamantly)

It was pure, totally pure. I want you both to know that. We had been working on a science project after school. It came time to go and she asked me if I would walk her home. Just before we turned the corner to her street, she stopped and asked if I could keep a secret.

(turns to Jane)

Why do girls ask questions like that?

JANE

Because we want to make sure.

GREGORY

(turns to Arnie)

Do guys ask these questions Arnie?

ARNIE

No, we’re not too big on the vocals.

GREGORY

I asked her what she had in mind but then she wouldn’t tell me. I was thinking she wanted me to kiss her, and I wanted to kiss her, but if I was wrong, well, that wouldn’t have been gentlemanly.

JANE

(turns towards Gregory)

How sweet, Gregory.

ARNIE

Yeah, sweetness’ll keep you doing the one handed tango the rest of your life.

GREGORY

But if I was wrong, we would have lost something between us.

ARNIE

Hey, clue number two, Greggie. Females ain’t made out of glass. She wouldn’t have become catatonic if you ruffled her feathers a bit.

GREGORY

Arnie, there’s enough pain in this world already. I don’t want to cause more.

JANE

Gregory, sometimes I think you’re not part of this world. And that’s good. Don’t ever lose that.

(goes over, grabs Gregory’s head with both hands and kisses his forehead)

GREGORY

Jane, do you know what Mom said to me the day she died?

JANE

What was that Gregory?

ARNIE

(interrupting, mockingly)

That she couldn’t believe what a trio of aces she produced?

GREGORY

(angrily)

No. Stop it.

(pauses, back to normal voice)

It was that she truly loved all of us for who we are and that she wished she had given us a better life.

ARNIE

(putting up his hands, palms outward, as if pushing away the words)

Whoa, this is getting way too deep for me.

JANE

Of course…for someone who’s never left the kiddie pool of life.

ARNIE

(looks at Jane, points towards Gregory)

Hey, he’s the lifeguard at the kiddie pool.

(turns towards Gregory)

You’re living in a world that doesn’t exist.

GREGORY

It does…inside my head. It’s my world.

ARNIE

(backs off)

Okay, okay.

(pause)

By the way, how did Ma take it when I split?

GREGORY

Arnie, she just took it as matter of fact.

(pause)

She probably figured you were just like Dad and couldn’t be counted on hanging around. That’s why I had to.

ARNIE

(erupts angrily)

That’s a low blow Greggie. Listen, you don’t know…

(interrupted by a knock at the door)

JANE

(approaches door)

Now both of you, pay attention. I’ve been trying to tell you something ever since I got here.

ARNIE

Yeah, what?

JANE

I want you to meet my partner.

(opens door)

ARNIE & GREGORY

(in unison, shocked)

Audrey!

THE END

How to Work a Party

A one-act play

ACT 1

(The setting is a large room where a Christmas party is taking place. Carols plays in the background. Nine people are present, five men and four women, milling around. Two of them, a man and women begin talking)

First Man

Hey!

(extends both forefingers in direction of woman)

First Woman

Hey!

(repeats same gesture)

First Man

Hey!

(again extends forefingers)

First Woman

Nay!

(makes sign warding off the devil)

First Man

Cute. I like cute. Great party, huh?

First Woman

You betcha. An all-timer. Woodstock 3 if it keeps up.

First Man

Wanna dance?

First Woman

Well, I’m really tryin’ to cut back. Doctor’s orders.

First Man

C’mon, let’s boogie.

First Woman

Nah, my boogie woogied.

(points to woman across room)

Try her. I think she’s diggin’ you.

First Man

She’s my wife. She should.

First Woman

(turns toward audience, spotlight on her)

His wife. He makes it sound like he slips a leash on her each morning and off they go for a walk.

(looks over at wife and then back at audience)

But she is plain. One of those women who puts on a new outfit and all her friends, as best they can without betraying their undiscussed but agreed-upon civility, muster a “that color looks good on you.”

(turns back to man)

Your wife has the mien of a suffering woman. One who must incessantly keep you entwined within her worry beads.

First Man

Leave my insignificant other out of this. She isn’t part of the equation.

First Woman

So, was your major scorn, with a minor in humiliation?

First Man

(retreating)

Uhhhhh, I think the baby-sitter is calling.

First Woman

I suppose so.

Second Woman

(approaches and says)

Isn’t that dip marvelous?

First Woman

Oh, this.

(looks at dip on table then points to retreating man)

I thought you meant him.

Second Woman

Surprise! It’s mine!

First Woman

It’s out of this world. And where did you get the idea to shape the veggies into little outer space creatures? They look like little Martians.

Second Woman

Well, that’s my tableau, my oeuvre. I’m really kind of a performance artist.

First Woman

Oh, yes, you must be the one Laurie Anderson speaks of as her
inspiration.

Second Woman

Laurie…

First Woman

(interrupting)

So tell me, you must know all about those alien abductions. I know it usually happens to Goober or Dirtclod but I’m fascinated that every abductee seems to be taken back to the mother ship and anus probed?

Second Woman

(backing away)

Uh, nice to chat.

First Woman

What do you think they could be looking for? And why there of all places?

Second Woman

(voice trailing away)

I’ll find that recipe for you.

First Woman

I’ll warm the oven.

(turns toward audience, spotlight on her)

Her LIFE is a performance. My guess is at 15 she probably won the talent competition filleting cucumbers at the Junior Miss Pageant. I can see the headline on her obit: Mabel Zit—“Broke Through the Boundaries of Culinary Artistic Expression.”

Second Man

(approaches and says)

Would ya like to see pictures of my kids?

First Woman

Like I’m gonna have a choice?

Second Man

Pardon?

First Woman

I said this is gonna make me rejoice.

(turns toward audience, spotlight on her)

In fact, on the way over here I was thinking the night wouldn’t be complete unless I see irrefutable proof that actual fucking has occurred involving someone here. And here’s a guy who ought to be wearing a hat inscribed “Ask Me About My Sperm Count”.

Second Man

This is Sue Claire, our oldest, and Nathaniel, our youngest.

First Woman

My, my…my, my. You know, I always find it a bit off-putting when daughters look like their fathers and sons like their mothers. It’s like some genetic crosswiring produced a living, breathing malfunction. In your case, twice.

Second Man

(angry, puts pictures away, stomps off, saying)

Well…

First Woman

(turns toward audience, spotlight on her)

I spit on his gene pool and from the belly of the beast the best he can summon is a flaccid ‘well’. I detest those who crumble in the face of insult. They know they’ve been wronged but slump spinelessly to the end of the long line of tongue swallowers. His wife will probably have to endure a string of woeful ‘dadgummits’ in the car on the way home tonight.

Third Man

(approaches and says)

You remind me of the very best of my ex-wife.

First Woman

Work hard on that one? You must mean the 2.0 trophy wife release?

Third Man

Huh? Oh, yeah, right, I get it. Yes. Yes.

(emits a short laugh)

No, you really do. You’re so…so appealing. You have “it”.

First Woman

Right. “It” comes with my gender and it’s not anywhere you’re gettin’ close to.

Third Man

No, no, no, you confuse my intentions.

First Woman

The scent of the prowl is drippin’ off you. I hope your shots are current.

Third Man

Hey, I don’t approach and say that to every woman.

First Woman

Discretion or laziness?

Third Man

What?

First Woman

Sorry, I didn’t come here in my swoonmobile tonight.

Third Man

I’m not following.

First Woman

I’m not leading.

Third Man

(retreating)

Uh, lemme get back to you.

First Woman

I’ll set the timer.

(turns toward audience, spotlight on her)

Another Mary Magdalene acolyte. On the hunt for the devotional whore. Or, transposed, whorish devotion. Act one for him is “eureka, I have found her.” Part two, the nest and hen grow distressingly too familiar. The end comes with a re-casting of the existing Madonna as succubi, in order to re-inflate his personal flotation device.

Third Woman

(approaches and says)

I can’t help but notice you’re alone.

First Woman

Yeah, I and myself are taking a break. It’s just me.

Third Woman

No, no, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Alone can be good. Many great people were loners. I can name…

First Woman

(interrupting)

Let me guess. You’re a social worker.

Third Woman

Hey, you’re pretty perceptive yourself. That is something you should celebrate, give yourself a ‘shout out’ for possessing such a talent.

First Woman

(turns toward audience, spotlight on her)

Have I somehow been laid out on a couch? This one has a compulsion to befriend who she perceives as the ordinary, the different, the alone. Her mission is to end their torment and better their lives. In her voluminous condescension, comes the assumption that proximity to her will result in human gentrification.

(turns back to Third Woman)

I think I hear Tiny Tim calling.

Third Woman

Oh yes, I must get back. Think about what I said.

First Woman

I’ll call Dial-A-Therapist tonight.

Fourth Man

(approaches and says)

Don’t I know you? Didn’t you used to make money for me?

First Woman

(turns toward audience, spotlight on her)

Now, I’m a mutual fund? He’s the purchaser of a foldout page in Burke’s Peerage and sniffs like I’m a character in “The Grapes Of Wrath.”

(back to Fourth Man)

Saddle me up bossman.

Fourth Man

Pardon?

First Woman

I asked, ever paddle the Amazon?

Fourth Man

I have interests there.

First Woman

(turns toward audience, spotlight on her)

The best you and I can manage is a soiled timeshare somewhere. HE has INTERESTS. Would you care to venture it’s not a string of orphanages. The price earnings ratio just wouldn’t do.

(back to Fourth Man)

In what capacity do you remember me from?

Fourth Man

I don’t remember. I have people for that.

First Woman

Aren’t you slumming a bit being here tonight?

Fourth Man

Family obligation. I promised my third cousin Bernice that I would make an appearance. And for this I’m missing the opening of the Japanese market. I must hurry before the European exchange opens. But the service debt incurred tonight by my presence will be honored. I’ll see to that.

First Woman

(cups left hand to mouth, speaks to audience)

Jesus, talk about flushed with excess.

Fourth Man

I didn’t catch that.

First Woman

I asked what’s the key to your success?

Fourth Man

Simple. It all goes back to my business philosophy, which is, ‘my time is the most important’. My expectation, no, make that demand, for those in my employ is, you are at my beck and call. If I call a meeting, you drop whatever you are doing, and you damn well better be doing something, and get there.

First Woman

(turns toward audience, spotlight on her)

I bet this financial dominatrix orgasms as he grinds a spiked heel into the backside of any unfortunate hoi polloi who stumble across his imperious path.

(back to Fourth Man)
So, any layoffs within the empire of late?

Fourth Man

Nothing consequential. Bits of flotsam here and there.

First Woman

(turns toward audience, spotlight on her)

Can you picture how he handles a downsizing? The unfortunate are escorted to the executioner’s chamber and go from table to table, like stations of the cross, gathering last-minute crumbs while simultaneously expected to endure a quick pat down to make sure no company property is being purloined.

(back to Fourth Man)

I’m curious, wouldn’t you say philosophy, in and of itself, is the love of wisdom and the never-ending search for it?

Fourth Man

That’s why my holdings are worldwide. To draw from the best.

First Woman

(cups left hand to mouth, speaks to audience)

His Descartian dictum: “I’m rich, therefore I am.” And his corollary is probably, “You’re not, therefore fuck off.” You do the Latin.

Fourth Man

(looking puzzled)

Just who are you talking to?

First Woman

I don’t talk to and I don’t talk at. I talk with. But you wouldn’t know anything about that. You’re too busy menage a tois-ing with The Donald and Sir Rupert.

Fourth Man

What did I hear you say?

First Woman

So, is it true you give performance reviews to your girlfriends and chart your sex life under Mergers and Acquisitions?

Fourth Man

Enough of you.

(waves arm dismissing her)

Security will escort you out.

First Woman

One last thing. With Don and Rupe, are you a top or a bottom?

Fourth Man

You audacious bitch! Nobody addresses me like this. Nobody. Not you. Not anyone. Ever.

(walks away)

First Woman

(turns toward audience, spotlight on her)

Well, my, my. The size of his funeral will depend on who’s catering. Speaking of size, I’ll let you in on one of this pequeno pecker’s secrets. I bet when he uses a public urinal, rather than on the porcelain, he concertedly pees directly in the water. Why you ask? Because the louder sound this produces must, of course, mean to anyone within earshot that he is of a generous endowment. And the first and only commandment for these all-time ego strokers is everything in their portfolio, and I mean everything, must be the unchallenged biggest and the best.

Fifth Man

(approaches and says, with back to audience)

Ever seen a bigger one?

First Woman

No, never. That hole of an ass takes the cake.

Fifth Man

I handed him some paper towels in the john. He thought I was the help.
Tried to tip me…a quarter.

(laughs)

I nailed the bastard. Told him to unwrap his firehose elsewhere or I would call security. Man, he stormed outa there.

First Woman

So…water or porcelain?

Fifth Man

Oh, he was water. Definitely water.

THE END