fuck

(note: this sketch can, if necessary, be broken into two parts. the stage is lit dimly. a GOTH sits alone, typing away)

GOTH: "The sun had set upon all of Peter's dreams." (pauses) No, wait, the moon is cooler. "The moon had set upon all of Peter's dreams." That's better. "This city and everyone in it didn't care about him. They had conspired to smash..." (pauses) No... "destroy..." No, that's not right either...ah, I've got it, "They had conspired to fiercely brutalize with their hateful claws of misunderstanding..."
MOM: (peeks her head from offstage) Andrew!
GOTH: "Of misunderstanding..." (worried) Of, um misunderstanding...
MOM: Andrew! I'm calling you!
GOTH: What were they misunderstanding? Oh, damn it!
MOM: Andrew!
GOTH: (whiny) Mom, you made me mess up!
MOM: That's a shame, dear. Are you ready for dinner?
GOTH: Mom, it's Friday! You know I don't eat on Fridays!
MOM: Today you do, tiger. You need to get a big meal in you for the big day tomorrow.
GOTH: I do?
MOM: That's right! We're leaving for our family vacation!
GOTH: We are?
MOM: Of course we are, we've been planning on this for weeks! (looks around) It's so dark in here, I don't know why you...(flips light switch, stage comes to full light)
GOTH: (whiny) Mo-o-om!

(tropical music begins to play. someone tosses one of those flower necklaces to MOM from offstage. she puts it on, happily. DAD comes out, carrying luggage)

DAD: (comically gruff) Good gosh, they've got all those unhappy looking children moping around outside the airport begging for something to eat, I don't see why they can't put one of them to work as a bellboy...
MOM: (laughs) Oh, you...
DAD: So this is the hotel, eh? Some place!
MOM: Phillip, vacationing in this third world country was such a splendid idea. We saved so much money!
DAD: You're darn tootin', honey. A vacation's no fun if you've got to start cutting corners the moment you get there.
Well, son? Want to go outside in the hot desert and toss the ol' ball around? (GOTH just mumbles a vague 'no') Come on, sport, let's give it a go!
GOTH: The only 'sport' I know is the one where they tear out my heart and stomp on it and laugh.
DAD: We could play that, too, but how about a little frisbee first, eh? I remember my days as a frisbee pro back in college...
MOM: You were quite a favorite with the cheerleaders!
DAD: If layin' two of 'em out per night counts as being a favorite, then I guess you could say I was!
MOM: Oh, you scamp! (they laugh)
DAD: Andrew, why don't you go make friends with some of the poor starving children while your mother and I have some man-and-woman time.
MOM: Perhaps you could find one of the starving children who have been on TV with that nice blonde woman.
DAD: I'll tell you something, I'd bang her over a barrel for 12 cents a day!
MOM: Oh, darling! (they laugh)
DAD: Run along and have some fun, son. But stay off the rock, you hear? None of those crazy ghetto drugs that they do in these countries.
MOM: Goodbye, son! We love you!

(they exit, leaving the GOTH alone. he mopes.)

GOTH: Left alone again in some third-world country. Of course they left me alone. I'm so alone in my heart, why should it be any different on the outside? It's because they don't understand me. I'm just too deep for them. (thinks) I should write a poem about this. (looks around) God, I hate this place. These people are so dumb. This is probably one of those places with one of those weird freaky religions where they eat people.

(STARVING CHILD comes out onstage. he walks carefully, cautiously, as if afraid of being detected)

CHILD: Oh! Hello.
GOTH: Hi. Are you one of those starving children from those commercials?
CHILD: Do you have food?
GOTH: No. I never touch food.
CHILD: Where are you from?
GOTH: I'm from the cold, black darkness.
CHILD: Is that in America?
GOTH: It is wherever I am.
CHILD: Oh. (shrugs) So what brings you here?
GOTH: My dumb parents. They're always making me do lame things like this.
CHILD: Like stand here in the lobby of our country's only hotel?
GOTH: No. They always want to do family stuff.
CHILD: Is doing "family stuff" not fun?
GOTH: Don't you hate your family?
CHILD: My father and older brothers were drafted into military service by our country's dictator and they never came back alive.
GOTH: Oh, okay. Well, just take my word for it, family stuff sucks.
CHILD: Okay.
GOTH: They're always being a pain in the ass about food, too.
CHILD: (brightens) Oh, yes, we have many problems with food here.
GOTH: Yeah, so you know what I mean! It pisses me off. I mean, hello, I don't want to get all fat or people will think I'm some sort of suburban goth or something, when really I'm like a city goth, you know?
CHILD: (trying to understand) Oh, yes. The vultures, they are a big problem.
GOTH: You're so lucky. You get to look all skinny. My parents are always nagging me...
CHILD: If I complained of my hunger to the troops who are occupying my village, they would shoot me.
GOTH: Oh, that's totally the way it is. It gets so you just don't want to bother talking to them anymore if they're gonna misunderstand. And they're always trying to tell you how to be, you know. I mean, it's like, I don't want to be an accountant, I don't want to take over your dumb bike store, Dad. But they don't want to hear it.
CHILD: Yes, there is little choice for me but to join the army or perish. It seems that our experiences are very much alike. It is good to have met you, my friend.
GOTH: Yeah, no problem. I mean, it's nice to know that not everybody in the world is a total asshole.
CHILD: Sometimes I wonder what the point of living is, you know? If all I am to do is struggle and struggle through a miserable existence only to meet a brutal end at the hands of some vicious stranger...
GOTH: That is such a perfect description of my life, it's unbelievable. Can I put that in my poem?
CHILD: Certainly, my from-cold-black-darkness friend.
GOTH: So you have problems with the government too?
CHILD: (whispers) Yes, I do. When my friend attempted to speak out against their cruelty, he was killed in front of the entire village!
GOTH: Oh, man, my teachers are just like that. They just want to shove their dogma into your mind and they don't care how you feel about it. I tried to read a poem in class once and they wouldn't let me because they didn't want to hear what it had to say, you know...
CHILD: What did it have to say?
GOTH: It was about how much shit sucks, and it drew a comparison between sewers and my soul.
CHILD: That sounds very good. But they didn't want to hear it?
GOTH: No, they're all happy all the time and they're always trying to get me to buy into...
CHILD: (suddenly) Oh, no! It is El Presidente with two foreigners! Hide me!
GOTH: Man, you have to stand up to them or they're never going to stop oppressing you. It's like that one song said, "Don't turn around 'til you break them to pieces".
CHILD: But they'll kill me for being here! I was just looking for some food!
GOTH: (still singing) "Tear, break, rend, destroy, mess it up..."

(MOM and DAD return along with EL PRESIDENTE)

PRESIDENTE: (as they enter) So, you see, the people here are very happy. We have relieved them from the evil of the past regime and now they dance in the streets.
MOM: Oh, is that what they were doing? Dancing? How cute!
PRESIDENTE: But you can see how the threat of the terrible former dictator hangs over our peoples' heads, and that is why we need to be able to protect them.
DAD: Well, that settles it, the moment we get back to the US of A, I'm marching right into my congressman's office and demanding that they ship you some weapons to protect yourself with!
PRESIDENTE: That truly warms my heart, my American friends. I would like to make this gift (snaps fingers - someone from offstage hands him a life-size blue head made of glass) to you as a show of my people's gratitude.
MOM: Oh, that's simply beautiful! Thank you so very much! It's perfect! What is it?
PRESIDENTE: It is a religious icon. The children of our country insist upon handcrafting those beautiful blue heads all by themselves in kilns raging at over 3000 degrees. We often say "Relax, little one! Go and play! The fire is hot!" But they will have none of it. They insist on working away, night and day, so that they may show you their thanks.
MOM: (noticing GOTH) Oh, Andrew, you've made a new friend!
GOTH: (furious) Stop it Mom, you're embarassing me!
MOM: That's so nice! See, I knew you could have fun if you tried!
GOTH: Damn it, Mom! You always have to be like this!

(EL PRESIDENTE drags CHILD fiercely off)

CHILD: Help, my friend! Help!
PRESIDENTE: Shut up, you!
DAD: Takin' him in for a little re-education, eh?
PRESIDENTE: Yes, yes I am.
DAD: Good, looks like he can use it. Study hard, little guy!

(the CHILD wails as EL PRESIDENTE drags him off to his death. the GOTH is still arguing with MOM)

MOM: What did I do, dear?
GOTH: You had to go and be all mushy! Now he's never going to want to talk to me again! He probably thinks I'm a dork!
DAD: Buck up, son, those foreigners are all a little crazy in the head anyway.
GOTH: I hate you, Dad.
DAD: Glad to hear it, son. Let's go home.

(lights fade again. the GOTH sits back down, as if in his room at home again. the blue head remains back on the table)

GOTH: Stupid blue head from a stupid country. Why'd they put this dumb thing in my room? Dumb, worthless piece of crap. I should write a poem about it. I could use the blue head as a metaphor for...um...my head, I guess. "My head is like a head that is blue..."

(there is a knocking)

GOTH: Yeah?

(GOTH #2 shuffles in. he is shocked at the sight of the first GOTH)

GOTH2: Oh shit, man, what happened to you?
GOTH: What?
GOTH2: You! You're...tan!
GOTH: I am?
GOTH2: Dude, you're like some all-American ideal golden boy...
GOTH: Oh, no! It was the sun in that desert!
GOTH2: Way to sell-out, Andrew.
GOTH: I couldn't help it! My parents made me go!
GOTH2: I always knew you never really believed.
GOTH: I do! I do! I didn't want to get a tan! I couldn't help it!
GOTH2: Why don't you go play with the other tan happy people?
GOTH: No! I'm still miserable! I am!
GOTH2: Go slip into a plastic minivan coma, smiley.

(GOTH #2 leaves. GOTH stares miserably at the ground, and then angrily picks up the blue head)

GOTH: It was you! It was you and your creepy stupid country that did this to me! You're a curse, aren't you? This is one of those things where you go to a tropical island and you bring back some ancient relic and it's a curse! Damn it! Fate itself is against me! The entire universe is against me! I'm gonna write a play about this!

(the phone rings. GOTH ignores it)

GOTH: "They drag me around the world and still I am left cold." That sounds good. Hmm...cold...old...bold...fold...mold...hold? "I went so far away and still they had me in their hold." (genuinely proud of the rhyme) Awesome!
MOM: (offstage) Andrew! It's for you!
GOTH: Damn it, I never have time to write anymore. Just another one of their ways of keeping me silent. (picks up the phone) Hello?
VOICE: Hi, I'm from the Armory Free Theatre, is this Andrew Kirschbaum?
GOTH: (nervous) Yeah.
VOICE: Yes, you recently submitted a play that you would like to be performed here?
GOTH: Uh-huh.
VOICE: Right, well, I had a couple of questions about it.
GOTH: Uh-huh.
VOICE: It's called "Piss", right?
GOTH: Yeah.
VOICE: The central plot of the piece is that a major literary publisher does not understand the work of a young author...
GOTH: Uh-huh...
VOICE: And then Jesus comes down and turns all who who opposed the author's work into fecal matter, is that correct?
GOTH: Um. Yeah.
VOICE: Andrew...may I call you Andy?
GOTH: Uh.
VOICE: Andrew, let me be frank with you. The Armory Free Theatre has a long and proud tradition of supporting works that are experimental and unconventional, and one very experimental thing to do is to say the word "fuck" a lot. Are you with me?
GOTH: Um.
VOICE: And I'm afraid that your play just doesn't feature that word quite enough. If we allowed you to produce it at our theatre, I'm afraid that people would feel we were in fact supporting censorship because of the dramatic lack of the word "fuck" in the piece.
GOTH: Mm.
VOICE: Do keep writing, though.
GOTH: Yeah.
VOICE: And if you're interested, we have a show going up this weekend that features hilarious and endearing characters undergoing a variety of mishaps as they navigate their way through the complicated maze of relationships and romance in college life. It says "fuck" 87 times in the first ten minutes. You should come see it!
GOTH: Yeah.
VOICE: Nice talking to you, Andrew. Bye!
GOTH: Bye.

(GOTH is floored)

GOTH: I...they...they didn't get it. Of course they didn't. They're all stupid. They'll all be fecal matter when the time comes. The damn government probably told them not to allow it. The jerks who run this country are always doing stuff like that. If I got a chance to tell those bastards off... (turns around) It's you, isn't it? You, you stupid blue head. You evil blue head! What power do you hold? Stop cursing me, damn it! No more! Leave me alone!

(the MAN walks in)

GOTH: (surprised) Hey, jerk, don't you know how to knock?
MAN: I'm the Man. I don't knock.
GOTH: You're who?
MAN: Look, are you...(checking papers) Andrew Kirschbaum?
GOTH: Yeah.
MAN: Hi. I'm the Man. I'm here to clear some things up.
GOTH: Which man are you?
MAN: I'm the Man.
GOTH: What the hell are you talking about?
MAN: Christ, kid. You've written two-hundred fifty-nine poems about me, and you don't recognize me when I finally do show up?
GOTH: Oh my god...you're the MAN!
MAN: Yeah. I run this country, the media, the world economy...I flood the ghettoes with crack, I put mind-controlling flouride in the water, and I silence young revolutionaries. I'm pretty much in control here.
GOTH: You...you...I'm going to bring you down!
MAN: With what? Poorly rhymed poems?
GOTH: Stop...stop keeping me down!
MAN: Kid, I haven't been keeping you down. I don't even know who you are. Check the records. I keep track of everyone who I oppress, and you're not on the list.
GOTH: You lie!
MAN: Look, we transferred your file to the Little Boy a while ago. And I checked with the Little Boy, and he says even he hasn't done anything to give you trouble. So knock it off, will you?
GOTH: Knock what off?
MAN: Always blaming me! I haven't done anything to you. The Man is not keeping you down. The Little Boy is not keeping you down.
GOTH: But you...you won't let me speak my mind, you...
MAN: Won't let you say what? Go ahead. Say it.
GOTH: I...uh...
MAN: This story is nuts. (reading) "The moon had set on all of Peter's dreams"? How the hell does a moon set?
GOTH: You just don't get it!
MAN: No, that's true, I don't. In this poem, you compare your soul to the night sky. But doesn't that also imply that your soul has planes flying around in it?
GOTH: No, I just meant the darkness part...
MAN: See, you have to make that clearer. You're saying that your soul's like the sky in one and then it's like a sewer in the next, and then there's this crazy wack-ass one where your soul is actually swallowed up by a beluga whale. Consistency! And this other one where the doves all line up and spit on you...since when do birds produce enough saliva to do something like that?
GOTH: Those birds did. In the poem. They did.
MAN: Son, be fair. I have an entire world to dominate. Tonight I have to go attempt to kill a private dick while he's in the arms of his woman, and then twenty minutes after that they need me in Arizona to suppress some alien landing. I'm a busy Man. I have better things to do than this. I don't blame you when some technological breakthrough slips past us and I have to get to work putting out a vastly inferior but cheaper and more widely compatible version. You never hear me whining "a pale, withdrawn teenager is keeping me down", do you?
GOTH: Well, no.
MAN: So please do me the same courtesy, OK? Thanks.

(the MAN leaves. the GOTH sits alone)

GOTH: I...hmm..."My soul is like..." No, wait..."They're always trying to..." crap, they're not, I guess...

(the GOTH looks around, and, speaking wearily, finally types a word)

GOTH: "Fuck".


fuck by marc heiden october 1998