... and lardy patties cooked just-so wrongethly... Thus, the fair, young-looking yet wise law-enforcer maiden was sure that it was all the DaVinci wanna-be aged male yet it wasn't know thus so. A special was aired... Another 48-hours Mystery... Doth the possibly hairy male with a thing for beautiful badge-carrying maiden committeth arson or is the fair maiden just a crime analyst who can't file but wants to carry a gun?...
The fine law-abiding as well as the generally high members of the public watched this show with breath held, awaiting a verdict on who doth torcheth the favorite lardy patty establishment...
[QUOTE=HeidiMarie]Burker King in question caught on fire, and there were no survivors, not even a chicken nugget. [/QUOTE]I don't have anyone with whom to consipire to begin this masterpiece but the whole tragedy thing useth up all my dramatic reserves... Shakespeare was so clever and funny so I thought maybe we could come up with something like Larry David Writes Shakespeare [aka... omalley writes csi episode where the heroine (long-suffering, undiagnosed woman with every known problem under the sun) ponders the meaning of the universe and all things seen, unseen and just plain ignorant].
NO ACT I -
Narrator: An unnamed dolt approaches our lovely, beautiful, well-aged heroine thinking that because she works in law enforcement, she functions well as a map, a phone book, a log of all ordinances known to man and can also explain why his neighbor is such a piece of work...
"Pardon me ma'am... doth I might inquire in such a manner as to the location of our well-nigh Burger King wherefore I might find that pretty maid who createth those lardy patties?"
The heroine giveth an eye of compassion that doth implieth go-away-a**wipe... "Sir, ifeth thou lay eye to the way, thou shalt envision, well in thine vision, the goal of your desire." In a mere moment of time, the window of the vehicle in which she sat so wonderfully alone slid closed and our decent fellow was left only with the reflection of the sun which shineth in the sky...
During this exchange, an observant bystander, intrigued by the lovely appearance of the law enforcement uniform accenting the beauty of our beautiful heroine, noticed that although well-aged, she had aged well, even though she was 50.flipping through one of the 26 stacks of papers upon the desk, she came upon the file she thought she had seen earlier that evening.
Police Woman (reading to herself): Suspect 5'11, 150, former employee Piggly Wiggly Market, blah blah blah, aha! Missing two fingers on right hand! Tis sure that this is the knave responsible!
She rises victoriously. With solemn airs she flippeth the file, engaging in a quest for the name which might illuminate herself and identifu the criminal at hand. Her eyes landing on the name, she gasps. It was none other than...
[QUOTE=chjones]
(i always think of angels as male, someone said that was weird. is that weird?)
[/QUOTE]
Not wierd. The talmud, old testament, you name it all speak of them as male. Though according to catholic mythos they have no wee-wees (though I must say the fallen angels did a lot of boinking to not have them LOL).
Fallen angels according to old Jewish myths bred with earth women and made giants. That's where they all came from supposedly (I'm still waiting for all the giant skeletons to pop up though).
Ok - enough - back to your play and sorry for interrupting. Carry on all.
...the damn author cannot writeth so at this moment as she is in a fit of crying laughter while the other law enforcementeth employees stare... ohhhh... in walks the cheif... our fine author begin, once again, to looketh busyeth...
Our fine heroine, looking younger and more beautiful than ever ponders if the lardy patties doth enliven the complexion... aha! a clue... a bony finger doth alight upon the desk, perhaps lain thereupon by the male angel who looketh ever more beefy and sexy than ever... (note: everyone increases in value as time goes on thus reversing standard time-trends)...
"Fair crime analyst/cop who cannot thus file... Here doth rest the bony finger of possible lardy pattie/lean cuisine criminal. Did you knoweth they were the same? I bestow on you a tidbit of knowledge so that you mighteth impresseth the fine chief of your fine law enforcement establishment."
"Thank you, Thank you, Thank you! My ADHD was getting in the way of my being able to see anything in this pile of papers!"
"It's my pleasure. And might I addeth that I wouldeth like to come back and visit on some other day..."
Before she could reply, he was gone... She looked at the bony finger wondering if it was the same nose-picking bony finger described by the shelf stocker at the piggly wiggly... but wait!...
Cut to a dodpopper prancing gay lee around a pile of... oops, wrong orgy...No Act II, Sc II
The sky darkens as evening falls. Curtain rises on a small, greasy cafe. A buxom waitress puts the chairs neatly atop the table as she prepares to close. A handsome man with only three fingers on his right hand pecks painfully on his laptop keyboard and checks his watch. Reaching stealthily beneath the table we see him set a timer and very discretely push a bright neon red flashing button. He smiles.
Man (pleasantly, confused as to whether or not he should be speaking shakespeare, he compromises): Well, clearly the time has cometh to taketh my leave, gentle lady. The night doth fall, and I must with hast awayeth with myselfeth!
Strolls casually out the door to meet the other three flaming fathers (who were in fact really only two in number, but one suffering with multiple personality disorder) who had miraculously survived. Pops a ritalin on his way out. Turns to look behind. Outside in a darkly lit alley...
shakespeare38656.4077777778 are the three/two flaming fathers one reacheth a bony hand and skeletal arm to force down the throat of the three-fingered man and extract the ritalin in triumph from his stomach... and with a flourish he holds it up to the sky, a tiny moon, as poor three-fingered man lies gagging on the floor. poor hero -
Our heroine, the police woman, stares blankly at the fiery inferno before her. Anger overcomes her fear and she strides purposefully to the angel, who hovers in triumph above the scene.
Policewoman (to angel, gesturing to the heavy bag she carries): Nice!! Now what the hell do I do with the 15 pounds of lardy patties I just bought!
Throws the grocery bag at angel, who stares at her, dumbfounded as she marches away. She makes a final turn back and makes a rude hand gesture to angel, who just shrugs.
Exit all. End No Act II. Intermission
shakespeare38656.4767476852No Act III, Sc I
Author, well rested after waking from the dead, sits front row center with box of Junior Mints.
A much relieved Police Woman, somewhat less well aged following her stressful afternoon, enters stage left.
Police Woman (aside, to audience): The time has come for all to see...(pauses, frighteningly psychotic eyes resting on Author and his Junior Mints, shouts shrilly)...What, prey tell, maketh you so special that you eat candy in humble theatre, whilst we all ingest lardy patties? Have you any explanation?
Author, looking scared, begins...
...that the plays author has been slain. Without guidance, she quickly relieves herself, returns to the stage, and stares out blankly at the audience, having no lines to recite. She looks helplessly offstage at actor portraying Angel, who enters stage right and begins improvising.
Angel (loudly, trying to cover):
where policewoman quickly runs to the potty, to go pee, and discovers... Angel (fluttering hoveredly): Hark! All Ye Herald Angels, Sing! There will be a slight extension of the intermission, as one of the play's authors has written his death into the play so he can go work and earn more money to play more. He shall return at 18:00 PST, for the enjoyment of all! All Hail The Resurrection!No Act II
We last left our beautiful heroine at the center of a triad of mysterious occurances involving chickens, lardy patties and one possibly hairy dude, now believed to have been sniffing lean cuisine meals... The airing of the 48-Hours Mystery special gave few answers to the unclear issue at hand... Add to this the beheading of heretofore unrelated individuals who were later found to be in collusion with Donald Rumsfeld, Karl Rove and Tom Cruise to bring about the downfall of our fair maiden cop wannabe... Here we find her speaking, once again, to an unidentified male in front of the freezer section at the local Piggly Wiggly...
"Sir, so you saw the man take the Lean Cuisine meals out of their packages and pull back the plastic? What did he do then?"
Pushing his messy hair out of his bloodshot eyes, the young shelf stocker said, "Yeah, I dunno, maybe he was just looking but I thought he smelled them."
"Could he have been sniffing them?"
"Uhhhh... maybe... but it really looked like he picked his nose..."
"Thank you. You've been a lot of help."
Returning to her office, the younger-than-she-used-to-be crime analyst sat down at her computer. Making a map identifying all the locations hit by the recent Lean Cuisine crime wave, she pondered where he might hit next. She processed and crunched numbers and then tried to file them but to no avail... She had no idea where the hell he'd hit next. She tried turning up the music to the highest possible volume, the sounds of Nickelback (new good drummer, of course) making the walls vibrate...
"Turn down the f-ing music!!!!" She heard an annoyed voice yelling down the hall...
Our heroine stopped for a moment trying to decide what to do next when...
No way. It's like one of those intermissions where you go out of the theater to go pee...
when she realized intermission was over and she hadn't gone to go pee yet. So, looking for an empty coffeelenko cup, she slyly said, "You freaking want ME to pee in a cup??? What a male response..." and she stalked off in search of the loo...