Little Monsters, Part One

In 2007, I wrote 101 short short plays, many of which were very silly, and most of which were impossible to produce. They have languished in my inbox ever since, as I’ve never really known what to do with them. Here, I share [some of] them with you. 

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#1:  JAMES V. THE LAW OF GRAVITY

(Curtain up.)
(Man stands on bare stage.)
(He jumps into the air and levitates.)

MAN: Take that, Gravity.

(Curtain.)

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#2:  …AND THE WORLD WILL NEVER BE THE SAME

(Curtain up.)
(A reporter interviews a wild-haired man in a white labcoat.)

REPORTER:  Professor Wermer!  Tell us about your exciting new invention!

WERMER: (In a slight accent) I have built a Perpetual Malaise Machine.

REPORTER:  And how do you feel, Professor?

WERMER: (Shrugs.)  Eh.

(He sighs in German.)
(Curtain.)

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#12:  HAIKU LOOP

(Curtain.)

(A FRANTIC MAN runs into the doctor’s office.)

FRANTIC MAN:  Doctor, you must help!

DOCTOR:  Tell me, good man, what is it?

FRANTIC MAN:  I am trapped in a…

(He is unable to speak another syllable.  He weeps silently.)

(Curtain.)

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#17:  1932: A STAGE ODYSSEY

(Curtain.)

(The PALACE THEATER, New York City, 1932.  To the strains of the first movement of Richard Strauss’s “Also Sprach Zarathustra,” a tribe of prehistoric ape-men are watching a dull VAUDEVILLE performance, and eating a freshly killed TAPIR.)

(Suddenly, a MYSTERIOUS BLACK MONOLITH appears in the center of the audience, two seats over from the ALPHA APE-MAN.  He looks at the monolith, and then at the Tapir-bone in his hand.)

(At the monolith.)

(At the Tapir-bone.)

(At the monolith.)

(At the Tapir-bone.)

(He scratches his head.)

(Suddenly, screaming, he jumps upon the stage and beats the living shit out of VAUDEVILLE, which dies.)

(The other APE-MEN howl in approval.  The Palace Theater is converted into a cinema-house.)

(Mankind evolves.)

(Sort of.)

(Curtain.)

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#18:  PATIENT ZERO

(Curtain.)

(A super-secret lab.  Two doctors sit at a desk, feet up, sipping brandy and smoking cigars.  They laugh and high five one another.)

DOCTOR FINN:  Well, we did it.

DOCTOR GILL:  Yup.  Cured every disease, ever.

DOCTOR FINN:  Uh-huh.  Cancer?

DOCTOR GILL:  Kicked it.

DOCTOR FINN:  Pneumonia?

DOCTOR GILL:  Nipped it.

DOCTOR FINN:  AIDS?

DOCTOR GILL:  Ate it.

(FINN looks at GILL, disgusted.)

DOCTOR GILL:  Well, not literally.

DOCTOR FINN:  Yup, got a cure for everything.  Only thing that could lick us now would be some type of super-virus that doesn’t yet exist.  But my hubris tells me that’s impossible.

(The JANITOR comes in and sneezes.)

(FINN and GILL look to each other in horror.)

(Panic.  Apocalypse.)

(Curtain.)

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#20: MARSHALL LEEDY: A BIOGRAPHY

(Curtain.)

(1950.  The L.A. County Morgue.  Five men stand around a body, smoking cigars.)

DETECTIVE:  Marshall Leedy.  45.  Quit his job, quit his wife, quit his friends and family.  Found dead on his couch last night.  Doc?  What’d you find?

DOC:  His heart stopped.  No explanation.  It just…  stopped beating.

DETECTIVE:  Quit his life.

DOC:  The man successfully ceased to exist.

DETECTIVE:  Not entirely.  Left behind a corpse.

(The body suddenly evaporates into thin air.  Pause.  Exasperation.)

DETECTIVE:  Well, we’ll always remember–

(Sudden, long pause.)

DETECTIVE:  What were we just talking about?

(Longer pause.)

(Curtain.)

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