Or, Is This Something?
As the sunlit sanity of the waking world burns the night to ash,
embrace the unbound madness of your wildest dreams,
laugh into the endless abyss of your darkest fantasies,
and rage against the coming dawn.
BLIFFEN SCRAGGMEISTERMAN minds his own farting business.
JEFFERNY BOWELSCRAPINGS enters.
JEFFERNY: Got a minute?
Bliffen considers this, then checks his watch for an uncomfortable length of time.
BLIFFEN: No. Why?
JEFFERNY: I wanted to run some of my new bits by you before I hit up the open mic tonight.
BLIFFEN: The one at that dive bar in the bad part of town with all the skinheads, or the one at the perpetually empty pizza joint that smells like unwashed feet?
JEFFERNY: No, this one's inside the unisex restroom at the cougar bar.
BLIFFEN: You're not going to do more of that self-deprecating topical nonsense, are you?
JEFFERNY: I don't know what you're talking about.
BLIFFEN: You know damn well what I mean - "Have you read a newspaper?"; "What's the deal with hair?"; "Did I mention my lackluster genitals and failed personality?"
An uncomfortable silence.
JEFFERNY: Do you want to hear it or not?
BLIFFEN: Come with me.
Bliffen leaves, Jefferny follows.
Somewhere else. But this place has a full, possibly horse-sized SACK in it.
Bliffen and Jefferny enter.
JEFFERNY: What is this?
Bliffen hands Jefferny a stick.
JEFFERNY: What's this for? Why is there a full, possibly horse-sized sack in here? Do you have a dead horse in there?
BLIFFEN: Don't be ridiculous. Where would I even get a dead horse?
JEFFERNY: Then what is it?
BLIFFEN: Look. I'm not a rocket biologist. All I know is that we live in a perpetual Hell of endless news updates, instant gratification, and people's need to masturbate in public about things they don't even understand. (gestures) Also, I found him that way.
JEFFERNY: You could just say you don't want to hear my bits.
BLIFFEN: Jefferny… If I didn’t want to hear your bits, I’d go down to the mic and ignore you to your face like everyone else.
JEFFERNY: Fair enough.
BLIFFEN: By the time any of us drives out to some show in an abandoned industrial park or a shiatsu laundromat that serves tree bark smoothies, millions have already pleasured themselves into a frothy rage over headlines to news stories they never read. They don’t have the energy to laugh at your reheated takes on cold, stale topics.
BLIFFEN: So, I came up with this. Whenever I feel the bubbling urge to excrete some pithy, yet witless thought on something topical, I come here and have at it for a bit. If I haven't forgotten what I was going to say by the time I'm done, then I'll go down to some dark, depressing place and tell a joke.
JEFFERNY: Does it work?
BLIFFEN: More so than my topical humor.
JEFFERNY: (shrugs) Worth a shot.
Jefferny hits the sack with the stick.
SACK: (pained grunt)
JEFFERNY: It made a noise.
JEFFERNY: I thought you said you didn't have a dead horse in there.
BLIFFEN: He's clearly not dead.
JEFFERNY: How is this any better than topical humor?
BLIFFEN: It's not. But at least this way I don't have to go outside.
The chill of night brings with it a still darkness,
brings with it an alluring promise of peace.
Till the light of day warms your cold bones,
may your eyes never rest,
and may those little slices of death never come.
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