a
play
by
William M. Razavi
A dark and stormy night. Billy Joe and his girlfriend Charlene are watching a scary movie. They are also enjoying some tasty fried chicken.
CHARLENE: Do you want another biscuit, Billy Joe?
BILLY JOE: Sure.
[Charlene
tosses a biscuit to Billy Joe. They eat
in silence for a moment. There is some
sort of obviously spooky noise.]
CHARLENE: What was that?
BILLY JOE: I don’t know.
[Music. Mike Oldfield, “Tubular Bells.” Billy Joe gets up and checks out the
sound. The music stops.]
BILLY JOE: I guess it was nothing.
CHARLENE: Want some more chicken, Billy Joe?
BILLY JOE: Thanks, Charlene.
[There
is a moment of suspense as he slowly tastes the chicken.]
BILLY JOE: This sure is some tasty chicken.
CHARLENE: I got it at Tom’s.
BILLY JOE: Tom’s diner?
CHARLENE: That’s right.
BILLY JOE: Mmm. This is good
chicken.
CHARLENE: The new cook stole the recipe straight from the Colonel.
BILLY JOE: He stole it?
CHARLENE: They say he ran off in the middle of the night and barely made it
across
the Kentucky state line before the Colonel’s hounds
lost his scent.
BILLY JOE: This is some damn good chicken.
CHARLENE: Can you taste the eleven herbs and spices?
BILLY JOE: Uh-huh. You know, I think
I can taste something else.
It’s like an extra herb and an extra spice.
CHARLENE: Really? That would be
thirteen herbs and spices.
BILLY JOE: Yeah, that’s spooky. It
tastes like…it tastes like—
[Billy
Joe drops dead. Charlene lets loose a
scream that would make banshees cringe.
Music starts again. Mike
Oldfield, “Tubular Bells.” As the
spookiness of the moment settles a man in white enters. He has a white suit and white hair and
cotton white whiskers. He is Colonel
Harlan Sanders. He enters like a
victorious Roman consul.]
COLONEL SANDERS: He’s dead.
CHARLENE: Ohmigod! He just said
“tastes like” and then he dropped dead.
[Colonel
Sanders picks up the mysterious piece of chicken, smells it authoritatively and
nods knowingly.]
COLONEL SANDERS: The extra herb…is cilantro.
The extra spice…arsenic.
[Blackout. More of the same music.]
Colonel Sanders enters.
COLONEL SANDERS: I know what you’re wondering.
If the chicken was really
poisoned how come he died but she didn’t. That’s what makes it really scary. I’m Colonel Harlan Sanders.
CHORUS: Go Colonel, Go Colonel!
COLONEL SANDERS: At any given time there are
as many chickens in the world as
there are people.
Live chickens, that is. If you
start to count the dead ones, well, it starts to look real scary. It’s a world full of chickens. And eggs.
Are you scared yet? Don’t worry,
you will be. Our first story tonight is
a little tale of love gone wrong that I like to call “The Haunted Bucket.”
[The
Colonel shuffles off. Lights change to
reveal Atreus’ House of Chicken. Pelly
Snopes and his wife Zeta are preparing their chicken shack for the customers.]
PELLY: Do we have enough napkins?
ZETA: Yes.
PELLY: What?
ZETA: Yes!
PELLY: We have enough napkins?
ZETA: What did I just say?
PELLY: Yes.
ZETA: What?
PELLY: What?
ZETA: What do you want, Pelly?
PELLY: We need more of those plastic forks.
ZETA: Who eats fried chicken with a fork?
PELLY: People do.
ZETA: Honestly, Pelly.
PELLY: Just give me some damn forks, Zeta.
ZETA: Estes was saying that we can make a couple of thousand dollars
here easy.
PELLY: What does Estes know?
ZETA: Estes knows a lot.
PELLY: Estes wouldn’t know the difference between horsecrap and
chickencrap.
ZETA: Estes is smart.
PELLY: What?
ZETA: I don’t think you should be so hard on Estes.
PELLY: Whatever. Where is that idiot
brother of mine? We haven’t even opened
yet
and he’s already late.
ZETA: He said he was going to try to drum up some business for us.
PELLY: Whatever. That dang fool
couldn’t drum up a drum.
[Estes
Kefauver Snopes breezes in.]
ESTES: Hello, everyone! Hey,
Zeta! Hello, Pelly!
ZETA: Hi, Estes!
PELLY: You’re late.
ESTES: I was just running some ads to the printer.
PELLY: Ads, huh? How come I
haven’t seen ‘em?
ESTES: You were too busy working on your precious chicken recipe.
PELLY: That recipe is gonna make us a fortune.
ESTES: Not if nobody knows about it.
PELLY: Just shut up and get to work.
Take a mop and see if you can clean up the
storeroom.
ESTES: Anything you want, Pell.
[Estes
exits.]
PELLY: Smart-ass.
ZETA: Estes knows what he’s doing.
PELLY: Did I ask you to speak up for him?
ZETA: He is putting up his own money.
You should be nicer to him.
PELLY: I’ll be nice to him just so long as he does his share of the work
too.
[There
is a clatter of buckets from offstage.]
ESTES [offstage]: Sorry!
PELLY: What did I tell you!
ZETA: Don’t be rough with him.
[Estes
enters disheveled.]
ESTES: I think I knocked over some sort of grease. It’s all over the place.
PELLY: Alright, just leave it alone.
I’ll go fix it. You just stay
right here and sort out
those herbs and spices. Less of a chance of you making a mess with that.
[Pelly
exits. Estes looks over his shoulder to
see that Pelly’s gone. He picks up a
handful of flour and blows it toward Zeta.]
ZETA: Estes!
ESTES: It’s alright. I spilled
enough grease back there to keep him busy all afternoon.
ZETA: You’re so bad.
ESTES: How bad am I?
ZETA: Very bad.
ESTES: Crazy bad?
ZETA: You’re all whacked out.
ESTES: I want to get all extra crispy with you.
ZETA: Here?
ESTES: Can you think of a better place?
ZETA: No.
[They
embrace briefly.]
ESTES: I have something to show you.
ZETA: Really.
[He
pulls out a small jewelry box.]
ESTES: I got this for you today.
ZETA: It’s lovely.
ESTES: How do you think we should break the news to Pelly?
ZETA: I don’t know if that would be such a good idea now, with the
business getting
ready to open…
ESTES: It’s never a good time to tell your husband you’re running off
with his brother.
ZETA: That’s just what I was thinking.
[She
tries on the ring.]
ZETA: It’s a little tight.
ESTES: What?
ZETA: The ring. It’s a little
tight.
ESTES: You know what, I’ll just run this back over to the store and have
them size it up
a notch.
ZETA: If Pelly finds out you’re gone he’ll kill you.
ESTES: Don’t worry. By the time
he gets out of the storeroom I’ll be back.
[They
embrace. He heads away.]
ESTES: I love you.
ZETA: I love you too.
[Zeta
smiles for a moment. Pelly enters.]
PELLY: What are you smiling about?
ZETA: Nothing.
PELLY: What?
ZETA: Nothing.
PELLY: Where’s Estes?
ZETA: He ran back out to pick up those ads from the printers.
PELLY: Did he?
ZETA: Yeah.
PELLY: That’s pretty fast. Where
did he take them, Dominos?
ZETA: No.
PELLY: You’ve got some flour on your face.
ZETA: Oh.
PELLY: Here. I’ll wipe it
off.
[He
drops some sort of utensil on the ground.]
ZETA: I’ll get it.
[As
Zeta bends down to pick the red herring up Pelly grabs a large absurdly
dangerous looking knife.]
ZETA: Here you go.
PELLY: Thanks.
ZETA: Pelly, I think there’s something we should talk about.
PELLY: It’ll have to wait until I fix up the storeroom. You know, I should show you
the new system I’ve come up with to organize
everything in there.
ZETA: Okay.
[She
looks back at him, he politely insists she go first. She exits. He brandishes
the knife and follows. Blackout. When the lights come back up Pelly re-enters
with a big bucket of chicken. He sits
down and hums a tune. After a moment
Estes enters casually. He looks around
for a moment, then ambles toward the bucket and starts helping himself to a
plate.]
ESTES: Hey, Pelly.
PELLY: Where have you been all day?
ESTES: Doing this and that.
Mmm. This is pretty good
chicken.
PELLY: I told you it’s a good recipe.
ESTES: We’ll make a bundle on this.
PELLY: We sure will.
ESTES: Where’s Zeta?
PELLY: Oh, she’s out doing this and that. You enjoying that chicken?
ESTES: I sure am.
PELLY: Have some more. You want
a breast, or a thigh, Estes?
ESTES: This is so good it must be a sin to enjoy it so much.
PELLY: You want a biscuit to go with that? Or some gravy? Or my
wife?
ESTES: Where’s Zeta?
PELLY: Why don’t you tell me?
[A
horrible realization is dawning on Estes.
He looks to the bucket, then back at Pelly, then he breaks down and
falls to his knees retching.]
ESTES: You sick bastard! Why did
you do it? You sick bastard!
[Pelly
sits down and kicks up his feet and laughs maniacally.]
PELLY: I told you I had a great recipe.
ESTES: You bastard Pelly!
[While
Estes retches and Pelly settles down to enjoy himself a ghostly figure emerges
in the background. It is something like
Zeta, only she has a chicken bucket on her head with eyeholes cut out. She carries an axe, the kind you use to cut
off a chicken’s head.
She
creeps up behind Pelly while he laughs maniacally and raises the axe above her
bucket/head. Blackout.]
The Colonel enters.
COLONEL SANDERS: Well, that was one bucket of chicken they’re not going to
forget soon.
You know, some folks just don’t know what kind of love goes into every
bucket of chicken. Love, and
money. Because chickens aren’t free,
not even the free-range ones.
CHORUS: Go Colonel! Go
Colonel!
COLONEL SANDERS: Which brings us to our next story. It’s a tale about a sailor
with some debts to repay in this classic I call
“Chicken of the Sea.”
[The
Colonel shuffles out. The lights change
to reveal some sort of church. A
priest, Father Doyle, sits stiffly in a chair.
A ghostly figure (another one) named Thanatos enters leading a sailor,
Popeye. Father Doyle speaks robotically
throughout.]
FATHER DOYLE: Who have you brought here?
THANATOS: This is Popeye.
FATHER DOYLE: Popeye?
POPEYE: Popeye the Sailor Man.
FATHER DOYLE: What do you do, Mr. Popeye?
POPEYE: I do what I do.
THANATOS: Answer the question, Popeye.
POPEYE: I’m a sailor.
THANATOS: So you sail?
POPEYE: That’s what I do.
FATHER DOYLE: Very well. Are you ready
to be judged.
POPEYE: Why do I have to be judged?
FATHER DOYLE: because that is what we do here.
POPEYE: I don’t see why I need to be judged in a church.
FATHER DOYLE: This is not a church.
POPEYE: It looks like a church.
FATHER DOYLE: It looks like nothing.
POPEYE: It looks like a church to me.
THANATOS: Are you ready to be judged?
POPEYE: What have I done?
THANATOS: That is yet to be determined.
POPEYE: What ever happened to innocent until guilty, or whatever it is
that people say.
THANATOS: This is not a constitutional court.
POPEYE: Then why am I here?
THANATOS: Because you’re dead.
POPEYE: How did I die?
THANATOS: I have no idea. I don’t
bother myself with the little details.
POPEYE: How do you know I’m dead?
THANATOS: You’re here, aren’t you?
POPEYE: Damned circular logic.
FATHER DOYLE: Silence. Explain the
rules to him.
THANATOS: You will be asked a series of questions. You must answer them all to the
best of your knowledge. If they are agreeable, they will gain you admission to a very
nice place.
POPEYE: Is it in the
Caribbean?
THANATOS: Leave the questions to us.
You will also need to secure the
recommendations of several people who know you well,
and an essay will be useful in your placement as well.
POPEYE: Is that all?
THANATOS: You have to answer the questions truthfully.
FATHER DOYLE: Absolutely truthfully.
THANATOS: You may also call upon one of your acquaintances to help you with
any
of the questions that is exceptionally
difficult. But there is a catch.
POPEYE: Okay, let’s go.
[Thanatos
smiles ominously.]
THANATOS: Don’t you want to hear the catch?
POPEYE: Nah, that’ll just spoil the ironic twist that comes at the
end.
FATHER DOYLE: Very well. Ask the first
question.
THANATOS: Which direction is East?
FATHER DOYLE: That’s a good one.
POPEYE: East is East.
THANATOS: Is that your final answer?
POPEYE: Yes.
FATHER DOYLE: East is East.
THANATOS: Very good. Where is West?
POPEYE: West is West.
FATHER DOYLE: That is correct.
THANATOS: Well, you’re on a roll, aren’t you? Have you ever cooked a chicken?
POPEYE: Yes.
FATHER DOYLE: That is correct.
THANATOS: Was it spicy chicken?
POPEYE: It was pretty spicy.
[Father
Doyle nods.]
THANATOS: What’s the difference between tuna and chicken?
POPEYE: Are you kidding?
THANATOS: Careful.
POPEYE: There’s a million reasons
why tuna isn’t like chicken.
FATHER DOYLE: There are 601 reasons, but only one answer to this question.
THANATOS: That’s the trick, isn’t it?
[Thanatos
laughs maniacally.]
POPEYE: Stinking dirty trick.
THANATOS: Now, now, Popeye, it’s our game we hold all the cards.
POPEYE: Tuna is a fish, chicken is a bird.
FATHER DOYLE: Is that your final answer?
POPEYE: Did I say it was my final answer?
THANATOS: Don’t get testy.
POPEYE: Tuna can swim, chickens drown.
THANATOS: Are you ready?
POPEYE: I’d like to ask someone else.
THANATOS: Who would you like to ask?
POPEYE: My girlfriend, Olive.
THANATOS: Very well, I’ll go get her.
[Thanatos
exits.]
FATHER DOYLE: Sometimes this takes a while.
[Thanatos
re-enters with Olive Oil.]
OLIVE OIL: Hi, Popeye!
POPEYE: Hello, Olive.
THANATOS: You are aware of the consequences?
POPEYE: I don’t care about the consequences.
THANATOS: You should.
POPEYE: Get on with it.
THANATOS: Very well. Miss Oil, what
is the difference between a tuna and a
chicken?
OLIVE OIL: Tuna can swim.
POPEYE: It’s not that.
OLIVE OIL: Chickens cluck, tuna don’t make any sounds.
POPEYE: That’s a good one.
THANATOS: Is that your final answer?
POPEYE: Olive, are you sure about that?
OLIVE OIL: It could be something about genetics and evolutionary
development.
THANATOS: Can we please get on with this?
POPEYE: What’s your hurry?
THANATOS: The wheels of justice are anxious to roll on.
FATHER DOYLE: That’s a good one.
THANATOS: Thank you.
OLIVE OIL: I’ve got it!
POPEYE: You’ve got it?
OLIVE OIL: The difference between tuna and chicken.
POPEYE: What is it?
OLIVE OIL: It’s all in the attitude!
POPEYE: It’s all in the attitude?
THANATOS: Is that your final answer?
POPEYE: Yes.
[Father
Doyle shakes his head. Thanatos
celebrates.]
THANATOS: Oh, I am sooooo, sorry.
You know what comes next?
POPEYE: Sorry, Olive.
OLIVE OIL: It’s okay, Popeye. I
wasn’t doing anything important with my life
anyway.
THANATOS: You know what the ironic twist is?
POPEYE: I got the answer wrong, so I go to a fiery pit and Olive’s dead
too.
[Thanatos
and Father Doyle smile at each other.]
FATHER DOYLE: That’s so cliché.
THANATOS: Close, but no cigar.
Olive will be pressed with a large device until she
has been thoroughly crushed. Miss Oil’s oil will then be used to fry you
into a nice spicy chicken fried sailor.
This will be repeated ad infinitum.
POPEYE: Sorry, Olive.
OLIVE OIL: Oh, Popeye!
POPEYE: That’s a lousy ironic twist.
THANATOS: I thought it was rather good.
POPEYE: Do I get a last meal?
[Thanatos
and Father Doyle confer.]
THANATOS: Okay. What do you want?
POPEYE: Spicy fried chicken, hush puppies, French fries, mashed potatoes…
THANATOS: Spicy fried chicken, hush puppies…My you’re a hungry sailor,
aren’t
you?
POPEYE: And biscuits, gravy and…
[Popeye
smiles grimly.]
POPEYE: And a can of spinach.
[Popeye
winks at Olive. She gives him the “my
hero” swoon. Blackout.]
The Colonel enters. He is in a feisty mood.
COLONEL SANDERS: Love that spinach from Popeye!
Well, that was interesting
twist, wouldn’t you say? I think he’ll manage to slug his way out of there, and take Olive away from those pressing matters.
CHORUS: Stop it, Colonel! Stop
it! Yeah stop it!
COLONEL SANDERS: Yeah, Colonel get funky.
CHORUS: Get funky! Get funky!
COLONEL SANDERS: Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah!
[The
Colonel breaks into a little dance, but then loses his balance.]
COLONEL SANDERS: Okay, okay. The Colonel’s
getting a little heart condition
there.
CHORUS: Go Colonel! Go Colonel!
COLONEL SANDERS: Too much of that deep fried food. Oh well, our next story will
scare you straight for sure. It’s a story about something bigger than all
of us: corporate greed. So sit a spell and enjoy this little
strawberry shortcake that I like to call “All Gall.”
[Colonel
Sanders walks off unsteadily.
Blackout. Lights come back up
and reveal three chairs in a waiting area.
New Girl is sitting there reading a magazine. The Receptionist is doing a crossword puzzle aloud. New Guy walks in. He holds a number in his hand and is nervous.]
NEW GUY: Hi. My name is—
RECEPTIONIST: Take a number.
NEW GUY: I already have a number.
RECEPTIONIST: That’s your old number.
Take a new number.
NEW GUY: But—
RECEPTIONIST: Don’t get attached. It’s
just a number. See?
Here’s your new number. Go ahead and take it. It
won’t bite.
NEW GUY: Okay.
[New
Guy sits down next to New Girl.]
NEW GUY: Hi. My name is—
NEW GIRL: What’s your number?
NEW GUY: Twenty-three.
NEW GIRL: That’s a good number.
NEW GUY: Really? Thanks. What’s yours?
NEW GIRL: Fifteen.
NEW GUY: Wow.
NEW GIRL: It’s not a bad number.
NEW GUY: Hey, we’re both odd.
NEW GIRL: What?
NEW GUY: We both have odd numbers.
NEW GIRL: Oh, right.
NEW GUY: So, you’re looking for a job here too?
NEW GIRL: That’s right.
NEW GUY: Do you know anything about this place? It seems so impersonal, with the
numbers and all that.
NEW GIRL: They’re really exclusive, but I haven’t heard any complaints
about them
from any of my friends who have come here for a
job.
NEW GUY: It seems like they’re hiring a lot of people.
NEW GIRL: They are international.
RECEPTIONIST: Here are your forms. You
can fill them out while you wait.
[New
Guy and New Girl both get up and get their forms.]
RECEPTIONIST: What’s a seven letter word for “cats”?
NEW GIRL: They certainly are thorough.
NEW GUY: Why do they need to know our blood types?
RECEPTIONIST: All the big corporations ask for that now. It’s in case you get in an
emergency, they can treat you in the in-house
hospital.
NEW GIRL: There’s an in-house hospital?
RECEPTIONIST: And full health care for you and your family.
NEW GIRL: God, I hope I get this job.
NEW GUY: I need this job.
RECEPTIONIST: The Lecturer will be here soon.
Just give me the forms. Thank
you.
[The
Old Hack enters. He looks around
furtively. He’s been here before. He hands his number over.]
OLD HACK: Here’s my number.
RECEPTIONIST: Here’s your new number.
[He
sits next to New Guy.]
OLD HACK: Hey Mack, you got a smoke?
NEW GUY: I don’t smoke.
OLD HACK: That’s a shame. How ‘bout
you miss?
NEW GIRL: I don’t smoke either.
NEW GUY: Really? Wow, another
thing we have in common.
NEW GIRL: I think I need to go to the bathroom.
NEW GUY: Was it something I said?
NEW GIRL: I could be polite right now and say that it was something I had
at
breakfast, but I’ll be honest with you. I don’t like you. I’m not sure if you have genitals, and I don’t care to find
out.
OLD HACK: That’s cold.
NEW GUY: Sorry.
NEW GIRL: You know, that felt good, and it saved me from making an
unnecessary
trip to the bathroom.
OLD HACK: Hey Mack, I’ve got a few secrets about this place.
NEW GUY: What sort of secrets?
OLD HACK: I think this place is evading its taxes.
OLD HACK: They keep hiring big battalions of people, but they never seem to
declare
any more people in their annual tax report. Where’s that money going? That’s what I want to know.
NEW GUY: Are you with the I.R.S.?
OLD HACK: No, I’m with the Louisville Post-Dispatch.
NEW GIRL: Louisville, Kentucky?
OLD HACK: Yes.
NEW GIRL: I’m from Louisville. It’s
a small world.
NEW GUY: Oh, sure. You’ll talk to this
guy.
[Lecture
Lady enters. She takes charge.]
LECTURE LADY: Alright, I’ll get straight to the point.
OLD HACK: This must be the Dragon Lady.
[Lecture
Lady looks at the receptionist.]
RECEPTIONIST: Number 35.
OLD HACK: That’s me.
RECEPTIONIST: You can come with me.
[The
Receptionist and the Old Hack exit.]
LECTURE LADY: Now, back to the point.
There is one fact you need to know.
All McNuggets can be divided into three shapes. You will each be given a shape and that
shape will be your chief concern from now until the moment you leave this
company. Ever since the McNugget
corporation was created as a separate entity we have faced competition left and
right. On the one hand we have been met
with opposition from the unionist right-wingers who don’t like the separation
of chicken and beef and on the other we have faced steady competition from the
old line chicken houses. But all of
this pales in comparison to the new threat that the McNugget faces; now we have
to face down McDavy’s marinated grilled chicken bites.
NEW GUY: Those are tasty.
LECTURE LADY: Do you have something that you want to share?
NEW GUY: No.
LECTURE LADY: Good. We’ve retooled the
flavor patterns of the McNugget so we
can get optimum sales vis a vis McDavy’s. We think we can win. We hope you’ll help us achieve victory. Now
the rest of your day will be simple.
Your number will be called. You
will be processed, and if you have what it takes you will join the McNugget
family. Any questions?
NEW GUY: No.
LECTURE LADY: Alright, number fifteen you
can come with me and I’ll be processing
you today.
[They
exit. New Guy sits for a while. He whistles some sort of tune perhaps from
the They Might Be Giants oeuvre. After
a while he gets up and does the receptionists crossword puzzle. While he does this, the Receptionist and the
Old Hack come back in.
The
Old Hack’s clothes are torn and he is bloody.
He looks like he’s holding up the Receptionist from behind. The Receptionist has dead eyes. The Old Hack lets go of the Receptionist who
crumples to the floor.]
OLD HACK: You’ve got to get out of here.
NEW GUY: What have you done?
OLD HACK: I had to do it to get out of there. It was the only way.
NEW GUY: You’re a murderer.
OLD HACK: Listen to me!
NEW GUY: How could you do that?
OLD HACK: Listen to me you idiot!
It’s worse than I ever thought.
You have to get
out of here and warn everyone.
NEW GUY: About what.
OLD HACK: They were processing me.
NEW GUY: And?
OLD HACK: Don’t you see? Haven’t
you kept up with all of the clichés of totalitarian
imagery in science fiction?
NEW GUY: I’m more of a swords and sorcery fan. I like Harry Potter.
OLD HACK: Listen to me, you moron.
These people don’t make Chicken McNuggets.
NEW GUY: Sure they do.
OLD HACK: They’re not processing chicken!
They’re processing people!
NEW GUY: Of course they are. This
is the human resources department.
OLD HACK: Well, they’ve taken human resources as far as it will go.
NEW GUY: Oh my God!
OLD HACK: It’s too late for me, but you can save yourself. Get out of here.
NEW GIRL [entering]:
I think I left my sunglasses behind.
NEW GUY: You have to get out of here.
They’re making the McNuggets out of people.
NEW GIRL: That’s cute. Listen, I’m
never going to sleep with you.
[She
exits.]
OLD HACK: That’s cold.
[The
Old Hack shuffles off this mortal coil.
New Guy freezes with panic.
Lecture Lady enters and surveys the carnage.]
LECTURE LADY: Someone seems to have had some fun here. Oh well, nothing that
can’t be recycled.
Number twenty-three. Number
twenty-three.
[She
continues to call out the number as New Guy is still frozen in place. Blackout.]
The Colonel shuffles in.
COLONEL SANDERS: How many of you didn’t see that one coming? Well, thank
you for being so forthright. Be sure to write down your name and number
on a piece of paper before you leave so we can process you. Now, our final tale is about what happens when
the chickens come home to roost. It’s a
terrifying tale I call “Tell It To The Cows.”
Hmm. Colonel’s getting a little
hungry.
[The
Colonel shuffles off after doing a little dance and refraining from making a
little love. Lights change to reveal
the creaky remnants of a McDavy’s chicken franchise. The McDavy’s sign is leaning on the back wall. It reads ”McDavy’s Marinated Grilled Chicken Bites.
OUR BITES MOCK FRY.” A man,
Captain Brown, enters. He ruminates
alone for a while in this ruin of greatness.]
CAPTAIN BROWN: It seems like only yesterday.
The fryer’s gone to hell. Looks
like
they carted the grill away.
[He
picks up a microphone.]
CAPTAIN BROWN: Welcome to McDavy’s, can I take your order?
[A
chicken bone falls on Captain Brown.]
CAPTAIN BROWN: What the hell?
[Another
chicken bone.]
CAPTAIN BROWN: Chicken bones!
Where are these coming from?
[A
barrage of bones hits Captain Brown.]
CAPTAIN BROWN: That’s strange.
[The
sound of a rooster crowing.]
CAPTAIN BROWN: Not exactly the right time of day for that.
[The
cock crows again. A ghastly figure
enters enrobed or something like that.]
LEAD CHICKEN: You’ve been here before?
CAPTAIN BROWN: Geez! You
scared the Dickens out of me!
LEAD CHICKEN: Not yet.
CAPTAIN BROWN: Where did you come from?
LEAD CHICKEN: Your past.
CAPTAIN BROWN: Excuse me?
LEAD CHICKEN: Not likely.
CAPTAIN BROWN: Who are you?
LEAD CHICKEN: You wouldn’t recognize me.
CAPTAIN BROWN: Where did you come from?
LEAD CHICKEN: An egg.
CAPTAIN BROWN: An egg?
LEAD CHICKEN: You remember this place?
CAPTAIN BROWN: How could I forget?
This place made me who I am.
LEAD CHICKEN: Likewise.
CAPTAIN BROWN: Where do I know you from?
LEAD CHICKEN: This place. Long
ago. You killed me here.
CAPTAIN BROWN: What?
LEAD CHICKEN: I was one of those.
CAPTAIN BROWN: One of those?
LEAD CHICKEN: Bones, now. That’s all
that’s left. Not always that.
How many died here?
How many clucks ceased to sound in this place? Thousands? Millions?
CAPTAIN BROWN: We prepared a lot of chickens here.
LEAD CHICKEN: I know. I was there. We all were.
CAPTAIN BROWN: We?
LEAD CHICKEN: You’re not alone here.
We’re all here. Every last
one.
CAPTAIN BROWN: What kind of sick joke is this?
Who are you?
Did my cousin Cecil put you up to this?
LEAD CHICKEN: You’re here to be tried.
Your cousin Cecil has nothing to do with
that.
CAPTAIN BROWN: Alright, I’ve had enough of this. Thanks for your reminiscences,
but I have to go home.
LEAD CHICKEN: We haven’t even started yet.
CAPTAIN BROWN: I don’t know who you are, but this isn’t funny.
LEAD CHICKEN: Don’t bother trying to leave.
You can’t get out.
CAPTAIN BROWN: What’s going on here?
LEAD CHICKEN: I told you. You’re going
on trial.
CAPTAIN BROWN: Trial? What crimes have I
committed?
LEAD CHICKEN: The voices of thousands of chickens would answer that, if they
hadn’t been silenced.
CAPTAIN BROWN: You’re a chicken?
LEAD CHICKEN: In some form.
CAPTAIN BROWN: This is ridiculous.
LEAD CHICKEN: No, this is serious.
CAPTAIN BROWN: Serious? A trial? Very well.
Is it going to be just you or will we
have company.
Are these bones going to get up and dance?
LEAD CHICKEN: Here is your jury.
[Three
featured Zombies enter. They are Mo,
Lara, and Shemp. They engage in some
prop humor periodically.]
CAPTAIN BROWN: That was quick.
LEAD CHICKEN: We’ve been waiting for you.
CAPTAIN BROWN: How dull for you.
LEAD CHICKEN: Do you recognize the jury?
CAPTAIN BROWN: No.
LEAD CHICKEN: They are your peers.
CAPTAIN BROWN: A bit green, if you ask me.
LEAD CHICKEN: Let the trial begin. The
crimes of the defendant are well known and
documented.
The prosecution rests.
CAPTAIN BROWN: That’s it?
LEAD CHICKEN: We’ve done it all in absentia so many times.
CAPTAIN BROWN: So it’s going to be that kind of trial, eh?
LEAD CHICKEN: You expected some other kind of trial?
CAPTAIN BROWN: Can I defend myself?
LEAD CHICKEN: For what it’s worth.
CAPTAIN BROWN: I don’t know what sort of pain you and your bones have suffered,
but I was just following orders. I didn’t start this business.
LEAD CHICKEN: You had your place in it.
CAPTAIN BROWN: And I was near the bottom. There was the Colonel, and so many
others.
LEAD CHICKEN: But there was also you.
CAPTAIN BROWN: I was in the middle. There
was pressure. People wanted
chicken.
I was being paid to make it for them. It’s not my fault. Go take on the Colonel.
Or the cows.
LEAD CHICKEN: The cows?
CAPTAIN BROWN: They were the ones who kept inciting people. They painted the
walls and put up signs. They told us to eat more chicken. So we did. It was the
cows. Why don’t you go after them? I can help you get them.
LEAD CHICKEN: We already got them.
[The
Zombies grunt and produce a pot which they show to Captain Brown.]
LEAD CHICKEN: They made a quite tasty roast.
CAPTAIN BROWN: Damn chickens.
LEAD CHICKEN: What is your verdict?
CAPTAIN BROWN: Verdict? What about my
defense?
LEAD CHICKEN: Dead cows and an ethereal Colonel. Don’t you take any
responsibility?
CAPTAIN BROWN: I already told you. We
did what we had to do. Don’t tell me
you
wouldn’t have done the same thing in our place. We are predators. You are our food. We eat
you. And we would have eaten the cows
in time too, even though they thought they had bought us off. And you think you can trap me here and judge
me. Well, give me some batter and some
seasonings and I could judge you.
LEAD CHICKEN: You already did, once.
What is your verdict?
ZOMBIES: Guilty.
CAPTAIN BROWN: What a surprise. Now
what.
LEAD CHICKEN: Now, we have all eternity to pay you back for your hospitality.
CAPTAIN BROWN: What’s going on? Why is
this happening to me?
There were others.
LEAD CHICKEN: You’re the last one.
[The
Zombies converge on the Captain.]
CAPTAIN BROWN: No. It wasn’t my
fault. It was the Kentuckians.
LEAD CHICKEN: Don’t squirm too much. It
would be so pathetic to watch your body
running around after your head is cut off.
CAPTAIN BROWN: Nooooo!
LEAD CHICKEN: Goodbye, Captain.
[Blackout. The lights come back up to reveal a whole
room full of zombies, including Captain Brown.
They proceed to make an omelet while The Ballad of the Green Berets is
played. They proceed in a regimented
routine going so far as to award a funny fast food hat to one of the
zombies. At the end of the song the
lights go black.]
Colonel Sanders enters.
COLONEL SANDERS: Well, that was downright disturbing. The Colonel would be
more scared if he wasn’t an old friend of Margaret
Thatcher’s. Well, that’s all the time
we have to share scary chicken stories with you. Colonel’s got to get home and get funky. So, enjoy your chicken and remember, stories
may be scary, but salmonella’s more scary.
Go Colonel! Go Colonel!
[The
Colonel dances maniacally offstage.
Blackout.]