Compendiumites join together to make an independent film. Let's see how it goes. (Since the cast list is too short to include everyone, please forgive me if anyone is left out.) A play in 3 acts.
Art P. Dogg -
SATAN'S SPAWN -
Mr. Douganfield -
The Ryan x2 -
J. Braes -
Mr. Pussy Club -
It's the hottest summer on record. There is fire to the west, flooding to the east, drought to the south, severe storms to the north, and obnoxiously great weather to the northwest.
The Compendiumites have gathered together at Pete's place to talk about the weather and get drunk.
Pete: Well, now that I've gathered you all here, I'd like to give you a piece of my mind
about everything. I am trying so hard to make art here, and all you guys
can do is piss on everything, which I suppose is a Warhol-esque post-modern
expressionistic expulsion of overgrown brain cells, but for the most part is just
wiggly bison. I wish you'd all just collaborate in the spirit of love and twinkies,
but you keep being so hostile to one another. And SPAWN, I know that's
your modus operandi, but... well... wiggly bison!
SATAN'S SPAWN: Yeah? What about Chhakka Khhan?
TEMWWP: Sorry about SS's slurred speech, there, but he is here to get drunk.
SATAN'S SPAWN: Tha's some great wedder ou' dere, ain' it?
[He belches, burning all the hair off TEMWWP's head. ]
Mr. Douganfield: Alright Pete, you are not our mother. If we all got along, the plays wouldn't be funny, the Dozens would suck, and the Lists wouldn't be very cool either. The whole point of going to this place for me is to make fun of people, and see how many people I can get angry at me. Its fun, and I enjoy it. So why don't you shut your mouth? YOu are starting to really piss me off.
SATAN'S SPAWN: YEAH! And wha' abou' Shakka KHa-han, dammi'!
[His next belch takes out half the school locker room. I mean ceiling. I -- I don't know what I mean. But it burns up.]
Hogmandudeguy: OK, ignoring the fact that I was left out of the cast list for a second, I have to say I really enjoy the brutal beatings we give and receive, too. BUT... there was a time when both burtal beatings and interesting story-things developed side-by-side, goddammit.
Pike: Yes, "burtal" beatings. Look at them.
Hogmandudeguy: Bite me, ass-vaulter.
burtal: Hey, quit hitting me, ya goddamned rectal wart-sucking fecal-faced farm animal sex freaks!
Pete: Take it to the Dozens, burtal.
burtal: But they...
Pete: I said take it to the Dozens.
Hogmandudeguy: Stow it, Burtal, unless you want another beating.
burtal: But they were...
Pete: Don't make me come over there, burtal.
Pike: Shut your noise, scum-cake.
J. Braes: Hey! Who am I supposed to be, anyway?
Pike: Shut the fuck UP, Donnie!
[burtal sulks out of the room.]
Lily: What happened to all of the beer?
[SATAN'S SPAWN vomits up the keg.]
SATAN'S SPAWN: Drigs'er on me!
Lily: Pete, where's the vodka?
TEMWWP: Who the hell's Donnie?
[SATAN'S SPAWN grabs his crotch and starts shoving it into TEMWWP's face.]
SATAN'S SPAWN: I gosher Donnie ri' HERE, muvverfugger.
Pike: Shut the fuck UP, Donnie.
Mr. Pussy Club: Twelve years old, dude.
[morticia staggers in wiping her mouth on her sleeve.]
morticia: Hey...ssum guyss drownin himself in the fuckin toilet. Ssaid hiss namess burtal. Sso I introsseduced mysself to him. *burp*
[morticia falls over onto Mr. Pussy Club's lap.]
morticia: Iss hot in here...whats that ssmell?
[Lily looks around the room concerned.]
Lily: Hey guys - where did Pete go?
[SATAN'S SPAWN grabs his crotch and starts shoving it into Lily's face.]
SATAN'S SPAWN: I gobber Pe' righhlorRF! [He vomits something that might have, once, been a small child into Lily's lap. He then passes out face down in his own puke]
Pike: Goddamned demons never could hold their liquor.
[The Compendiumites, in various stages of inebriation, search through the house looking for Pete.]
Pike: Oh Peeeeej? C'mon Peej, where are ya? Let's get on the stick, Peej.
Pete: [emerging from the bathroom] I would recommend not going in there.
morticia: [Following him out of the bathroom, wiping her chin] He's exaggerating. *burp* Excuse me...
Pike: Shut the fuck UP, Donnie!
The rest of the Compendiumites, still in various stages of inibriation, are still trying to find Pete. SATAN'S SPAWN's gained consciousness, and has begun singing show tunes, mutating the lyrics to suit his own purposes.
SATAN'S SPAWN: In ollen daysa raping babies
was trea'ed like dogs wi' rabies,
Now Satan daddy poppa knooooowwwwwssss
Ennythi' [hic] thing goes!!!
TEMWWP: [With arms folded, looking highly annoyed] Yes. "Inibriation." Look at me, I'm so "inibriated."
Mr. Douganfield: Dude, like, let up and some junk. He, like, typed it, like, at 4:00 in the morning or some junk. Or something.
[Pete enters the scene toting a semi-automatic rifle]
Pete: You guys are the most pathetic bunch of self-obsessed wankers, I have ever had the misfortune to meet. Let me start by saying that, I don't even like you people. The crap that you write is, well, frankly, total and utter crap. None of it is worthy of putting up on my wonderful above site. You bicker, bitch and carry on at each other all day, everyday. You fuck up and tank each other's stories. If I had the faintest hope that things would get better, I might have let you all live, but right now...
Mr. Pussy Club: Pete, wait! Um... help me out here.
SATAN'S SPAWN: You go, gir'! "I havoff'n waaag'd
Dow' isstree b'forre...
Ann'a pavement allas boiled beneefa feet beforrrre..."
[Another Pete enters the room, carrying a severed head, and swaying slightly.]
Pete #2: I ham jusss sickk... [bellccchhh] of alleryu... BRRAAWWWLLLLGGHGHH
[He chucks up an unopened six pack of generic beer]
[Another Pete enters the room wagging his tail (?)]
All Petes in unison: Oh shit! We're assuming the personalities of the people in this play! [woof]
SATAN'S SPAWN: "Allawuns'maaaaa....
Chewin' up yer eyeeee...."
The Ghost of Emphaticus: [standing off to one side, arms folded] Yeah, like Pete would use the word "wankers." *snort* Who's putting on this play, the Liverpudlian Arts Council?
SATAN'S SPAWN: "...knowin' allova Pee's were ri' [blergh] there..."
[He points to all of the Petes, then swerves in the direction of the Ghost of Emphaticus]
SATAN'S SPAWN: Heythere, li'l budda. Howsi' goan. In Hell whera putcha. Whenyu died.
Pete: Sorry, I what I really meant to say was "most zany bunch of, like, totally hillarious WACKOS!!!".
[He then looks at the vomitted six pack of generic beer, mumbles something about deja vu, and falls unconscious again. Thankfully.]
[And when I say "He," I mean SATAN'S SPAWN. Not Pete.]
Pete: Actually, I meant "hilarious"...doh!
TEMWWP: Yeah, I thought you'd try to backpedal. Whatever. Put the gun down, Spasm-node.
Spasm-node: No friggin' way, Dude. You're all going to die, tonight!
[Spasm-node cocks his pump action in the English Major's general direction.]
Petes #2 and #3 in unison: Well, if he's really just an imposter, then where does that leave us?
TEMWWP: [indicating "Spasm-Node"] I'm still trying to figure out where this schmoe came from.
Pike: If I were you, I'd be worrying about his "cocking his pump action" at you.
TEMWWP: Actually, given the aspersions cast upon my sexual preference lately, I kinda liked it.
[Lily stumbles into the room carrying a half-full bottle of vodka.]
Lily: Ith fownth da voktha... (she looks over at Spasm-node and all the Petes) Holy shith on a popthikl thick! Wha' the fuck happenth? *burp* Ouch! Ware the fuck thith baby come from? Oh yeah...SATHAN'S THPAWN, I wanth child thuport! Hi Pete...Hi Pete...Hi Pete...Hi...whath your name again?
Pike: [aside to TEMWWP] Since when does getting drunk make you lisp?
Lily: [aside to Pike] I am NOT a mango! *burp*
Art P. Dogg: No, you don't look orange and gooey. Can I shinny up your leg anyway?
Mr. Pussy Club: Whersh me bitchesh?
Mr. Douganfield: [down on all fours, waving his butt in the air like a dog in heat] Here I am!
Pike: [holding up one finger, as if asking the waiter for the check] Watchman!
Pike: Good heavens! You sound exactly like The Great Gildersleeve. How'd'ja manage that trick... in print no less?
Watchman: Oh damn, ø ø ø ø ø ø ø ø ø ø ø ø ø ø ø ø ø
SATAN'S SPAWN: [Holding up a large, old-fashioned two-handed drill, to which has been attached a barbed-wire-wrapped baseball bat dripping with vinegar.] Okay, who's first?
Mr. Douganfield: [down on all fours, waving his butt in the air like a dog in heat] Oooo, give me some of that!
The Ryan x2: Even I'm embarrassed by that. Of course, I can't tie my own shoes or go to the bathroom by myself, but that is embarrassing.
SATAN'S SPAWN: [winding up] Okay, HERE'S why the monkey fell out of the tree, you little Playstation-whores!
[The next few minutes are a scene of carange suitable for a Fangoria magazine lead story. When it's over, SATAN'S SPAWN grins and licks himself clean like a cat that's survived a nuclear fallout.]
SATAN'S SPAWN: Okay, now...where's "mongoose"?
Harry Carey: [from beyond the grave] And here's the wind up... and there's the bitch... SATAN'S SPAWN swings...
Steve Stone:Y'know, Harry, this a good time to remind everyone in TV land that Empire Carpets rpovides some of the very best --
Steve Stone: Y'know, Harry, this a good time to remind everyone in TV land that
Empire Carpets provides some of the very best --
SATAN'S SPAWN: RAHHHHHHRRRRR!!!!
[HELL-FUCKING-LO!! How many times must one hit the fucking UNDO button to get something to undo? Hell-fucking-LO!!!!]
[SATAN'S SPAWN tears through Steve's torso from behind, as if he were ripping through a window screen. Harry ignores the gore-splashed stage to continue his play-by-play.]
A horse explodes.
[Bloated drunken bodies litter every room in the house. The smell is horrific (fortunately, the audience can't smell anything on film.) All the various Pete's and Spasm-node survey their domain.]
Pete: All of my various whats? "and Spasm-node"? That's not plural, so that can't be what the "all" refers to. Hmmm...Methinks there's just real shitty sentence construction afoot....(Damn...I seem to be channelling the ghost of TEMWWP. And here I just thought he was on sabbatical...)
[Enter Pike, stepping gingerly.]
Pike: Goddam, it's hard to walk with this absolute "litter" or bloated, drunken bodies. Who are all these people, anyway? And just how many people does it take to become "litter?"
SATAN'S SPAWN: About a liter of people....'s blood.
J. Braes: Not "liter," man... "litter."
[SATAN'S SPAWN eats him.]
SATAN'S SPAWN: Yeah...*urp*...whatever.
J. Braes: [From withing SPAWN's stomach] Hey it smells worse out there than it does in here!
[How he could say this incomprehensible blather inside the burning furnace that is SATAN'S SPAWN's digestive tract is beyond me, but there you go. He said it. "Smells worse out there than in here." Go figure.]
Pike: [to SATAN'S SPAWN] How do you make your stomach "withe" like that?
SATAN'S SPAWN: It's a talent.
Pike: Well, I remember Peter Frampton doing it onstage all the time, back in the day, but I could never figure out how.
SATAN'S SPAWN: [patting Pike's paunch] Exercise, my friend. That and consume blithering idiots at the slightest provocation. It's good food.
J. Braes: Well, hey, you don't really think too much about spelling when you've just been devoured by a demon.
This play has 1 act left, is under the kind guidance of a watchman, and doesn't like the following words: 'Chakka, Khan, CHAKKA, KHAN, chakka, khan'.
Last updated Friday, September 15, 2000.
|Copyright © 1991-2000 by Pete Magsig|