CAMPING.

CAMPING
(laughs) you’re kidding, right? A tent?! oh no, no no no we can’t do this you
know me I… Do yoga, eat sushi and drive my Jag…
I do not sleep on the ground with bugs and snakes…

Look Doug I like you I think it’s cute that you have a beard and wear flannel but
when you asked me to go camping, I thought you meant like a log cabin or a 3.5
star hotel.…

I didn’t know you meant like camping camping. Like a can of pork and beans and
no Wi-Fi kind of camping, I mean, maybe you did this kind of thing as a kid, but
not me… OK… I was a debutante… My parents threw me a coming out party… I
was presented… I did not attend a finishing school to one day, wear a
camouflage vest and learn how to dig a latrine *cries* * heves* I would rather
skip Sunday church and attend my 10 year class reunion then do something like
a living hell like camping…

Wait a minute is that tent made by Tom Ford…*huh* is that… Is that sleeping bag
made by Gucci… Oh my God you do know me. Take a pic my sorority sisters are
going to be so jealous.

——————————————————————————————————————————
American Midget by Jonathan Yukich

PROFESSOR DRIPWORTH:
(very diva and melodramatic, addressing the class)
I feel eyes. On me. Staring. I don't like it. Look away! Everyone look away! I'm not ready!
(Takes a breath, composes herself.)
Okay, I'm ready. You may view me. No, wait. It's too much. Look away! Look away!
Are you looking away? Is everyone looking away?
So many eyes, all craving my artistic prowess, like turkey vultures! But how does one teach
genius!
How does one describe what others haven't the vision to see! Oh, the burden of being touched!
(shielding herself with her hand)
Heads down! Eyes shut! Heads down, I say!
(Survevs.)
There. Fine. Now we can start.
(Collects herself.)
Let me begin by saying, with abject certitude, that the world will, in time, be destroyed. Of this
I'm certain. By bomb, by plague, one day we will cease. So what good is painting? What good is
art?
When we perish, as we surely will, who will hang the Rembrandts, read the Shakespeares? I'll
tell you who: the aliens. Look away! Heads down! DO
NOT TURN YOUR EYES ON ME WITHOUT
MY SAY!
(Pauses. Allows for heads going down again.
Collects herself.)
Prof Dripworth: Yes, pupils, there will be aliens. Of this I'm certain. And, like us, they'll only
preserve art suitable to their sensibilities. So we must ask, is our work suitable for aliens? Have
we-vou-anything to offer our successors? This is, as artists, our endgame: to possess talent
capable of rallying alien favor. Well, do you have such talent? This is what you're here to find
out. Right now. This in-stant. You will draw, for the appeasement of future colonizing life forms,
what is before you. At stake:
the glory of humankind.
(She disrobes, wearing only bra and under-wear.)
You may lift your heads, pupils.
(She allows them a moment.)
Look upon it, soak it in. I'm no longer your teacher, but your muse. I'm bestowing to you the
privilege of fixing a moment in time. The way Picasso fixed Guernica or Monet fixed the light on
his lilies, moments to be captured for eons, never to be lost. So now, pupils, make me immortal.
Take up your pen-cils, brave your souls, and etch my figure for the alien ages ahead. Fix me!
(She strikes a pose.)
BIRTHDAY SCENE
Man: morning, Shelley. Rise and shine, sweetheart.

Shelley: Good morning, Marvin, Good morning, Pooter. You're looking dapper.

Man: Your blueberry French toast is ready.

Shelley: Ooh-la-la.That's French, right?

Man: Yeah, but more important than the food,I actually added something to your orange juice.

Shelley: Oh, Marvin, thank you so much for telling me. I Usually I don't find out until much later.

Man: Oh, no. To add zest to the drink, first I put in some vanilla extract, then, of course, some
egg yolks, and then, I have a secret ingredient…All right, you twisted my arm, it's chilli powder.
Yeah. It just explodes your taste buds, so the drink just envelops your mouth.

Shelley: Oh, I love having my mouth enveloped. What's that? Is this from Hef? Is this my
birthday gift? Oh, Pooter, is it finally happening? Am I Miss November? That's what I wished for
when I blew out my candle. Oh, my gosh, I just told you my wish. Now it won't come true. I'm so
sorry. I didn't mean to tell, it just came out. My teeth couldn't stop it. I take it all back, I take it all
back.

Okay, I'm ready.

"Dear Shelley..." Oh, my gosh, that's me. Wait, there's more. "Please move out

of the Mansion immediately."

(Keeps reading)

Move out? "You have two hours to collect your belongings and leave the premises. All my love,
Hef." Hef's kicking me out? Why would he do that? This is my home. This is my family.

Man: I hate to say this, Shelley,

but maybe it's because of your age.

Shelley: But I'm 27.

Man: Yeah, but that's 59 in Bunny years.

Shelley: But I just turned 27 last night. It's almost like I'm still 26…..Or 58. I've gotta talk to Hef,
maybe he'll let me stay.