Masterpiece of a Follies Script
So: I'd really love if we could alternate roles. I require the . . . well, the role that will make you think of Ryan, at least for one night. I think we should switch every night, to keep things interested.
This is a rough script, meaning if you think of something to add or change we can viciously fight about it in the comments.
SCENE: Two chairs near front of stage. Plenty of room to either side, and behind.
TWO IRISHMEN SIT IN CHAIRS. THEY WEAR ROBES. I'M IMAGINING ANDY AND ME IN THESE ROLES, BUT IT'D BE FUN TO SWITCH ALL THE ROLES EVERY NIGHT. THAT'LL REALLY PISS EM OFF.
BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO ASSIGN PEOPLE TO CHARACTERS, I'M CALLING THE FIRST IRISHMAN 'NICARAGUA' AND THE SECOND 'BLOWHOLE.'
NICARAGUA AND BLOWHOLE…WAIT, THOSE ARE TOO LONG.
Bjork and Kazakhistan.
No: A & B.
A & B sit in chairs, facing audience. They wear robes. They speak in ridiculous, overblown Irish accents.
B: The young ladies at this class reunion are quite . . . appeeeealing.
A: They are, they are! (considers) but they're not really young, you know.
B: Well, younger than us!
A: (confused and mournful) No. No, they're not.
B: Hey! Hey, you, pretty thing! You've got the face of an angel and the soft blonde hair of a lowlands sheep!
A: (considers) . . . isn't that whole "lowlands/highlands" stuff Scottish?
B: What the hell are you talkin about?
A: I mean, we're supposed to be Irish.
B: Quit yer bellyachin! Ya slime toothed sluggernaut!
A: (shrugs)
B: Care for a tipple?
A: What's in your flask?
B: Ah . . . I don't really care a flask anymore . . . (removes a vial of pills from inside his robe). The liver. She went bad. Coughed er up last Octoober. Had the consistency of a three-day old liver steak and the color of a melted box of crayons.
A: Ach. That's a terror.
B: She is, she is. (takes a swig of pills). Have a pull?
A: Don't mind if I do. (takes a pull). What's in this?
B: Oh, it's all Viagra. (laughs uproariously)
A: You know, it's not that common, but Viagra's been known to cause blindness.
B: . . . what the hell's wrong with you, boy?
A: (long sigh, continues without accent. Stands, removes robe. Is wearing something decent beneath) I dunno. It's just—we do this Irishman skit every year. It's the same scene, over and over, infused with different jokes.
B: What the hell's wrong with that? And what's the meanin o' this word—"infyooooosed"?
A: (shakes head) It's just that I'd like to do something different. You know, something a little surreal—
B: (without accent now too) Like what?
A: I dunno. Something unusual?
B: What's better than this? What do you want? Ryan (or whoever's doing this) to come charging on stage in a bee costume, screaming about being "bee royalty" or something—
RYAN (OR WHOEVER'S DOING THIS) CHARGES ON STAGE IN A YELLOW SWEATER WITH ELECTICAL TAPE STRIPES, BLACK PANTS, AND THE 'QUEEN OF THE BEES' BRA ON HIS HEAD. WINGS WOULD BE NICE TOO.
BEE QUEEN: I'm Queen of the Bees! Queen of the bees!
A: See, that's not so bad.
BEE QUEEN: Queen of the freakin bees!
B: This is ridiculous—
BEE QUEEN VIOLENTLY PICKS UP 'B', HEADS OFFSTAGE: Back to the hive! CARRIES 'B' OFFSTAGE.
NAYSAYER ENTERS, DRESSED IN STREET CLOTHES WITH A LOOSE ROBE. CARRYING A CLIPBOARD, MAYBE.
NAYSAYER: (actor name)! Where's (actor who was carried off)?
A: I think he went to get some royal jelly.
NAYSAYER: Did Ryan just rush the stage in a bee costume and carry him off?
A: It was the Queen of the Bees.
NAYSAYER: Are you sticking to the script at all?
A: I'm—
BEE QUEEN DASHES BACK ONSTAGE.
BEE QUEEN: I have fed him to my larva!
NAYSAYER: What the—
BEE QUEEN: He was full of vital noooootrients!
NAYSAYER (shaking script): This is just . . . stupid! (continue rant until—)
IRISHMAN B REENTERS. NOW HE'S WEARING A SANTA SUIT.
NAYSAYER: What is going on?!
B (TO A, in Irish accent): Ho ho ho! Is this what you want?
A: You're talking in the accent again.
B: (without accent, sad) Ho ho ho.
A: Nice Santa suit.
B: You want something surreal, right? Something that doesn't make sense. Here I am. Santa, baby!
A: Okay—
B: Now give me back that bottle of Viagra pills. (swallows them all).
A: Maybe you should do a dance or something.
B: What do you mean?
A: I dunno, something to make this weirder, more entertaining—
BEE QUEEN RUSHES BACK ONSTAGE, LOOKING FURIOUS, TRIUMPHANTS.
BEE QUEEN: He has escaped from the hive!
B: …poopy.
BEE QUEEN: But he has been foooound!
NAYSAYER: This is. Really. Stupid.
AMISH (sorry, Amish, this one's pretty non-negotiable) PRANCES ONSTAGE. HE'S WEARING SOMETHING RIDICULOUS—I'M SEEING LITTLE SHORTS, A JACKET, A TIE, A LITTLE SCHOOLBOY OUTFIT—AND CARRYING A CARDBOARD TUBE WITH A PILLOW DUCTTAPED TO THE END. HE'S LAUGHING THE WHOLE TIME, IN AN IDIOTIC/MANIACAL WAY.
NAYSAYER (shaking head): What—
AMISH (IN TERRIBLE HICK ACCENT): This here's my clubbin mallot! (SWINGS AT NAYSAYER, WHO GOES DOWN.
AMISH: Hyuck! SWINGS AT B, WHO DODGES AND IS THEN GRABBED BY BEE QUEEN. SWINGS AT BEE QUEEN AND BOTH B AND BEE QUEEN GO DOWN.
A: (thrilled) That was awesome! Awesome! RUNS OVER FOR THE HIGH FIVE BUT AMISH STRIKES HIM DOWN.
END.
This is a rough script, meaning if you think of something to add or change we can viciously fight about it in the comments.
SCENE: Two chairs near front of stage. Plenty of room to either side, and behind.
TWO IRISHMEN SIT IN CHAIRS. THEY WEAR ROBES. I'M IMAGINING ANDY AND ME IN THESE ROLES, BUT IT'D BE FUN TO SWITCH ALL THE ROLES EVERY NIGHT. THAT'LL REALLY PISS EM OFF.
BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO ASSIGN PEOPLE TO CHARACTERS, I'M CALLING THE FIRST IRISHMAN 'NICARAGUA' AND THE SECOND 'BLOWHOLE.'
NICARAGUA AND BLOWHOLE…WAIT, THOSE ARE TOO LONG.
Bjork and Kazakhistan.
No: A & B.
A & B sit in chairs, facing audience. They wear robes. They speak in ridiculous, overblown Irish accents.
B: The young ladies at this class reunion are quite . . . appeeeealing.
A: They are, they are! (considers) but they're not really young, you know.
B: Well, younger than us!
A: (confused and mournful) No. No, they're not.
B: Hey! Hey, you, pretty thing! You've got the face of an angel and the soft blonde hair of a lowlands sheep!
A: (considers) . . . isn't that whole "lowlands/highlands" stuff Scottish?
B: What the hell are you talkin about?
A: I mean, we're supposed to be Irish.
B: Quit yer bellyachin! Ya slime toothed sluggernaut!
A: (shrugs)
B: Care for a tipple?
A: What's in your flask?
B: Ah . . . I don't really care a flask anymore . . . (removes a vial of pills from inside his robe). The liver. She went bad. Coughed er up last Octoober. Had the consistency of a three-day old liver steak and the color of a melted box of crayons.
A: Ach. That's a terror.
B: She is, she is. (takes a swig of pills). Have a pull?
A: Don't mind if I do. (takes a pull). What's in this?
B: Oh, it's all Viagra. (laughs uproariously)
A: You know, it's not that common, but Viagra's been known to cause blindness.
B: . . . what the hell's wrong with you, boy?
A: (long sigh, continues without accent. Stands, removes robe. Is wearing something decent beneath) I dunno. It's just—we do this Irishman skit every year. It's the same scene, over and over, infused with different jokes.
B: What the hell's wrong with that? And what's the meanin o' this word—"infyooooosed"?
A: (shakes head) It's just that I'd like to do something different. You know, something a little surreal—
B: (without accent now too) Like what?
A: I dunno. Something unusual?
B: What's better than this? What do you want? Ryan (or whoever's doing this) to come charging on stage in a bee costume, screaming about being "bee royalty" or something—
RYAN (OR WHOEVER'S DOING THIS) CHARGES ON STAGE IN A YELLOW SWEATER WITH ELECTICAL TAPE STRIPES, BLACK PANTS, AND THE 'QUEEN OF THE BEES' BRA ON HIS HEAD. WINGS WOULD BE NICE TOO.
BEE QUEEN: I'm Queen of the Bees! Queen of the bees!
A: See, that's not so bad.
BEE QUEEN: Queen of the freakin bees!
B: This is ridiculous—
BEE QUEEN VIOLENTLY PICKS UP 'B', HEADS OFFSTAGE: Back to the hive! CARRIES 'B' OFFSTAGE.
NAYSAYER ENTERS, DRESSED IN STREET CLOTHES WITH A LOOSE ROBE. CARRYING A CLIPBOARD, MAYBE.
NAYSAYER: (actor name)! Where's (actor who was carried off)?
A: I think he went to get some royal jelly.
NAYSAYER: Did Ryan just rush the stage in a bee costume and carry him off?
A: It was the Queen of the Bees.
NAYSAYER: Are you sticking to the script at all?
A: I'm—
BEE QUEEN DASHES BACK ONSTAGE.
BEE QUEEN: I have fed him to my larva!
NAYSAYER: What the—
BEE QUEEN: He was full of vital noooootrients!
NAYSAYER (shaking script): This is just . . . stupid! (continue rant until—)
IRISHMAN B REENTERS. NOW HE'S WEARING A SANTA SUIT.
NAYSAYER: What is going on?!
B (TO A, in Irish accent): Ho ho ho! Is this what you want?
A: You're talking in the accent again.
B: (without accent, sad) Ho ho ho.
A: Nice Santa suit.
B: You want something surreal, right? Something that doesn't make sense. Here I am. Santa, baby!
A: Okay—
B: Now give me back that bottle of Viagra pills. (swallows them all).
A: Maybe you should do a dance or something.
B: What do you mean?
A: I dunno, something to make this weirder, more entertaining—
BEE QUEEN RUSHES BACK ONSTAGE, LOOKING FURIOUS, TRIUMPHANTS.
BEE QUEEN: He has escaped from the hive!
B: …poopy.
BEE QUEEN: But he has been foooound!
NAYSAYER: This is. Really. Stupid.
AMISH (sorry, Amish, this one's pretty non-negotiable) PRANCES ONSTAGE. HE'S WEARING SOMETHING RIDICULOUS—I'M SEEING LITTLE SHORTS, A JACKET, A TIE, A LITTLE SCHOOLBOY OUTFIT—AND CARRYING A CARDBOARD TUBE WITH A PILLOW DUCTTAPED TO THE END. HE'S LAUGHING THE WHOLE TIME, IN AN IDIOTIC/MANIACAL WAY.
NAYSAYER (shaking head): What—
AMISH (IN TERRIBLE HICK ACCENT): This here's my clubbin mallot! (SWINGS AT NAYSAYER, WHO GOES DOWN.
AMISH: Hyuck! SWINGS AT B, WHO DODGES AND IS THEN GRABBED BY BEE QUEEN. SWINGS AT BEE QUEEN AND BOTH B AND BEE QUEEN GO DOWN.
A: (thrilled) That was awesome! Awesome! RUNS OVER FOR THE HIGH FIVE BUT AMISH STRIKES HIM DOWN.
END.
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