FireVaney

[NAME REDACTED A] : …you must know when to make that choice.  When to consider it.  In this line of work, one is easily led astray.  One is easily overcome.  Sucked in.  Pissed out.  What I am trying to make clear, [NAME REDACTED B] , is that you do not want to be pissed out of somebody else’s dick. [NAME REDACTED B] :  …No, sir.      [NAME REDACTED A] :  Do not be your country’s kidney stone.  Do not be mine.  [NAME REDACTED B] :  God as my witness, sir-- [NAME REDACTED A] :  You love your country very much. [NAME REDACTED B] :  I-- [NAME REDACTED A] :  Shh-Shh.  You would not be here otherwise.  And you will be doing your country, and me, a great service by pissing…  on your own terms.  Understand:  by that:  I do not propose that you ever piss on your country, or on me, or even on yourself--particularly on yourself.  Understand that if you piss on yoursel...

SETTING POP'S bedroom. AT RISE It’s 9:30 a.m. on every morning since the Earth shook Japan to pieces.  POP is lying on his bed, hissing out of sheer boredom.  FIREVANEY enters with a glass of water and a dish of pills. POP Good morning. FIREVANEY Good morning! POP So.  The world’s still here? FIREVANEY Last I checked. POP Last you checked.

FIREVANEY Do you maintain a garden?  It seems to be the thing to do in England. PLAGUERIDER [My wife] maintains a bit of a garden.  Mainly some flowers and plants surrounding a bit of concrete where [my child] can ride in her little vehicles in clement weather. FIREVANEY Would you agree that gardens are to the British what guns are to the Americans? PLAGUERIDER Gardens don't kill people; Americans do.  Although the toxic level of political discourse in Britain at the moment could very well end up with a garden assassinating someone.

Imagine a long, bare stage with an ornate proscenium arch. This is a 1920s era palace theatre. Rot pervades, vandalism abounds. On stage, TWO MEN are hit with a white-hot spotlight. A fog of dust wafts through the beam. One of the MEN, dressed to the nines, stands center stage; beside him, the other, clad in rags, is down on all fours. Both remain stock-still until the MAN on his hands and knees turns and sniffs the STANDING MAN’S right leg. The STANDING MAN commences to tremble and perspire; a stream of urine darkens his trousers, dampens his socks, and pools on the stage around his loafers. Sensing (and smelling) the fear, the DOG MAN growls and abruptly bites the STANDING MAN’S leg. The STANDING MAN bursts into a fit of laughter. The DOG MAN looks up at the STANDING MAN with an inquisitive double take; then, as if seeking assistance, he looks out over the empty, ripped up seats of the auditorium. Finally, he tugs at the STANDING MAN’S trousers. The STANDING MAN continues...