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Another AfternoonDOCTOR:
Next, please. Good afternoon, young sir.

MAN:
Good afternoon, doctor.

DOCTOR:
Please have a seat. Now what seems to be the matter?

MAN:
I've been having some troubles recently with my, sanity.

DOCTOR:
Oh. Well. Let's have a look at it then, shall we?

MAN:
Certainly. I keep it here in this jar.

DOCTOR:
Hm... (surveys jar) It appears to me to be in perfect condition.

MAN:
Yes..?

DOCTOR:
Yes.

MAN:
Ever since I lost it last week it's been acting in a very unstable manner.

DOCTOR:
No, that seems to be all right. How are you coping?

MAN:
(mumbles)

DOCTOR:
Pardon?

MAN:
Not too well, I... (bursts into tears) Well lo
Fate
A sunny day in the park.  There is a single bench CENTRE  stage.  GOD is sitting on the LEFT side of the bench.  He has long, white hair and a long, white beard, and is wearing a simple white robe.  He is reading a newspaper.  Enter PETER from the RIGHT.   He is wearing black pants, leather shoes, a white shirt and a garish, comical tie.  He is carrying a paper bag.  PETER sits on the bench next to GOD,  setting his bag next to him.  He folds his hands and admires the weather.

PETER.  Beautiful weather today.
GOD  [focusing on his newspaper].  Mm-hm.
PETER. [Extending his hand] The name's Peter.
GOD  [shaking PETER's hand].  God.

[GOD re
Six WordsWe can fly, but we'll fall.
1       This is Acheron, Arachne, and alulae;

charon navigates your veins, your annals, your bloodchambers, your stems and streams. he loses his river-drawing pole in your waters, and afterwards he closes his eyes and pretends that his arms could unpaint the stillness, could remove the ripples, pretends that he could bend down and over and pretends his cock could pierce the water and pretends he could let loose and the entire world of you could be poised

at his

2.        THESE ARE MERELY LYRICS, and I hope your eyes, your soul,
I hope your hands, your lid-fingers, y
A Literature QuestionQ: I dread writing a report for my Early British Literature class. Is there a piece I can focus on that will satisfy my professor while still keeping me amused with crude humor?

A: You've come to the right place, friend.

In terms of mixing historical relevance, academic consideration and outright potty humor, one certainly can not go wrong with “The Censure of the Parliament Fart,” a 1607 masterpiece that has been attributed to a number of authors including John Hoskyns, Richard Martin, Edward Jones and Christopher Brooke.

The poem stems from a March 4, 1607 meeting of the Commons in which one Henry Ludlow let loose with a quite
La CajaSi algún día (por desgracia de la suerte, o por dictado divino, o por la ironía peculiar con la cual se ordena el universo) perdiera yo la cabeza y con ella mis memorias, posiblemente me bastaría con buscarme una caja para reemplazarla.

  Debería ser de madera. Cierto, no sería ni tan liviana como una caja de aluminio, como las de galletas; ni tan fina como una de oro, como las de tumbas egipcias; ni tan brillante como una de vidrio cortado, como las de regalo de boda en cristal Swarosvki. Pero como mi mente y manera jamás fueron ni livianas, ni brillantes, ni finas, confieso que no me preocupa mucho este
The Gender Bender MonologueI love my husband. It’s been fifteen years now. Fifteen years and not one bad word between us.

We met at work, where he was a driver for the courier company I kept the books for.

We’d been on nodding terms, passing ships for a while, and I think he said ‘See you later,’ or some such thing and I came right back with ‘Where?’ before I even realized it.

His rugged looks aroused my interest, but after the first date, a wine bar, it was his attentiveness that had me smitten. The way he would brush a loose strand of hair from my face, or hold the door open for me in that old fashioned way of his.

He’s not like
pencils and knivesOur getting together was a roll of the tongue, a curve in my nerves.

We played clever and intelligent and poetry-slam line break, smiled at our own pretentious predigested words, coffee and donuts and hardly a table between us. Your eyes flashed white and my smile flashed red and I pretended to be without makeup, and you, without frowns.

We discussed Small Things, work and play, and we discussed Big Things, God and philosophy. We faked thoughts and I made petty arguing comments just to sound like a brain was in my head.

It was perfect.

You said you believed God was a woman, for people are so wonderfully flawed and couldn’t only a gir
The Voicemail of GodThe Voicemail of God

Ever since I can remember, I have been one of those strange people who pick up pennies. I find them everywhere, on sidewalks, in stadiums, on the floors of grocery stores, in parking lots… you get the idea. And it is a rare occasion indeed if I fail to pick them up. Most people, when faced with a copper portrait of Lincoln down by their feet, even if they dropped it themselves, will simply ignore it. After all, you cannot buy anything with one cent; why even bother bending over? I, on the other hand, like to think I am a little more practical than most. When I see one of those poor, unloved little presidents lookin
The GardenShe lifted the red tomato in her hands, feeling the sun’s warmth on its tender skin. Carefully, she plucked the fruit from the vine and placed it into her basket. She poked among the vines, searching for more ripened tomatoes. Nothing was more satisfying than picking the fruits from the plant, cradling them in her palms like a baby’s head, plump and full.

Ingrid missed the days of children, of present husbands, of blooming docility. The vines, the flowers, and their blossoming harvest were hers now. She imagined an intricate universe confined between rows of wire fencing, planets among the insects, galaxies made of soil. The fruit
GodThere is a God. I have seen him snap the necks
Of children and inspect their hollow remains.
Pushing past the sinews, there is nothing there.
No prayers clogging the arteries, stopping the rush
Of blood, a blackened jet.
Their mouths had not yet learnt how to
Form 'hail mary's'. Tongues twisted at the sound.
The syllables choke.

There is no use lying to a child who when asking
For God, finds only silence.

He is not interested in them. The purity sickens.
There's a boredom in innocence that causes him
To turn away. His eyes are better fixed on those
Who can praise him. The shallow whore who never
Thought her life would take thi
DreamcatcherMen. Men with guns. Why not? Two of them, two men, and in keeping with my usual themes they'll be brothers. The older of the two, that's Jack—and while we're on the subject, the younger one's Lawrence. God, just looking at them, you're reminded—they're the kind of people who can remind you—of what the difference is between the merely good-looking and the truly beautiful, between those of us who are fine to look at and those of us who are fine the same way a masterpiece is fine. These two men, our brothers, are really and truly handsome, so handsome it's almost painful sometimes to look at them.

You see them out of the corner of your eye in t
Capture The FlagRemember that summer? The one where our parents made us go to that bible camp in the woods because they found us in your room?

Things were going fine, if you can call eight hours a day of 'enriching' activities fine. Although we did like capture the flag, now didn't we? Ah, I see that you remember it just as well as I did.

We volunteered to try and get the other team's flag. Thank goodness we played at night. We could of been caught. We should of been caught.

Remember that bush? The one we would lie under together.

Remember my kisses? How soft and sweet they were against your flesh, and down on your sex. Do you remember them too? My hands
25 Years Gone By
The wind shifts and ruffles the hem of my dress. There's a fog coming in – I can almost smell it in the air, feel it in the tips of my toes before I look up and see it drift through the trees. I gather the day's last buckets of blueberries, and my feet press down the damp earth on the path to the small log cabin at the edge of the woods.

My knuckles are cold and pale as I unload my baggage into a big wooden bin and put a teakettle on the stove. The water begins to boil and the hiss of the steam fills the tiny room. The wintry press of the fog surrounds the cabin, and the steam rises, weaving a cocoon of warmth around the thick wooden walls.
moth-eaten curtainsI sit on the carpet
where gaps are filled
with chewing gum and dead spiders,

it's here, time,
I tell her everything;
use the words that are scribbled
on the paper with bright pink ruled
lines and no margins
kept in a shoebox beneath my bed.

The curtains were moth-eaten.

Damp marks left from leaks
swirl shapes on the
ceiling and the wall behind me,
smelling like clothes
that have flapped in the rain
and fallen in a pile, then worn
too many times;

in here, this time,
the whole building appears
abandoned,
yet with the windows intact
and exterior bricks
red, new.

The smell of summer
stays outside.

She stares at me with
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Tuesday Afternoon

:iconementhal:

GOD:
Next, please.

MAN:
Yes, hello again.

GOD:
I'm sorry, my memory fails me. Which one are you?

MAN:
Well, I was Martin Fry.

GOD:
I'm sorry, those records are terminated. What's your number?

MAN:
Eleven thirty-one.

GOD:
No, no, not your queue number. Your executive number, the eight-digits.

MAN:
You expect me to remember that?

GOD:
Well, it is within the seven plus-minus two limit, which you should achieve if you've reached up to level one. Or, are you the reincarnation?

MAN:
Yeah, that's right. That's what I wanted to discuss with you.

GOD:
Did you miss your stop?

MAN:
No.

GOD:
I only sent you off a few hours ago.

MAN:
Yes, my point exactly. What's the deal with turning me into a sea turtle?

GOD:
You said you liked swimming, and that you'd like a long life.

MAN:
Yeah, but their life expectancy from hatching is only about four seconds, innit? I was eaten by a gull after two. You do realise that the odds of me becoming an old sea turtle are about one in a million?

GOD:
What can I do, try again.

MAN:
I've been at it thirteen times already; it's beginning to resemble a very frustrating video game!

GOD:
What can I do?

MAN:
You're God..! What can't you do? You invented gulls, didn't you?

GOD:
Actually, that was my day off.

MAN:
I don't believe this...

GOD:
Would you like to be something else? How about sloth?

MAN:
No thank you.

GOD:
They're swimmers. I didn't mean for that to happen, but there you are.

MAN:
Tempting, but no thanks.

GOD:
African elephant?

MAN:
No.

GOD:
I can offer you, um, tiger?

MAN:
No! How come you keep giving me endangered animals?

GOD:
To teach you a lesson!

MAN:
About what?

GOD:
About life, and death, and how cruel they both can be because of people like the former you, who take as their profession to cause others to suffer!

MAN:
I was an insurance salesman..! Anyway, why don't you offer me panda?

GOD:
I don't like pandas.

MAN:
How can you not like pandas? Pandas are the fluffy bits of hope in this world!

GOD:
Why do you think they're dying out?

MAN:
But you just said--

GOD:
Enough about the bloody pandas already! I'm on a boycott, orright? Simple as that. You can't be a panda, pick something else.

MAN:
Well I don't know.

GOD:
Would you like to see the catalogue?

MAN:
The catalogue of endangered animals that you like?

GOD:
Yeah. Here, have a look.

MAN:
"Life through a straw: Anteater. Short sight, bushy tail and a pair of claws. Live your South American dream." No, that's not really for me... "Sturgeon", "Chiru", "Rhinoceros"... It's not really alphabetical, this, is it?

GOD:
It's in order of preference.

MAN:
"Barnacle. Stick to rocks and large whales. Become the owner of the proportionally largest reproductive organ in the animal kingdom. Eight years of self-fertilisation." That sounds good, can I be one of them?

GOD:
Don't be perverted.

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:iconementhal:

Tuesday Afternoonby ~ementhal

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Tuesday Afternoon In God's Office

For radio. To be read in thick cockney accents for both parts.
©2007-2013 ~ementhal
Category: Literature / Scripts & Screenplays

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November 21, 2007
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Daily Deviation

Given 2008-04-26
It's been done plenty of times, but was it ever on a Tuesday Afternoon? Check out ~ementhal's short script and treat yourself to a chuckle. ( Featured by `GeneratingHype )
:iconmangame:
~Mangame Jun 3, 2013  Hobbyist
That was cute! I liked it a lot! ;D
Reply
:iconelvenfighter007:
~ElvenFighter007 Dec 16, 2012
This is truly fantastic
Reply
:iconharpyeagle45:
~harpyeagle45 Dec 14, 2012
XD :rofl:
Reply
:iconjessie0wessie:
~jessie0wessie Oct 15, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL!!!
Reply
:iconmkatlike:
Mood: Joy !mkatlike Sep 3, 2012
XD ROFL
Reply
:iconswirl-spill:
~Swirl-spill Jun 6, 2012
Lovely piece :D

Wish I could hear this on the radio~
Reply
:iconkakashi-girlfriend:
Mood: Wow! !KaKashi-GirlFriend Apr 21, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
its really funny but 1 question....HOW CAN GOD NOT LIKE PANDAS?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!?!
Reply
:icongaylordfatta:
~GayLordFatta Nov 5, 2011
*starts reading it while looking at other scripts* This is good *It stops showing me the writing* ...*clicks writing and continues reading and starts laughing* ...:D
Reply
:iconsariathejerboa:
Mood: Wow! !SariaTheJerboa Oct 26, 2011  Student Writer
I wish I could write stuff like this with utter humor. You are amazing. :clap:
Reply
:iconpanty-pirate:
~panty-pirate Apr 29, 2011  Hobbyist General Artist
I can see John Cleese as God and Michael Palin as the Man XD
Reply
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