by Eric Lane
(MARCUS opens his mouth wide to reveal crooked teeth.)
MARCUS: Marcus.
COACH LATRELL: GODDAMN! Need you an orthodontist! Can’t tell if you’re smiling at me or flashing gang signs! Close your mouth before you get somebody shot. I can just see you now, walking down the street: “Yo, what’s up, fellas—POP! POP! POP! POP!” (To SUSAN.) What’s your name, princess?
SUSAN: S-S-S-Susan.
COACH LATRELL: The hell’s wrong with you? You challenged or something?
SUSAN: I-I-I have a st-stu-stutt—
COACH LATRELL: A what!?
SUSAN: A stu-stu-stu-stutter. I have a stu-stutter.
COACH LATRELL: You ain’t lyin’, jack!
SUSAN: I have a stutter, and …
COACH LATRELL: And WHAT?
SUSAN: … I’d a-a-a-ap-appreciate it if you di-di-di-didn’t use that as an excuse to ab-b-b-b-b-buse me.
COACH LATRELL: Oh. Okay. Well, if you’d like, we can all take out our notebooks and do some journaling instead. You know? Like, really get down on paper everything you’re feeling. Would you like that?
SUSAN: Y-y-yes.
COACH LATRELL: Yeah? You’d like to do you some intense journaling?
SUSAN: Yes.V-v-very much—
COACH LATRELL: TOO DAMN BAD, STUTTERING SALLY …
SUSAN: S-S-Susan.
COACH LATRELL: On your belly, maggots! All of you! Push-ups now! And count every one off with, “Yo’ daddy so dumb.” Don’t just stand there! Do it.
(Everyone drops down and starts doing push-ups, saying, “Yo’ daddy’s so dumb.”)
That’s right! Welcome to the Clarence Thomas High School Dozens Team! You think this is abuse? You ain’t seen nothing yet! Why you stopping, Marcus?
MARCUS: (Breathing heavily.) It’s my asthma, sir!
COACH LATRELL: Asthma?
MARCUS: I can’t breathe so good.
COACH LATRELL: Okay … so help me out here. Where’s the part of this conversation that has shit to do with me and what I’m doing?
MARCUS: I can’t bre—
COACH LATRELL: Because asthma don’t sound like a Coach Antoine Latrell problem. It sounds like a Marcus problem. Something wrong with your DNA. Take it up with yo’ mama, ’cause that don’t got shit to do with me!
SUSAN: Coach, come on, he c-c-can’t b-b-brea …
COACH LATRELL: Is there a CD player skipping around here?
SUSAN: N-n-n …
COACH LATRELL: Or are you actually trying to communicate with me?
SUSAN: F-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-fuck you!
(A beat.)
COACH LATRELL: Say that again.
SUSAN: F-f-f-fuck you! Skinny-ass m-m-m-m-m-m-muthafucka!
COACH LATRELL: All right, everybody. Practice is over for today.
(Everyone gets up to leave.)
Not you, Susan!
(CLARENCE and MARCUS exit. A beat.)
Well done.
SUSAN: Wh-wh-wh-wh—
COACH LATRELL: DON’T! Don’t! Just stop! Damn! I’ll explain. You learned the second rule of playing the dozens. No matter what, when somebody throws a snap at you, you throw one right back. You got potential. Now … there’s a freshman exhibition tournament next week. And you’re going to be in it.
SCENE TWO
SUSAN is jumping rope. COACH LATRELL is watching over her.
COACH LATRELL: (Singing.) I don’t know what I’ve been told!
SUSAN: (Singing.) I don’t know what I’ve been told!
COACH LATRELL: Yo’ underwear is ten years old!
SUSAN: Yo’ underwear is ten years old!
COACH LATRELL: Yo’ breath is bad, yo’ booty stank!
SUSAN: Yo’ breath is bad, yo’ booty stank!
COACH LATRELL: That ass is like a septic tank!
SUSAN: That ass is like a septic tank!
COACH LATRELL: Sound off!
SUSAN: Fuck you!
COACH LATRELL: Sound off!
SUSAN: Three, four!
COACH LATRELL: Sound off! Fuck you!
SUSAN: And yo’ fucking family too!
COACH LATRELL: Drop the jump rope!
(SUSAN drops it.)
Now give me a snap!
SUSAN: You’re skinny and st-st-stupid! And you got lint in your hair!
COACH LATRELL: No, no, no, no! We’ve been at this for days! This is not about just insulting me! When you play the dozens, you gotta make that person ashamed for being alive, for having the family that he has, for the car he drives, for the fucking toothpaste he uses! You gotta find where he’s weakest, focus on that and keep hitting him there and don’t let up until he falls to pieces! You gotta be quick! Gotta be on the ball! Don’t forget the motto: “We don’t fight with our fists; we fight with our wits.”
SUSAN: I hear you. I hear you.
COACH LATRELL: You heard me, but you not listening to me. Girl, your sister so skinny, people in Somalia send her food! SNAP! That’s the dozens! Now come on! The exhibition’s tomorrow!
SUSAN: I—
COACH LATRELL: Your sister so bucktoothed, she could kiss a man and comb his mustache at the same time.
SUSAN: I-I-I—
COACH LATRELL: Your brother so poor, he got married just for the rice!
SUSAN: I can’t!
COACH LATRELL: Why not?
SUSAN: Are you d-d-d-deaf? I g-g-got this st-st-stutter! I’m gonna g-g-get eaten alive out th-th-there!
COACH LATRELL: You didn’t stutter when you were singing with the jump rope!
SUSAN: Singing’s the only thing I’m g-g-good at! I don’t even want to b-b-be here! My d-d-dad used to play on the d-d-dozens team b-b-back when he was in high school, and he just wants me to f-f-f-follow in his f-f-f-footsteps and my mama—
COACH LATRELL: Yeah, yeah, yeah, but, um, back to what I was talking about, you gotta find your rhythm, Susan. I can’t help you do that. Only you can do it. And you gotta do it by tomorrow. Or you’re going to lose.
SCENE THREE
The exhibition. Two microphones lie in the center of the floor. SUSAN and COACH LATRELL are in one corner. Her opponent, WAYNE “THE MOUTH TRAIN” EVANS, is trying to rally the audience.
COACH LATRELL: Now just remember everything I told you.
SUSAN: You told me I was going to lose.
COACH LATRELL: Well, remember the part where I said I believed in you?
SUSAN: No.
COACH LATRELL: Well, I believe in you and—
WAYNE: (To the crowd.) Wazzup, muthafuckas! Wayne “the Mouth Train” Evans is in the house! Y’all ready to get this party started? Yo, I’m gonna tear this scrub apart!
(He grabs a microphone.)
Come on over and get your medicine, baby! I promise you won’t feel a thing.
COACH LATRELL: Grab your mike and show him who’s boss. You can do it.
(SUSAN picks up her mike. A bell rings. They start circling each other.)
WAYNE: (To SUSAN.) Yeah. Yeah. Where you at? Huh? Where you at? You ain’t nothing. Yo, check this out: Your house is so small, I put a key in the lock and broke a window! OHHH!
(SUSAN speechless.)
What’s the matter? Where you at? Look at that poofy-ass hair! Hair so damn nappy, you gotta take Tylenol every time you comb it! OOOOOOH!
SUSAN: Y-y-your d-d-d-daddy …
WAYNE: Oh, what the fuck is this shit? You got me battling a girl who stutters? Yo, your mouth is so big, you could eat a banana sideways.
(A bell rings; end of Round 1. SUSAN walks over to COACH LATRELL.)
COACH LATRELL: What the fuck are you doing out there? He’s taking your ass to the floor like 409!
SUSAN: Ooh, th-that’s a g-g-g-good one. Can I u-u-use that?
COACH LATRELL: No, you cannot use that! Why are you just standing there? Why don’t you say something?
SUSAN: I don’t got anything to say.
COACH LATRELL: Everybody got something to say! Look at that goofy-ass muthafucka! He’s a clown! You could tear him apa
rt.
SUSAN: He’s b-b-b-etter than m-m-me.
COACH LATRELL: He’s quicker than you. You just gotta slow him down. Remember: place your strengths against his weaknesses. What are your strengths?
SUSAN: I d-d-don’t know! I can sing. That’s it.
COACH LATRELL: I didn’t know you sang.
SUSAN: I t-t-told you y-y-yesterday!
COACH LATRELL: Girl, you stutter half the damn time as it is. God don’t even know what you’re saying!
(The bell rings. WAYNE runs into the center of the ring and grabs his mike.)
WAYNE: Let’s get this over with.
(SUSAN enters and picks up her mike. They circle each other.)
Yo, your sister’s so flat, she had to tattoo “front” on her chest!
SUSAN: You-you-you—
WAYNE: What’s up, girl? I can’t tell if you’re trying to talk to me or beat box! OOOH!!!
(SUSAN tries to speak but is too overwhelmed.)
Yo, your sister’s so ugly, she was a stunt double for Predator! Ooooh! And as for yo’ mama? Yo’ mama—
SUSAN: (Singing.)
No!
Don’t you say nothing ’bout my mama!
(Everyone goes dead quiet.)
(Singing.)
No!
Don’t you say nothing ’bout my mama!
No, no, no, no!
Don’t you say nothing ’bout my mama!
’Cause then I’m going to have to start talking ’bout yours.
(COACH LATRELL starts snapping.)
(Singing.)
’Cause your mama’s so fat
and that’s no lie!
It takes two trains and a bus
just to get on her good side.
A big-booty butt
Mountain hips wide as hell
Her underwear is
double double double double XL
And to top it all off
She’s as dumb as a stool
She thought Boyz II Men
was a day-care school!
She’s dumb and she’s fat, dumb and fat
Yo’ mama’s dumb and she’s fat.
WAYNE: Your ma—
SUSAN: Your mama’s so fat she eats wheat thicks!
WAYNE: You—
SUSAN: Your mama’s so fat, she tried to get an all-over tan and the sun burned out!
WAYNE: Your mama’s so stupid, she jumped out a window and went up!
SUSAN: Your mama’s so stupid she thought Hamburger Helper came with another person! Your mama’s so stupid, she sold her car for gas money! Your mama’s so stupid, I taught her the running man, and I haven’t seen her since.
WAYNE: Okay …
SUSAN: Your mama’s so stupid she got fired from the M&M factory for throwing out the Ws!
WAYNE: Okay …
SUSAN: Your mama’s so dumb she failed a blood test.
WAYNE: All right! You win!
SUSAN: Your mama’s so dumb …
(SUSAN can’t stop. One snap after another keeps flying out; it’s as if a dam has been released. COACH LATRELL gets into the “arena” to pull her out.)
COACH LATRELL: Susan!
SUSAN: (Screaming.) Your mama’s got an Afro with a chin strap! Your mama’s got more weave than a dog in traffic! Your mama’s got so many teeth missing, it looks like her tongue’s in jail!
COACH LATRELL: (Pulling her away and hugging her:) SUSAN! IT’S OVER! IT’S OVER, SUSAN. It’s over, baby. You did it. You did it.
(Fade to black.)
END OF PLAY
SOURPUSS
Dan Berkowitz
The first public performance of Sourpuss was in Monologues and Madness at the Cornelia Street Café, New York City, in August 2008. The piece was performed by the author.
A MAN walks into a spotlight center stage.
MAN: I’ll tell you why I don’t do drugs anymore. Ten years ago, a friend’s traveling in Germany, sends me a package. Inside, wrapped in tissue paper, is a lump of something, kinda brown. Naturally, I assume it’s hashish, so I swallow it. An hour later, when I’m not high, I track my friend down at his hotel. Wake him up at three-thirty in the morning, Düsseldorf time—on his honeymoon—to complain about the lousy hash. It’s only after he yells, “Why didn’t you read the note in the fuckin’ box?” that I realize what I had ingested was not hash, but was, in fact, a chunk of the Berlin Wall.
Three days later—when I am high on hash—I’m at a party, doing tequila shots. My friend Jack starts laughing and goes, “Man, remember that time you took the sledgehammer to Warren Beatty’s Jaguar? Jesus, you really beat the crap out of that car!” And everybody’s laughing and I’m laughing, and then I find myself saying, “When did I do that?” And Jack must not have heard me, cause he starts laughing even harder, and goes, “And then when Warren pulled the gun on you, the way you fell to your knees, and stretched your arms out like Christ on the cross, and sobbed, ‘Don’t shoot! Dukakis needs every vote!’ ” Which, of course, told me it must have been 1988.
And I suddenly realize there are vast swaths of my life of which I no longer have any recollection at all. And some of them sound like they were fun. I mean, for example, I thought I’d never even been to the Tournament of Roses parade. And then I find out one year I not only rode on the Disney float, but had sex with Snow White. And two of the Dwarfs. During the parade. But the hash had wiped out a lot of brain cells. Well, and the pot too. And probably the coke. And the acid and the mescaline. And I suppose the mushrooms, though I only did them once or twice. I think.
(Pause.)
I am so glad vodka doesn’t affect the brain.
(Blackout.)
END OF PLAY
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR STOPPING
Halley Feiffer
Lights up on ASHLEIGH, standing on the side of the road. She is the picture of a perfectly put-together young lady, save for the palpable anxiety that we can see is bubbling inside her; even so, she has a smile plastered on her face. She waves frantically at an approaching car.
ASHLEIGH: Hi excuse me?!? Hi!! (Sound of the car slowing down and pulling up to her.) Hi, um. (She makes a gesture for “please roll down your window.” Sound of the window being rolled down. With a big smile, like the gracious hostess.) Hiiii. Thank you so much for stopping. I’m so sorry to bother you, I’m just having a little bit of a problem, I’d love your help, I’m so sorry, I never do this, it’s just … kind of an emergency—oh no don’t worry, it’s not the end of the world or anything, I’m fine it’s just—oh, this is so embarrassing—(She chokes on her words; she is suddenly emotional.)—Oh it’s just so hard to ask for help! (Beat. She collects herself quickly.) I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. Excuse me. So: thank you so much for stopping here’s the thing: I just, as I was driving—I’m going over to my mother’s house—(Points to her car in the distance.)—yup that’s me, right over there, the Prius, uh-huh—so, as I was driving, I just …
Accidentally killed my husband. (Grimaces.) I know, it’s so embarrassing, I just—(Suddenly remembers something.) Oh! My gosh, I can’t believe it, I forgot to introduce myself, I’m so sorry, how rude. (Sticking out her hand.) I’m Ashleigh, what’s your name? Susan? That’s my mother’s name! No I am not kidding, it really is! And what’s your name? Jerry? That’s my brother’s name! No don’t get too excited Jerry I was kidding that time. (Laughs loudly at her own joke.) So anyway: I just killed my husband, and I was wondering if you guys—
—Oh, well that’s a good question, I’m sorry, I should’ve explained that right away: what happened was, we were driving over to my mother’s house—I said that—and we were just sort of joking around, and he was, you know, joshing with me about how bad a driver I am, and I got kind of peeved, ’cause—well, I don’t know why, I’m usually very even-tempered, but things have been sort of tough lately—(Gets sort of emotional again, tries not to let it show.)—and anyway I got sort of peeved, and I said: “Well if you hate the way I drive so much why don’t you get
out of the car?” and he said “Maybe I will” and I said, “Good, then do that,” and I pulled over, and he got out, and then, as a joke, sort of, I sort of pretended to like you know, hit him with the car, but here’s the thing I actually am a pretty bad driver, and here’s the thing I did hit him, and I definitely didn’t mean to, but then I thought, Well hey, people get hit by cars all the time, I didn’t hit him that hard, I’m sure I didn’t do any serious damage, but here’s the thing: I did. (Grimaces.) Yeeeeeah. You know it’s the sort of thing that could happen to anyone, but when it happens to you, you’re like AAAAAAH WHAT DO I DO?!?!?!? You know? So what I’m wondering is: would you guys mind if I just kind of loaded him into your backseat, and we could just drive him over to the hospital real quick? It’ll just be real quick—I have to be somewhere myself in half an hour—