An Odd, Self-indulgent One-scene Play

INT. LIVING ROOM

A fiftysomething Asian man, naked, slightly drunk, stands atop a fireplace mantel, stiff-backed, his arms spread flat against the bricks, his chin tucked into his chest. His shoulders are up by his ears, trembling. He’s looking down. He seems unsure of himself. He squints through the spotlight directed onto him. The spotlight floats over to the other side of the room, where toddlers take turns clubbing a piñata stuffed with printed excerpts of his blog and stacks of headshots that he no longer resembles. The toddlers repeat the same thing over and over, in a singsongy chant.

CHILDREN: Your taboo topicality sprinkled with occasional pathos is a tiresome and tawdry schtick! Your taboo topicality sprinkled with occasional pathos is a tiresome and tawdry schtick! Your—

ASIAN MAN: Nooooooo!

The Asian man weeps loudly. He stares at both of his hands in puzzlement, as if he does not recognize them. The children run up to him by the fireplace, grinning unsympathetically.

CHILD #1: Run-on sentences fool no one!

CHILD #2: Hack!

CHILD #3: This dream sequence sucks!

CHILD #2: Asian!

Jessica Alba swoops in on a rope ladder, yodeling like Tarzan on swinging a vine, kicking the children out of the way. She hops onto the floor, stretching her arms out with a celebratory ta-da! She’s wearing a fluffy white bath towel. She takes a moment to gather herself, then bites her bottom lip seductively.

JESSICA: Where are you Petey?

Jessica winks, then grabs her lower jaw right below her ear and tears her face off, revealing herself to be the late great writer, David Foster Wallace. He is wearing a bandana. He’s obviously still in the fluffy white bath towel.

DFW (whispering): You will never be known in American literary circles as ‘the blogger’s blogger’ or sometimes simply ‘the Blogger.’

The children return, but in greater numbers, and they point and cackle. The Asian man scans the room, acknowledging the children with nods, then looks back down at his hands again. His hands slowly ball into fists. The Asian man smiles. He knows what to do now. He’s hoping the device he had bought off of that infomercial weeks ago actually works. He claps his hands, and DFW/Alba and the children run off quietly. He jumps off the mantel, and while in mid-air, he claps twice, loudly, and the lights in the room go out.

CURTAIN.