Mon Poacher


			Scene:  A logging island.  All lives are 
				involved somehow in the logging 
				industry.  Wilma, Reinholdt, 
				Maureen and Tretes converse in 
				the following sequence.

Maureen: Is that a rat? Wilma: Oh what awful things, how can you talk about such parleunt! Oh! Tretes: How can you really tell, anyways? I know tha- Wilma: Such! Tretes: Excuse me, madam, but I believe you were speaking out of turn. Tretes: (smiling) Thank you, Beatrice. Wilma: My name is Wilma. Maureen: It still looks like a rat. But I dont't understand how, I mean where would it come from, I mean, Oh my! Wilma: My name is Wilma (waiting still for acknowledgement) Maureen: So let's say it is a rat. Tretes: I remember back in the twentieth war the way those suckers went down. Maureen: I'm not sure you should be in here, Tretes. Your speaking alone. Wilma: (giggling) I warned you, you Norwack. Maureen: (now giggling) Leave at once you laughless laugher daughter. Tretes: (confused) I don't think that's the case at all, ladies. Maureen: (confused and giggling) Sure it is, poof! Wilma: (laughing and giggling) Kiss him! Tretes: (Laughing and confused giggling) Kiss him! Anybody: (Laughing giggly-style, confused and wiggling with laughter) Kiss him! Tretes: (Giggling confusedly, wiggling and juggling) You will all fry for this, you rats! Wilma: (lavishly) Now , darlings, let yesterday be yesterday. Tretes: Agreed. Reinholdt: Agreed. Maureen: Agreed. Exit Anybody Reinholdt: So, it's yesterday? Maureen: No, fool. It's just a saying. Wilma: (mimicking Maureen) No fool. It's just a saying. Tretes: But I've been here before. I've seen the lot of this time and time again. Wilma: (anticipating Maureen's moves) Hmmph! Maureen: Hmmph! Reinholdt: Well, I suppose, we should... Maureen: Oh great, now y ou've done it. Here Tretes, let's trade teeth. (She pulls out two molars from her mouth.) Tretes: Thank you, no. Reinholdt: I will, Maureen. I love you. Wilma: (running towards Reinholdt with bated breath, and open teeth) I will. The chorus now begins to sing the alphabet song in round. The lights go up in the theatre. The ushers begin to show the patrons to the cabs. The curtain rises about halfway, to reveal a cast of actors and actresses peering out from underneath. The lights dim to a mere five percent. The curtain rises, and the orchestra builds to a frenzied amalgam of grammophonic bliss. The players now remain in a "thought circle" for about two(2) hours time. A "thought circle" is sort of an experience bonder, in which the participants "share" their expereinces through open flame. As by the authors request, the members of the orchestra beat their chairs into the metal frame that surrounds the orchestra pit. They beat with more intensity as the "thought circle" grows into an incessant clanging peace aural explosion amphetamine extermination oblivion. Exeunt.
Authored by Krautsalad

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