The Delivery Boy

[Dogmudgeon]

The Delivery Boy

(A Play In Half an Act)

(Inspired by a post by “Slinkerwink”)



(Curtain Up)

(CLARK, DEAN and EDWARDS are in their bitchin' bachelor pad, ready for a party. CLARK wears a military uniform; DEAN has a white lab coat on with a stethoscope around his neck. EDWARDS has a Hawaiian shirt on, under which is a t-shirt that reads Kiss Me, I’m A Virgin.)

(There is a knock at the front door, and EDWARDS opens it.)

DEAN: Hey, look, the delivery boy is here!

DELIVERY BOY: (Blushing) That’s Chief Liquor Officer Marion "Pat" Robertson to you, sawbones!

CLARK: At ease, son, at ease. He’s only trying to blow off a little steam.

EDWARDS: Yeah, dude, don’t let it put a stitch in your confederate flag!

DEAN: (Cringes) Ouchie-wowchie!

DELIVERY BOY: (Huffing and puffing, drags in several cases of something cheap and foamy) Here you go. Cases and more cases of your, uh, merchandise. Why don’t you guys just get a keg?

EDWARDS: If we wanted a keg, we’d have called the President.

CLARK: How much will that be, son?

DELIVERY BOY: Two hundred and fifty million dollars, sir. And ten percent extra for the military.

DEAN: How about a medical discount?

DELIVERY BOY: Nerts to you, doc!

DEAN: (Mock seductively) I’ve got cocaine. (Pulls out a prescription pad and wiggles it.)

DELIVERY BOY: (Furtively glances around. Passes DEAN a small piece of paper) Here’s my phone number and e-mail address at AOL.

EDWARDS: (Drawing up to read the note while DEAN looks at it) Hey, it says, ‘You’ve been a very naughty neo-Conservative. Call me for your bare-hiney spanking. Annie C.’

DELIVERY BOY: (Blushing, grabs the paper back and exchanges it with another.) You guys!

DEAN: (In disbelief) Annie? Annie Coulter? You’ve got to stop slummin’, Pat! Here, let me give you Laura Ingraham’s number.

(Pulls out a pen and starts writing.)

CLARK: Hey, where’s Dennis? He should be here by now!

EDWARDS: He’ll be here later. He didn’t have enough to get on the bus, so he had to go home and borrow some money from his roomies.

DEAN: Oh, man, that’s gotta suck!

EDWARDS: Yeah, suck like a fifty-cent whore.

DELIVERY BOY: Yeah, suck like Jenna Bush after two shots of Cuervo in the third floor broomcloset of the East Wing on New Year’s Eve 2002!

(The three Candidates glower at the DELIVERY BOY)

DELIVERY BOY: What’d I say? What’d I say?

EDWARDS: (Shakes head) You gotta work on your delivery, dude!

DEAN: Besides, if you want truly superior oral service, you have to date conservative starlets.

(CLARK, EDWARDS, and THE DELIVERY BOY all glower at DEAN)

DEAN: That’s just my clinical observation, you understand.

CLARK: Now that is a line that would even bomb in Kosovo!

(EDWARDS and DEAN grimmace in pain.)

DEAN: Here, let me give you Shannen Doherty’s number. (Does the pen-and-paper ritual again.)

DELIVERY BOY: Come on, you guys, can you just pay me so I can get back to work?

(CLARK, DEAN and EDWARDS fish around in their pockets. EDWARDS looks pained.)

EDWARDS: Hey, guys, I’m a little short. Can you spot me?

DEAN: There you are, buckaroo. (Hands EDWARDS some money.)

DELIVERY BOY: Aw, come on, if I’m late one more time, Mister Rove will make me work in South Central L.A. all next week!

EDWARDS: (Takes change from DEAN) Thanks, Howie.

(CLARK counts out some coins, representing $250 million, just as 435 electors represent 120 million American voters.)

CLARK: (Hands over the money) You know, a tour of duty in South Central might put some good old American-produced steel in your spine! How ‘bout it? You could be Grandmaster Whitey White!

DELIVERY BOY: (Tilting nose upward) I’d rather just be the best Liquor Officer and Christian I can be.

CLARK: (Pitying) I’m sure you would, son, I’m sure you would. Now run along, and say hello to your Dad for me.

DELIVERY BOY: Yes, sir. (Leans over toward DEAN and EDWARDS and sneers) Later, loo-zers! (Exits)

EDWARDS: That old boy is so uptight, he’d need a jackhammer just to pick his own ass!

DEAN: (With a worried look) Now, let’s not rile up the Jackhammer-American population! I want to be their President, too, you know.

CLARK: (Looks at watch; speaks with mock solemnity) The time has arrived to commence Operation De-Elect the Resident.

(DEAN bends down, rips the top of the first case open, and pulls out some cans. CLARK audibly sighs in anticipation and rubs his hands together. EDWARDS licks his lips. DEAN gives each of the others a can and takes one himself. Each can is conspicuously labeled WHUP-ASS)

DEAN: Gentlemen, let’s all crack open a can of quality domestic brewed WHUP-ASS!

(The three crack open, then hoist, their cans of WHUP-ASS.)

ALL: Cheers! (Tap cans together, then drink.)

(Curtain Down)

©2003 BareKnuckledLiberal. All rights reserved. Vote Democratic.

[Guaranteed]

1. GOOD shit....

I love the ending.
Funny stuff. Let's hear some more!

[chaska]

2. Good 'un.

And thanks for spelling "whup-ass" correctly. The whole world spells it wrong. Pisses me off ... for some strange reason.

[BiggJawn]

4. But the can on my desk says "WHOOP-Ass"...

The one I threaten to open when the office ReTHUG wears our his welcome....

so, what is it? Whoop or Whup?
Don't forget-i live north of The Ohio...

[Dogmudgeon]

3. The SHAME ... the SHAMELESSNESS ...

Kicking my own post to the top of the queue.

I HANG MY HEAD IN SHAME!

But not very much.

--bkl

[oneighty]

6. Good play!

Well done. Another kick.

180

[grannylib]

5. Well done indeed! This is good stuff, Maynard....eom

[WannaJumpMyScooter]

7. Ummm, like this?

[Dogmudgeon]

8. In Honor of Pickles' Birthday This Week

K I C K !

--bkl