Saturday, May 26, 2012
Miss Prunella Vulgaris, The Duchess of Hammer-on-Dulcimer, esteemed member of the Peonage
Juan, The Earl of Valdez, less esteemed member of the Peonage
Hannibal, no-star general & playboy son of a noted Tripolitanian fashion plate
Fadades, Gaulish misanthrope, pretend musician, & sky pie aficionado
Kid Darkthrone, not-very-noted local misanthrope, reformed
assorted piratical henchmen, paid in scale
Bear, bait, & lovable ursine scamp
When we last left our intrepid Peonage, they partied like 'twas 1899. Thus exhausted from both the debauchery of Baba Yaga & Lemmy's nuptials & the recovery of the Fabergé Potato, they gladly resumed their lives of quiet desperation at the Museum of Palimpsest Oddities. Books not having brains of their own however, but ones under the control of drawer-ridden parchments desirous of a window view, a vacation was in order lest bedlam reign, DUCHESS & EARL sailing the wine-dark sea to the coast of Barbary, because what entirely predictable turn of events could possibly take place there.
PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #1: Ye scurvy dogs!
PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #2: Ye be walkin' the plank!
PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #3: Rosencrantz & Guildenstern ye ain't.
DUCHESS: Blame the playwright.
EARL: Fourth wall already?
PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #1: Ye be seein' four walls!
PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #2: Aft' ye walk the plank!
PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #3: Mademoiselle, monsieur, my humblest apologies. They're new, & obviously stupid. At any rate, come with me if you want to live. My master wants to avaunce or find doubloons or something. Whatever.
Now prisoners, Number 6, I mean DUCHESS, & EARL are taken by ASSORTED PIRATICAL HENCHMEN to an ostentatiously extravagant jumbo schooner, a veritable star destroyer of the seas, if your humble playwright knew what a star destroyer was which, Lucasfilm, Ltd., he doesn't.
PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #3: Your incandescent desertship, pay attention to the man behind the curtain.
HANNIBAL: That's me!
DUCHESS: It's not Captain Single-Eye. Didn't see that one coming.
EARL: Now that's good writing.
HANNIBAL: Throw her --
Timpani beat from behind the curtain.
HANNIBAL: -- in the shark tank!
EARL: This has to be performance art.
PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #3: Um, your excellent spookiness, don't you wish to question them before killing them?
HANNIBAL: Indeed! Knave! Knavette! Where is --
Timpani beat from behind the curtain.
HANNIBAL: -- the Krypton Stone?
EARL: Bad performance art.
DUCHESS: What the hell are you talking about?
HANNIBAL: No time for interrogatives, Dr. Jones!
PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #3 (sighing): At least it's work. Um, your magnificent --
The loud report, not of corsairs firing their cannon, but of the roof of the great hall collapsing, collapses everyone's perception into a little squished thing like a creepy crawlie left out in the sun too long, but creepy doesn't truly cover the aghast-nesse of all parties as the shark tank shatters, filling the hall with water & sharks that proceed to eat ASSORTED PIRATICAL HENCHMEN but not DUCHESS & EARL because what entirely predictable turn of events could possibly take place now.
DUCHESS: When you see the world --
EARL: -- the world sees what's for lunch.
BEAR & KID DARKTHRONE enter.
KID DARKTHRONE: Come with us if you want to live!
DUCHESS: Yogi Berra could write something better than this.
From the inflatable raft of KID DARKTHRONE & BEAR, DUCHESS & EARL watch the boat of the billionaire playboy son of a noted Tripolitanian fashion plate sink to the bottom of the Mediterranean.
DUCHESS: What just happened?
EARL: Why don't you ask the playwright.
DUCHESS: Sarcasm. Didn't see that one coming.
KID DARKTHRONE: Hey, it's getting cloudy.
DUCHESS: That's no cloud.
EARL: That's a spaceship.
FADADES: screech screechscreech screech screech!
A door in the bottom of the flying saucer opens, & a shaft of light engulfs DUCHESS, EARL, KID DARKTHRONE, & BEAR, somehow pulling them upwards into the gravity-defying contraption.
DUCHESS: We're so fucked.