The Theatre

The Blogger's Lament,
a Tragicomedic Promotion in One Act
by David Schneider

DRAMATIS PERSONAE:
FASCINATED READER (FR): i.e., you
@: The Author, such as he is
Little Marketing Devil (LMD): a miniature, conniving n'er-do-well
EDUCATION (Eddy, for short): A beautiful, seductive woman
POP-UP AD: The most annoying fucking thing the Web ever gave misbegotten birth to


The curtain rises. There’s a tall, Googly FASCINATED READER with a wonderfearful look in his eyes and tattered clothes, looking like he’s just climbed up Mt. Fuji, which, in a sense, he has. @ is dressed in a head-to-toe opaque black bodystocking.

FASCINATED READER: Hey, hey, wait a minute.

@: Ex-cuuUSE me, I was in the middle of a thought here, and it was a really important one too, like really important.

FR: You said there were all of these amazing free webapps. I want one!

@: Seriously now, e-excuse me. Would you excuse me for a moment? I’ll be right back. Exit stage left.

LITTLE MARKETING DEVIL enters stage right, a midget dressed as a cocky sonofabitch.

LMD, unctuously: Howwwww can I be of serrrrrvice?

FR: Those amazing free webapps. I want ‘em. Where are they? Gimme gimme gimme, I’m going pro, I’m going solo, and I need these tools. I mean, they never taught me in school how to invest or anything. And I don’t know anything about social marketing… None of my friends are really into this stuff.

LMD: Well-- wish I could help you, laddie, but they’re not paying me to advertise for them, and I’m broke. I’ve been giving away free advice all over the place and getting pennies for it. If you want the play, you’ve got to pay.

From offstage, the thin, echoing voice of @: Hey, and what happens to my credibility as a writer?

LMD hissing from the corner of his mouth, in stage whisper: Psst! Buttinsky! You already like the product, remember? I’m trying to be Monty Fucking Hall here, and you’re throwing the classical ethics book at me?! I can’t even fucking read Greek.

LMD stomps to Stage Left, pulls @ from the flies, smacks him about the face a few times and facepalms him, all while shouting: Why. do. you. have. to. think. so far intothefutchaar?? Looks at him with heroin-crazed eyes: I need money NOW, goddamnit!

@ whimpers and crumples down LMD’s leg and fastens himself there.

@ whimpers pathetically: But thinking into the future is what I do!

LMD starts dragging @ to and fro across the stage, shouting: OFF! OFF! General mayhem gradually crescendos –

FR: I’m waiting…
I said I’m waiting…

EDUCATION, coming onstage, singing sweetly: Basecamp… Basecamp…

FR (to EDUCATION): Ugh, no. Are you kidding me? It’s old, it’s ugly, it’s complicated, it looks like work, it just looks like you’re going into the drab office in the Chemical Brothers’ video for “Golden Path”… Just, no. I don’t need any more headaches AND THESE TWO ARE GIVING ME ONE ARRGH!

FR (to EDUCATION): Have you even used Basecamp?

EDUCATION, putting her head down to her hands and sobbing: No! We don’t even have decent computers at my school! (sniff. She buckles. FR comes over and embraces her.)

All this while, LMD has been dragging @ around the stage, with the occasional bark of: OFF! OFF! “Yakety Sax” starts playing as the mayhem speeds up, and as FR commiserates with EDUCATION on the state of the nation’s school system, and LMD is dragging @ about the floor, punctuated with OFF! OFF!, “Don’t leave me!” and bawling and sniffling.



POP-UP AD in Monty Python voice: And now, since Oscar was off having his portrait done, and we needed a bit of wildness, here’s a completely gratuitous video of Kim Wilde:


Immediately after video ends, illumination back on actors, frozen in place from point of video commence. A pause of incomprehensibility.

LMD: Well that was…

@: Gratuitous. And I’m not even sure all that good.

FR: Waiting…. waiting…

LMD: Dude, she’s hot. I’d do her.

@: You like the ‘80s big-hair girls, don’t you? You would, wouldn’t you.

FR: Waiting, waiting…

EDUCATION: Like for Godot?

LMD: Okay, so what kind of chicks are you into?

@: Godot is dead.

FR: Waiting, waiting…

EDUCATION: Nietzsche!

LMD: God bless you.

@: Mr. Rosewater.

FR: Waiting, waiting…

EDUCATION: Like in “Casablanca”?

@: I like the classic type, like Ingrid Bergman.



FR: Waiting, waiting…

LMD: She’s dead. Unless you’re into that sort of thing (looks him up and down) No, you’re really not, are you – Isabella Rossellini’s your next best.

FR: Waiting, waiting…

EDUCATION (triumphantly): LIKE WINDOWS!!

FR, LMD, @, and EDUCATION in unison: YES!

They all clasp arms in sudden deep sympathy. They break apart, noticeably more relaxed.

LMD, looking wistful: Yeah, Isabella’s pretty hot. Even at her age.

FR (clearly warming to the subject): She was awesome in “Blue Velvet,” right? When she lies on the sofa, so lush, so dirty, and says, so pitifully, “Beat me… Beat me…”

LMD and @ in unison: Dude.

LMD: Too much information, capish? Tee Em Eye, dude, Tee Em Eye.

Meanwhile we see EDUCATION sitting over to the side, rubbing her legs together slowly, smoking a cigarette and biting half a lip.

FR (snapping out of S&M fantasy, voice curdling with acid): I asked you a question, you bastard. Not giving me the answer in a pleasant and obsequious tone designed to invite me into your community is, you know, just bad Netiquette.

@: And I told you at the beginning of this conversation, I was working on something! I’m sick of this, I tell you! just sick of it.

LMD: Must be a touch of the viral marketing. I hear there’s a lot of it going round.

Beat. The light dawns.

FR, LMD, and @ are standing in a triangle formation. There’s a pause – then all three whip out pistols from their holsters and hold them, both hands, at each others’ cheeks.

LMD: Easy now, fellas. No reason to get excited –

EDUCATION, walking over: …said the Joker to the Thief. Yeah, yeah, we’re all Cylons, get over it. C-can I just interject something here?

LMD: Not unless it’s my dick between your sweet cheeks, LibraryThing.

FR, shaking with rage: It’s a GOD-DAMNED Mexican standoff in here--

EDUCATION, tousling FR’s hair and speaking to him in a wubby bubby voice: That’s not very politically correct, now, is it, Face? No it’s not, no it’s no-ot!

FR (a sheet of ice about to crack): So what is the, ahem, “politically” “correct” term here, my sweet, my darling, my own?

EDUCATION (blushing): Oh, well, um, y’see I’m not really sure, you know? And (she yanks her thumb hitchhikingly) – I got some slang dictionaries lying around, you know. I-I can ch-check, you know, but it’s like, in the other room – or, um, page, or – what is this thing, anyway? I was sure I put a Book Mark here somewhere, (starts rummaging through files, eyeglasses on top of head) – oh, I just knew it was here somewhere…

FR: Hit the road, Eddy.

EDUCATION: Wh-whaddya mean, Face?

Fascinated Reader stands silently.

LMD: Look, lady, lemme gather up your sibylline leaves for you. Lemme set it straight. If a man really, really loves you – I mean really loves you – he might mooch your carpet. But no self-respecting man is going to mooch on your books if he don’t think you got it together. All this dust around you, you be starting to look like Pig-Pen! And let’s face it, you got some weight to carry around. And that expensive gym membership too. Let’s face it, sweetheart, there are a hundred more just like you, and they’re cheaper dates, too.

EDDY: Face! Oh, Face, how can you do this to me? I would have done anything for you. I would have let you discipline me – I’m so unruly, so untidy, so useless, I can’t pay rent – make me into the woman you desire. Spank me, beat me, tell me I’m a shitty whore with painted features concealing the Pox and the Consumption. Cum on my face, make me gag on your cock, make me suck dicks, mash my face into another poor cunt’s... Do it, Face, do it. Make me your bitch. I’ll do anything for money but – no! – fuck them! (she sobs) Fuck them. Fuck them and their whispers, Face – they whisper that I’m lousy at intercourse, make a middling display at dinner parties, and they talk openly that I’m the cause of the fall of the entire city.

@: I’m so disappointed in you, Eddy.

EDDY, stricken and defeated: Oh. There’s this thing I remembered – "all the world’s a stage," umm… "When we shuffle off this mortal coil…" "time upon the boards…" Oh, fuckinafuckanin...

(Gathering herself.) Right. I'm gonna do what any self-respecting girl would have done a long time ago. I'm gonna take me a nice hot bath, put on my sexiest Little Black Dress, go to a shitty nightclub where they play Ace of Base, get completely drunk, take home a hot stud with three books in his bookshelf, two of which are The Idiot's Guide to Marketing and Dog Care: A Primer, and fuck the shit out of him. Reverse Cowgirl, like Jenna teaches you in How to Make Love Like a Porn Star. (Spins on her heels.) That'll show all of you that I'm NOT to be trifled with. Exit, stage left.

FR: Bitch.
@: Bitch.
LMD, after a long pause: Bitch. Pause. Hey, fellas, um, what say we put down these phallic substitutes before someone gets deleted? Besides, I, um, need to go to the bathroom.

EDDY, from afar: Singin' in the BATHtub, yah-dah-dee-doo...

They withdraw their guns. In unison: Okay, fine, whatever.

They sit down at the kitchen table in a huff. Distribute cigs all around.

LMD: Certainly doesn't look like we can talk about that thing of yours, @, at least not here, after all that's happened. Too many people watching. Wouldn't look good.

@: Not a chance.

FR (to @): So, any offers?

@, glumly: No.

FR: Any leads?

@: Not really. Found anything interesting to read?

FR: Yeah, kinda, but nothing nearly as interesting as what you write.

EDDY, from afar, singing: I'm gonna wash that man right out of my hair...

LMD pricks his ears, interest piqued, and slooowly gets up, and meanderingly wanders in the direction of the music.

@: Thanks, but if I don't have any money, I can't eat. And if I can't eat, I can't write. And if I'm working, I can't write like this. I just don't know what I'm going to do.

FR: Leave New York.

@: But then I won't be able to hang out with you guys. And you're the most interesting people I know.

EDDY, from afar, sings:



LMD goes over to stage left and begins masturbating furiously. @ and FR continue talking, sotto voce, about their dilemma. About five seconds later,

LMD: Uhh, urr, urghgh.

LMD agitatedly zips up and walks back over to the kitchen table.

@, disgustedly: So, did you get your precious release from that marketing urge?

LMD: Um, uh, kinda. Bitch was too easy. Anybody got a Kleenex? (with acid) Did you get your precious release from your writerly urge?

@: Um, not really.

FR: So, what are you guys doing for the rest of the afternoon?

@: I'm going to eat dog food. And not throw up.

LMD: I'm gonna eat dog food.

FR: I'm gonna eat dog food.

We hear a plug being popped and water gurgling. EDDY is circling the drain. Ayee, ayee, ayee, round and around and around we go, where the world's headed, nobody knows.

LMD, FR and @ sing in unison: Ball of confusion, that's what the world is today, hey-hey.

EDDY walks onstage, naked and dripping wet.

EDDY: Well, I'm still a girl with pluck. If you can't beat your opponent, and the money's waved in your face, you do what the boxers do – you take a dive. (She rolls on some hooker fishnets and laces up a pair of fuck-me boots.) Seeya around, boys.

EDDY swan-dives off the stage.

The lights dim and the remaining ensemble sits motionless while the following song is played:



@: So, see you guys at the pub tonight?

Oooowip! An AIM message is received on the computer in the corner.

LMD: Yeah, see you there. LMD and @ stand up and put on their coats.

@ (at FR): You taking off?

FR: Yeah, in a minute. Let me just check this IM.

@ exits stage left, LMD exits stage right, FR stands up and walks over to the computer. Lights fade to black.

Copyright 2009 David A. Schneider