The Aborted Christmas Plays
Guildenstern: Hear about them Wikileaks?
Rosencrantz: Blizzardfuck, did I? I was snowed in all morning.
Guildenstern: 'Cause you're dead, that's why.
Guildenstern: Looking good though. Not an unhandsome corpse.
Rosencrantz: New tie. Same face.
Guildenstern: That's politics.
Rosencrantz: Every day's like a fucking archeological dig-out, I tell you.
Guildenstern: So how's our old pal doing?
Rosencrantz: Grid-lock. Dead-lock. Whatever. He paces up and down, looking ripe to kill something. He still takes time to look down ladies' blouses though.
Guildenstern: That's our man.
Rosencrantz: Twat-whore galore on the senate floor!
Guildenstern: We all fall down.
Rosencrantz (falling): Heaven for...
Guildenstern (reluctantly): Desire.
Rosencrantz: Desire is...
Rosencrantz: Fucking hell, where's the passion?
Guildenstern: Go fuck yourself.
Rosencrantz: There you go. And I wish.
Guildenstern: So how's Sarah and the kids?
Rosencrantz: Same old, chap. We're getting up there that's for sure. You should come over some time. I got one of those big fucking flat-screens. Fucking excellent resolution. Sarah knows how to cook too.
Rosencrantz: Makes a mean minestrone.
Guildenstern: You lucked out, man. Best of the lot. That's all I'm gonna say.
Enter Hamlet, wearing a tattered Santa Claus hat, pushing an empty grocery cart. Stops mid-stage, folds over and vomits blood. Guildenstern and Rosencrantz circle. Guildenstern pushes the grocery cart off stage. Rosencrantz kicks Hamlet in the gut.
Guildenstern: So anyway. Did you bring the thing?
Rosencrantz: What thing?
Guildenstern: You know what I'm talking about.
Guildenstern: For old times sake.
Hamlet (singing low): How many miles to London town?
Rosencrantz (searching is pockets): Fuck. I'm empty.
Guildenstern: Dickwad. Then what are we suppose to do?
Hamlet (attempting to get up): Three score miles and ten.
Rosencrantz: I had it wrapped it up and everything. Real shiny.
Guildenstern: We're stuck then, aren't we? I guess we're stuck.
Hamlet (barely audible): Can I get there by airplane?
Guildenstern & Rosencrantz together: Yes and back again.
They proceed to kick the royal snot out of Hamlet. Fade curtain.
Josef: You have to push. There. Yes. That's it.
Maria: Oh Jesus!
Josef: Just keep pushing. You're doing great.
Maria: Shut the fuck up!
Josef: You know, we're real lucky. Real lucky. This could be so much worse.
Maria: I'm dying.
Josef: Almost there now, hun. Almost home. Third base and then we'll be home free. Just have to push through. Just keep pushing.
Maria: I'm gonna cut your fucking balls off.
Josef: That's my girl. Oh look, a shooting star.
Maria: Get him the fuck out of here. Give me the drugs. Give me the fucking drugs man!
Josef (on his cellphone): Yeah. It’s coming any minute now. I’m fucking hyped. Yeah, it’s a boy. She’s doing great. It’s all going according to plan. Yeah. No. No. Come on over. She won’t mind. Whatever. Ha ha. That’s great. But no, everything is good. All right. All right. See you.
Nora: There ain't no such thing as miracles.
Helmer: Why sure there is, why just the other day.
Nora: Nah. I faked it.
Helmer: You what?
Nora: Anyway, that's water under the bridge. That's not why--
Helmer: You're saying you faked it? All this time?
Nora: Well maybe sometimes I didn't. Hell, I can't keep track. The main thing is--
Helmer: But that time we snuck into Krogstad's house-boat?
Nora: Definitely faked it. You know I can't stand being on water. Goes right to my ears.
Nora: Well for Christ sakes, it's not a big deal. Doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it. It was a good effort, and you seemed to enjoy it. What's the big deal?
Helmer: This is insane.
Nora: Just biology. Not like I can control it, can I? It's pretty much out of my hands. Is that what you want? You want me to control it?
Helmer: There should be a bond.
Nora: Yeah well, this is how it is. Anyway, I just want you to know that that's not--
Helmer: It's someone else, isn't it?
Nora: Yeah that's it. When you go off to work, I get good and ready. In fact that's all I do all day long, that's why it looks like it does in here. I screw. From breakfast to dinner I screw. The whole farmer's union has been through this bed.
Nora: There are some young strapping men with hands like frying pans, and boy, can they screw. Why do you think I'm up half the night washing sheets? It's from all the screwing, that's why.
Nora: Oh, you want to hit me now? Is that it? Think that'll make it more real? Well go a head. Make it count.
Nora: Honestly, Thorvald, I'm just tired. I'm tired of everything. You're a good man, you'll find someone else. You'll see.
Helmer: How'd you come to hate me so much?
Nora: It's not hate. Maybe it's the lack of hate. Maybe that's it. Maybe if you’d hated a little more, maybe then we could have managed to get this thing to work. Anyway, it doesn't matter anymore. It’s all past that now. I'm going.
Helmer: But it's almost Christmas, Nora. Think about the kids.
Nora: Don't call me.
Creon: Words aren't friends.
Choragos: Buttons aren't toys.
Antigone: Kill kill kill! Die motherfucker die!
Ismene: Hey you.
Ismene: They would like to see you for a minute, you know. They've traveled for quite a while to come and see us.
Antigone: Yeah whatever.
Ismene: One hour is all I ask. Won't you come and sit with us for one hour.
Antigone: But they're fucking retards. Even you think that.
Ismene: It's family. It's the only family we got.
Antigone: Some family!
Ismene: I mean, you've been playing that game day and night since Christmas. It can't be good for you.
Antigone: I like this game. I don't like them.
Ismene: Sometimes we have to make sacrifices.
Antigone: Yeah right. Like that time you married dad?
Ismene: Antigone, stop it.
Antigone: Well it's true.
Ismene: Half an hour, deal? It won't kill you.
Antigone: No way.
Ismene: Twenty bucks?
Ismene: Honestly, I don’t know why I love you.
Antigone: Kill kill kill! Die motherfucker die!
Choragos: Buttons aren't toys.
Creon: Words aren't friends.
X: Can you believe that crap? That must be the worst play in the history of plays. I’ve never seen anything so thoroughly ridiculous.
Y: Yeah like what's the big deal? I had to fight not falling a sleep, and the play hadn’t even started yet.
X: I sure as hell won't let my kids see it. I mean, where's the Christmas spirit?
Y: Exactly. And what does a rhinoceros have to do with anything? Camels and donkeys I can buy, but a rhinoceros?
X: What rhinoceros?
Tartuffe: A love of heavenly beauty does not preclude
A proper love for earthly pulchritude
Our senses are quite rightly captivated
By perfect works our Maker has created.
Some glory clings to all that heaven has made;
In you, all heaven's marvels are displayed.
On that fair face, such beauties have--
Tartuffe: Shit. I'm sorry. I messed up. Can I get some water or something?
Director: Everyone take five.
Anna: I think you're doing great.
Tartuffe (removing headphones): Huh, what's that?
Anna: I just said I think you're doing great.
Tartuffe: Oh yeah, thanks. It's a great play.
Anna: So what you listening to?
Tartuffe: Oh this? Nothing really. Just some Nine Inch Nails.
Anna: Oh, I love Nine Inch Nails.
Tartuffe: You do?
Anna: Well, what I've heard sounds good. Very edgy.
Tartuffe: It helps me concentrate I guess. It’s Anna, right?
Tartuffe: Well it's nice to meet you Anna. Excuse me for asking, but what is it you do again?
Anna: Well you know, a little of everything. Sound, stuff like that.
Tartuffe: I didn't know that was needed for a play. I mean, we’re up there, and we're talking. It's just us and the walls really, and eventually the audience, isn't it?
Anna: Yeah well. It's a little bit more complicated than that.
Tartuffe: I'll have to take your word for it.
Anna: You do that.
Tartuffe (putting his headphones back on): Well I need to get back to, you know.
Anna: I want to fuck you like an animal.
Tartuffe (Removing headphones again): Sorry, what's that?
Anna: I said good luck with the play. You're doing great.
Director: All right people. Let's get this thing back on track. Two weeks, people, that's all we got. This isn't some backyard play, this is the real deal. Tartuffe, people. Come Christmas, we need to make sure we got the stuff to blow the fucking top off this building.
Lopahin: Hello there.
MME. Ravenskaya: I don’t understand. Where am I?
Lopahin: Well it’s me, Lopahin. We did that thing once. Don’t you remember?
MME. Ravenskaya: I remember nothing. Is this a tragedy or a comedy?
Lopahin: I can’t tell you what it is, that would ruin the surprise.
MME. Ravenskaya: Is he dead?
Lopahin: I don’t know anything about anything.
MME. Ravenskaya: Am I dead?
Lopahin: It’s a reasonable question.
MME. Ravenskaya: That’s my couch isn’t it?
MME. Ravenskaya: So get your filthy feet off it.
Lopahin: Ha! Yes. You do remember.
MME. Ravenskaya: I remember nothing. Except—
Lopahin: Except that you remember something.
MME. Ravenskaya: They cut it down, didn’t they? Chop chop?
Lopahin: That was one of things, I believe.
MME. Ravenskaya: And the rest of it?
Lopahin: It’s a long story, and the less you remember of it, in fact, the better.
MME. Ravenskaya: So I’m not dead then, am I?
Lopahin: That answer can only be no.
MME. Ravenskaya: Even if I was?
MME. Ravenskaya: Tell me at least what day it is.
Lopahin: Oh, it’s one of those days. Trust me, it isn’t worth imploring.
MME. Ravenskaya: Bloody cottages!
Lopahin: Absolutely filthy.
MME. Ravenskaya: I think I’m starting to remember.
Lopahin: I can tell you this much. It’s not Christmas.
MME. Ravenskaya: Say again?
Lopahin: It’s not Christmas.
MME. Ravenskaya: Yes, because he died in the summer, right? Some kind of illness or something.
Lopahin: Tuberculosis. Heatwave.
MME. Ravenskaya: I don’t know why that’s funny.
Lopahin: It isn’t.
MME. Ravenskaya: Were we lovers?
Lopahin: So what if we were? It hardly matters now.
MME. Ravenskaya: What does matter now?
Lopahin: That you remember.
MME. Ravenskaya: But I am remembering. Isn’t that what I’m doing?
Lopahin: Maybe you are. Maybe you aren’t.
MME. Ravenskaya: Well I think I am. I’m remembering some things.
Lopahin: Do you remember the tramp?
MME. Ravenskaya: 30 kopecks?
Lopahin: Something like that.
MME. Ravenskaya: Well what about him?
Lopahin: He was coughing wasn’t he? Mumbled something about his brother. Something like that.
MME. Ravenskaya: I suppose, but what has that got to do with anything?
Lopahin: No. You’re right. Forget about it.
MME. Ravenskaya: A lot of tramps cough. What are you getting at?
Lopahin: No, seriously. Forget about it.
MME. Ravenskaya: You’re driving me crazy you know, and get those filthy feet off my coffee table.
Lopahin: Ha! I knew you would catch on.
MME. Ravenskaya: You have to tell me what day it is. What year is it. At least tell me that.
Lopahin: I already told you. It’s not Christmas.