poorly coordinated (& A Danish Tragedy)

I'm tired of seeing trench coats on my front page, so here's a trenchless outfit. Parts of it are coordinated, but it looks to me like I had two outfits in mind, and both of them were still duking it out when I got dressed.

Why am I allowed to own a camera?

Hair ribbon thing: lying around. Sweater: uncle's. Fingerless gloves: Bancroft Clothing Store. Floral shorts: DIY. Tights: gift from my brother, Korea somewhere. Flats: Kork-Ease.

I may be woefully behind for Script Frenzy, but it's Saturday, so.

I wrote this when I was 16, and it was performed. I must admit, this crack!script was probably influenced by watching a cast rehearse snatches of "Dogg's Troupe Hamlet" by Tom Stoppard for a theater competition, but I never actually read it, so I can't say for sure.

...I still find parts of this hilarious, which goes to show how bad a joke-teller I am.

A Danish Tragedy

(CHRIS is in bed in his apartment caressing a large portrait of Shakespeare.)

CHRIS: Oh, Will! Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love. (kisses portrait of Shakespeare, passionately, melodramatically) One day, Will, my darling, we will be lawfully wedded, and we will make good, sweet love and have beautiful babies and love each other for all eternity! O! A thousand times goodnight! (Tucks in portrait beside him. Snuggles. Sleeps.)

(Lights fade out.) (Office setting. CHRIS + DEL. Lights up.)

DEL: So then I told him I completely understood his insecurities, but of course I was lying just to make him feel better. I mean, what kind of pathetic loser would want me to wear granny panties? Honestly, Chris, I just don't understand men at all. I thought Cupid was supposed to be blind.

CHRIS: Well, the course of true love never did run smooth. I guess I should just consider myself lucky I never really have that problem.

DEL: You are, you are! You're so lucky your man doesn't make you spend money on lingerie. Or underwear, period. (eyes him) Which reminds me, how was your hot date with your hot boyfriend at that hot new club? Hmmm? And when am I going to meet him? It's been three years, Chris, and I still haven't even seen a picture of him.

CHRIS: Hey, hey, there are more things in heaven and earth, Del, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. He's kind of camera-shy, you know?

DEL: I have a philosophy?

CHRIS: I swear, even if you've never seen him, he is every inch a king, an absolute gentleman.

DEL: And how many inches would that be?

CHRIS: I think he's six-two? So that makes 74 inches.

DEL: Oh, you know what I'm talking about. But maybe you just don't want to embarrass him. "He that has a little tiny wit..."

CHRIS: It's not tiny!

DEL: Would you say it's more or less than a pound of flesh?

CHRIS: Anyway, this weekend was gorgeous. Well, actually, I thought Friday would be a naughty night to swim in, since Will was feeling a little under the weather. Poor Will's comingdownwith a-cold!

DEL: Oh, that's awful! Where did he catch it from, do you know?

CHRIS: He thinks it might be some kind of stomach flu. We went to that little bakery across from Rodrigo's last week -

DEL: Oh, I love Rodrigo's!

CHRIS: I know, it's great, isn't it? But I think the portions are a little too small. Other burritos cloy the appetites they feed, but Rodrigo's makes hungry where most he satisfies. Anyway, we went to that bakery, and William had a cheese Danish, but that was before those news reports came out, so we didn't know!

DEL: Oh yeah! That something is rotten in the state of Denmark? I heard about that! I saw on the Discovery Channel that the new Danish flu is deadly, though!

CHRIS: But the thing is, I asked the manager of the place, and he said they don't import any of their ingredients from Denmark. So if Will really does have the Danish flu, that means something wicked this way comes, and it's not just a Danish phenomenon.

DEL: A Danish what?

CHRIS: Phenomenon.

DEL: Is that, like, a flower?

CHRIS: Phenomenon?

DEL: Or a Greek guy? Like Hercules?

CHRIS: Oh, nevermind. Striving to better, oft we mar what's well.

DEL: That is so true. Like how I'm trying out these new padded things from You Are Bootyful, and they make my butt look huge. Like, in a bad way. Like, I don't think I even needed them in the first place, 'm I right?

CHRIS: (looks) Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art translated. Well, it is a little...exaggerated.

DEL: Oh, God, how am I going to live? I told the boyfriend I didn't want to and he should love it or leave it, and now he's going to leave it!

CHRIS: Hey, hey, calm down. I said it was exaggerated, not bad. Don't be upset! Why don't we go for drinks after work, and you can take it for a test run, all right?

DEL: Oh, but I'm in distress! My delicate -

CHRIS: - sensibilities forbid you from revelry, okay, I got it, I'm buying. (aside) Frailty, thy name is woman!

DEL: Ooh, should I go buy something to wear during my lunch break?

(Fade out.) (Fade in. Clubbing. CHRIS and DEL and people in background dance. Clubbishly. CHRIS gestures to DEL that he is going to go get a drink. CHRIS approaches bar. RENÉ has a mustache.)

RENÉ: (lecherously) I like your pants. Nice and tight.

CHRIS: Oh, thanks.

RENÉ: Too tight, actually. Means there's no room for me in there. You going home with that chick?


RENÉ: That chick you were dancing with. The one with the huge -

CHRIS: - Oh, no! She's just a friend of mine.

RENÉ: Good. I hope you'll be my friend, too. We could get to know each other very, very well.

CHRIS: How many drinks have you had?

RENÉ: Might've had a few. You wanna meet me in the back of this joint?

CHRIS: Um. No. Thanks.

RENÉ: You wanna dance?

CHRIS: No, I'm - I'm pretty beat.

RENÉ: You're pretty hot.

CHRIS: I think I'm going to go over there now.

RENÉ: You're not gonna buy me a drink? I thought we were friends! (starts to lean in) I could make it worth your while. Is this a dagger which I see before me, the handle toward my hand?

CHRIS: (pointing in random direction behind RENÉ) But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? (escapes to DEL)

DEL: Chris! Who was that? Was that Will? Why didn't you introduce us?

CHRIS: No, that was just some creepy guy.

DEL: Well he was cute! Bring him over here! I'd like to - (chokes, coughs, gags a little)

CHRIS: Are you okay?

DEL: I'm fine, it was nothing.

CHRIS: All right, if you say so. I hope nothing will come of nothing.

DEL: Nothing will, but Chris, you are so right. I am totally going to do something about the boyfriend, and something is going to come of it. I am gonna march up to him and give him a piece of my mind. Too flat, my ass! If he wants me to wear granny panties again, I swear I'll rip off his -

CHRIS: Del, I think I'm going to sit down for a while. I might have had a few drinks too many, and I fear I am not in my perfect mind.

DEL: Oh. Well, let me not be mad! Wait there. I'll just be a sec. I'm going to the little girls' room to take out these stupid, padded You Are Bootyful things. (waddles offstage)

CHRIS: To leave or not to leave?

RENÉ: That is the question, of the hour.

CHRIS: I'm not feeling so hot, so if it's okay with you, I think I'd rather not talk right now.

RENÉ: Would you like me to take you home?

CHRIS: Never!

RENÉ: Never?

CHRIS: Never.

RENÉ: Never?

CHRIS: Never. Leave me alone. I have a boyfriend!

RENÉ: What's his name?

CHRIS: What's it to you?

RENÉ: So sorry. What a rogue and peasant slave am I, I shouldn't be meddling in your love life.

CHRIS: I'm glad you see it that way too.

RENÉ: So what's his name?

CHRIS: Why do you care? Will is mine!

RENÉ: Will, eh? Short for what? Willie?

CHRIS: What's in a name anyway?

RENÉ: Oh, I don't know. Sometimes it can be pretty indicative of a person's character. For instance, my name is René, but they know me around here as Big Ray-Ray. I can show you how I got that name, if you want. (leers, menacingly, putting a hand on CHRIS's shoulder/knee/whatever)

(DEL, who has re-entered by this point, butts in, with her butt)

DEL: Sorry for interrupting, you two lovebirds, but I just have to say, I feel so much better without those horrible things on! They made me feel so self-conscious!

CHRIS: (heavenward) The quality of mercy is not strained!

DEL: I feel so much more like myself without those stupid things. I still can't believe he wanted me to wear them.

CHRIS: Hey, good for you! This above all - to thine own self be true.

DEL: You know, that is such good advice. You should write an advice column. Dear Chris. No no, Dear Chrissy. (another violent coughing fit, falls to ground)

CHRIS: Del! Oh, God. (to RENÉ) Is that - is your drink water?

RENÉ: Maybe, maybe not.

(DEL writhes on the floor, still coughing)

CHRIS: I've got to get her home.

RENÉ: I'll go home with you!

(Exit CHRIS and RENÉ, dragging DEL)

(Fade out.)

(Fade in on CHRIS's apartment room again.)

(Enter CHRIS and RENÉ, dragging DEL who is, if possible, foaming at the mouth. They lay DEL in bed.)

CHRIS: I'll go get her a glass of water. You keep an eye on her.

(Exit CHRIS.)

RENÉ: So, ah. You sleeping with him?

(Silence as DEL lies there wheezing.)

RENÉ: I said, this is bed is pretty familiar to you, innit? Haven't you done my office?

(Long silence as DEL continues wheezing quietly)

RENÉ: (clears throat)

(DEL starts hacking and wheezing)
RENÉ: Woah, woah, I didn't think the silence was that awkward!

(DEL still hacking and wheezing, making gigantic hand gestures)

RENÉ: Here, here, you want a hanky? Here. (Hands her handkerchief.)

(DEL coughs violently into the handkerchief.)

RENÉ: Aw, for Chrissakes. I'm gonna have to wash that now! (Snatches handerchief back.) Oh, come on, and you've coughed up blood all over it! What am I gonna do with this? This is imported silk!

(DEL coughs violently into the sheets, then resumes wheezing.)

RENÉ: Women.

(Enter CHRIS with glass of water.)

CHRIS: How's she doing?

RENÉ: Fine. You mind if I use your toilet? Your lady friend's coughed all over my bloody hanky, and I've really got to take a -

CHRIS: Hey, watch your language. A lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing. Bathroom's the third door on the right.

RENÉ: Thanks. I'll, ah, be back in a bit. Gotta wash this bloody, stupid...

(Exit RENÉ)

CHRIS: Del. Del, speak to me!

DEL: Ehhhh..... (hand flourish)

CHRIS: Do you... do you want... you want a...?

(DEL makes a huge flourishing gesture.)

CHRIS: Oh, oh! I got you. (Takes out large paintbrush and hands it to her.)

RENÉ: (From offstage) This stupid stain won't come out!

CHRIS: What is it, Del?

DEL: Ehhh! (Waves the paintbrush around to gesture that she wanted a pen and paper, not a paintbrush)

CHRIS: What?

DEL: Uwehhh... (Flourishing paintbrush)

CHRIS: What? I can't understand you when you talk like that.

DEL: Ehhh! (Flourishing paintbrush)

CHRIS: More matter with less art!

DEL: Ehhh - (gasp, choking noises. She sits up, clutches her throat, choking. Pauses in choking and clutching her throat.) O! I am slain! (Resumes choking and clutching her throat. Falls to knees on the ground. Tips over. Chokes more, quietly.)

CHRIS: (Throws body on DEL, lamenting) Alas! Poor Del! I knew her! Not in this self-same bed, and not "knew" in the Biblical sense, but knew her I did!

RENÉ: (From offstage) This bloody blood stain! Your soap is too mild!

CHRIS: (Heavenward) As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods! They kill us for their sport!

RENÉ: (From offstage) Out, damned spot! Out, I say!

CHRIS: (To his Shakespeare portrait, which he removes from under the pillow) Will! Will, give me counsel! (listens to portrait) Curse the Danes? (Sobbing, shakes an angry fist) Curse you, Danes! A plague o' all Danish bakery-houses! (falls to knees, in a coughing fit)

(Enter RENÉ)

RENÉ: Take it easy there, man. What's the matter?

DEL: Alas! I am slain!

RENÉ: I see.

CHRIS: Curse the Danes! O! Will, I cannot cope!

RENÉ: My name's René, but I can comfort you.

CHRIS: Will, I sense a lunatic beside me.

RENÉ: Are you talking to a picture frame?

CHRIS: I am speaking to William.

RENÉ: Is that a picture of Shakespeare?

CHRIS: Are you two acquainted? Good, then I shan't introduce such a brute to my William.

RENÉ: William Shakespeare. Wow. That's Willie?

CHRIS: Dare you abuse his name?

RENÉ: I hate to break it to you, but that's just a picture of him.

CHRIS: Don't listen to him, Will! Cover your ears! Your delicate sensiblities!

RENÉ: Hey, maybe you should help him. I think he would do it himself, except he has no hands.

CHRIS: That was insensitive of you. Will resents that.

RENÉ: Are you mad?

CHRIS: Perhaps, yet there is method in it.

RENÉ: Your boyfriend is a portrait of Shakespeare?

CHRIS: (clutching the portrait protectively) You speak as if he cannot hear!

RENÉ: He can't! (grabs portrait) This is not Shakespeare! This is a portrait of Shakespeare!

CHRIS: Who are you, René? Magritte?

RENÉ: Oh, you think you're so -

(CHRIS begins coughing violently, collapses)

DEL: Alas! He is slain! (finally dies)

CHRIS: I am slain!

RENÉ: What?

CHRIS: Please... After I die... Tell Will... ("I - will always love you" from Whitney Houstons' "I Will Always Love You" plays)

(CHRIS dies, reaching out for Shakespeare portrait)

RENÉ: (Looks at CHRIS's body, sadly.) (Gesturing to himself and CHRIS) Two households, both alike in dignity, (gesturing around room) in fair Verona, where we lay our scene. (Raises hand to inspect it) A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life, and all shall be peace. (Slaps self, collapses, and dies.)
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