Diary of a Milk Maid

January 1

Dearest Mother, I have arrived at my new employ! It is a wondrous country home with lovely gardens and vast acreage. I have only briefly met Sir and his only instruction to me was “Milk your cow daily and when the time comes, do My Love’s bidding.” I was then brought to meet the cow from which I am to extract the daily dairy. A lovely enough beast. I have named her Abigail.

As I said to you before I left home for this mysterious new employment, a lot is not known about the situation in which I now find myself. My understanding was that I was to be Sir’s solitary milk-maid. However, when I was shown where my lodgings would be – a small cottage adjacent to the barns – I was most surprised to find another seven young ladies there within. They are all, like me, newly-arrived and we are all hired as milk maids, each with our own personal cow. The cottage, as such, is going to be rather cramped but the girls seem nice enough, and I am sure we all will get along quite well. Still, it was a surprise to discover an entire cottage of milk maids, each responsible for only one cow. Surely, one, or at most, two of us could handle the responsibility. Oh well, I anticipate that I may have a bit of free time on my hands each day once the milking is done. I hope to explore more of the grounds tomorrow. Love to you and Father, and of course the siblings!

January 2

Dearest Mother, Abigail is a peach of a cow! She gives her milk freely and easily, and is not shy with her quantity. I am sure Sir will be pleased with the output. Speaking of Sir, I was informed by Cath, one of the other milk maids – and this is just rumour and gossip, but who doesn’t like stories, eh – that apparently Sir is madly in love with a young lady, and has been regaling her with gifts these past few days. He is so sweet! I admit, I am envious of his love, and I cannot wait to meet her, when the opportunity arises!

After my morning milking duties were completed, I had opportunity to peruse the surroundings of the home. There is a lovely large lake, in which a dozen or more swans reside. I was told these swans, like me, are newly arrived to the estate. They are gifts for the young lady, I’m told. She must be fond of swans, because as I was there at the side of the lake, another seven swans had just arrived. So many swans! The lake can barely contain them all. Perhaps she is a bird lover. She must be, as the entire estate, actually, is rather flooded with all manner of fowl. There are no less than two dozen geese, just wandering about the yards. We maids are not sure whether the geese are in fact the present Sir’s given to his lady, or if it’s the eggs they lay each day. I wouldn’t be surprised if, with all these geese wandering about and laying eggs, my duties will soon include collecting those eggs along with milking Abigail.

After I returned to the cottage from my tour of the estate, i was very much surprised to see another eight milk maids had been hired. Each responsible for her own milk cow. They too, will be living in the sam cottage, and that is going to mean tight quarters indeed! There already were not enough beds for the first eight of us, so it looks like doubling and tripling of beds will be required. After a quick chat with one of the new girls, I understand that this new lot were also hired as milk maids for Sir’s love. Why on Earth she needs so many of us is anybody’s guess. Oh well, the pay is fair enough, the job is easy, and we’re all fed three full meals, so despite the close quarters, no complaints from me! After all, I do remember Father’s oft recited admonishment: “A Young Maid who complains becomes a complaining Old Maid!”

Cath told me that these new maids aren’t the only new arrivals today. Nine ladies have also been brought to the estate. Cath says she heard Sir’s only demand of them is that they dance – at least once a day – for his love. I am slowly painting a mental picture of this love interest! It seems she is fond of fowl and the arts! A few of the girls from the cottage snuck up to the main house and peeked into a window, and sure enough, there they were. Nine ladies in a room, all dressed in fineries, and it seemed they were practicing what looks like a Morris dance. it seems Sir really does love this girl, to be hiring all these dancers! At least they won’t be living in the cottage with us, as they, being ladies, will remain in the Great House.

January 3

Dearest Mother. Guess what? When me and the other girls got back to the cottage this morning after milking our cows, what sight befell us but another eight young girls, just sitting at the cottage table. “What are you lot doing”, asked Cath. They said they were the new milk maids. What in the Heavens is going on, Mother? There are now two dozen of us supposed to be shacked up here in this little cottage building! I didn’t know what to make of it, so I had to get away for a bit. Went down to the lake just in time to see another half-dozen or so new swans being uncrated. More geese too! So many geese eggs!

And that’s not all! Remember when I said this love of Sir’s must be fond of fowl? Well, I have seen with mine own eyes, that gaggle of geese, upwards of thirty blackbirds which he keeps in a barn, maybe two dozen hens, a dozen or more doves, and, at last count, nine newly planted pear trees, each containing its own partridge. The partridges are each chained to its tree. And I’m told that a new lot of each of these birds arrives every day. I know it’s called a gaggle of geese, but what do you call a group of two dozen milk maids crammed into a tiny cottage? I claim it should be called “An Uncomfortable of Maids”. And this is all for his love? I don’t understand?

January 4

Mother, I guess I may have made a mistake, agreeing to take on this position. Another eight maids have shown up this morning, each with a cow in tow. The barn is over-run with cattle, and our cottage is far too overcrowded to even be called uncomfortable. More ladies showed up, too, for more dancing. And almost a dozen men! They call themselves Lords, but I don’t see how even one Lord would hire himself out to Sir, let alone ten of them! And get this, Mother. Their job, these “Lords” is to jump around. Yes. In amongst the – what is it now? – 18 dancing ladies, there are ten men just jumping around. And it’s not ballet. There’s no talent in their jumping. At least, not that I could see from my vantage point peeking in through the window. Plus, more birds have, of course, arrived on the premises. The whole place has gone quite mad! I dare not write this, Mother, for fear of it being seen by the wrong eyes, but I am starting to think Sir is more than a bit touched in the head. I am starting to wonder if there even is a True Love upon which he is bestowing these gifts. I am thinking I might steal away in the night sometime soon, and return home.

January 5

Okay. I want to come home, Mother. More maids today of course! More everything today!! Sir came down to the cottage today, and asked how we maids were getting along. Over 30 of us in that tiny cottage room, four or five to a bed, and he has the gaul to ask us how we’re getting along? Cath asked him, point blank, if there’d be an incresase in how much food each of us would be given as provisions seem to have been rationed pretty thin now that there’s so many of us. Sir said he’d look into it, and asked us to be patient as all this would be worth it in the end, once his true love arrives tomorrow to see all the wonderful gifts he’s gotten her. She has no idea he’s been doing this for her, and I really think he’s going to be shocked -and not in a good way – when she sees all of this. Why, even the shit alone is monumental!

I have also started wondering – worrying, if I am honest, Mother – what all this means for when Sir’s True Love arrives. Am I to then be automatically become employed by her, or will I still be under Sir’s direction? I assume it to be Sir as I imagine he’s the one who will be paying all the bills, as they say. Still, whose commands do I take heed of? Sirs, or hers? Oh well, I am sure it will all become quite apparent in due time. Perhaps I will ask the question of the other Uncomfortables tonight before we go to sleep.

I had some down time today. Of course I did, because all I have to do is milk Abigail once a day. I’m still waiting for the shoe to drop and Sir tells me that he’s increasing my daily duty list, but it hasn’t happened. Seems he’s adamant about us all to remain purely as, in his words, “Maids a-Milking”. Honestly, Mother, I’d be afraid to be alone with him! But there’s no chance of that, as the whole estate is just teaming with birds and even more lady dancers and another crew of jumping men having just today arrived. I mean, what did Sir even do? Put a notice in the newspaper asking if any young men were availble to be hired as jumpers?

Anyway, I had some down time, and I was trying to find a quiet space just to think and figure out what in the world is even happening. I was on a knoll behind the barn when a couple of the dancing ladies on their break came up to me, bummed a smoke. We got to conversing, and they confided in me that the two of them weren’t even Ladies. And neither were any of the other 30 or so dancers. They were all hired from various theatres and burlesques. Sir demanded that they pretend they were Ladies of Repute, especially when being interrogated – they said that was the word he used – “interrogated” – by his love when she arrives tomorrow. That caused my heart to skip a beat or two, Mother, as I am now even more wondering what kind of situation I have gotten myself involved. We three were just getting into a conversation about that very topic and others – for instance, one was saying how she heard every day a delivery of gold rings arrives. Five or six at a time, and Sir just puts them all in a drawer in the kitchen. Anyway, we were ruminating about that when we hear an ungodly din coming from the front of the Great House. We, and the rest of us employees – the maids, the ladies and lords – all rush to where the terrible noise is coming from. And sure enough. It’s eleven bag-pipers. Each one playing a different song, Mother! All wearing different tartans! It terrified the swans and geese. The partridges tried to fly off their pear trees, but of course they’re chained to them.

January 6

Mother, I ask you this: what could be worse than eleven bagpipers each playing a different tune, all the day long, non stop? The answer it turns out, is another eleven pipers joining them the next day, again, each playing a different song, and then being assualted by even more noise as a dozen drummers show up on the scene, each hitting his drum in a different tempo it seems. Sir hires almost two dozen bagpipers and a dozen drummers and doesn’t even think to hire even one conductor? Whatever the definition of chaos is, I have heard it today with my own ears!

There are rumours starting to percolate around the estate that Sir is perhaps running out of money, due to the extravagant cost of this undertaking. I believe this might be the case, as it would explain the ruse asked of the fake-ladies, along with the less-than-artistic jumpers, and the cacophonous noises emenating from the pipers and drummers. I don’t think they are actually musicians at all! All I know is I got paid my wage each day so far, and as long as that continues I shall be considered content.

This is it, Mother! The day True Love is to arrive!!

So, let me set the scene for you, Mother. Sir told us all early this morning that his True Love is arriving today, and we are all – everyone and everything he’s hired and bought – we are all, directly after lunch, to meet outside the front of the Great House so all her gifts will be there as she steps out of the carriage. He is so excited! I am so afraid of him! It is just dawning on me now, Mother, that he considers me a gift for his True Love. Don’t you find that a bit odd? I should take a closer look at that contract i signed, before I go to sleep tonight.

So, he has these twelve pear trees – they were originally planted in a back field but he’s had them transplanted just today onto the gravel drive. They are placed in no apparent pattern around the yard. Each with a madly sqwacking partridge chained to it’s main branch. These partridges are not happy! There are no pears on any of the trees, it should also be noted. Then, in six wooden crates – again, seemingly set in a haphazard fashion – he has jsut over 20 doves imprisoned. Which doesn’t even make sense why he’d have them in these crates because I was told he had their wings clipped so they wouldn’t fly away. At this point, i was just glad he hadn’t put a ball and chain around my leg to force me to stay in this increasingly mad situation!

While I was standing there with Abigail, amongst the 40 of us maids and cows, just waiting for his True Love to arrive, I tried to count the hens that were ambling about and I think there were maybe 30 of them. And by the way, were I his True Love, I’d be perfectly happy with hen eggs from all these hens instead of having to deal with the over 40 geese he had held in a pen he’d had built there in the drive for this special occasion. For the 40 or so swans he had a large moat dug out in the drive and filled with water. Honestly, it ruins the landscape. It was just finished, so the water was basically just mud. He had wanted the swans “a-swimming” – his word, but they were basically just barely floating. Maybe he’d clipped their wings too? Do swans even fly, Mother? Maybe you could ask Father. Oh, and also, could you ask him to come save me from this madman? Cath said the swans were so docile because Sir had drugged them all with some sort of potion. Yes, I have just decided I will no longer eat or drink anything for the rest of my duration here, until I saw the effects it would have on any of the other hundred maids, fake-ladies and lords, drummers and bagpipers here assembled.

What else? Oh, the 30 or 40 blackbirds he had captive in a large cage. One of the two dozen pipers, when they weren’t blaring their infernal racket, an obvious self-satisfied know-it-all, stated they were “calling birds”, but one of the, at last count, 30 gentlemen hired to jump around, said that was incorrect and that they are Colly birds, or simple blackbirds.

So we’re all there, assembled, and the moment is about to happen. Sir’s True Love is about to arrive. Sir runs into the Great House, and returns with what must have been 40 or so rings. He’s carrying them in his hands, and runs up to a pedestal upon which is a red velvet pillow. He roughly tosses these 40 gold rings onto the pillow, as we see the carriage approaching. I must admit, despite the strangeness of this whole affair, I found myself giddy with anticipation as to what was about to transpire!

Sir kneels down on one knee and instructs the 20 or so bagpipers to start bagpiping. They do, as dischordant as before. Did nobody think to get together and decide upon one song? Is Sir absolutley tone deaf? He also instructs the drummers to begin to beat their instruments, and each, like a petulent child takes it upon themselves to go with their own rhythm. “Ladies dance!” Sir bellows. “Lords, get to a-leaping!” And they do.

The carriage approaches.

Sir looks over to the 40 of us maids. “Well,” he yells, in a surprisingly angry tone, “get a-milking!!” He then looks back at the ever-closer carriage. We girls look around at each other. It was, like, two in the afternoon. Our cows had already been milked in the morning. In some kind of silent solidarity, we all decide to get behind our individual and docile beasts and mime the “a-milking”. I made sure to situate myself so that I could see everything as it happened.

The carriage came to a stop just in front of the still-kneeling Sir, beside his pedestal of golden rings. The curtains of the carriage drawn.

I see a pair of eyes peek out from behind the drawn curtains of the carriage window. Then the curtains open and the face of Sir’s True Love is seen, as she takes in the madness that is Sir’s demented love for her.

I see her cover her ears to protect herself from the noise of the pipers and drummers. I see her look over to the muddy moat of lethargic swans. To a few of the partridges chained within the fruitless pear trees; to the mass of fake ladies dancing around on the gravel drive, clearly needing much more practice before whatever they were doing could be construed as dancing. She takes in the two dozen men in tights, agressively jumping and leaping into the air as they run around.

She turns her head towards us milk maids, and I manage to catch her eye. I smile and nod my head. She does not smile and does not nod her head. Just as I expected. She turns her gaze towards the pedestal of golden rings, a couple of which have since fallen onto the drive way.

Finally, her gaze attends her suitor. This man who must have spent a literal fortune to show this young lady just how deep his True Love is. A gesture so grand, and so pure, that I would not be surprised that it were not one day celebrated in song. Their eyes lock onto each other’s. They remain locked as he rises, stands at his full height, and holds out his hand towards her.

It’s a moment that seems to last forever! The eternity of true love’s blooming, I suppose. A love that even inspires the poetical to come out of me it appears!

As they gaze, I see a smile appear on her lips. The subtlest little taste of a smile I ever did see. Then I see her mouth words that I can only surmise were “Driver. Drive on” as she drew the carriage window curtains closed.

Then the carriage jolted to a start as the two horses were hutted into action. And the carriage rolled its way back down the long drive.

After standing there, the jilted lover, for what seemed like another eternity, this time because of the infernal noise still emenating from the pipers and drummers, Sir finally turned to us all. After shushing the musicians to a quiet, and imploring the dancers and jumpers to refrain from their movmentts, Sir asked us, rather politely, I should note, if it would be okay, us having witnessed the calamity that only moments ago befell his heart, if it would be okay if we were all summarily released from our duties and contracts, and would it be okay if were were not paid for this final day of servitude.

None of us felt it our right to take anything else from this mad, mad, sad, and mad man, and all agreed to null and void said contracts.

So, Mother, if you would, could you ask Father if he’d be able to send for me the means to return home? I have been gifted three of the hens. They are French, apparently. I was also offered two swans, but felt it best to decline them.

Dancing For The Stamps

I found this unfinished Sketch-22 script while searching for something else. I entirely forgot this existed. I can’t even remember if we did anything with it. I doubt it. Anyway, it made me laugh, so I thought others might enjoy it.

Shot 1 – Tammy K Confessional

Tammy K: I’m totally stoked to get the Slow Dance!  I’m usually still hangin’ at the clubs when the lights come up, right, so I’ve had my share of slow dances.  Totally stoked!

Shot 2 – Boyd Confessional

Boyd: The ladies are always complimentin’ me or whatever on how good a slow dancer I am right, so yeah, I think this one’s in the bag.  And Tammy K never gets picked up at the bars before last call, so she’s always skankin’ around lookin’ for tail and slow dancin’ with whatever she can get.  So, yeah, she’s got slow dance experience.

Shot 3 – Wide Shot of Dance Studio

Boyd and Tammy K enter the studio and see their choreographer:  Ketchup.  Tammy K gets really excited.

shot 4 – Tammy K Confessional

Tammy K: Oh. My. God!.  Ketchup!!!  Can’t believe we got Ketchup as our choreographer for Slow Dance.  Friggin’ Ketchup’s a Slow Dance Legend!!

shot 5 – Boyd Confessional

Boyd: Do you have ANY idea how many chicks this dude’s nailed after slow dancin’ with them at Myrons?  Tons!  I’m gonna fuckin’ learn from a fuckin’ master!!

shot 6 – Dance Studio – Ketchup teaching Boyd the Slow Dance, with Tammy K

Ketchup: Boyd!  Ya gotta get your hands right up there in the crack of her ass!  It’s last dance!  Ya think yer gonna get this girl to bed just by holdin’ her hips?  Get in there and start rubbin her crack! Pretend like you’re kneading bread.

Boyd:  I don’t need any bread. I ain’t hungry.

shot 7 – Dance Studio – Ketchup teaching Tammy K the Slow Dance, with Boyd

Ketchup:  Whatcha doin’ Tammy K?  Are you a fucking nun?  Get that pussy grindin’ into his groin.  Your job through this whole slow dance is simple – get the dude hard!  Get the dude hard!  Get the dude hard!

shot 8 – Tammy K and Boyd Confessional

Tammy K: We’re gonna nail the slow dance!!

Boyd nods agreeingly

shot 9 – Dance Studio, different wide shot angle

Clips of Tyler and Tammy B rehearsing with You-Dit, a pale, thin, hard looking woman or man dressed in black tights, hair pulled back in a tight bun.  A task-master.

Over the clips above, we hear Tyler voice-over

Tyler voice-over: ‘Kay, like, I don’t usually go out on the dance floor for the uptempo songs or whatever right, ’cause like it’s fruity and what-not.  Still, I’m still here in the show, and the pay’s alright right…

shot 10 – Tyler Confessional (we pick him up during his speech)

Tyler: …and the ones who go all the way get full stamps for the year, so I guess it’d be cool to win or you know… And Tammy’s got most of the moves in this one, so it’s not too gay, right?  And, you know (holds up beer bottle) Alpine!

shot 11 – more clips of Tyler and Tammy B learning from You-Dit

Tammy B (voice-over): I was worried that Tyler’d screw me over royally in this one, ’cause like I know his brother Ted right and I know Ted’d punch the shit outta Tyler if Ted seen him dancin’ up-tempo or whatever…

shot 12 – Tammy B Confessional (we pick her up in the speech)

Tammy B: …Ted hates fags, right. Still though, it’s pretty sweet the effort Tyler put into the rehearsal..

Shot 13 – You-Dit watching Tammy B & Tyler (with beer and cigarette) dancing

Tammy B: …’specially when You-Dit or whatever’s-her-name is told him he could hold an Alpine and a smoke as props.  So, yeah, if we do good tonight, I’d pretty much fuck him I told him.

Bobby and the Banana – A Time Travel Sketch

A couple weeks ago, a couple of friends and I were talking, for some reason, about the repurcussions of time travel. I had mentioned that years ago I wrote a sketch about that very thing, for Sketch22. (Season Five, to be specific. Dennis Trainor played Andy, Andrew Sprague played Bobby, and Lennie MacPherson played Charlie.)

I thought I’d post it here, as I quite like it, and maybe someone would want to read it.

This isn’t the version of the sketch that made it to the stage that season. This was an earlier draft. For some reason I can no longer remember, we changed the banana peel to a Crocodile Mile slip-n-slide. We called the sketch “Crocodile Mile” as well. I guess the change was to add to the absurdity of the situation, and maybe as a bigger visual gag? I don’t know, but I think I like the subtlety (and classic gag aspect) of a banana peel.

Time Travel Sketch

An apartment. Andy and Bobby enter. Bobby is peeling a banana.

Andy: I can’t wait to see it! I tell you what. I’ll even buy your ticket!

Bobby: Cool!

Andy: ‘Kay, call me later. So I’ll see you tonight at the movies, then.

Bobby: Yeah, see ya.

Bobby exits.

Andy walks to a chair. Just as he sits, Future Bobby bursts into the room. He looks exactly like Bobby, just more mature.

Future Bobby: Andy!!

Andy: Oh, hey man. Forget something?

Future Bobby (panicked): Where am I? Did I leave?

Andy: What?

Future Bobby races to the couch, searches in the cushions.

Future Bobby: Did I get the phone already? (pulls cellphone out of cushions, looks at it, puts it back in cushions) Good! I’m not too late!

Andy: Huh?

Fruit store! Maybe I can still catch myself!!

Future Bobby runs out. Andy, puzzled, sits down and picks up a book. Future Charlie runs in, scaring Andy.

Future Charlie: Dad!

Andy: Jesus!

Future Charlie runs to Andy and gives him a big hug. In his shock, Andy allows it.

Future Charlie: Dad, oh my god! It’s so good to get to meet you!

Andy: Who the hell are you? What are you doing?

Future Charlie: I can’t really explain, Dad! But I just had to see you as you before it happened.

Andy: Before what happened? Why do you keep calling me Dad?

Future Charlie: I shouldn’t tell you, Dad, but… I’m your son. Charlie!

Andy: What? I don’t have a son.

Future Charlie: Yeah, well… not yet. You’re so… alive!!

Andy: Get out of my apartment.

Future Charlie: Yeah, good idea. (getting emotional) I just wanted to see you just once as the man you were and not just a lump slowly dying on a bed. And now that I have, I’ll go. Goodbye, Dad.

Future Bobby (from off stage): Well, I”m not at the fruit store!

Future Charlie, hearing Future Bobby, tries in vain to hide.

Future Bobby (entering): I was just there and I think I was just there, but now I’m gone somewhere else.

Future Bobby sees Future Charlie.

Future Bobby: Holy shit! Charlie!?! How’d you get here?

Future Charlie: Bobby, what are you doing here?

Future Bobby takes Future Charlie aside.

Future Bobby: I’m here to make sure that accident doesn’t happen, that’s what I’m doing here!

Future Charlie: What!? No way! The accident HAS to happen!

Andy: What accident? What the hell is going on? Bobby, you know this guy?

Future Charlie (to Future Bobby): Don’t tell him anything!

Future Bobby: Andy. I’m me. Bobby. From the future.

Future Charlie: Shut up about it!

Future Bobby: Today I cause you to have a terrible accident.

Future Charlie: Bobby, shut up!!

Future Bobby: But I’m trying to find myself and make sure it doesn’t happen. Maybe I’m at the bus stop!

Future Bobby exits.

Future Charlie: Bobby, the accident has to happen! Dad, that stupid idiot friend of yours is gonna ruin everything!!

Future Charlie runs out. Andy just stand there, in a bit of a shock. After a beat, Farther Future Bobby enters. He looks older than Future Bobby.

Farther Future Bobby: Andy! Hey! Listen, this’ll sound weird, maybe, but was be from the future just here?

Andy: Huh?

Farther Future Bobby: Was me from the future just here?

Andy: Huh?

Farther Future Bobby: Dammit Andy!! Was I just here?

Andy: Yeah?

Farther Future Bobby: Did I say it was me from the future?

Andy: I think you did.

Farther Future Bobby: Dammit! We arrived too late to stop me from telling you about the accident!

Farther Future Charlie enters. He is somewhat disfigured, hobbled, and speaks with a mild speech impediment.

Farther Future Charlie: And you just mentioned the accident again, Bobby! You’re such an idiot!

Farther Future Bobby: I know! Listen, Andy, forget anything I told you about today. Any of me. Turns out, you knowing even a little bit about the accident changes the future. We’re not sure how, but since you found out about the accident, Charlie’s turned into a freak!

Farther Future Charlie: Shut up, Bobby! Stop mentioning the accident!

Andy: Why do you all keep talking about an accident?

Farther Future Charlie: Can’t tell you, Dad!!

Farther Future Bobby: Look, he already knows there’s an accident. We might as well tell him.

Farther Future Charlie: Oh, go ahead then! But be careful what you say.

Farther Future Bobby: Andy, there’s an accident that’s going to happen to you today. It’s my fault. It screws up both our lives.

Farther Future Charlie: Bobby from your future but our past is trying to stop it from happening.

Farther Future Bobby: Right. But the problem is, if the accident doesn’t happen, Charlie here doesn’t get born.

Farther Future Charlie: If you don’t have the accident, Dad, then I cease to exist.

Andy: And you are….?

Farther Future Charlie (a bit hurt): Your currently un-born son. Charlie!

There is a pause.

Andy: Okay. So what happens now?

Farther Future Charlie: We have to find Bobby from the future.

Andy (to Farther Future Bobby): But I thought you were Bobby from the future.

Farther Future Bobby: I am. But I’m from a later future.

Farther Future Charlie: We want to stop the Bobby from the future who’s trying to stop the accident from happening.

Farther Future Bobby: Right. I want the accident to happen. But I don’t. So, where did I go?

Andy: Huh?

Farther Future Bobby: C’mon Andy, keep up! Where’d I go? And where did I go?

Farther Future Charlie: And what about me? Where did I get up to?

Andy: I think one of you mentioned the bus stop.

Farther Future Charlie: Bus stop! Right! Let’s go!

Farther Future Charlie exits.

Farther Future Bobby (to Andy): We’re going to the bus stop to search for me. Both of me. Hopefully I’ll be there. If not me, then maybe at least I’ll be there. Listen, if I come back here, just keep me here.

Farther Future Bobby starts to exit. Stops.

Farther Future Bobby: Make sure it’s me, though. Not me, but me. I’m me me. Keep me here, but wait for me me.

Andy: Okay.

Farther Future Bobby starts to exit again. Stops.

Farther Future Bobby: If I don’t return, then for god’s sake, make sure you slip on that banana.

Farther Future Bobby exits.

Andy (yelling after him): Banana? Bobby, what happens to me?

Future Bobby enters.

Future Bobby: I can’t find me anywhere!!

Andy: Bobby, why should I slip on the banana?

Future Bobby: You know about the banana?

Andy: You just told me.

Future Bobby: No I didn’t.

Andy: You told me to slip on the banana.

Future Bobby: Um, no. I DON’T want you to slip on the banana. If you slip on the banana, you crack your skull and go into a 20 year coma and then die. I get sued by your family for every penny I have and live a miserable life of destitution.

Farthest Future Charlie enters. He is even more disfigured and hobbled and speech-impeded than before.

Farthest Future Charlie: You had to tell him about the coma, didn’t you Bobby! Jesus, now I’m more deformed than ever!

Future Bobby: Charlie?

Farthest Future Charlie: Might as well spill the beans! Can’t get much worse than this. Dad, while you were in your coma, your sister Beverly sold some of your semen to a sperm bank. I was born from that batch of sperm.

Andy: What the hell is going on here!

Future Bobby: Jeez, Andy. It’s not that complicated. Later today, I’m going to cause you to have an accident. Any second, I’m going to arrive and tell you I can’t go to the movies tonight. I’ll be eating a banana and drop the peel on the floor. You slip on the peel, hit your head on the floor, and go into a coma. And I get sued.

Farthest Future Charlie: And I get born!

Andy: So, why don’t I just NOT slip on the banana?

Farthest Future Charlie: But you DO slip on the banana!! You have to! Or else I don’t get born!

Andy: Well, is that such a bad thing? I hardly know you.

Farthest Future Charlie: Well, from my perspective, Dad, me not being born is a pretty big deal.

Andy: I see your point. Gee, I don’t know what to do.

Future Bobby: Don’t slip on the banana and you totally change our futures for the better, buddy!

Farthest Future Charlie: Not mine! Do the right thing, Dad! Slip on that banana!

Future Bobby (looking out the window): Here I come! Charlie, we gotta hide!!

Future Bobby and Farthest Future Charlie exit.

Andy: Interesting dilemna.

Bobby enters, finishing eating a banana.

Bobby: Hey Andy, I forgot. I can’t go to the movies tonight. I have that thing I have to go to.

Andy (staring at the banana): Oh, right. Okay.

Bobby: I woulda called, but I think I left my cellphone here.

Bobby casually drops the banana peel on the floor, then digs in the cushions of the couch, pulls out cellphone. Andy can only stare at the banana.

Bobby: Yep, here it is. Anyway, I gotta go.

Andy: Yeah. There it is. Alright. See you, Bobby. Probably.

Bobby exits.

Andy stares at the banana peel, unsure of what to do. Carefully approaches the banana peel. Tentatively touches it with the toes of his foot.

Studies the situation.

Lights fade to black.

Issuances and Reportages To One-Who-Has-Borne-Me

Timeage: 1-4432- 897- 22- 1


To One-Who-Has-Borne-Me

To identify:

I am fourth spawned of you, issuing primary reportage of Earth humanity-data collection mission.

A close inspection of mental and physical components indicate my wellness to be of positive orientation. You are of the same make, I desire, One-Who-Has-Borne-Me? Liquid precipitate falls here frequently this time period, but not membrane-burning like home world. I question your weather?

To issue and report:

I am arrived on planet Earth, one of their lunar-orbital-traverses ago. Our researchers were correct in making me human-formed, as biped land-based dominance of physical and mental is undeniable. I am of early spawning age, called female. I have begun to grow upper-torso-convex-flesh-mound-containers of liquid calcium to nourish and allure, yet, seem not mate-hungry. I am not troubled by this, as other spawners of my age are likewise disinterested in ‘boys’ (Earth name for pre and early spermers; I and like-aged spawners: ‘girls’).

I send, with this report, rendering of my physical shape.

(I do remind One-Who-Has-Borne-Me of the Malmarian on 6-49?) Due to poor copy applicator, black and white is not me. For instance, think of Red Darwelli Sunset of Carotaneas IV as colour of the dead thatch of membrane strings on my cranial compartment. I do not like it, the colour, but I have been to believe that nothing can be performed to alter appearance of such.

I was landed in urbanity. Halifax, city on land, portal to water. Immediate upon arrival, I troubled. Apprehended on Halifax street in state of aloneness, I am locked away in orphanprison with likewise aloned early- and pre-spawners, as well as early- and pre-spermers, they in separate holding block. Detentioners deny me freedom, thus deny me mission of data collection. I am to be retained until I am of acceptable spawning age, or until no more an orphan. Orphan is one without parent. Parent is like you, One-Who-Has-Borne-Me, and, strangely, included as parent is one’s spermer. I am true orphan on Earth.

I am name of Anne. This is real name here, both as Ann and Anne. I chose Ann with an ‘e’ for your humorous enjoyment, and mine. When you dispose of your anne you will remind of me? Ha ha.

Living human-shaped and human-brained is easy. My contrived personal-background-Earth-history is believed by detainers and Mission uncoverance is of no worry to me at present.

Interpersonality troubled: I find I have difficult relations with age-liked orphan spawners and spermers. I am confident in deception of them in my humanity, yet none seem to be favouring me, rathering to taunting actions and words. Taunts often centered upon the Red Darwelli Sunset dead membrane strings. They seem to provoke. I would to further explore the possibilities of pigment alteration, yet documentation on such is nonexistent in orphanprison.

Orphanprison is despotic and such, mission of knowledging wide spectrum of humanity is difficult here. I desire freedom. For sake of mission, and personal goodthought, I may take action to relieve myself of imprisonment if freedom is not otherwise gained.


Until then you will hear not of me.


Timeage: 2- 4432- 897- 22- 1


To One-Who-Has-Borne-Me

To identify:

I am fourth spawned of you, issuing reportage of Earth humanity-data collection mission.

I ponder on the wellness of you. A rapid inspection of mental and physical components indicate my being in shape to be of a positive orientation. Fond remembrances of you fall forward in my mind, and keep me close to home planet.

How is Nicki?

To issue and report:

Joy-feelings! Orphanprison period will be terminated. I am to be homed, to-whit: Agricultural sibling team desiring strong worker, they chosen me over the muscle-spermer orphans. I am odd-choice to me. Regardless, I am pleasure-joyed to extricate myself of this detention, and chosen to remain silent of my oddity.

I am vowed to remain free.

The sibling team, I have sourced, are aged. Spawners of such time-length are disabled to spawn; spermers of such still may dispatch. I must query, in introduction to sibling team, about lack of personal offspring for strong-work, and why spermer does not yet choose to dispatch himself to a spawner, choosing instead orphanprison labour.

Detailing of sibling team is unclear, they habitate from away of orphanprison on water-surrounded land mass named of Prince Edward Island. Inquiry of naming leads my findings toward this: Edward Island is monarchial prince, due to being offsprung from spermer king and spawner queen; land mass named in celebration. Agricultural Sibling team dwell in Avonlea, naming derivation unclear. The agricultural sibling team of name Matthew spermer and Marilla postfertile spawner; endname Cuthbert.

Having seen urbanity and imprisonment, I am expecting to gain many further mission insights by encountering rurality. I transit in three more sleeps, via rail, to meeting.


Until then you will hear not of me.


Timeage: 3- 4432- 897- 22- 1


To One-Who-Has-Borne-Me

To identify:

I am fourth spawned of you, issuing reportage of Earth humanity-data mission.

A close inspection of mental and physical components indicate my wellness to be of a positive orientation. I am pleasure oriented. Desire you to be of sameness? In answer to your query: yes, mosquitoes do live here, but they don’t own any property.

To issue and report:

I am arrived to personal freedom. Exchanged urban mass-compartmentalised-human-dweller-orphanprison for mass-transit-mass-mini-compartmentalised-temporary-human-dweller-multi-wheeled-on-double-track-vehicle called train, to transport me to now, to rural compartmentalised-familial-human-dweller-construction called house (also home) called Green Gables. Naming of due to emerald coloured wallings and ornamentations of house. Purpose and origin of naming unclear.

Rail-transit departed me and I was human-isolated and stationary. The Matthew spermer and four-legged-transit-work-beast Pearl there attained me. We buggied via Pearl-hauling on transit-path towards to-be-home Green Gables.

In time on Earth, I have humanised myself well, never fearing my alienality uncovering. I first-time-feared uncoverance on buggy transit. Observing rurality and beauteous abundance of surroundings, I began inundation of questions to Matthew spermer, most peculiarly the similarity of the pigment of path-transit lanes and my red dead-membrane strings. The extended silence after question-burst, before the spermer’s query-response, alarmed me to his possible ponder-suspicion of my alienation, until his disclosure of elemental iron-oxidation as cause of path-transit lane pigmentation. I am suspect of iron-oxidation as valid reason, and am believing in potential of answer as cover-up for his alien uncoverance, yet I have no proof, only intuit. I vow to remain close to this spermer to further examine his kinetic or potent to uncover my otherworldliness. If uncovery occurs, I must obliterate his lifesigns. I also vow to examine possibility of iron-oxidation as cause of my red Darwelli Sunset. Perhaps another elemental oxidation will rid me of the colour I despise on my cranial compartment.

Greeting to post-spawner Marilla was negative in outcome. I second-time-feared uncoverance when she, upon initial gaze of my being disapproved, proclaimed to send me returned to orphanprison. I feared her knowledge of my trueness. Result is no suspicion; her need to return me is not my unearthliness, but due to her not being desirous of early-spawner, her request being for heavy-work early-spermer, as I odded in previous report. Matthew spermer has weary internal blood pumping organ and is in fear of heavy-lift or surprise.

Her initial emphasis to return me was surprisingly deleted upon visitation to end-name Blewett dweller. Large quantity of pre and early spawners and spermers there reminding of orphanprison, difference: they being parented. The Marilla gave no reason in non-return turn around, end resulting in my continuance at Green Gables, and my continued please.

I am to beginning of formal education soon, expecting to gain much insight into humanity there.


Until then you will hear not of me.


Incident occurrence to relate. Compatriot of Marilla, post spawner Rachel end-name Lynde, arrived for inspect of my fineness. Rachel-post spawner disapproval of me resulted in surprise and uncontrollable build of anger feelings in me. I to her gave likewise voiced insultual remark. Result: Discovery of hierarchy in command: post spawners hold dictatorial command over early spawner such as I, much as orphanprison warden. Disloyalty to hierarchy resulting in punishment and apology. I refuted hierarchy: Sentence of solitary imprisonment in second storey restive quarters.

After brief period Spermer Matthew secretly ascended, via multi-pronged ascension device, to rectangled glass encased view-hole, where spiritual bonding of us occurred through conversation as spermer incited me to apology. (I begin to postulate opinion that perhaps spermer not suspiced of me, yet am wary of trap.) At such time I gravitated the boards of ascension/descension, made forth with abundant words of regret and sorrow of action and speech, appeasing all involved.


To school and again until then you will hear not of me.


Timeage: 4- 4432- 897- 22- 1


To One-Who-Has-Borne-Me

To identify:

I am fourth spawned of you, issuing reportage of Earth humanity-data mission.

A close inspection of physical components indicate wellness. Mentality in state of post anger. All-wellness to you.

I miss your baking, One-Who-Has-Borne-Me, also, the gang at Prepnoth Accountables Tavern.

To issue and report:

Post anger result of initial term of new school. Early spermer name of Gilbert, endname Blythe, raised my ire, yanking my dead membrane thatch which he (supposedly) mistooken for batch of agriculturally manufactured orange tapered nutritional sticks. I again surprised by another uncontrolled non-thinking response from me, this time not of words alone (as with Rachel-postspawner), but also of violence as I grasp portable hard framed-flatrock-writing board, connecting it to early spermer’s brain pan region, potentially damaging. Immediate result: punishment by spermer-educator, name of Phillips, by means of embarrassment, having my name misspelled on large, vertical, hard framed-flatrock-writing board. Extended surprise result: feelings of mate-hunger for early spermer Gilbert have begun. I find him to cause irrationality in my thought processes; very disconcerting, and potentially true-identity-revealing. I am decisioning to ignore feelings of mate-hunger, in favour of mission data collection, and to treat Gilbert as nonsuch.

Further result of anger attack: misinformation as to severity of my Gilbert-attack, passed through Avonlea by way of unreliable mouth-to-ear communication, has arrived to the Marilla post-spawner. News is Gilbert spermer has ceased due to my doings. Again post-spawner controls me with hierarchical power by detaining me from visitation to forthcoming outdoor social name picnic. This is upsetting for me, due to potential for acquiring mega-information on humanity interaction at such a social event.


Until next you will not hear of me.


Gilbert spermer is being, not ceased. His apology-making for school violence as his blame, and purchase of gift of new portable hard framed-flatrock-writing board to me resulting in my allowance to socialise at event called picnic. Reportage on such to follow next.


Until such you will not of me hear.


I must to mention of kindredship with like-aged early spawner, name of Diana (derivation: Earth Heathen goddess) Barry (derivation: unclear). Immediate and deep bonding of us took place, and I am confidant that we will be compatriots for duration of my tenure as human on Earth.




Timeage: 5- 4432- 897- 22- 1


To One-Who-Has-Borne-Me

To identify:

I am fourth spawned of you, issuing reportage of Earth humanity-data mission.

A close inspection of physical and mental components indicate wellness to be positively orientated. Did you enjoy the tubers I sent you? They are popular here. You eat them.

To issue and report:

The social event named Picnic has been performed by all the community and wellness springs from all. I am to relating to you the plateau of event: a pleasure-taste sensation from digestible food product name of Ice Cream. Computations from my brain indicate that there is nothing more delectable than it. But to relate, as well, the surroundings of the tasting.

Participation in non-competitive competition is requisite at Picnic. I, to involve myself, join one of my lower appendaged limbs to another human’s, Diana Barry of course, by way of rope, and we, together forming a new three legged beast, compete against other newformed tri-pegged beasts in attempt to be primary attainers of end-line and victory. AnneDiana Beast won, although victory was achieved through deviousness of Gilbert, as part of GilbertJosie Beast. The spermer, attached to early spawner name of Josie Pye, (name derivation I believe to be an edible confectionary) and they in the front of racepack, purposely tripped themself up, allowing AnneDiana Beast victory. AnneDiana Beast, consequently tripping over fallen GilbertJosie Beast, fell across the end line, and I, face into a hand held edible wafer conical container for ice cream. Embarrassment overcame me as ice cream consumed my features, but embarrassment left in place of fascination at taste sensation of ice cream.

Curious is this feeling of matehunger. I choose to ignore it, but it is powerful. I observe that Gilbert spermer has matehunger in his eyes, both for me, and for spawner JosiePye. While I refute any and all ritualistic attempts by Gilbert spermer to be my mate, I find myself full of negative feelings of jealousy whenever JosiePye attempts to mate-catch him. Still, for the success of mission, I decide to ignore his strong mate hunger scent.

I am to summer vacate from education, afterwhich I will resume correspondence.


Until then you will not hear of me.


I have described in past writings my unhappiness of pigment of dead membrane strings. After much research and experimentation, I took action. A purchase of liquid from peddler (name derivation to mean foreigner, to mean ‘from away’, to mean ‘alien’, like myself) who promised me carrion coloured dead membrane, same as Diana Barry. Use of it resulted not in black but in green, much like the Gables. I was of the belief that nothing could be worse than the Red Darwelli Sunset dead membrane strings, but to be Green Gables headed is such. After showing troubled mess of strings to Marilla post spawner, she cut and styled the strings into presentableness. So presentable were my head strings that Diana Barry showed emotions of envy, which made me happy feeling.


Summer Vacate, until afterwhich you will not hear of me.


Timeage: 6- 4432- 897- 22- 1


To One-Who-Has-Borne-Me

To identify:

I am fourth spawned of you, issuing reportage of Earth humanity-data mission.

Mental: positive. Physical: positive.

You will never guess who contacted me from home planet: One-To-Whom-I-Owe-My-Life-For-Him-Having-Saved-It-From-The-Invading-Krintoxans-Raid-Where-They-Almost-Skinned-Me-Alive. Did you give him this address? Please don’t give it out, One-Who-Has-Borne-Me, I’m on a secret mission.

To issue and report:

We seem to have misplaced the sunshine. After a warm-season respite, the young spermers and spawners, myself included, have begun again our daily ritual of education. Difference to education ritual this time is occupation of education leader by new educator. A mid-prime spawner name of Miss Stacey. ‘Miss’ is to indicate availability of her to potential mate hungry spermers.

Subtle queries inform me that the last educator, Phillips, was released from educational duties due to dalliances with former student, the spawner name of Prissy Andrews. The unsubstantiated mouth-to-ear news around the community is that Prissy is spawning with Phillips’ sperm and that they are to douse their mutual mate hunger by entering into matrimony. During the last education session, when Phillips was still educator, he would spend inordinate amounts of education on spawner Prissy, so I readily believe the unsubstantiated reports.

I am happy-feelings about loss of Phillips in favour of Miss Stacey. My interminglings with him have always been negative in outcome, and my education was stilted. Miss Stacey is most positive in her approach and wellness to all, but especially to me. At first I questioned why she would kind herself so to me, but decided it was because I am unusually bright and interesting. Whatever, I am finding my human brain expanding with human data knowledge, to such an extent that Miss Stacey is desirous of me to attain an Avery Scholarship (monetary allowance to further education at institute of higher learning). I am interested in such an attainment as such would allow me to further my study of humanity in a completely different earthly environment to Avonlea. Trouble: spermer Gilbert, also intelligenced, is aiming for same Avery, so we are locked in competition. I have no fear, however, that I’ll show him that I can attain mental superiority victory over him.


I will abreast you of success of competition when I win.


Oddity with Matthew spermer. He monetarily purchased a new body covering for me, called dress. Marilla post-spawner felt plainness good enough, but Matthew spermer went against and given me dress that was much pretty. I wondering if giving is attempt to put him in favourable thoughts for me. I wary of his still suspiced of my alienality and perchance uncoverance. I accept gift of dress but still ware him. Maybe I am incorrect on his knowledge of my reality and him simply kind old spermer.


News of Avery will greet you with my victory over it, I assure.


Timeage: 7- 4432- 897- 22- 1


To One-Who-Has-Borne-Me

To identify:

I am fourth spawned of you, issuing reportage of Earth humanity-data mission.

I am fine. How are you?

To Issue and Report:

I am victorious in Avery, as I never doubted. The news of win came at school recital (defined: memorising of historical fact to be spoken in entertaining evening of sketches). Trouble at recital was some lesser education-learners did not remember their historical facts and I came to rescue, spewing out all the information pertinent to an enjoyable evening. All the Avonlea was there, minus Matthew spermer, who suffers angina. Josie Pye was so stomach-stuffed with Phillips’ child that she could not ably sit in a desk of learning. I to Gilbert spermer offered my sympathy for his not being as smart as me, but he ran off in a torrent of liquid-eyes emotion.

Immediately I started envisioning my future data collection possibilities in an institute of higher learning. I am to make plans to leave at once.


Until then you will not hear of me.


I have regretfully ceased the life of Matthew spermer. I uncovered the truth in his knowledging me. He managed uncoverance of my letters of issuance and reportage to you, One-Who-Has-Borne-Me. Matthew spermer discovered my mission, discovered his worries of my objectives as trueness, discovered my intent of departure. I was heart-heavy in my decision to terminate his ability to live, but I could not allow the mission to be jeopardised and ruined. The events of such are such:

Upon my return alone from recital, happy feeling about my ability to show photographic memorising of all parts of recital, and my Avery victory over Gilbert and my subsequent impending departure from Green Gables to new areas of humanity, I discovered Matthew spermer reading my previously hidden reports to you. His shock of discovery and validation of alien-thoughts was such that it caused his blood-pumping organ, name of heart, to fluctuate wildly. You may recall with ironic past remembrance that it was this very proneness to organ fluctuations that caused Matthew spermer and Marilla post spawner to request farm-chore assistance from the orphanprison, resulting in my arrival.

Matthew spermer, incapacitated by pain, viewed me in my eyes, and saw me as me, alien, recoginised my reality. In the moment I realise he always suspiced me yet never cared about it. He loved me without regard to alienality. Still that night, he looked at me with his love emotion pouring out of him, and through his look, I could feel him loving me still, alien or no. I was immediately overcome by the desire that I wished I had told him the truth about me at first suspicion in that Pearl hauled buggy, and have him as ally, but of course could not return now to the past.

He requested of me to help him continue living, by getting him his salvalattily, a heart fluctuation-reduction medicine, him promising not to tell of the truth of me. At that moment, upon reviewing the vow I took to uphold the mission in favour of all else, I surmised that I could not allow him continuance of life, with knowledging me, and so I left the room, under guise of searching for salvalattily, purposely not returning until he ceased. I was sad-feeling about his ceasing, he was a kind and good spermer.

I must stay on at Green Gables a little longer to help the Avonlea grieve over cessation of Matthew spermer, but am still to going on to learning institute.


Until then you will not hear of me.


Timeage: 8- 4432- 897- 22- 1


To One-Who-Has-Borne-Me

To identify:

I am fourth spawned of you, issuing reportage of Earth humanity-data mission.

An inspection of mental and physical finds me well enough, although slightly on the down side of normal-happy. You could say I’m a little blue. I attribute it to the circumstances surrounding Matthew spermers cessation. How are you? If I am not incorrect, it is mate hunting season on home planet. Have you caught one yet. I hope it’s better than the last one. I thought it smelled to high heaven, I can tell you now, from such a distance.

To Issue and Report:

The cessation of Matthew spermer has confounded my plans to seek new avenues of data collection. I am not leaving Green Gables now, as earlier believed. Marilla post-spawner has become morose and wet with emotive feeling, whereas pre-Matthew spermer cessation, she was hard and dry. My departure from here would mean the end to Green Gables, as Marilla post-spawner is incompetent in running an agricultural dwelling alone. I am enjoying of this homestead and would not to see it go. I have deciding to stay.

I gave my Avery to Gilbert spermer, who is almost as smart as me, for his continuance in higher education. When he received the generosity from me he vowed that we could be friends, good friends, and I concurred demurely. The power of our mate hunting season is strong, so much that it causes me thoughts inside my brain. Giving him the scholarship, I wanted to copulate with him, as my sex organs churned. Remembering my vow to ignore his mate-scent, I did not act on my churns. I may never see Gilbert spermer again, and my heart is heavy with sad feeling.

I have decided that to ensure no more uncoverance of my reality through perusal of letters of report, this report will be my last by such means. Further on I will begin to telephone to you my reports.


Until then you will not hear of me.


From The Journals of Det. Harry Callaghan SFPD

Idea: Come up with a cool thing to recite for if I’m ever in a situation where I’ve chased down a punk criminal, fired off a handful of gunshots during pursuit and then the bad guy falls down and his weapon is next to him, just within his reach and he has to make a choice as to whether to go for his gun while I stand over him with my gun pointed right at him.


Whew, that was crazy wasn’t it? Oh man, I am so pumped right now, chock full of adrenalin! Did any of my shots hit you? Are you okay? That’s good. I don’t think I got hit, either. Small wonder, all the lead that was flying around there. Hope nobody else got caught in the crossfire. Okay, I see you looking at your weapon there. You thinking of maybe picking that up and using it on me? Hmm, might work. To be honest I’m not even sure if I have any bullets left in my gun, so you might have a good chance. Or maybe I do have a bullet or two left and I’d kill you right here, right now. Tell ya what. I’ll let it be your choice. So, whattya say? Wanna roll the dice, figuratively speaking?

(Upon hindsight, this is way too wordy. Get to the point, Harry!)


That was mad nuts! Ah uh huh, don’t even think of going for that gun there. I’ll shoot you down if you do. That is, if I have any bullets left in this here gun here. (If he asks about the gun) This? It’s a .44 Magnum. Yeah, it does look pretty powerful. That’s because it IS! Bigger than your gun that I see you eyeing. You reach for that gun, chances are you gonna die! Just sayin’. So, you gonna flip a roll the dice, asshole?

(Like the “you gonna die”. Don’t get into a dialogue though. Too many unknown factors. Better pacing though)


Well, look at you, laying there on the ground. Not so tough now are ya? We both got caught up in some pretty wild emotion there, huh, firing guns all willy nilly. For all I know, this powerful .44 Magnum might be out of bullets right now. Not to give you any ideas, but you might have, maybe a 50/50 chance of getting away if you make a grab right now for that gun beside you. But I’ve never been good with odds, so you might be just as likely to get your head blown off. I guess your question to yourself is “Am I ready to flip that coin?” Hmmm?

(Willy nilly? Also, don’t give him the idea of going for his gun. Some good stuff there, but still not right. Like flipping a coin over rolling dice. Still showing too much respect to the punk criminal though)


Don’t know about you, but I kinda lost track of of how many bullets I have left. That gunfight was confusing in its excitement. You could go for a grab of your weapon there and I could try to stop you by shooting this .44 Magnum at you. Maybe it fires, maybe it doesn’t. It’s a really powerful gun – like, most powerful in the States right now. If I do fire, I’ll likely blow your head clean off. So it’s your choice. Pick up your gun or no? Feelin’ lucky enough to flip that coin? Huh, arsehole?

(Getting there, maybe. Find out about stats for Magnum’s power. Don’t give options. Treat the punk like the scum he is.)


I know, I know. With the excitement we just went through, I don’t know who has bullets left. Were you counting my shots. Maybe 5? Maybe 6? I don’t know. But this is a .44 Magnum, according to Gunshot Magazine, it’s the most powerful handgun in the world. Not just the states. The world. It could easily blow your head off. That is, if I have even one bullet left. So, how you feelin’? Feelin’ lucky, ya punk asshole?

(So close! One more pass at it and we might be there.)


I know what you’re thinking. “Did he fire six shots or only five’?” Well to tell you the truth, in all this excitement, i kind of lost track myself. But being that this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you’ve got to ask yourself one question: ‘Do I feel lucky?’ Well do ya, punk?

(I think that’s the one. Hope the situation arises where I can use that exact phrase at least once. Maybe even twice!)