A brightly lit stage surrounded by a rambunctious, hooting crowd. They throw various items at the people seated under the hot spotlights.
A girl, a teenager at best with big gaudy earrings, red lipstick and what appears to be a black eye under heavy mascara. It is hard to tell if she is frightened or enraged or both. She wears plastic jewelry on her wrists, high heels and is generally dressed like she shops at “discount courtesan outlet”. Her half shirt exposes a swollen belly that appears to contain a good third of her body weight.
Next to her sits a mild looking balding fellow of perhaps 40. He holds her hand and stares uncomfortably into the crowd. Besides his dirty hipster wardrobe, he is bland and has few defining features.
Stage right, and separated from the odd couple by several feet stands another chair, upon which sits a burly man with long white hair and a beard that appears to extend well past his huge Texas-style belt buckle. He wears alligator boots and a t-shirt with the phrase ‘I make the rules, bitch’ emblazoned across the front. It’s sleeves are rolled up to his shoulders, exposing arms of imposing girth.
He seems angry but sits quietly in the midst of all the confusion, like a tea kettle on a crowded stove, quietly gathering a head of steam.
“I have the results of the prenatal DNA test here. Does anyone have anything else to say?”
The crowd goes wild, shrieking and spitting. A shoe hits the pregnant girl. she begins to shout.
“You don’t know me! You don’t know me! This is who I am! this is who I AM!” she throws the shoe back into the crowd violently. A few in the maelstrom are now laughing as well calling out descriptives.
“You don’t even know me!”
Also to be heard are voices perhaps directed toward one or the other of the men.
The mild man looks mild. The angry man continues his slow boil.
“Please, people, please… let’s show Mary a little respect.” Maurice approaches the girl, takes her hand, caresses it creepily.
“They don’t even know me.”
“It’s OK sweetits- er, sweetie. You are the hero of this sad story. I have here the results of the DNA test we gave Mary this afternoon, which have been compared to the two potential fathers in her life. As everyone on earth agrees, a child, every child, is the single most precious and sacred and magical thing in the whole entire universe. Would you like to know which one of these full grown men is the father of your not-yet-born baby?”
He hasn’t let go of her hand.
“Yeah, like I just want ta know, like who the baby daddy is, and these people they don’t even know me, and I’m all like, like ‘this is who I am!’ and nobody understands me, and they don’t even know me.’
Maurice is now stroking the girl’s upper arm. He leans in to smell her hair.
“Don’t you feel DIRTY Mary? Does it make you feel BAD that all these strangers think you’re a WHORE?” he smiles. “A sweet little DIRTY WHORE?”
She smiles back, uncertainly.
Mild man looks alarmed by all this. Muscle guy smirks, but you can tell he’s still on the burner.
“OK OK OK- it’s time for the results of the DNA test. Are you ready?”
“Uh huh! I wanna know who to, like, sue child support out of, cause I’m like–”
The crowd boos, more things are thrown. More insults are shouted. More chaos ensues.
Things eventually die back down. Maurice continues.
“OK let’s start with God- Jehovah, Yahweh, writer of the Bible in its original English, All Mighty Creator of Heaven and Earth and birds and mosquitoes and the entire universe- God- you are NOT the father!”
The chaos becomes cacophony.
God jumps up from his chair, sending it flying. He runs back and forth on the stage, hair flying around like a headbanger at a Slayer concert.
He is shouting.
“BITCH! I told ya! I told ya! WHO IS THE ALPHA AND OMEGA?? That’s right bitch! That’s right!”
“You don’t know me! You don’t EVEN know me! I’m twelve years old! I’m a grown woman!”
A chair lands on the stage. No one notices.
“Bitch I am THE LORD THY GOD! I am the creator of all creation! You wanna *BEEP* with me? You wanna *BEEP* with me, bitch? What about you, punk?” A thick finger is thrust at mild guy.
His target goes pale, says nothing, eyes averted from God’s wrath.
The ruckus dies down a bit, men come and escort a righteous and vindicated God off of the stage. He shakes them off.
“Don’t you *BEEP*-ing touch me you *BEEP*-ing meat puppets!”
From the stands come boos and cheers.
He flicks the audience off as he goes.
“OK, that was fun… are you ready for the next test results, Mary? Joseph?”
They both nod.
“But before we do, I just want you to take my phone number, Mary, in case you need someone to talk to… I’m always available to CONSOLE you… I stay up very late and I’m VERY sensitive… and I’m rich, you know. I’d love you LONG time.” Winking, Maurice leans in and kisses Mary full on the lips.
Mild man speaks up, slightly.
“Um.. er.. can we just get the results Mr. Maurice please?” He is still holding his below-legal-age fiance’s hand.
The kiss eventually ends. Maurice wipes his face.
There is a small bulge in the front of his pants.
“OK- Joseph- are you ready to find out if your bride-to-be is an even bigger whore than we all suspect her to be? You’re ready? Really ready? Seriously? For real?”
Joe sits perfectly still like a deer in the headlights. He tries to say something but can’t.
“Yeah, I’m all, like, ready,” says the girl, blushing.
Maurice holds up the alleged DNA test results, takes a deep breath.
“JOSEPH- you are NOT the father!”
Joseph looks first shocked, then confused, then devastated. The crowd loves it.
People are shouting again, cheering, laughing.
He pulls his hand away and she lets it go, shouting her same three lines back at the out-of-control audience.
Joseph is trying to say something, but nobody hears it. He runs off the stage in tears.
“They don’t even know me!”
Mary is still in the thick of things, standing now. “I ain’t no whore, bitch!” she flashes her tits at the hooting bleachers. “Whore THAT bitches! *BEEP* you! *BEEP* YOU! Bitches! A whore don’t have no tits like this, bitch! I’m a grown woman!”
Maurice waits til things die back once again before going on.
“You are a dirty little girl aren’t you?” he leers, reaching out to caress the girls chest. “No one understands you like I do. I’m on television.”
More items rain down from the crowd, who then begin to swarm the stage. Mary is knocked down and beaten by the laughing riotous crush of humanity.
Maurice looks only moderately perturbed by all this.
The scene fades for a time and our minds are plied with advertising. Charmin is softest. Trojans are strongest. Denny’s is bestest. Google is googliest. Amerika is Amerikyist. Work hard. Consume. Obey.
The commercial ends.
The scene is much more orderly. People have once again been seated.
Joseph has returned. he sits in the chair opposite his child bride, the one formerly butt warmed by the Lord God Almighty.
“OK we’re back. Mary we have seen the results of your DNA tests and we have determined that neither YAHWEH nor Joseph is, in fact, the father of your child. Do you have anything to say to that?”
“Well, like, it was a long weekend? I don’t even remember who I was with I probably just thought it was Joe. I mean, it’s usually with Joe? I do alot of drugs.” she pauses. “I mean not DRUGS drugs. I mean, like, not usually…”
The crowd starts to rise again, and is shushed back down by Maurice, disturbing smile intact. “I mean, like God does a lot of coke so I might have been on that too? It was, like, a crazy party. I think someone mighta been filming it maybe? But you don’t even know me…”
“Nobody knows you like I know you, Mary” says the respected talk show host and authority figure, licking his thin middle-aged man-lips.
Joseph chimes in unexpectedly.
“Mary- how could you do this to us, Mary? I’ve loved you since you were 7 years old! I wanted to make a life with you! Now you’re ruined! Damaged goods! No one will EVER want you now!”
“You knew who I was!” shrieks Mary “This is who I am! This is who I AM! You don’t even know me, Joe. You just, like, don’t.”
Now Joe stamps his foot several times as he shouts.
“When your father arranged this marriage he gave me a herd of the finest wool bearing sheep for taking on the burden of supporting you- I hope you don’t think I’m giving them back!”
“*BEEP* you, Joe! Like, you’re just a dirty old man anyways! at least God was, like, GOD! You’re just some old dude! Like, you’re not even rich.” She turns her attention back to Maurice, “Like YOU are…”
“Oh I am all those things and more… in my pants. Well, that’s all for our show today–”
Fire fills the room. Everything goes up in an incendiary bloom.
People scream momentarily, but are soon cut off.
From the now black screen comes the powerful voice of our vindicated and vicious all knowing, all loving, all powerful deity.
the TV rumbles.
“I AM THE LORD THY GOD, BITCH! BOOYAH!!!”
© 2015, e eric vulgate. All rights reserved.