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Through Being Cool, a Play in One Act
THROUGH BEING COOL
A play in one act by Mr. Bad
[Our protagonist, SPLICER, is sitting at his computer in the
Compulsive Apartment. The sole lighting is the blue glow of his
monitor on his face; the rest of the room lies in shadow. Beside him
on the desk sits OZZIE, his faithful cat companion. Splicer is typing
feverishly, composing email to the PIGDOG LIST. A voice-over of
SPLICER's voice reads the words as he types.]
SPLICER VOICE-OVER: So... in... conclusion comma,
I... am... [emphasis] through... being... cool, period.
I'm... not... sure... what... that... means comma,
but... it... sounded... good... in... the... [emphasis]
Devo... song comma, so... it's... all... right... by... me,
period. I'm... [emphasis] sick... of... all... the... cool...
people... on... this... list, period. shift-T
that's... shift-N not... shift-W what... shift-P
pigdog... shift-I is... shift-A all... shift-A about, period.
[Lights come up on SPLICER.]
SPLICER: [reading aloud Eudora commands as he performs them]
Spell-check... Save... and Send. Send and retrieve
mail... Done. Hah! Well, Ozzie, that should show them all!
I am through being cool, and I don't care who knows it.
[A chime comes from the computer.]
SPLICER: Hmm. New mail from Tjames. Let's see what it says.
[Upstage, in a lighted circle, TJAMES recites his email to pigdog as
Splicer reads it off his screen.]
TJAMES: Splicer, you are so full of shit. You just don't get it.
Life's not a Devo song. But, OK. Have it your way. The word
hath cometheth from Mount Splicer that Cool is not the
answer. So from now, none of us will be cool. Nothing said,
done, or thought on pigdog that reeks in the least of
coolness. I hope you know what you've done, Splicer.
Tjames. RoR.
[lighted circle fades]
SPLICER: [laughs] Well, I never! Imagine the impudence! Fortunately
I have prepared yet another Splicey screed to drown his
doubting voice. [computer chime] Wait, here's another email.
This one's from... Quaker!
[QUAKER reads his email upstage as Splicer reads along on the screen.]
QUAKER: Greetings, my Pigdog companions. I'm a little concerned about
my investment portfolio and wanted to see if someone could
help me out. Concern Number One: with recent restructuring of
discount brokerages to reach a wider clientele, is there still
a real difference for the small investor between no-load and
regular mutual funds? Concern Number Two: I'm diversified
about 30-40-30 between small-cap growth funds, blue-chips, and
offshore market funds. But I've recently become interested
in...
[QUAKER fades as Splicer interrupts.]
SPLICER: [Incredulous] My God! _Investment_ advice? This is the most
boring Quaker post I've ever read. What is he talking about?
I don't get it.
[The phone rings, and SPLICER answers.]
SPLICER: The Compulsive Mansion, Splicer speaking.
[Upstage, GRENADINE, now lighted, speaks into a phone.]
GRENADINE: Splicer?
SPLICER: Yes?
GRENADINE: This is Grenadine, the girl you met at the laundromat last
week?
SPLICER: [straightening] Grenadine! How are you? Getting ready for
our bike date tomorrow?
GRENADINE: Well... that's what I wanted to call you about. Splicer, I
hear you're Through Being Cool.
SPLICER: [gloating] Why yes, that's right. But wait: how did you...
GRENADINE: Don't ask how I know. But I support you, and I'm Through
Being Cool too.
SPLICER: Great!
GRENADINE: ...so I have to break off our date.
SPLICER: What?!
GRENADINE: Well, dating is too cool. Sure, just one bike date is
seemingly innocent enough, but what could it lead to?
Coffee, a night date, dinner, perhaps even... well,
Splicer, perhaps even sex. You of all people should know
that we cannot be too vigilant in the Fight Against Cool.
SPLICER: But... but...
GRENADINE: So, instead of coming out on a date with you, I'm going to
stay in my apartment, read Martha Stewart's Living
magazine, and practice on the recorder, safe and sound from
any threat of Coolness. Perhaps I'll rent "Dirty Dancing"
and masturbate. Anyways, I don't want to see you again.
The temptation is too great. Have a nice life.
[GRENADINE fades as she hangs up the phone.]
SPLICER: But wait! Grenadine! [prepares to dial her back] Got
to... Find that number and... What the... OH MY GOD! WHAT IS
THAT _SMELL_!?!
[Lights up on OZZIE, who is viciously attacking the arm of The
Compulsive Couch.]
OZZIE: [Stopping to look at SPLICER, then looking around the room] Oh,
that? That would be the big, fresh cat shit I planted right
the middle of your rug, Steve. [Resumes attacking couch.]
SPLICER: Ozzie, what the...? What are you doing? Why did you shit on
the rug? How can you talk?!
OZZIE: [Bored and condescending] Well, Steeeve, I was thinking about
you deciding that you're Through Being Cool, and I had to agree
with you. So, I'm joining you. I'm through being a cool cat.
SPLICER: But...
OZZIE: [Bored] No buts about it, unless you count the cat butt I'm
going to be planting on your face every morning. [Grins
tiredly] I'm through being a cool cat. From now on, I'll be
taking huge stinking shits wherever I feel like it, scratching
the fuck out of all the furniture, and pissing on anything that
smells even remotely like a woman.
SPLICER: It's diabolical!
OZZIE: No, no: it's just very uncool. I'm working on a nice vomiting
routine, too. Here, watch this... [Ozzie makes loud,
convulsive vomiting sounds behind the couch]
SPLICER: [Wincing, covering nose, facing away] Gack! Oh, JESUS!
OZZIE: [With pride] They sure don't call it Seafood Surprise for
nothing, do they?
SPLICER: Ozzie, no, GOD, we've got to...
[Doorbell rings]
SPLICER: Hold on Ozzie... Oh, FUCK! Don't STEP in it, don't WALK
AROUND in it... Oh, God! [looks at door, floor, trying to
decide which to deal with]
[Doorbell rings again]
SPLICER: [To door] OK, hold on!
[SPLICER opens the door onto EVAN, who is wearing a big blue
sweatshirt with a Star of David on it, a yarmulke, and an idiotic
grin.]
EVAN: [With concern] Hey, Splicer, how are you *feeling*?
SPLICER: Evan! You're not going to believe what's been happening! My
cat... m-my date...
EVAN: [Seriously] You've got more important things to think about,
Steven.
SPLICER: [Confused] Like what?
EVAN: Like the state of your immortal soul, Steven. Steven, have you
ever thought about what happens to us after we die, Steven?
SPLICER: What are you talking about? Hey, why are you dressed like
that?
EVAN: [With a saccharine smile, shaking head] Oh, Steven. Well, it
all started like this: there was a wonderful man named Y'hoshuah
thousands of years ago who died for all our sins...
SPLICER: [interrupting] HEY! That's it! You... you've joined Jews
for Jesus!
EVAN: Oh, yes, Steven. Steven, since you decreed that you -- and all
the rest of us -- were Through Being Cool, I have found the love
of Y'hoshuah and the fellowship of some wonderful, caring people
who are trying to bring His Word to a sinful, hopeless world. I
brought some fun pamphlets, Steven, with cartoons in them, and
I thought that they may help you, may help you _understand_...
SPLICER: [Exasperated] Jesus!
EVAN: That's right, but we call him Y'hosh...
SPLICER: GAR! Fuck off! Get out of here! Scram! I can't believe
this! [Tries to close door on EVAN, but EVAN keeps foot in
the way]
EVAN: I was thinking maybe we could sing some folk songs and really
_talk_...
SPLICER: NO! Get OUT!
EVAN: You can come to our study group... Share our
fellowship... [pushing] They're very warm, caring...
SPLICER: NOOO!
[SPLICER finally manages to shut the door.]
SPLICER: God! Everyone's going MAD around here... I need some
_sanity_... Some... music! Yeah!
[SPLICER heads for the Compulsive Stereo and turns on the radio. An
announcer comes on.]
ANNOUNCER: And that was our Fear marathon. Now, for a little Ani
DiFranco, coming right... What...? What is it? Oh... Um,
I've just been handed a bulletin from the station
manager... Let me read it to you folks... [quizzical] "KUSF
is Through Being Cool. From now on, our programming will
consist of campus school lunch menus and inspirational
discussions by our Jesuit fathers." Uhhh... OK. Here
goes. In the main cafeteria, the entree will be Salisbury
steak served with baby carrots and ambrosia. The beverage
will be chocolate milk or cranberry juice. In the snack
area, ...
SPLICER: [diving for the stereo to turn it off] AAAAGH! This isn't
happening! Got to... Oh, a disc! A disc will work! How
about a little Henry Rollins to get me back in the mood?
[SPLICER puts in a disc. The stereo makes a kachunking noise and then
static erupts.]
SPLICER: Not... not even music?! This is too...
[The phone rings. Splicer, dejected, answers it.]
SPLICER: [dejectedly] The Compulsive Mansion, Splicer speaking.
[Upstage, a light comes up on HENRY ROLLINS.]
HENRY ROLLINS: Is this Splicer?
SPLICER: Yeah, that's what I just said. Listen, I'm kind of...
HENRY ROLLINS: This is Henry Rollins, Splicer, and I wanted to...
SPLICER: [Incredulous] HENRY ROLLINS!?! Henry... ROLLINS!? I can't
believe it! Mr. Rollins, you probably hear this all the
time, but I'm...
HENRY ROLLINS: You're my biggest fan. I know. Actually, Splicer,
you're my _only_ fan. That's why I'm calling.
SPLICER: Hunh?
HENRY ROLLINS: Well, when I heard that my _only_ fan was Through Being
Cool, I said to myself, "Henry, this cool thing has got to go."
So, I'm Through Being Cool too.
[SPLICER groans.]
HENRY ROLLINS: So, I've quit the business and had all my tattoos
removed by laser.
SPLICER: No! NO!
HENRY ROLLINS: Yes. And I'm getting out of LA. I've bought a llama
farm in Sonoma county that I'm going to turn into a little B&B.
I plan to indulge my passion for Civil War battle reenactments
and expand my postcard collection.
SPLICER: NOOOOO!
HENRY ROLLINS: Yes. But what I'm really looking forward to is being a
docent at the local natural history museum.
SPLICER: [Sobbing] Mr. Rollins... Henry... Please! Reconsider!
This... this isn't a good _idea_...
HENRY ROLLINS: Sorry, Splicer. What has been done cannot be undone.
I find it liberating to no longer be Cool. I wish you luck and
much peace. Salaam.
[HENRY ROLLINS hangs up the phone.]
SPLICER: No... Henry...
[A loud pop comes from the stereo, the static stops and the radio
comes back on again.]
ANNOUNCER: ...bludgeoned sixteen times. In business news, millions of
Americans were put out of work today as the television, movie,
music and Internet industries collapsed under the weight of a
nationwide anti-cool fervor. According to a noted expert, the
businesses were "too cool to survive... doomed to the dung heap
of cooldom."
SPLICER: [Collapsing to his knees] Wha...?
ANNOUNCER: Economists doubt that the recent upsurge in sales of
macrame and porcelain figurines will make up for this crushing
economic blow. Tonight, hundreds of thousands if not millions
of jobless Americans will starve and die in the streets, where
their bloated carcasses will be gnawed on by packs of feral
dogs. Now, for the sports news. In competitive macrame...
[SPLICER crawls to the stereo, slapping at the buttons to turn it
off.]
SPLICER: What have I done?! What have I done!?!
[Lights down on main stage. On a side stage, lights come up on two
CANADIANS in official-looking suits seated before a large map of North
America.]
CANADIAN #1: This is the day that all Canadia has waited for, eh?
It's, like, the American cultural hegemony that has ruled the
planet for 50 years has finally fallen!
CANADIAN #2: Without the power of "Cool", there will be no more
American blue jeans, no more American rock and roll music,
no more American cigarettes!
CANADIAN #1: No more American action movies!
CANADIAN #2: No more American TV, eh!
CANADIAN #1: Without the overwhelming pressure to be "cool", people
around the world will get their culture from a more pasty
people -- and what better nation than Canadia!
CANADIAN #2: Now is our time! A Pax Canadiana will rule for a
thousand years!
[Both laugh maniacally as lights down on side stage and up on
mainstage, where SPLICER still kneels in despair. Suddenly, two
MOUNTIES kick in the door to the Splicey Abode. They have in tow
behind them TJAMES, QUAKER, EVAN, GRENADINE, and HENRY ROLLINS, linked
together in a chain gang. MOUNTIE #2 immediately seizes OZZIE, and
puts him in a box.]
MOUNTIE #1: Je suis cherchant Stephane M. Scotten. I am looking for
Steven M. Scotten.
SPLICER: That's me... I'm Steven M. Scotten. What do you...?
MOUNTIE #1: Mr. Scotten. You are under arrest for cultural crimes
against the Canadian people, namely: You have failed to
perform Quebecois folk dances at the prescribed times. You do
not consume nearly enough maple syrup. You have a tan. You
have never been to a hockey game in your life, and you fail to
read the works of Margaret Atwood. Monsieur Scotten. Vous
etes arrete pour crimes culturel contre les peuples Canadiens,
comme ca: ...
SPLICER: OK, OK, you don't have to do the whole thing in French
again. I get it.
MOUNTIE #1: You are to be transported to a re-education camp in the
Yukon, where you will be taught French and made to listen to
CBC radio and watch reruns of Ed's Moose and Fox Show.
SPLICER: NOOOOO! Oh, Gawd, why did I do it? I promise... I'm
sorry... I'll be cool, I swear!
MOUNTIE #1: [Facing audience] Non. It is too late for this, Monsieur
le Spliceur. The time of cool is done. [Turning to Splicer
and putting him in irons.] Now is the time to go.
GRENADINE: You did this to us, Splicer! May you burn in the sulfury pits of
hell for killing the social force that we call "Cool"! [She
spits in Splicer's face as the MOUNTIES lead all away.]
SPLICER: NOOOOO! NOOOOOO! Would that I had never been Through Being
Cool!
[Curtain falls. Fini.]
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