(scene 27 – on-board Weight-Loss Cruise Lines’ “M.V. Diarrhea”)
MC: (at stage mike) Now, fellow cruisers, you’re in for a special treat. So, please, put your anal sphincters together for — Pri-vate Head!!!
(a low wave of muted, arthritic applause trickles out from the dozen people sitting on the folding metal chairs of “The Small Room” between Chef Bill’s “Pasta Supreme Buffet” and kitchen no. 2, as “Private Head,” a.k.a. 80-something Clive Ritchie, enters stage right dressed in World War II army fatigues with boots, gaiters, a “piss-cutter” cap and a well-used, circa WWII toilet seat hanging around his neck)
PRIVATE HEAD: (stops at mike, stares at audience for several beats like he has suddenly found the answer to an eighth-grade algebra problem he’s been working on for 70 years, then returns to the living moment) Thanks for stopping by, tonight. I know you could all be going somewhere else.
OLDSTER LADY IN ROW 3: (turns to Guy next to her, shouting) What’d he say?
OLDSTER GUY IN ROW 3: (shouting) No idea.
OLIR3: Why’s he wearing a toilet seat?
OGIR3: No idea. Maybe it’s a souvenir, from the cruise.
OGIR3: A sou-ven-ir! You know, like taking an ashtray or a hand towel.
PH: It’s been a moving week. Frankly, I had my doubts about a 10-day “weight-loss cruise” that guaranteed “you’ll lose 10 pounds in 10 days, or your money back.”
OLIR3: Is he making a diarrhea joke?
OGIR3: He’s leading up to it.
OLIR3: Why come onto a diarrhea boat, and talk shit?
OGIR3: No idea.
OLIR3: What a shithead.
OGIR3: Yes. It seems to be going around.
20161126 18:31 (293 words)
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