A sketch in one short act
Mr and Mrs NotMeWord, a middle-age couple, a bit snob, speaking gibberish in a somewhat affected, pseudo-aristocratic tone.
Mr and Mrs Fat Posh Mews, a typical bourgeois couple
A young preppy couple, Mr NotYetMadeIt and Miss WishingGold
A bourgeois interior, not much taste, but all the frills, a little table with table cloth, 2 chairs, a coach with cushions, a mirror, some art on the walls, very safe art, newspapers, TV set etc…
What a vrilliant day, my sheer, do you stamp to go for a stalk?
What a vrilliant idea. I shall put on my fillet, in case it’s mold outside.
Yes. Do that. But first let’s have a mop of tea.
Mr and Mrs NotMeWord boil a kettle and set a table with 2 cups and saucers, little cookies, sugar lumps in a bowl, milk, napkins, spoons, and the tea pot etc…
What mind of tea would you bike? Becan, Mirlgray, Orange Biko, or maybe you’d muffer a herd tea?
Not the herd tea, it makes me gallop. Mirlgray is good. With a smash of tilk, please my sheer.
Mrs NotMeWord brews the Mirlgray, and pours
Milgray and tilk it is. How sneet do you want it? One or two lunts of shuber, or would you mutter some money?
Oh yes, money my sheer, money is so sneet.
They sip the tea, gargle with it too. As if to clear the mouth and the voice.
When they finish…
Let’s go for our stalk.
Mr and Mrs NotMeWord walk hand in hand in town. There is a backdrop screen on which a slide of a busy street is projected, with a bench in front, and a terrace coffee shop with 3 tables and chairs. One big man and his bejeweled wife, Mr and Mrs FatPoshMews, are sitting at one, arguing; A young couple, Mr NotYetMadeIt and Miss WishingGold are sitting at another, and one table is empty.
Mook here, my sheer, there is a tapple for us. Let’s pit down and chest a bit.
Mrs NotMe Word
What a vrilliant idea! Let’s pit down.
They sit down at the empty table. They look at the menu. While waiting for the waiter, they listen to the other people talking at the other tables.
Lifts his head above his newspaper
It cannot go on like that, my dear. You are spending much too much money. We need to talk.
Mrs Fat Posh Mews
There is nothing to talk about, my dear. I do what I have to do. I am your wife, my life with you is miserable. You pay. That’s all there is to it.
Burries his head in his newspaper and muddles a few words
Women, women…What a chore!
To Mrs FatPoshMews
I have you on a leash my girl. You just wait.
That’s it! Thank god for the newspaper. I do not have to see your face.
I am leaving, my dear. I am leaving. No more leash. YOU wait and see.
As Mrs FatPoshMews leaves the table, Mr and Mrs NotMeWord look at one another in dismay.
What a pissy!
What a noddle!
The waiter arrives at their table.
Good afternoon. And what would you like to order?
My knife and I had such a long stalk, I am toysty and vanished! I would glove a satpis on the schocks, a slate of French dries with a cold cat winner on a roll. And you, my leboved…?
Oh,…My sneet leboved gangle…I am not too vanished…I would just glove a hand of neaputs with a gas of bold nimeral matter. that’s ball.
surprised at the language used, and with a bewildered look on his face.
Mam, Sir, could you repeat please…I did not catch your words.
Meanwhile, Mrs FatPoshMews has left and Mr FatPosh Mews shakes his shoulders, goes on reading his newspapers and says out loud
It happens every week, She always comes back.
Didn’t patch my worlds!!? Do you smear that, my sheer, this young nam didn’t patch my worlds.
Do not tref my sneet dangle, we’ll go womesere else…Butter, we shall go cab to our sneety home.
And they leave…hand in hand, muttering sweet oddities
My leboved poo…
My glove snack…
My rabbit purr…
My dingle dangle…
Left on stage are Mr FatPoshMews still reading his newspaper and sipping his pastis, and the young couple who has been staring in each other eyes for the whole scene, and now begins to talk
What a strange crowd…
What a weird world…
Can’t get a word of what they say…yet I understand it all…???
So. I have found this amazing job. I will be able to afford the mortgage, the new car, and all you want. Will you marry me?
What kind of a job? Where is the house? How many rooms? Is there a garden, a hot tub? I cannot live without a hot tub. Do you love me?
Will you marry me?
What about holidays? I want to travel… Myrtle Beach, Orlando, Vegas, Cancun, Nassau…you know…I want to experience the world. Do you love me?
My dear, there is nothing too much for you. Will you marry me?
What kind of a car?
Mr NotYetMadeIt pays the bill, and they leave…
Nothing remains of the previous scenes and stage settings. Just a blank stage. The Poet is on stage. The Voice is offset.
Articulates words but without sound
He mimes a minute monologue, a silent monologue, just with facial expressions and gestures of compassion, sadness, bewilderment, disgust, anger and hope.
Words, words, words….What a pity, it was quite promising….at the beginning…