Czar d’Oz Episode IV: Porch

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by Smitty

Synopsis: In the year 2112, the characters retreated to a basement shelter to weather a monster tornado. Making an early trip to the local seat of government, they uncovered information pertaining to an experimental time machine located in Seattle. Making good their escape in the experimental TOTO vehicle, they have made it to the territory of the Southwest Czar.

“I have some people…”

[A porch at stage left with two men sitting in chairs on it. A Colorado flag flies by the porch, along with a ObamaUS flag, bearing BHO’s face and the usual red and white stripes. There is a sound of a car door slamming offstage. Zeda, Martin, Julius and Peter walk onstage.]

Stacy: Are you guys from the Post Office? Did you bring the O-Dough?

Zeda: Are you Brutals running a bakery?

Smitty: That’s pretty funny, but no. By the way, I’m Smitty, and that is Stacy.

Peter: Then just what are you two doing here, if I may be so inquisitive?

Stacy: Waiting for the big bailout. The Obama Administration has promised to fix all woes, to tissue all tears, and to line all wallets with frogskins. While there have been delays, we patiently await the reward for our patience.

Julius: Just how long have you been waiting?

Smitty: We’re what? The second or third generation?

Stacy: I don’t know. Who cares? We’ve just been waiting all this time.

Peter: Who is President now?

Smitty: An Obama, like always. Peace be upon him.

Peter: Which Obama?

Smitty: Barack Obama.

Peter: Which? There has been Barack Hussein Obama, Barack Hussein Obama II from 2057 to 2065, and we’re under the second administration of Barack Soros Obama in the year 2112, or year 104 of the Era of Hope, if you’re one of those.

Stacy: We knew all that.

Julius: And do you know that Washington DC ceased to be the capital at the Tri-Centennial? And did you know that the shift to the New Chicago Vortex was a complete joke, since the de facto capitol of the US, and also the world, has been the Davos, Switzerland Vortex since 2074?
Smitty: I was led to believe there would be no history lesson connected with your visit. I just want my O-Dough.

Peter: This is the point: there IS NO O-Dough. The currency is WorldThalers, but a Brutal like you won’t get any of them.

“….at UNLV…”

Stacy: How dare you, sir! Why not?

Peter: It’s all patronage these days. If you want to get anywhere in life, you have to find your local Eternal and convince them that you have something to offer. You might get hired, but, more likely, you’ll be given something menial to do. You offspring, should any woman be so desperate, might have a chance of promotion to Eternal, if you hang around the Vortex long enough.

Smitty: But the health care? The bailouts? The O-Dough? The environmental justice? The end to racism?

Martin: You can get some of that in the military. The Service is going to have to spend some time getting you two right in the head first.

Stacy: How can you call us wrong? Promises were made. Understandings shared. Assurances proffered. Our rights are at stake here.

Zeda: The only promise that was kept was that the wealth would be re-distributed. And it has been. Across the whole flipping world. The Vortex concentrated power. Elected officials became the Eternals. The elite among the Eternals are the Czars. The rest of us “little people” are Brutals, enslaved to feeding the machine.

The Constitution is fetished like something pornographic. The speeches and writings of Barack Hussein Obama are consulted like legal opinions by the so-called judges.

Oh, they went on and on about more “rights”. Those could be summarized as the right to be treated like little children regardless of age. And they took liberty in the name of providing those “rights”, the swine. And sovereignty from our country. And money from our wallets. And, in the case of you two, the brains out of your heads. Just how old are you clowns?

Smitty: Oh, we’re both North of 50.

Julius: Oh, really? Well, you’re encouraged to remain healthy then. ObamaLife starts to taper off past three-score for Brutals. Like we said, it’s not likely that you guys can do much down at your local Vortex to get in good with the Eternals. Now, if you’re related, and have enough tissue similarities, they may let you swap parts, to keep each other going.

Stacy: Yeah, we’re brothers.

Smitty: Are you sure?

Stacy: That’s what my father said.

Smitty: That’s not what my father said.

Zeda: This is getting creepy.

“… that owe me a favor.”

Peter: *Ahem*. Do you know the Southwest Czar, by the way?

Stacy: He was by, was it four years ago, five?

Smitty: It wasn’t the Southwest Czar proper, mind you: it was one of his captains gone rogue.

Stacy: Rogue? He sure had a fancy uniform and all.

Smitty: Face it, Stacy: he had run up a tab he couldn’t pay, and killed a man at the Czar’s Palace down in Las Vegas. He was fleeing. He only put on them airs so we’d stash him under the porch when the rest of the Czar’s troops came by.

Stacy: Well, that explains much. I couldn’t understand why an officer in the Czar’s service would want to be so secretive about it. And the O-Dough he gave us to hide him sure wasn’t much.

Peter: That’s an interesting idea, seeing the Southwest Czar. I know some staffers there. We could perhaps gain some intelligence about Czar d’Oz, if we play it right.

Martin: We could also find ourselves vanishing mysteriously. TOTO taken. Our quest cancelled. Our bodies ventilated. I’m against the idea. Wait. Stacy, Smitty: what was the name of the guy you stashed under the porch?

Stacy: Raina Petkoff?

Smitty: That was his alias. When he was giving us the WorldThalers, his identification fell from his pocket. I picked it up to give to him and saw that his name was Jacob Kleindrubble.

Martin: Thanks.

Julius: Now, I have some people at UNLV that owe me a favor. Let’s swing by, hide the car, and do some scouting.

Zeda: A real hotel room and some shopping would also be appreciated. Stacy; Smitty: do either of you have plans?

Stacy: Why yes. Yes, we do. We’re waiting for O-Dough. Our investment in waiting is too big to fail.

Announcement
Prev:III. TOTO
Next:V. Vegas

Copyright 2009, Christopher L. Smith

Czar d’Oz Episode III: TOTO

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by Smitty

Announcement

Synopsis: In the year 2112, the characters retreated to a basement shelter to weather a monster tornado. Making an early trip to the local seat of government, they uncovered information pertaining to an experimental time machine located in Seattle.

“He could…”

[Murdoch’s office. Murdoch is fat, balding, opulently dressed, and seated facing stage right. Peter Lyon is at mid-stage, with Martin, Julius and Zeda at stage right, standing at ease, facing the desk, too.]

Murdoch: Let me see if I understand this clearly. You four are taking my prize Terrain Obstacle Transformation Observer, whose experimental power plant can make two trips across the US between fuelings, and driving to the capital at the New Chicago Vortex in Michigan to petition President Barack Soros Obama for aid?

Peter: We had thought that the Car Czar might be a better place to start. Might the POTUS be aiming too high?

Murdoch: No, the last year’s models were worse than the usual roller-dreck, and the Car Czar is out of favor. Word is that some other Eternals covet his job.

You also realize that makes the Governor of Kansas and the Flyover Czar both look like prize chumps for not fixing Kansas after this killer tornado, don’t you? The death toll is at 187 and climbing.

Peter: Of course it does. However, it’s not too late to get you on the ballot for Governor this November. And don’t you think it’s high time that the House of Sebelius was…restructured?

Murdoch: That’s a good point. But the way the system works, we’ll have to offer some kind of sweetener to Obama to encourage the desired behavior.

Peter: Barack Soros doesn’t have any monuments in the area. Proposing something flattering might work.

Murdoch: But where?

Peter: The Sebelius Estate along the Kansas River might offer some possibilities, particularly if the investigation raised doubts about how the land had been acquired, and further ambiguities were raised about spending on tornado preparadness under the Sebelius tenure.

Murdoch: I do like the way you think, Lyons. Clearly you’re looking for a Chief of Staff position, or so?

Peter: Well, now, one focuses on the task at hand, which is getting Kansas back in order, and lets the details fall as they may, doesn’t one?

“…be luring..”

[In Murdoch’s fortress garage. An SUV-sized vehicle with a tandem rear axel and a tear-drop shape emerges. The rear is slightly higher than the front, for that mean look. The vehicle rolls on from stage right and stops at the center, while Martin, Zeda, Julius and Peter await stage left. A sliver-haired man with a dash of black at the bangs gets out.]

Martin: Ah, the legendary TOTO. She was designed by an old buddy of mine from the Army.

Leno: You knew Shelby Carroll?

Martin: Yeah, we had some…fun…you could say, during that whole Zambiniland fiasco. That was a…time. American people used to be dead-set against foreigners commanding our troops. There was a reason. [Martin glances at his prosthetics, flexes a hand, triggering mechanical groans].

Leno: Well, if you know that much, you know that this custom rig doesn’t get too far without daddy knowing about it. Nudge nudge, wink wink, say no more. [He does kneel and point at a location under the frame.]

Martin: Got it. Thanks.

[The four pile in.]

“…us in.”

[A cutout of TOTO without the top and left side dominates the center stage. An elevated flat screen positioned at stage rear serves to move the scenery by. It shows a still scene of Kansas fields, with the words RIGHT VIEW at the bottom. The characters walk around and get into TOTO from the back. Martin is driving, and he carries a puck-like object. Zeda rides shotgun, with Julius and Martin in back.]

Zeda: Well, you already raised their suspicions by going Northeast on US-4, instead of East on I-70 to Kansas City. When do we make our break?

Martin: Oh, now is as good a time as the present. [Makes turning motions to left. The screen still says RIGHT VIEW, and pans.]

Zeda: 247th Road going West? OK, well, Murdoch can only have us ventilated once. Julius, you look back and right, and Peter, you look back and left. We’re not safe until we’re not in Kansas anymore.

[The stage lights dim to indicate some passage of time, then come back up. The scenery moves past at a good clip on the screen at the back of the stage.]

Martin: [Receiving some comms over his headpiece, nods] Understood. We’ll be seeing you in a couple of minutes. Bye.

Julius: I see them coming up behind us!

Zeda: OK, we just passed Haskell Road.

Embiggen

Martin: Right. Here’s what’s happening. Some old friends of mine have an ambush set on the lake at Leisurely Drive. Hold on. [The engine roars, and the scenery blurs and rolls by behind them.] What’ve we got?

Peter: There are two air cars, one smaller than the other, behind us.

Martin: Stand by. We’re going to see what some of these ground-effect controls can do. [The background scenery slows and lurches as the car tilts to its right, away from the audience. Muffled jet turbine whine and tire squeals. The screen says RIGHT VIEW, and pans to the right, showing the two air cars in pursuit, but they quickly fall off the screen.]
I doubt anyone’s ever taken a right turn from 274 onto Greely Road at 100 clicks, but this ride can do it.

Peter: [Agitated] They’re gaining! They’re gaining! Look at them bank on that turn!

Martin: [Muttering into his headset] Almost there. You should be seeing the dust cloud coming up from the South. Zeda, you look green. It might be easier to just close your eyes.

Zeda: Get bent.

Martin: Like this?

[He violently turns the car to the right, and the jets and tires wine and squeal louder still. The background scenery remains on RIGHT VIEW and again shows the two air cars, much closer, before the forward motion of TOTO causes them to fall off the right side of the screen. The image stabilizes for a moment on a lake, and then returns to land and is wildly shaken and distorted by a huge explosion behind TOTO. He jerks the wheel again to the right, to make the turn down Leisurely Drive, and the view on the screen pans to show a huge fireball where a bridge used to be, making a small mushroom cloud. The second alloy air car comes to a fish-tailing stop, then changes direction to go back to Greely Road. Martin stomps on the accelerator, and the view pans left as he straightens, then shows houses screaming past. He gets to the other end of Leisurely Drive and takes another hard right onto Greely Road. The screen now changest to FORWARD VIEW at the bottom, and the alloy air car is limping toward them, shuddering and shimmying, an increasingly big blotch on the screen.]

Martin: Some game of chicken this is. He’s either had a fan casualty, his batteries are drained, or he’s too big of a coward to go at it like the old days.

Peter: He could be luring us in.

Martin: Fair point.

[The air car moves right on the screen, as Martin veers left, out into the flat wheat field. TOTO goes 4-wheel drive automatically. They go North past the air car, loop around to the South, and come up on the right quarter of the limping air car, now at the left edge of the screen, still set to FORWARD VIEW.]

Martin: They got nothin’.

[Martin stops TOTO, rolls down the window, and picks up the tracker device from the floor. It has one stage of epoxy smeared all over it. On cue, Zeda reaches over with another tube, squirts a black paste on, and stirs it. Martin heaves the sticky tracker at the air car, throwing it off stage left. The FORWARD VIEW screen shows the puck stuck to the quarter panel of the air car. Martin rolls up the window, guns it, and they exit, turning right on 278th Road.]

Julius: So, you just arranged with the locals you know to ambush the authorities? If we weren’t committed before, we’re committed now.

Martin: Yeah, this is a community of folks that served together in Zambiniland. Still remember the Old Constitution, too. It would be great to stop and thank them. But they kinda understand what’s goin’ on. Murdoch’s too busy with the tornado cleanup to spare more pursuers. Let’s get the fizrock out of here.

Announcement
Prev:II. Wreckage
Next:IV. Porch

Copyright 2010, Christopher L. Smith

Czar d’Oz Episode II: Wreckage

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by Smitty

Announcement

Synopsis: In the year 2112, the characters retreated to a basement shelter to weather a monster tornado.

“…and it explains…”

[A dark stage. Martin’s limbs randomly spasm, causing a loud metallic clamor. Zeda turns on a dim light, and the characters begin to stir. Zeda lights the room dimly.]

Zeda: It’s time to be up anyway. We’re going to need to be early to the Temple of Cyrus to see if the Vortex has any bailouts for us. The line will be long.

Martin: Sorry about the racket. I really need some better parts. Hey, whaddaya know? It sounds like the storm’s gone.
Julius: They say that the real thing to do is stay put and wait for the authorities. There will be a lot of downed power lines and weakened structures. Perhaps I should stay here and pore over volume four of The Wit and Wisdom of Patrick Daley Obama.
Peter: [looking at a dead handheld, shaking his head, pocketing the device] Wow, the network is down. Julius, Zeda is right: we’ve got to get moving to the Temple now, with the sun rising enough to see. You’re right about the dangers, but there is precious little to go around. If we’re not early, we’re simply naught. Martin, do you have any wea-wea-weap-pons? We-we don’t want any violence at all, of course, no violence. But the appearance of the ability to deliver violence, without making any explicit threats (of course) is often helpful in negotiations.

Zeda: Well, Julius? Peter sure has you beat for guts. I think Martin and I are with him. Do you want to stay here and babysit the rest of the building like they were a pack of your worst graduate students, or do you want to risk biting into some history?

[Zeda, Martin and Peter exit left. Julius sighs and follows.]

“…what a Murdoch…”

[Peter enters left, followed by Zeda, Martin. Julius is still in the rear. They come up to the ruin of the Temple of Cyrus. The rotunda has collapsed, though the sun is still to show through the new, permanent skylight where there had been a dome. They go up the stairs, and peer in. The front doors and the conference room door are all flat on the ground. A huge chunk of ceiling has smashed a gaping hole in the conference room floor.]

Peter: I was just in a meeting here yesterday…in a different life. [Keeping carefully close to the wall, he works his way around to where the ceiling chunk, like a giant chicken leg, still has the bone of a girder sticking up out of the floor.]
Martin: What’s below here? A boiler room?
Peter: No, it was Murdoch’s office.
Martin: Would he have weapons?
Peter: Not that I know, or would approve of.
Julius: Are you going to descend?
Peter: Down this girder? Are you mad? There is no way my insurance would cover an injury incurred while climbing over random storm wreckage, unless I was a first responder. How irresponsible!

Julius: You have no sense of academic inquiry. Martin, will you join me?

Martin: You nearly sounded like a man for a moment there, Scare.

Julius: High praise, indeed. Here: let’s use this extension cord to lower ourselves down.

[The two rig an electrical cord to a wall stud, and head down the girder, while Zeda holds a floodlight down into the still-dim hole.]

“…was doing…”
Martin: Jackpot! Zeda, a little more to the left…

Julius: Peter, can you throw down that duffel bag? The roof collapse managed to break open an end table that concealed a safe.

[A duffle descends. There is a brief screeching sound of metal hinges being forced.]

Zeda: Hey the sun is fully above the horizon. You guys have about two more minutes down there, and then we need to get out. Even the sleepiest government guard has to wake up for his morning doughnut sooner or later.

Martin: Yeah, yeah. You gripe like a Sergeant Major, Zeda. OK, that looks like most of it. Zeda’s right: we gotta beat feat. Julius, you go first with the bag on your shoulders, backpack-wise. I’ll be right behind offering support.

Julius: Fair enough.

[Two men and a duffle ascend.]

Peter: There is a park by the river. I’ve got a secret place there I’ve gone for years when I need to escape the meetings and the madness.

Julius: Sounds good.

[The four exit stage right.]

“…in a rat-hole…”
[The four enter stage right, crouching, led by Peter.]

Peter: Just bend over and force your way through the bushes and up this little bank, and there is a secluded clearing at the top where we can go over the find.

Zeda: Is this where you brought your admin assistant for trysts?

Peter: David? He wasn’t my type, and I doubt I was his. I always saw him with plump redheads, come to think of it.

[Julius, the duffel, and Martin break into the clearing. Dawn is done, and morning is in full swing. Julius sets the bag down, and unzips it to reveal a binder, an opened envelope, a pistol, two clips, and a large wallet.]
Martin: An M1911 and two clips. I may need a private moment, everyone…

Peter: This notebook discusses a fascinating project…

Zeda: This wallet looks like it will solve our financial problems indefinitely…

Julius: This letter is the most interesting bit of all…

“…like this.”
Julius: …and it explains what a Murdoch is doing in a rat hole like this:

Dearest Justin Murdoch,
Your irresponsibility has become too great a burden. Whatever promise you once showed on the Project, you can no longer stay in the Emerald City after this latest outrage. Even a relative of Czar d’Oz himself cannot go whoring amongst the Brutals in so cavalier a manner.
I’ve found you a position in Kansas, working for the Flyover Czar in Topeka. You understand that this constitutes a banishment. You also understand that saving your sorry hide even this much has cost me significant political capital. You must go and never return, or you shall have defied me personally, and get to pay for that as well as your other misdeeds.

Your Father,
Jasper d’Oz, Northwest Czar

Martin: OK, I think we need to take this stuff back. Not that I want to, mind you, just that one thing you don’t do is steal from a Czar. Them bastards don’t tolerate competition.

Zeda: I second that idea, though it would be a shame to just let all of this stuff go.

Peter: In political struggles, you always trade up. We secured these goods, and we’re going to return them intact. The reason we’re going to do that is because Murdoch is hiring us to go on a mission. He’s doing that not only because of the dirt we now have on him, and the loyalty and respect we’re showing by protecting his property, but because we’re going to make him look a genius to the Car Czar in Detroit, where he is sending us on a diplomatic mission.

Only that’s a ruse. We’re going to take the vehicle he sends us in and head off to Seattle, instead, to see if this experimental time machine project detailed in this notebook, and which appeared nearly operational when he got this copy of the project description, actually works.

Because, if it does, we have a chance to go back to the beginning of this godforsaken Obama administration and warn the people!

[Zeda’s eyes widen, Martin nods vigorously, and Julius’ jaw drops.]

Announcement
Prev:I. Incoming
Next:III. TOTO

Copyright 2010, Christopher L. Smith

Czar d’Oz Episode I: Incoming

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by Smitty

Start with the Czar d’Oz Announcement

I. Incoming
“This is not a test. The Obama Weather Service…”

Julius “Scare” Crowe: [Addressing a lecture hall] American history can be viewed in three stages: pre-Progressive, Progressive, and Modern Obama. The pre-Progressive phase was the worst. The tyranny of an English autocrat was rejected, triggering a necessary, if flawed period where racism was rampant. A bloody Civil War claimed hundreds of thousands of lives, and the Consitutional promise of equality was delivered, but the racism remained.

The next 140 years saw the birth of the Progressives, who understood the need to balance the Constitutional equality with the natural tendency towards racism. This would require increasingly diligent feedback from policy makers to ensure that the States took care of their citizens. The last gasp of the recidivists was the Bush administration, which threatened to plunge the whole country into a dark age.
The Modern Obama age began under something of a cloud, trying to dig the country out from under the avalance of social and economic woe visited upon us by Bush. By Barack I’s closing term, the essential rights of medical coverage had been extended to all, and the economic damage brought on by the Scorched Earth Tea Baggers who resisted this improvement had begun to recede.
America’s retreat from the evils of imperialism had begun under Barack I, and gathered steam under Michelle. The GOP’s last gasp came in 2017, when their attempt at Social Security reform was laughed out of DC. The next year, ObamaLife absorbed it anyway.
The evil of American nationalism would not die for many decades, however. The bitter cling-ons would take another 57, yes, fif-TEE seven years before the signing of the WorldGov Treaty saw the creation of the Vortex as the successor to the United Nations in Holy Davos.
And now, 104 years after Obama, or 2112 by the Oppressor’s Reckoning, is our satisfaction complete.
“…has issued a tornado warning…”

Martin Mann: You must be having me on. [Throwing small boxes over his shoulder from a large box on the work bench in front of him.]

Those supply morons have Bushed it again. You go to the staff meeting. You explain to them what you need. They spout the usual crap about the Eternals, the Vortex, the Czars. They tell you that even if you’re a war hero, you’re still a Brutal.

You give the best years of your life to these people. You give your health, your senses, your smarts. They give you slideshows of chewing gum for the mind. If the economy is so rosy, if the education system is so great, if there really is nothing to worry about, then why are the little things like delivering an order for electronics so hard?

Most of these pointy-headed little bureaucrats haven’t ever left Kanasas, much less served in the US military. And the pitiful few that have done so sure ain’t ever gone overseas to a pitiful place like Zambiniland on a WorldGov mission. How I badly want to see their little Eternal butts taken away from their precious Vortex and made to understand what the Brutals go through.
If I hadn’t got blown up, I wouldn’t’ve had a chance to learn like I did and try to do a little better in life. But now I’m forced to find a way to polish a digital turd into a shiny thing of electronic beauty. Darn right I’m pissed. Those Eternals don’t care about anything but getting their kids to the right school and either an elected position or a job working for a Czar. And they really don’t know jack, except how to use big words to tell you that whatever they’ve done wrong is really YOUR fault. [The box is empty, and Mann smashes it with a metal forearm.]

“…for this area.”

Peter Lyon: [Hastens up the broad steps and into the Temple of Cyrus Rinks (sometimes erroneously termed Syrinx by young hipsters) for his meeting. A disgruntled young man bursts out of the door, face in a rage, carrying a strange, flat, figure-8 device with a long handle, having wires along it. The conference room with the meeting already in progress is just off the atrium, thankfully, directly above boss Murdoch’s office, and obviates the need to go through security. He grabs a seat in the back.]

Meeting Coordinator: Oh look, we were just joined by the illustrious Peter Lyon. Peter, I know you’re busy, but can you offer us the benefit of your insight? A little birdy said you were actually just at the Flyover Czar’s Budget Offsite. Have you got any hot, juicy presentation bullets for the Bureau of Administrative Affairs?
Woman in Front Row: That’s Administrative Actions Bureau. We just changed last week, remember?
MC: Oh, right. Thank you. Doing my best to keep up with the re-orgs. Mr. Lyon?

Peter Lyon: [Standing] Well, the news breaks down into good, bad, and unknown.
MC: Unknown, bad, good.
Peter Lyon: That is our tradition, no? All right. The unknown piece is whether of not the Flyover Czar is going to wrest more control from counties on the East side of the Mississippi from the Southern Czar. While we’d like to expand our operations, and get the budget that goes with it, those areas are some of the least economically productive in the country. Could prove a Faustian bargain–that’s when you make a deal and find out that guy across the table is named Bush.

The bad news is that this weather system is spitting out some monster tornadoes, and has already done some expensive damage in Texas and Oklahoma. This could negatively affect funds for the Obama Nativity Party at the end of the year.

[The room offers a collective groan]

The good news is that the new WorldGov budget finally passed. The WorldThalers now move to New Chicago. The Kansas team looks good for the new season of Political Cage Matches that starts Monday, so our funding stream should hold steady, as long as the Flyover Czar doesn’t screw things up.

“All citizens are to seek shelter immediately.”

Dorothy Zeda: OK, got the last of the water. [Zeda looks up from her clipboard at a worker in a jumpsuit. They stand in a basement area, to the right of stairs coming down.] We’ve got the combat rations, the medical supplies, the extra nylons. All of the windows are boarded. The blankets, the cots, and the batteries. Anything we’re missing?

Worker: Nope, Zeda, we got it all. Except some dice, maybe?

Zeda: You little scamps do what you will, just don’t come whining to me when all your WorldThalers are gone. The only sympathy you’ll get from me will be delivered by 20 feet of bull whip. You got that?
[Worker smiles at the thought. People are coming down the stairs.]

Zeda: OK, this shelter is divided up into sleeping and recreational areas. Probably everyone is too worried to sleep. There is a copy of WorldGov Saves Zambiniland which is about to start playing, so pull up chairs and relax. We’ll get through this storm in style.

[Crowe enters]

Crowe: Hi, Zeda. WorldGov Saves Zambiniland is a great patriotic film to show. Will you flog me if I yell out lines at the good parts?

Zeda: Of course not. You know all of the lines. I’m too busy for a session now.

[Mann enters, unsteadily, and has to stomp his foot to unfreeze the joint.]

Zeda: We’re playing your show.

Mann: Great. I’d rather have a working leg.

[Lyon enters]

Lyon: Am I the last one in?

Zeda: Indeed you are.

Lyon: Then close the hatch. I fear this one’s a doozy.

Announcement
Prev:Announcement
Next:II. Wreckage

Copyright 2009, Christopher L. Smith

Announcement: Czar d’Oz

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by Smitty

Awash, after the fashion of a country wrecked by a tsunami, in the reviews of the previous efforts of Porch Manqué Productions, we called a meeting. Stacy flopped down on the dilapidated couch, expelling a cloud of dust, through which cover at least two cats made their escape.

“OediPOTUS Wrecks and Waiting for O-Dough were a train wreck followed by a volcanic eruption,” declared Stacy. “We need something that will deliver eyeballs, not debris. You last ideas were so obscure that nobody cared about, much less had heard of, their sources.”

“I have a cunning plan,” I began, continuing on through Stacy’s tortured glance heavenward. “A dystopian future view of the US, merging the plot of an old Sean Connery flick with an American classic, plus a few other elements that didn’t move fast enough.” I handed over a few pages of draft in dead tree format.

After a few moments glance, Stacy inquired, “Have you been tested for Mad Cow disease?”

Episode Index:

Stacy’s initial take matched reviews remain as varied across time, if constant in theme, as ever:

  • Sean Connery: Impossible! A human being that’s a bigger piece of scum than Alex Trebek!
  • Helmuth von Moltke the Elder: No plan of Smitty’s extends with certainty beyond the first encounter with reality.
  • Sigmund Freud: Hey, Smitty: your mother!
  • Stevie Ray Vaughan: Hand me down my shootin’ iron.
  • Randy Rhodes: Next time the Crazy Train comes by, make sure Smitty is on it.
  • Joe Satriani: Congress should limit Smitty to, at most, Ten Words.
  • Burma Shave: In defiance of ‘sane’ / Again wrecks this train. /Far more favorable the /Frobnicated follicle to explain.
  • Captain Ahab: Nothing wrong with Smitty that a firmly cast harpoon could not remedy.
  • Joseph N. Welch: You have done enough, Smitty. Have you no sense of decency sir, at long last?
  • Dan Riehl: Thanks, Smitty! I always like to start the morning by throwing up in my mouth!
Czar d’Oz runs at high noon right here for the next two weeks, or until the FBI shuts us down.
Copyright 2009, Christopher L. Smith

Waiting For O-Dough: Act II

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by Smitty

Waiting for O-Dough: Announcement

Synopsis of Act I: Stacy met Smitty on the Porch, and they awaited O-Dough. Bob Belvedere and Lucky came by, Bob ate lunch, and departed.

(Smitty sits on the couch. Enter Stacy at right.)
Smitty: Good morning. Once again you neglect the shelter of the porch.
Stacy: Well, I prefer the comfort of my ditch.
Smitty: Even though the union thugs beat you?
Stacy: It’s just a flesh wound. I think it’s more the union management than the actual workers. The management is less competent. The real troops will bite your leg off, I hear.
Smitty: You’d think if they had O-Dough, they could buy some real victuals.
Stacy: Maybe they’re waiting for O-Dough, too.
Smitty: How about those two that were here yesterday?
Stacy: Belvedere and Lucky? They work for Congress. They don’t need O-Dough.
Smitty: Should we apply for government jobs?
Stacy: Why? We’re supposed to get our O-Dough any day now. If only the mail wasn’t so slow. Why don’t they just use FedEx or UPS?
Smitty: I didn’t realize that FedEx and UPS still exist.
(Lucky comes back in from stage right, encumbered as before, with Bob Belvedere’s eyes covered. Lucky stops in the middle of the stage. Belvedere wanders forward, trips, sprawls.)
Stacy & Smitty: Let me help you up. (Jump off the porch to assist Belvedere up.)
Stacy: You were here yesterday.
Bob: I was?
Smitty: Yes. Have you called Congress? Did you remember to mention our O-Dough?
Bob: What are you talking about?
Stacy: You came by here, had some lunch, and then went off. Claimed you worked for Congress. That’s why you can have what looks to be nothing other than a slave (though, as long as he’s a consenting adult, there’s nothing wrong with that).
Bob: Did I say I work for Congress? To you? I would have been more discreet than that, if it was true.
Smitty: Well, there you have it. Stacy, we’re just going to have to go and find our O-Dough.
Stacy: Do you have a map?
Smitty: It’s behind the couch. (He starts to rustle behind the couch, creating a cloud of paper and debris.)
Stacy: But if we leave, we won’t be here to take receipt of our O-Dough. We’d better stay.
Bob: What’s this O-Dough you expect, then?
Stacy: Our kickback for our years of patience!
Smitty: The economic stimulus that will create more jobs than it destroys!
Stacy: The worker’s paradise we were promised by Progress!
Smitty: The end of all systemic risk!
Bob: Yes. That’s all well and good, but where does this O-Dough come from?
Stacy: The Treasury Department cuts a check.
Bob: And how did the money get to the Treasury Department?
Smitty: A goose laying golden eggs?
Bob: Right, although it’s really more a duck. A mandarin duck. It’s been all fowl play since the Federal Reserve Act. Now, what do geese do?
Stacy: They float in water.
Bob: What else floats in water?
Smitty: An island.
Bob: Just so. Now, if there is a problem with the goose providing the golden eggs, what should you do?
Stacy: Wait for someone to give up an island for the Treasury Department.
Bob: Precisely. Now, it’s late. I must be going. The madness of men has driven sight from my head.
Smitty: Since you know so much, do you really work for the Congress?
Bob: I wouldn’t accuse it of being work. I’ll leave you two to the toil of the human condition. “They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it’s night once more.” Take me out of here, Lefty. Best wishes on the O-Dough, gentlemen.
(Lefty and Bob exit stage left.)
(After a moment, the Boy re-enters, stage right.)
Stacy: Have you seen the postman?
Boy: He’s already been by, while you were talking to that blind man. You didn’t get anything.
Smitty: No O-Dough today?
Boy: No, and the rumor is that it might not be for some time. They just discovered a few hundred fresh pages of legislation governing O-Dough. Got to take time and follow the law, you know.
Stacy & Smitty: *Sigh*

PORTICUS RUIT

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Copyright 2010, Christopher L. Smith

Waiting For O-Dough: Act I

Posted on

by Smitty

Waiting for O-Dough: Announcement

(Smitty sits on the couch, trying to get his boot off. Enter Stacy at right.)
Smitty: (Giving up on the boot again) I got nothin‘.
Stacy: Yeah, me too.
Smitty: I reckon we’re morally equivalent, then.
Stacy: Yep.
Smitty: So, where’d you hang your hat last night?
Stacy: A ditch.
Smitty: There was room for you on the porch!
Stacy: Sure, but your snoring is enough to wake the dead.
Smitty: Hmm. Maybe that’s who keeps getting in line ahead of me for the sleep apnea appointment.
Stacy: When, that famous event?
Smitty: Dunno. Can you help me get this boot off?
Stacy: How cool we were, Smitty, long ago, before even CPAC, when the presidential campaign wasn’t an ignoble train wreck. When there was a possibility of a real economy. When we weren’t stuck here, unemployed, waiting for O-Dough…
Smitty: I said, can you help be get this boot off?
Stacy: Oh, alright. (He stoops, grabs the boot, tugs mightily. Simultaneously, Smitty comes off the couch, landing on the porch. Stacy steps back, looses his footing on the corner of the television and lands on the porch. The boot traces an arc out into the yard.
They both slowly rise.)
Smitty: Do you see where my boot went?
Stacy: It’s out in the yard, past the second truck.
Smitty: Will you go get it?
Stacy: Ain’t my boot.
Smitty: I cain’t go in that yard barefoot! Until I get me some O-Dough, there ain’t no way to cover the payments on what you’d catch walkin‘ out there with nekkid tootsies.
Stacy: Oh, alright. (He goes to get the boot, comes back. Smitty stares at the collection of junk on the porch.) I was wonderin‘ on my way over here: you ever read the Bible?
Smitty: I heard of it.
Stacy: Do you remember the Gospels?
Smitty: I remember dad had rituals to get the truck started. He called them the ‘Go spells’. Lost dad, lost the spells, the truck ain’t moved in years.
Stacy: That sounds like a Country Dungeouns and Western Dragons song. Are you a musician?
Smitty: (Gestures into the window, where a guitar with two strings is visible on the table.) Isn’t that obvious?
Stacy: What about the two thieves?
Smitty: Were they in the Legislative or Executive branch. With 537 to pick from, why just the two?
Stacy: I’m not talking about the government, silly. The Gospels. The crucifiction. The two theives.
Smitty: Why didn’t the government offer them free health care?
Stacy: What are you, stupid? The government carried out the crucifictions. It was the opposite of health care.
Smitty: Are you saying the Roman government was like the Bush administration?
Stacy: You are so completely dense. Maybe we need a change of scenery, to give you some fresh air. This porch is too depressing.
Smitty: We can’t leave. We’re waiting for our chance. The big bailout. What’s owed us for all our suffering. O-Dough. It should be in the mail soon.
Stacy: How soon?
Smitty: That’s not clear. Digging us out from under the wreckage of the previous administration has been hard. There is so much unfairness. Such a lack of social justice, income justice, racial justice, economic justice. It’s taking time to get down to the “just us” justice.
Stacy: Right. You hear that, coming around the corner of the house?
(Enter Lefty stage left, on a leash, carrying: a seabag, a folding chair, and a picnic basket under a large coat. Lefty advances around to the middle of the porch. A whip cracks, and Lefty stops, cowering, but with a hint of a smile. Bob Belvedere at stage left. )
Stacy: Are you the postman, come with our O-Dough?
Smitty: Yes.
Bob: I present myself: Bob Belvedere.
Smitty: Isn’t our postman named Bob? He brings the O-Dough!
Stacy: Curb your enthusiasm.
Bob: What is this O-Dough?
Smitty: It’s the big cash infusion that is going to lift us from this porch!
Stacy: It’s the social justice we are owed!
Smitty: It’s the re-distribution of wealth away from the evil capitalists and toward the people!
Stacy: O, the answer to the evil W!
Bob: Never heard of it. (To Lefty, cracking whip) Set up for lunch! (Lefty sets up the chair in front of the porch, opens the seabag, extracts a folding tray, and works on lunch preparations. A tablecloth, a bottle, and a basket appear before the hungry eyes of Smitty and Stacy. Bob sits.)
Smitty: What’s up with him?
Bob: Hey, the new jobs program is a huge success. Look at how Lefty is employed.
Stacy: But, aren’t you violating OSHA regulations here?
Bob: I might be, if I didn’t work for Congress, where none of the laws apply.
Smitty: Really? What’s Lefty’s career path, then?
Bob: Well, as a junior intern for the Ways and Means Committee, he has to be tested, which is what we’re up to here. Following the success of this Training Run (heh), he’ll be allowed to take calls from donors, lobbyists, and industry to request certain language in legislation. (Bob extracts a sandwich from the bag and devours it.)
Smitty: Really? What if Stacy here would be interested in such a position?
Bob: Well (A giant swig from the bottle), I imagine if Stacy were suitable for such a position, I should have heard of him. What year did you graduate Yale, Stacy? Or was it some other Ivy League school?
Stacy: Well, it was really Kudzu League… Hey, next time you call back to DC, can you ask what’s up with the O-Dough that Porch Manqué Productions was supposed to get?
Bob: But off course. Now, you are aware of the suggested campaign contributions? One hates to dwell on the minutia, but the time of the Government is precious, and it takes time to work all the way down the list. You have to take responsibility for yourself and the management of your position on the list. (Another tremendous bite, and the sandwich has disappeared. A long quaff of the bottle, a belch, and a sigh. Stacy and Smitty look on, eyes and mouths watering.) Well, lads, we really must be off. Lefty, clean up. (Lefty carefully stows all the debris with practiced ease. Bob cracks the whip, and they exit stage right.)
Smitty: Is it too late for the mail today? Bob really got my hopes up about the O-Dough.
Stacy: Probably. Maybe tomorrow.
(A boy wanders in from stage right.)
Smitty: Say, lad: have you seen the postman?
Boy: Didn’t you? He was just by. His bag looked totally empty. If your box is empty, you struck out.
Stacy: Do you know of anyone who’s gotten their O-Dough?
Boy: I hear rumors, but no one in this area, that’s for sure.
Smitty: Thanks.

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Copyright 2010, Christopher L. Smith

Announcement: Waiting For O-Dough

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by Smitty

Flush, in the manner of a defective toilet, with the success of OediPOTUS Wrecks, Porch Manqué Productions and its publisher, The Other McCain, were poised to move forward with equally ambitious, dramatic, culturally significant work.

But the budget just wasn’t there. So, like any shameless contemporary American outfit, they sought a bailout. When in Rome, do as the Georgians, no?

This piece of Reality Stage-blogging catches Smitty and Stacy as they are poised on the edge of the cusp of success, Waiting for O-Dough…

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Characters:
Stacy
Smitty
Bob Belvedere
Lefty
Boy

Critical reactions have stunned us, along with minor contusions and a possible fracture. Who knew the SEIU and ACORN were theatre-goers? Here’s what they’re saying:

  • Samuel Beckett: Intellectual sodomy!
  • Vlad the Impaler: I’d like to give Smitty tea, crumpets, and a sharp stick. And I’m out of tea and crumpets.
  • Alexander Solzhenitsyn: There are archipelagos full of creeps like Smitty.
  • Archimedes: You reek-a!
  • Togo Heihachiro: This junk goes down like the Russians at the Battle of Tsushima.
  • Horatio Nelson: Hei domo, T?g?-san: sound your ship’s bell. You know this leaky fishing boat really sinks like the French at Cape Trafalgar.
  • Chester Nimitz: Jolly good, Horatio. But you know that this garbage scow actually hits the bottom like the Imperial Fleet at the Battle of Midway.
  • Cliff Burton: I’d like to offer Smitty some free dental work. Some anesthesia, pulling teeth, you know?
  • Tiberius Claudius Ceasar Augustus Germanicus: I’d throw Smitty to the lions, but that would be unethical treament of lions. Maybe wild dogs?

Very roughly, even brutally, equivalent praise for OediPOTUS Wrecks:

  • H. P. Lovecraft: Typically, consumption by Cthulhu diminishes literary output. Smitty writes on; fearless, mindless, soulless. Scientifically fascinating.
  • Rob Roy MacGregor: O! many a shaft, at random sent, Finds mark the archer little meant! A thousand words, at random spoken, Would improve upon this jackass jokin’!
  • John Wayne: You’ve got ta be kiddin’ me, pilgrim. Why, I haven’t seen a manure stream that bad since they drove a herd of diarrhetic cattle across the river feedin’ Michael Moore’s ranch, givin’ us Fahrenheit 9/11.

Copyright 2010, Christopher L. Smith