(Lights up on a Man and Woman huddled around a small battery powered radio on a table.)
Radio:
Ladies and Gentlemen, it is with great sorrow that I must confirm the reports of a giant alien space drill is indeed on a collision course with earth.
Man:
Oh my God. This is it.
Radio:
Estimated impact time is five minutes. The drill itself is roughly the mass of three Mount Everests.
Woman:
How do they know that?
Radio:
It’s just an estimate. We now leave you and your loved ones with what we hope will be pleasant and soothing sounds in your final moments.
(Cue: Cameo, “Word Up.”)
Woman:
Turn that shit off.
(Man turns off the radio)
Man:
I don’t understand…haven’t they tried talking to these aliens?
Woman:
Do you speak alien?
Man:
No.
Woman:
Well, then we’re gonna get drilled.
Man:
There are so many things I haven’t done.
Woman:
I’m sure.
Man:
Skydiving.
Woman:
You’re afraid of heights.
Man:
Running with the bulls.
Woman:
You have asthma.
Man:
I never saw Cats.
Woman:
You’re probably afraid of pussy.
Man:
What are you trying to say?
Woman:
I’m saying you’ve never done anything, because you were always afraid.
Man:
That…that’s not true.
Woman:
You know, I don’t want to argue about it. (She pulls out two tall boys of beer) Now it’s time for you to man up and chug a beer with me before the world ends.
Man:
Chug?
Woman:
Yes. I want you to be a man and shotgun this beer with me.
Man:
You just said chug.
Woman:
(she pulls out a beer bong) Bong this beer and stop being afraid.
Man:
That’s a tall boy. Its gonna make a lot of foam.
Woman:
God Dammit. I want to be with a man right now. The MAN I married. Not Some wanna-be, poor man’s, Justin Long!
Man:
Hey, I bought us tickets for Going the Distance this weekend.
Woman:
Thank God for that fucking drill.
Man:
Honey?!
Woman:
Look. I know we haven’t been married long, and you haven’t had much time to prove yourself as a husband, so all I ask is that we finish this bottle as husband and wife before we’re incinerated. (she pulls out a bottle of Whiskey and takes a huge belt and slams it in front of him. He sips)
Man:
Oh wow, this is…this is really quite nice; kind of oak-y.
Woman:
Fag face.
Man:
Excuse me?
Woman:
You’re all – (she makes pathetic, sissy gestures)
Man:
You know what, I don’t like what you’re implying.
Woman:
Implying? I’m being quite explicit. You are a pussy! You borrowed my Vagisil.
Man:
I had a yeast infection on my face! You know that!
Woman:
Vagisil is for pussies!
Man:
Oh yeah? Does a pussy work out? (he lifts and shakes a shake weight) Would a pussy do this? Huh? (changes pose) Or this?
Woman:
Please put down my shake weight. You’re going to hurt yourself.
(his arm cramps up)
Man:
Ow! What do I have to do to prove to you that I am your MAN?!
Woman:
We have a minute left together. (She pulls out a joint) All I’m asking is that you smoke this Maui Wowie with me so we can laugh in this fucking drill’s face.
Man:
Oh my God, you keep that in the house? It’s illegal!
Woman:
Only as illegal as this Ecstasy, (she drops a hand full of loose pills on the table) or this horse! (she slams a bag of heroin on the table)
Man:
There’s so much I don’t know about you.
Woman:
You were afraid to ask. Now eat these and fuck me. (she shoves pills into his mouth)
Man:
You’re right. It’s too late to be afraid. I want to end my life having intercourse with the woman I love…on this table…without a condom!
Woman:
That’s my man!
(she lays down on the table and turns on the radio, ‘Word Up’)
Woman:
Drill, baby!
Man:
(He looks up in horror and points to the sky) DRRIIIIIIILLLLLLL! (He looks down at his crotch) oops.
(She turns off the radio)
Woman:
Don’t tell me.
Man:
Sorry.
Woman:
We still have twenty seconds!
Man:
Honey, that’s an awfully quick turn around. I could try, maybe if you slapped it a little?
Woman:
Jesus.
(explosion and lights out)
Art and Music in Our Souls 