“How far do you think she’d drop?”
“I don’t know, maybe 20 feet? She might make it.”

“If my father finds out about my secret love, he’ll break my other hand…”

“Dead geese make excellent gifts for children.”

“I agree. Are you wearing pants?”

“And this is the exact spot where Daddy was mauled.”

“I dyed this floral tie with blood from the heart of the last underling who disappointed me.”

“I just showered.”
“In urine?”

“I only write with pencils because its a reminder that life is impermanent.”
“That’s interesting. I write in pens because they’re easier to stab people with.”

Act 3, Scene 4

The Streets of New York City

Ashley:

Lance, wait!

 Lance:

Look, you half-person, I’m sorry, but I can’t talk to you right now.

Ashley:

What?! (Shrieks) Half Person?  What are you talking about?

Lance:

I’m talking about what you are.  You’re half of a person.  You’re even the size of half of a person.

Ashley:

Why are you acting this way?

Lance:

Because it’s the truth!

Ashley:

I don’t believe you.  There must be some other reason for you to say such…such hurtful things to a person!

Lance:

There’s no reason to speak the truth, other than because it’s the truth.  The truth needs no motive.  It simply exists.

Ashley:

Well, this isn’t true.  I’m not a half-person.  I’m a whole person, same as you!

Lance bursts into soulful tears.

Lance:

That’s just it!  I’m not a whole person.  I’m only a half.  Where most men have two, I have just one.  I’m half a man…and it’s killing me inside!

 Ashley:

Whoa, whoa, Lance, that’s not true!

Lance:

It is true!  No tour de Lance victory can ever change the fact that I only have one testicle.  And that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.

Ashley:

Sorry, isn’t it Tour de Fra–

Lance:

Tour de Lance.

Ashley:

Right.

 Lance:

I wish I could get past this.  There are so many other great men in history who only had one testicle, and still achieved great things.  George Washington, Paul Revere, Lao Tzu, Stevie Wonder, Thomas Mann, Albert Einstein…

Ashley:

Eleanor Roosevelt didn’t have even one.

Lance:

See?  I  should be able to get over this!  But I can’t, and seeing you only reminds me more of my plight.  You’re one half of a pair, and the two of you are joined at the hip!  I mean, you played the same loveable tot on Full House!  How can I look at you and still feel whole?

Ashley:

Lance, you’re an amazing athlete.  You’ve dated Sheryl Crow, a champion of breast cancer awareness and known rock and roller.  You have basically a shaved head, and you’re white, and no one even once has accused you of belonging to the Nazi party.  You are a plastic bracelet trendsetter, and a great man.  You are more than just one testicle:  you are Lance Armstrong.

Lance:

You’re right, Ashley.  I am Lance Armstrong.  Say, would you like to get coffee sometime?

Ashley:

I’d love to.

End Scene.

Curtain. 

Act 3, Scene 2

Corner of 189th and 3rd, New York City

John Mayer is discussing something serious-seeming with what appear to be two small elves covered in cloaks.

John

And then I said, your body is a wonderland!

The elves laugh, not revealing their faces.

Enter Lance Armstrong.

Lance

All right, John, I’m here. Why all the secrecy? What’s going on here?

John

Lance, I have some people I’d like you to meet.

The elves turn around and reveal themselves to be Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen.

Lance

What’s this about, John?

John

Lance, these are the twins I was talking about. Meet Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen. Otherwise known as tv’s Michelle.

Lance

John, twins, don’t take this the wrong way, but I really don’t think this is going to cure me of my depression. I need something new in my life, and this is just more of the same.

John

Lance, what are you talking about? Are you saying you are always hanging out with ridiculously rich and famous sets of adorable twins?

Lance

John, you will never understand me, will you? How can you be such a sentimental cascade of emotions when it comes to your own failures in love, but you can’t understand my needs? Don’t you see what’s happening here? Don’t you see why twins are the exact opposite of what I need to heal?

John

I don’t understand.

Lance

Basically, John, your stupid mouth has got you in trouble again.

Exit Lance.

Mary Kate

Who was that?

Ashley

Lance, wait!

Exit Ashley, following Lance offstage.

Ash-Strong: A Love for the Ages

Act 3, Scene 1

Walgreens. John Mayer and Lance Armstrong continue to roam the desolate aisles of the national drug store chain. John attempts to comfort Lance in his misery, and comes up with an idea.

John

I have an idea.

Lance

I’m not surprised.

John

Lance, I have a lot of good ideas. Remember that one about the Sobe?

Lance

You mean five minutes ago when you told me you were thirsty?

John

And then proceeded to buy a Sobe, yes.

Lance

I don’t get your point.

John

I had a problem, I concocted a solution, I put said concoction into action, and now my thirst is quenched.

Lance

I don’t see how this relates to my life.

John

I have a solution to your problem.

Lance

Let’s hear it.

John

Twins.

Lance

Pardon?

John

Twin girls.

Lance

I am drowning in despair.

John

Correct. And do you see any twin girls anywhere near?

Lance

No…

John

Thus…

Lance

You are such an idiot. Are you high right now?

John

I’m high on genius. And I know some twins. Don’t say anything now, John. Just meet me at the corner of 189th and 3rd.

Lance

Are those even real streets?

John

Just meet me there.

End Scene.

Act 2, Scene 3

An empty cafeteria.  Mary-Kate chews on straw wrappers.  Ashley looks out the window at passers-by.  Outside, it’s raining.

Ashley

Mary-Kate.  Do you ever feel like men and women are more alike than we realize?

Mary-Kate

Men are idiots.

Ashley

But are women so perfect?

Mary-Kate

Women aren’t perfect, they’re just more perfect than men.  For example, take a look at what I’m wearing.

Ashley

Is that a trash bag?

Mary-Kate

It’s a dress, Ashley.  It’s a dress.  And it’s unique and it’s beautiful, and it proves I’m not afraid to take chances.  Unlike a man.

Ashley

You think men don’t take chances?

Mary-Kate

I think men don’t have to.  Men still have all the power in the world.  And they know it, which is the worst thing.

Ashley

I don’t know, I think women still have some power.

Mary-Kate

Women have the power to say “no” to men.  They’re what men want.  But that’s not real power, that’s just a slight control over who they give themselves to.  Men are still the ones looking out for what they want.  Women are still the target.  A fox can choose where it hides and where it runs, but in the end the guy on the horse with the gun is still the one in charge.

Ashley

That’s an interesting take.

Mary-Kate

I guess.  Can you grab some more Splenda from that table for me?

Ashley hands her sister some yellow Splenda packets.  Mary-Kate dumps the Splenda into her water class and pops the empty paper envelope into her mouth.  Ashley sighs.

Ashley

I guess I just want someone to love, you know?  I don’t want to think men have all the power and that I’m just an object.  I want to be appreciated for the things that I appreciate in myself.  It hasn’t been easy  being in the spotlight, you know that more than anyone, Mary-Kate.  Is it so much to ask for someone to share myself with, without feeling like I’m compromising on my hard-won independence?

Mary-Kate

Ashley, that’s enough talking for today.

End Scene.

Act 2, Scene 4

Lance and John roam the aisles of Walgreens.  Lance stops to handle a package of trail mix, and broods.

John

Dude.  What is up with you?

Lance

What do you mean?

John

I mean I’ve hung out with you all day, and all you ever do is brood.  This isn’t the Lance I know.  This isn’t the Lance I rooted for in the Tour de France.

Lance

Tour de Lance.

John

Whatever.  Look, are you upset about something?  What the hell is up with you?

Lance

I’m wasting my life!  That’s what’s up with me.  I don’t know what I want, and I feel like I’m spinning in circles.  Like one of my tires is flat and I don’t have a patch, and there’s a  mountain up ahead and a Frenchman on my tail.  Like the blood transfusions my doctor gave me were laced with Sadness steroids.  Like all the women I’ve dated were just inner tubes floating in an ocean of despair that I tried to hold on to but realized that they couldn’t really keep me up, so I have continued a gradual drowning nightmare that will never end until there is a dynamic change in my life.  That’s how I feel, John.  Are you happy now?  Would you like to write a song about it, you traveling monstrel?

John

Whoa, whoa.  Don’t get mad at me because your life’s a mess.  I was just trying to buy a Sobe.

Lance

You’re a Sobe.

Curtain. 

Act 1 can be found here.

Ash-Strong: A Love for the Ages

By Angela

Act 2, Scene 1

The countryside

Lance sits on a rock, brooding. Next to him, on a neighboring rock, sits John Mayer.

Lance

John, what are we doing with our lives?

John

We’re succeeding, Lance.

Lance

Succeeding at what?

John

I’m a talented musician, and you’re a talented athlete. We’ve both earned recognition for our respective crafts. That’s something, isn’t it?

Lance

I guess it’s something. But isn’t there more?

John

I think I know what you’re talking about. Is it Sheryl again?

Lance

No! Sheryl and I are old news. It’s kind of annoying dating a musician. They’re very emotional.

John

Are you saying I’m emotional?

Lance

John, I’m pretty sure the whole world’s saying that you’re emotional. That “Your Body is a Wonderland” song? What was that?

John

People love that song.

Lance

People on Valium love that song.

John

Whatever, those are people. Like “Every Day is a Winding Road?” Or that “If it makes you happy” song that Sheryl has? What does that song even mean? Is she talking to herself, or is she talking to someone directly? I’ve never understood it. Is it about drugs?

Lance

I have no idea. We never really talked about those songs.

John

What did you guys talk about?

Lance

I don’t know…testicular cancer….bicycling….bracelets.

John

So, your interests.

Lance

What are you saying?

John

I’m saying maybe Sheryl wanted to talk about her interests. Like, the guitar, or those pink Yoplait yogurt lids.

Lance

What?

John

That’s how you save breasts. With yogurt lids. I’ve saved like five this week already. Women go crazy over curing breast cancer.

Lance

Does each lid save a new breast?

John

I would assume so.

Lance

Huh.

John

Yeah.

Lance

I guess I don’t know anything about women at all.

John

I do. I’ve got them figured out. That’s why I have so many hit songs.

Lance

Tell me your wisdom, John.

John

Okay. Well, first of all…girls love to think that they are beautiful “just as they are”: no makeup, no fancy clothes. Obviously this isn’t true. But you have to just say it. They eat that shit up. Just compliment them constantly.

Lance

(taking notes)

compliment…constantly…got it.

John

Next, tell them that when you’re not with them, you’re constantly thinking about them, and that you no longer find any other woman attractive.

Lance

Got it.

John

Then, tell them all your fears about growing older. Make it seem like you and your dad are best friends. They love that.

Lance

Okay.

John

This is just something I’ve found: don’t play your guitar all the time. It’s overdone.

Lance

Okay.

John

You should tell women you think about them when you’re bicycling. Just tell them you think about them all the time.

Lance

But if you do that too much, they’ll think you’re obsessive.

John

Yeah, you have to kind of find a balance.

Lance

(sighs)

What are we doing with our lives, John?

John

I don’t know.

End Scene.

Act 2, Scene 2

Ashley and Mary-Katie Olsen sit at an empty restaurant. Mary-Kate is eating Splenda packets. Ashley is forlorn.

Mary-Kate

What do you think about John Mayer?

Ashley

Douchebag.

End Scene.

Ready for more?  Act 2 Scenes 3-4.

Today, however, someone brought up to me an event that I couldn’t ignore. Two monolithic figures in our society have joined forces to create a relationship that, if left ignored, may fizzle and put a stop to perhaps the greatest love story ever told. I am of course talking about the newly flower-bud of burgeoning love between Lance Armstrong and Ashley Olsen.

The age difference between the two really isn’t that dramatic, when you’re reasonable about it. They’re both at the tops of their respective fields: Armstrong has won many a Tour de Lance, while Ashley Olsen is 50% of the biggest money-making machine ever to grace Lance Armstrong’s lap.

After the news bulletin was brought to my attention, I did a little research. Apparently, the two were spotted drinking red wine at the Rose Club, while A-Ols sat on L-Arm’s lap and giggled “like a schoolgirl.” That kind of connection almost never happens.

I feel like society is calling this match surprising. Well, you know what else is surprising, society? Justice. Peace. A reasonably priced headband at Banana Republic ($22 was what I paid by accident. I was thinking it would be like, $7. But I couldn’t bring myself to put it back.) These things aren’t bad because they’re surprising, they’re fantastic and rare! Just like Ash-strong’s love.

The cynic in me says that the 15 year age difference and the vast gap in experience between the two will eventually wrench an ice pick in the heart of their newly borne passion. But the romantic in me? The romantic in me says that this is a story which deserves to be told, regardless of whether it actually happens.

That’s why I’ve taken the time to create a tale of love.

Ash-Strong: A Love for the Ages

A Play

by Angela

Act 1, Scene 1

An Italian Restaurant. The lights are dim. The tablecloths checkered and spotted with wax from the burning candles. Crumbs of bread are visible on the floor. Lance Armstrong sits alone, brooding.

Lance

(to himself)

Another Italian dinner alone? The portions at this, my favorite restaurant, are so large they could be shared by two people. My appetite is ravenous as usual. But this time, my appetite is not for complex carbohydrates to fuel my ferocious pedaling. Since I’ve retired, my life has seemed empty. I’ve dated women. But have I truly loved?

Waitress

All finished, Lance? (Reaches to take half-empty plate of lasagna)

Lance

Yes, Marta. I am finished. (Throws napkin to the floor) I’m finished searching for something I’ve always wanted but never found. I’m finished pedaling my bicycle across the globe in the hopes that someone will stop me and ask, “Why so fast? What’s your hurry? Why don’t you stop and experience life, and love, and family like a true man should?” I’m finished behaving like a trained horse. I’m finished with feeling the wind under my helmet and spending time with superficial celebrities. I’m tired of yellow plastic bracelets and I don’t want to live strong. I just want to live my life, Marta. Just life.

Lance exits without paying.

Curtain

Act 1, Scene 2

A Manhattan Apartment

Ashley Olsen sits alone on an overstuffed couch, seeming depressed.

Mary-Kate snorts cocaine off of the Special Features disc of the Full House Season One DVD set.

Ashley coughs. Mary Kate glares at Ashley, and storms out of the room without a word.

Ashley

(To herself)

What am I doing here? Watching Mary-Kate throw away our years of teamwork, burying herself in a new, exciting world of hobo clothes and crack pipes? Doesn’t she care at all about my interests? Like red wine, or making out with athletes? It’s like Mary Kate isn’t even my twin sister anymore…it’s like she’s my twin….bitch….ster.

Ashley looks around to see if anyone heard her.

I need something new in my life. I need a dynamic change. I should move away somewhere, meet new people, sing a new tune. Manhattan doesn’t have that same thrill it used to. The other day a little girl asked me if I was Hillary Duff. I was like, does Hillary Duff have a twin? That Hannah Montana is totally trying to bank off of me and Mary-Kate’s twin thing. She doesn’t even have a twin, but she acts like she does. Is she a rock star? Is she a normal teenager? How many identities does this girl get to have? She gets the notoriety for playing more than one role, plus she gets to keep all the money, without sharing it with her nonexistent sister. You think I didn’t think of that? You think I wouldn’t have liked to be a whole celebrity, you multi-headed Miley Cerberus?

Ashley sighs, and looks out the window.

Curtain.

To be continued…

Ash-Strong: A Love for the Ages Act 2 Scenes 1-2

Ash-Strong: A Love for the Ages Act 2 Scenes 3-4

The wildfire has been going on for a long time.  Days, weeks, who knows anymore.  Houses have been charred blacker than Egyptian kohl eyeliner on the faces of ancient Pharaohs.  Beach bungalows have been crisped to a brittle structural condition not dissimilar to Helen Mirren’s ancient bones.  Lives have been ruined, reputations shattered, egos belittled, shame spirals begun.  Fire, that burning, destructive energy sent from the Heavens to destroy our livelihoods, has taken Los Angeles county by surprise with a sparking, catastrophic, conflagration that no one would expect in a dry, arid, overpopulated desert region historically prone to wildfires.

The anger over this disaster has caused many to question their beliefs.  That core sense of personal entitlement clung to by many in the Los Angeles area has been brutally shaken.  Doesn’t God know the value of a Southern California beach-front estate?  Doesn’t Yahweh see what is happening?  Amon-Ra?  Justin Timberlake?  Are the deities of our time on some kind of extended vacation, relaxing on their celestial  hammocks while California burns?

Luckily, the truth has been found out, and now anger over the “natural” disaster can be directed to the channel in which it correctly belongs.  There’s no need to be angry with God, in any of his/her/its forms; neither is there a reason to be angry at oneself.  The culprit of the Los Angeles fires has been found, in the form of one boy, with a book.  A book of matches.

According to USA Today, that periodical with a heavy circulation both online and within the nationwide Embassy Suites hotel chain, “Officials blamed a wildfire that consumed more than 38,000 acres and destroyed 21 homes last week on a boy playing with matches, and said they would ask a prosecutor to consider the case.”

Exhibit A

I’m sorry, did you say “ask” a prosecutor to “consider” the case?  This boy was literally playing with fire.  And I think we’ve all learned what happens to people who play with fire.

Exhibit B

That’s right.  It weakens America.  This boy, whose family has neglected to release his name or age (either out of shame or because the boy is actually a robot-boy bereft of age and/or any identifying characteristics), is single-handedly responsible for the destruction of property, physical harm, and emotional trauma in the greater Los Angeles Area.  The specific fire that he is “suspected” (*accusatory emoticon*) of starting is one of the 15 most destructive wild fires that have been occurring lately in the SoCal locale.  There was some attempt on the part of USA Today to “pass the buck,” so to speak, blaming the rapid spread of the fire in part on “ferocious winds,” but I personally believe that that was only an effort to preserve the patronage of their Embassy Suites clientèle, as it is an economy  business-traveler hotel which also caters to families, many of whom have boy sons.  USA Today’s patronizing tendencies aside, the article was refreshingly cutthroat while simultaneously fleeced of any specific details: an algorithm for effective news transmission if I’ve ever heard one.  The boy’s age was defined as “under 13,” but beyond that the reader was left wondering.  USA Today, in acting as a portal for the original AP press release, provided for its readers today a chance to witness real justice in its rawest form: the prosecution of a child playing with matches.

Mark my words, this case will become the hallmark case of our generation.  Since the discovery of fire, I don’t think that there has ever been a more exciting development in the world of fire.  And that includes this one trip I took to Universal Studios in the 4th grade where there was a live action “Backdraft” show with real fire.  Like, you could feel the fire, you were so close to the fire.  Terrifying.  I almost started to sweat, that’s how hot it was.  Glass was exploding, it was incredible.

Seriously, though, this kid needs to be locked up for life.

I do have a few things to say, however, in response to the typical guy attitude that women’s fashions deserve to be mocked because “all women who make an effort to look good need to be belittled until they realize that looks are not everything. And then when they start wearing paper bags, we will leave them alone, because they’re not attractive enough to be bothered with.”

Guys love to make fun of girls for the exact things that they appreciate about them: their looks. Women, when making fun of men, don’t really focus on their clothes, because we have better things to make fun of them for (their hair, their face, etc.) However, on this occasion, I feel like the opportunity to make fun of guy clothes is warranted, because as much as guy’s claim to “know dick” about fashion, they still throw on clothes every day, and they don’t try to look idiotic on purpose. I assume.

1. Tight, super-skinny jeans

Heavily popular among the “emo” crowd, the tight skinny jean is a new way frame one’s testicles in a denim vise, inadvertently causing a spermatozoa genocide that no one is really taking the time to mourn. If you are wearing these pants you are pretty much guarantee that they will never be removed by anyone other than yourself. It’s obvious you’ve never had a real job: you walk like a cowboy on stilts.

2. Popped collar

This look, I believe, is on its way out. There are, however, still vestiges of popped collar in certain subcultures of our society. Its popularity is perhaps due to its versatility, as many shirts these days are graced with collars, and thus carry innately with them the irresistible urge of popping. There is nothing that screams “douchebag” louder than a popped collar.
3. “Hoodies”

I actually don’t have a problem with the idea of hooded sweatshirts, their pocket and hood are utilitarian and comfortable. My problem is when men use the term “hoodie.” Anything with a diminutive “ie” at the end denotes subject in question automatically as the property of an asshole. Example:

Example A. “Do you like my hooded sweatshirt?”

Example B. “Do you like my hoodie?”

Who are you must likely to punch in the face: A or B? I think we all know the answer.

4. messenger bags:

You’re not fooling anyone. I don’t usually try to shoot the messenger, but on this occasion I would make an exception.

So I did some research. It seems like people just like to make stuff up about Paul Revere. Like this site where Paul Revere’s dentistry skills are mocked. According to another site, Revere is more of an amateur dentist, cleaning teeth and things when he is strapped for cash. I guess the real money was in silversmithing. But basically, I was right. Paul Revere, though also a silversmith, was technically a dentist.

I did find one interesting site in my web navigations, however. It’s a simple site, stripped of content and with very little information. But what is there is quite interesting:

Why is this interesting? Let me break it down for you. First of all, it backs up my claim of Paul Revere being a dentist. I must say I do hope that’s what it says on Paul Revere’s gravestone:

Paul Revere: Dentist and Patriot

(Fuck the Redcoats)

1734-1818

That may not be what it says, I’m just saying it would be cool, and I wouldn’t rule it out. Amazing byline aside, take a look at the source of this information. Who is it exactly that is calling Paul Revere a dentist and a patriot? That’s right! The British Dentist Journal of 1973.

Or should I say…the Redcoat Dentist Journal of 1973.

Why are the British referring to Paul Revere as a patriot? He betrayed the Queen! He was not a patriot of England, he was public enemy #1! He alerted the masses that the British were coming! Why are they calling him a dentist and a patriot?

Does this mean all is forgiven? Was this the final handshake of peace that really put this whole “American revolution” rebellion issue to rest? 200 years and the go-ahead from a group of dentists?

I don’t know. I’m not sure about anything anymore.