this here is another play that i wrote, but this one is from last semester... back in the spring. i was in a bind about whether or not i’d get the rights to the play i did, ‘guys’...which is here now:

ok wait i'll add this later tonight, apparently i don't have it in a small (100mb) version yet. soon, though!

so i really quickly wrote this little diddy, which the professor said i could do if i wanted. i decided against it cause i really loved ‘guys’, but i am proud of this one, entitled

Ketchup
By Luke Allard

Two people, A and B, in a living room, perhaps a basement. A couch, a recliner, a coffee table and a stereo system with relatively large speakers on either side. A is lying, stretched out, on the couch, with a container of fries in his hand. B has the stereo receiver on her lap, and is connecting the speaker wires to the back of the receiver. B keeps her head down and focused on the task at hand throughout A’s first speech. A stares at the ceiling, hands behind head, thinking. They sit/lay in silence for a few moments when A, with a furrowed brow, says

A
you know what really gets me? (pause) ketchup packets.

B
oh?

A
yeah, ketchup packets. I can’t stand them. I mean, there is absolutely nothing practical about them. Nothing.

B
well, other than the…ketchup part, you mean.

A
no, that part is cancelled out by all the other negative aspects of the ketchup packet. Alright so say you’re in a restaurant, a fast food establishment, and you order and all that, and they give you your food and they say ‘you want sauce?’ and of course you want sauce and they plop a fistful of these ketchup packets right down on your tray. That’s where the impracticality starts. Because now that I have this fistful of ketchup packet, I feel obliged to use every packet that’s in front of me, because I’m not going to return the packets I don’t use and I’d really prefer not to dispose of an unopened packet. Then you sit down and go to work on these things. And you go to tear one open and it’s not enough of an opening to quickly empty, or it’s too big and it gets all over your fingers, or HEAVEN FORBID you’ve had a fry or two already and your fingers are too greasy to even get a grip on the little edges, but finally, finally you get a decent pile of ketchup on your paper placemat. And what do you have, just to the side of your ketchup? An even larger pile of the former homes of the ketchup, cast aside now that they have been vacated of their original inhabitant. It’s a fucking shame.

B
that’s America for you.

A
It is! That’s my point! We create these horribly wasteful little ketchup filled non-biodegradable mother-earth abusing…

B
…catalysts of counter-existence?

A
touché.

B
So what do we do about it?

A
We exclusively go to fast food places that have those hand-pump and paper-cup ketchup dispensers. and! And! We find a use for the empty packets.

B
what the hell could empty packets be used for?

A
hm. Well, we could…refill them?

B
you can. I have my own social and environmental injustices to struggle with.

A
like what?

B
eh, I don’t know yet. But I’ll find some.

A
Oh no.

B
(pause) what?

A
I just thought of all the people who make those ketchup packets. If it wasn’t for those little harbingers of the apocalypse, hundreds, perhaps THOUSANDS of blue collar factory workers would be out of a job, no longer able to support their families, unable to provide little Billy or Jenny an opportunity, nay, a glimmer of hope to…to make something of themselves.

B
true.

B stands up and places the receiver back on the table it belongs. Plugs in the power, hits the power button. The receiver lights up. She turns a dial and it clicks twice before Bob Dylan’s “Blowin’ in the Wind” comes on, softly. B turns the volume up to a reasonable volume and the two remain still, listening. A closes eyes and smiles, slightly. The song ends and the two continue to be still in the silence. A opens eyes.

A
we should make a movie.

B
what about?

A
…about… about war protest.

B
which war?

A
depends on how we wanna do it. Do we want to make it back in time, say world war two or one, or the civil war, or revolutionary war, or Korean, or Vietnam, war on terror, war on drugs, war on-

B
we could make up a war.

A
but we have so many to choose from that aren’t made up!

B
true, but think of the creative freedom we could have if we created our own one… we could make a war over… over spilt milk.

A
isn’t that a saying or something?

B
yeah. it’d be ironic.

A
but why would there be a war over spilt milk?

B
does it have to be war on a grand scale?

A
I hadn’t thought of it that way…no, it doesn’t.

B
it could be a ‘war’ in a house! Of like three people…roommates….



A
and one spills milk but doesn’t clean it up for some reason…

B
and another gets unnecessarily pissed over it!

A
well, spilt-spoiled milk…I’m not sure if there’s a limit to how pissed one can get over that.

B
true. Regardless. The spiller thinks it’s an overreaction. So, just to piss off the angry roommate he doesn’t clean it up.

A
but how can he stand the stench?

B
he just stays in his room and away from the kitchen, whereas angry roommate has the room closest to the kitchen AND loves to cook. Also, he’s got a girl who he wants to date coming to the house the following night.

A
is it really necessary that he loves to cook?

B
alright forget the culinary affection.

A
so how is this a war protest movie?

B
I’m glad you asked. To add some humor to the movie, we’ll have the third roommate, a hippy-type character who doesn’t want to take sides-

A
how can you be on the spiller’s side?

B
hm. Well, we’ll figure that out after.

A
alright.

B
(pause) You know, we could make a movie of just us talking. Could be interesting.

(pause)

A
…Nah.

B stands up and takes out another record, unknown to the audience, and puts it on the turntable. She turns down the volume a bit and the song “Sound of Silence” by Simon and Garfunkle comes on softly, and 30-45 seconds into the song, the two speak. The song continues in the background.

A
do you think we’re not productive enough?

B
how do you mean?

A
well, we spend a lot of our time laying here, talking about our plans, but rarely do we actually act on those ideas.

B
well, I just put this stereo system together.

A
and I’m so proud of you. I know it takes a lot of thought and concentration to put a wire into a little hole that is specifically made for said wire.

B
I don’t see you jumping up and doing this.

A
hey, I personally enjoy the…’sound of silence’. Heh heh heh.

B
wow, really? You really just said that?
A
mmm, I sure did. (pause) I’m thirsty. I’m gonna grab some “Mountain Lightning” from upstairs. (stands up, walks to base of stairs)

B
“Mountain Lightning?” you don’t mean…Mountain Dew?

A
Oh no, no no. I mean Mountain Lightning, freshly purchased for 25 cents a can at our local Price-Rite. Should I get two?

B
mark me down for a water, Zeus.

A
you got it! (runs up the stairs)

B stands up, walks over to the McDonald’s bag that is laying beside the couch. She picks it up, lies down, and reaches into the bag. She pulls out a fry and enjoys it. She reaches back in and pulls out a ketchup packet. She looks at it for a moment, looks up towards where A is getting the beverages, and reaches back into the bag and takes out two more. She tosses the bag back to the ground and sprawls out, head hanging upside down. She rips open the ketchup packets and pours them onto her skin and face, like blood, and smears it about. She lays still as A starts heading down the stairs

A
I think the secret ingredient to the mountain lightning is the real lightning. I mean-

Sees B laying motionless, covered in “blood”. Responds accordingly. He drops the drink with a smash and rushes over to her body. He gets some ketchup on him, looks inquisitively at it, swipes it with his finger and licks it. Looks peeved. B pops her head up and says as she reaches her hand up with ketchup packet in it

B
I guess they’re not…totally useless. (smile)