Post by SYREN IS BEST on Feb 26, 2014 21:26:11 GMT -5
JOHN RIOT
A play by Willem Cocksmith
ACT I
Scene I. Somewhere in Northern L'Ardanth, in lands held by goblins.
[Enter Scott Syren and LilJungleMan, and goblins, attacking them from all sides]
SYREN
O! Foul beasts! Would were my slave here--
a most foul, wretched creature
of leather and insanity--
and yet 'tis undeniable true
he would expel these goblins from this plain,
whether by biting or assfucking or some other outburst
as befitting his ever-shifting tempers of lust and violence.
JUNGLEMAN
Speak you of Scoot Time, sir?
SYREN
Aye! And a most well-named freak would he be indeed,
should he but materialise before us,
at this most desparate Time,
as if a leather-clad cocksucking phantom,
to Scoot away these goblins in whatever wretched fashion compels his obsession.
JUNGLEMAN
Is he not dead, sir?
Fallen of an over-excited heart when you sent him forth
to intimidate He Who is Great
at the Resurrection Games?
SYREN
Tis so, and 'tis not so.
JUNGLEMAN
Is't possible?
SYREN
If dead is to make no wind from thine lungs,
If dead is to cease all corporeal motion,
If dead is to make no speech nor even a wink of thine eye--
Then, aye, Scoot Time is fucking dead.
JUNGLEMAN
Then wherefore say you 'tis so and yet not so? What cruel prank is this?
SYREN
No prank, mine honest ally. But 'twas strange--
JUNGLEMAN
Ha! Everything about the Scoot creature is strange!
'Tis his very strangeness that makes him such a useful pile of shit!
But digression makes a Scoot Time of me,
Which is to say,
A fucking babbling idiot.
Say you some particular strangeness
led you to believe Scoot Time may yet live?
A strangeness strange beyond three goat-men fucking an octopus with a blue banana must this be,
for you are a man of exceeding intelligense and reason,
and not prone to fits of superstition, or of giving credence to campfire ghost stories.
SYREN
Nothing so dramatic, good friend. But only that his body disappeared in the night.
JUNGLEMAN
Raised by some majick think you?
SYREN
Or perhaps only the majick of being a little less dead than we thought.
Pay heed: he has died before, and yet lived again.
It is in his nature.
JUNGLEMAN
No, sir! 'Tis in the nature o' the world!
That the best of us should die battling goblins
While a weird fuck like Scoot Time
squanders life after life
jerking his wretched cock to paintings of mountain-sheep
and eating cheese by the entire wheel!
SYREN
Matters of philosophy and moral judgment do not love me.
The purpose of my story is only thus: the body is gone.
Scoot Time may yet live.
JUNGLEMAN
A most puzzling circumstance.
But--hark--put up your sword. We have slain the last of these goblins.
SYREN
Nay, rest but a moment and then look to the horizon.
JUNGLEMAN
A second battalion. Your sense of the battlefield is keener than mine own.
I had not seen them.
SYREN
Shall we move on them? Shall we take their lives with our cold steel swords of--of--of cold steel?
JUNGLEMAN
Let us to them then, and pray they seek only a combat to the death,
and that they do not challenge us to a contest of metaphors.
[Exeunt Syren and LilJungleMan.
Enter John Riot, followed by a horse.]
RIOT
Ah! But look at the muscles on good Syren!
Look at how the sun hits the plates of his armor--
just so--
giving him the visage of a gleaming god!
Now, good horse, I shall bend over,
And you shall fuck me in the ass
while I watch real men battle goblins
from afar.
[END]
