Monday, February 14, 2005

Titus Moronicus, part two

Part the second: Titus Moronicus, a history play
presented by The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Note to readers: this issue and a few that follow are
reprints of three year old material. New characters
and scenes will soon be added, thus bringing
everything up to date so that it still really bites.
For dramatis personae and earlier scenes please
see part one, an earlier posting. No synopses will
be provided as the serial continues to appear.

Scene four, the book lined study of Dickus.
Dickus is reading a manuscript of the first
three scenes of a history play, “Titus Moronicus”.

Dickus, to himself: This is so cool I can’t stand it!

Sophia Loren, offstage : Dickus, cara, please come back to bed.
I miss you so much!

Dickus: Later, baby, and please don’t bother me
while I’m reading Scene Five, a garden apartment in Bigsville. Dubus and Laurinia are seated at a crude wooden table in the the kitchen. Dubus is drinking a root beer float through a straw.

Laurinia: Dubus, dear, please don’t make those disgusting sucking noises at the bottom of the cup. If you’re still hungry we can get you another one.

Dubus: Oh, foo! I don’t care about this treat or about anything else, except for what Ronus Balonius told me.

Laurinia: Oh, don’t worry about that cranky nut, Dickus. No one really knows that he’s alive, and besides, the few people that do read his trashy propaganda wind up throwing it away without passing it along to like minded literate friends.

Dubus: Well, I guess so, but with so much riding on this Croftus deal it seems like a bad time to take chances. There are millions at stake here! Maybe even as much as twenty million!

Laurinia: Wow, sweetie, that’s more than I make at the nail salon, for sure!

Dubus: Jeez Louise! Tell me about it!
Scene Six, the counting room at Moronicus, Inc., a secret off -shore corporation out in the Gulf Stream someplace where only very important yachts are allowed to sail. Titus Moronicus and several close associates are going over the books.

Titus: Okay, Anderson, what do you come up with here?

Anderson: Well, boss, it looks like we’ve got about 500 billion loaded in and at least that much more on the way if that sap Dubus doesn’t catch on or screw up.

Titus: Don’t worry about that half wit! He still counts on his fingers and toes, so twenty of anything is about as far as he can get.

A cell phone rings, and Titus takes the call.

Titus: Speak.

Bushus, on the phone from Puerto Bunka: Titus, it’s me, Bushus. How ya doin’
out there in the old Bermuda Triangle?

Titus: Bushus! Great to hear from you! How’s that angel of yours, Barbarosa?

Bushus: Oh, you know those gals, Titus! What would we do without ‘em!

Titus: Hey, I hear ya, pal. So what’s up?

Bushus: Just got a call from that son of mine, Dubus. Sounds worried! Been talking to clouds or some nutty thing. Got to keep our eyes on him. Not good. Might get worse. Croftus looks like he’s out to run a scam from the inside, try to skim from both ends, a flim flam skim scam. Man, oh man!

Titus: Does Dubus know anything about this skim scam?

Bushus: Nah, he’s still in jammies
when it comes to flim flamming!
Thinks the meter man collects quarters
from the fuse box!
Drops coins in slot I cut in footlocker!
When gas guy knocks on door to read usage,
Dubus sees to it locker’s full,
leaves key under mat, my guys get dough,
Dubus gets fuel bill in mail, sends in check,
rubs neck and goes “Hey... ! What the heck?”

Titus: And then forgets about it and does the same thing next month, right?

Bushus: Did we pick a winner here, or what?

Titus: You da man!
Scene Seven, a branch post office in Roma Cosa Nostra (RCN), a shady middle class neighborhood of Bigsville. Dickus stands at the counter speaking with Kristus Bellus, the postmistress, who is also a government informer.

Dickus: Golly, Kristus, I don’t understand why I never get any mail.

Kristus Bellus: Well, Dickus, it’s because your account has been deactivated. You got so few messages that we gave your box number to Fox News, which was just overflowing!

Dickus: Oh. Gee. Well. Okay, then, g’bye. (exits to left)

Kristus Bellus, aside: Wow! That guy is kind of a hunk! Too bad he’s such a loser.

Kristus Bellus reaches into her handbag and withdraws a sleek new state-of-the-art cell phone. She hums an A flat below middle C and the pre- programmed number of Croftus is sent into the ether. A buzzing indicates that contact has been made.

Croftus: Big Cee, here.

Kristus Bellus: Big Cee? Kay Bee.
Just saw writer guy.
He whined to know why
none buy into Dubus bashing.
I keep trashing his mail,
won’t fail to keep smashing his ego down,
but to no avail if you clowns don’t stop
thrashing in the water,
making waves so sharks smell fear,
queer Potomia deal !

Croftus: You gonna squeal?

Kristus Bellus: Lips sealed !
Won’t reveal a thing
if you peel off more dough,
give me ring to come pick up my share.
Don’t care about fool Dickus,
just want my cut of fat nut you’ve got for Bushus.

Croftus: And Dubus?

Kristus Bellus: He’s non compos mentis!
End of Act One!
Entre Acte, a delightful musical interval
Three minstrels, Goofus, Doofus, and Bandoneon
appear on stage, wave engagingly to the audience,
and begin to sing :
A mess of mass proportions
set in motion by these crooks!

They’ll steal us into bankruptcy
and keep it off the books!

And those who point a finger,
blow a whistle,
or make waves,
are painted as seditious
by these avaricious knaves!

Are painted as seditious!
A calumny most vicious!
Are made to seem seditious
by these avaricious knaves!
In every fair election
there are bound to be mistakes!

But now the state that gave us Gators
sends us poison snakes!

We’re climbing through a family tree
to see who’s most corrupt,
and squeezing all the fruits we find
until they all erupt!

So carefully we’re climbing!
So freely are we sliming!
And we’ll continue with our rhymes
until they all erupt!
We read the papers every day
to look for fresh examples,

It never takes us very long
to find revealing samples!

So many revelations of
a scandal in the press!
How deep the roots of rottenness
is anybody’s guess!

Our fingers black and inky!
The stories are so stinky!
And where this train is taking us
is anybody’s guess!

We know we sound malicious!
Of Dubus we’re suspicious!
We’ll do what’s deemed propitious
to redeem us from this mess!

We need some whistle tooters
and special prosecutors
to bust these pinstripe looters
and redeem us from this mess!

We hope we have your blessing!
The news is so depressing!
And if they start confessing,
they’ll redeem us from this mess!
Redeem us!
Redeem us,
please redeem us from this mess!
The minstrels exit to delirious applause.

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