The Infamous Exploding Whale.

Schools punishing kids for what they say online.
Critics say policies that extend to posts from home computers are unconstitutional.

A growing number of school officials in the Indianapolis area are trying to punish students for Internet commentary they deem inappropriate -- including postings on home computers -- drawing outrage from teens and free-speech advocates...

One student has been expelled at one school, another suspended. One school district has warned students they are legally responsible for postings; another will vote on a similar policy this month.

"Kids look at the Internet as today's restroom wall," said Steve Dillon, director of student services for Carmel Clay Schools. "They need to learn that some things are not acceptable anywhere."

This is my upsetting than I think anybody knows. You see overprotective teachers with their heads full of censorship and "decency," while I see the seeds of total control over free speech. This sort of blindfolding the youth from innapropriate material is everywhere, especially in high schools, but not allowing them to be innapropriate outside of high school is asking to eliminate the one freedom I revelled in during my adolescence. What happens when kids don't even know what innapropriate material is anymore? I'll tell you what: nothing ever being funny.

Prompted 10 Minute Play (Revised)

The original draft I had read in class was a bit too vulgar in language so I rephrased some statements for those not easily offended over profane military jargon and homophobic slurs. Better this way anyway, more solid.

GUY-RAQ

__________

A 10 Minute Play I Accidentally Wrote
for the Prompt

by

Travis Curran

Cast of Characters

Jeremy Thompson: A young soldier, serving his second month in Iraq.

Mark Fuller: A fresh-off-the-plane new recruit.

Mechanic: An Army Engineers Corp mechanic.

Scene

A highway headed south from Baghdad, Iraq. Just above the Kuwait border.

Time

The Not-Too-Distant Future,
Circa 2006

Act I

Scene 1

SETTING: A jeep is pulled off to the side of a dusty road. There are no visible plants or trees. There is a pale cyclorama as a backdrop.

AT RISE: We hear the failing sounds of a loud engine as the lights come up. JEREMY and MARK are sitting in the Jeep. JEREMY is behind the wheel. It’s the middle of the afternoon and the sun is beating down upon them.

JEREMY
Motherfucker.

(JEREMY punches steering wheel)

MARK
What happened?

JEREMY
We’re out of fucking gas, that’s what.

MARK
But how?

JEREMY
I don’t know, but I find it kind of odd considering how we refilled the tank right before leaving Baghdad two hours ago.

MARK
I know, I filled the tank myself.

JEREMY
And yet here we are. Out of gas.

MARK
(exiting the Jeep)
No way, man. I definitely filled the tank.

(MARK goes to the upstage side of the Jeep, and opens the gas cap.)

Do you have, like, a big stick or something?

JEREMY
Yeah, right here, in my back pocket. Hold on, let me get it for you.

MARK
Wait, is it there? Quick, you should check. Because, you know, it might have gone up your ass.

JEREMY
Shut up

(JEREMY gets out of the Jeep, and pops the hood open and begins searching around inside.)

MARK
I don’t know if it’s in there, man. But I’m still betting it’s up your ass.

JEREMY
I said shut up. You're so annoying.

(JEREMY takes out the oil dip stick, wipes it clean off his pants and throws it at MARK.)

There you go.

MARK
Ow. Stop.

(MARK puts the dipstick in the gas tank, while JEREMY sits on the hood, staring off into the distance and wipes sweat from his brow. There is a mild pause.)

MARK
Ha Ha! Check it out, completely covered in gas. I told you I filled it up.

JEREMY (snidely)
(walking over to MARK and looking at the dipstick.)
Well, how about that.

MARK
I knew I had filled it up.

JEREMY
Will you shut up while I figure out what’s wrong with this piece of shit Jeep?

MARK
I was right there, unscrewing the cap, removing the nozzle. Inserting it...

JEREMY
I said shut up!

(JEREMY begins taking off his rifle and helmet and setting them down beside the wheel. He gets down onto his back and crawls under the Jeep. There is a pause.)

MARK
What’re you doing?

(Another pause.)

You know what it could be?

JEREMY
Mark, the more you speak to me, the more I realize how if you were to die, I’d never have to hear you again. And nobody would hear you die out here in this nice, big, vast desert. If you were to just, say, I don't know, eat a grenade...why, I could blame it all on a roadside bomb, now couldn’t I? Then nobody would have to listen to your stupid questions ever again.

(MARK does not reply)

I mean, I'm not gonna kill you or anything... (murmured, almost an apology)

(A beat passes, and MARK walks about ten feet away from the Jeep and sits down by himself, staring off.)

Hey, I’m gonna get on the radio and hail a mechanic to come out. It won’t set us back too bad on time.

(JEREMY crawls out from under Jeep and enters the drivers seat. He speaks over a handheld radio unit.)

Yankee Echo Foxtrot, this is J18, do you copy?

(We can’t hear the muffled response)

I’m about 100 to 125 klicks south-south-west of Hotel Charlie. We’ve got some car trouble, over.

(Another crackled radio response)

Copy that, Foxtrot. J18, over and out.

(JEREMY gets out of the Jeep, looks over to MARK, who has not moved. Picks up rifle and hops on top of the Jeep’s hood.)

Well, on the bright side, I can get some much needed target practice.

(He aims rifle out towards audience, never resting on anyone. He ends up panning over to MARK. He hesitates there, then shoulders his rifle. Another beat.)

JEREMY
Too bad there ain't nothing to shoot.

(A pause of awkward silence.)

MARK
OW! JESUS CHRIST GOD DAMN IT OWWW!

(MARK recoils in excruciating pain, rolling on his back.)

JEREMY
(rushing over)
What?! What happened!?

MARK
Oh my shit! Something...Something bit me!

JEREMY

(looks around for a second, then jumps back.)

Holy shit! A scorpion! A huge fucking scorpion!

MARK
Oh fuck! Get it away from me! Oh my God, it's huge! And black! And sharp!

(JEREMY drags MARK back to the Jeep and kneels down beside him.)

MARK
OOOOOOOwwwwwwwww.

JEREMY
Oh, man. It must’ve stung you, man.

MARK
That means there’s poison in me! Holy shit, I’m gonna die. Am I gonna die? Should I call my parents?

JEREMY
No, man! You won’t, you can’t... die.

(voice cracks in fear)

Please, please don’t die!

MARK
No! No! I’m gonna fucking die! Oh man, you have to suck the poison out. You’ve got to suck the poison out!

JEREMY
It's OK, I know!(proudly) I’m a boy scout. OK, OK. I can do this... Where’d it sting you?

MARK
(rolls over)
On my butt, dude. Quick, quick...I’m...getting...dizzy.

JEREMY
Oh shit! Oh shit! Is...is there any other way, man? I don’t...I don’t think I can suck on your ass.

MARK
JUST SUCK IT OUT!

JEREMY (breaking down)
I'M JUST NOT GAY, OK?! That was only that one summer at Boy Scout camp and then once again the next summer but it never happened again! When Mom and Dad asked about the incident in the football locker room my junior year, I lied! I lied straight to their faces! I swore I wasn’t... But I’m just a hollow sham...and I don’t care how cute your butt is or how I catch myself staring at it, I really just can’t...

MARK
Hmmmm...Everything...fuzzy. So comfy...and warm...where’s the light going? So...so many lights...falling like stars...

JEREMY
Don't go, Mark! Don't go! There's so much more I have to say! Oh, hell.

(JEREMY bends down and sucks over the wound on MARK’s butt.)

MARK
I’m getting...kisses?

(JEREMY keeps at it.)

Wha...what’s going...on? Where am I?

(JEREMY pulls off and spits out over his shoulder. He keeps spitting.)

JEREMY
Achh, that tastes like death and ass.

MARK
Hey, I'm here...the Jeep? ...Jeremy?

JEREMY
Mark?

MARK
I’m...I’m alive.

JEREMY
Mark!

MARK
It worked! I’m alive! I’m alive!

(They embrace each other, laughing with joy. MARK pulls away and looks at JEREMY.)

Jeremy, I heard everything you said...

JEREMY
It’s the honest truth. I love you. I love you more than I love this war. It took sucking scorpion poison out of a bleeding hole in your buttocks for me to realize that, but I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.

MARK
Oh...Oh, my.

(He pulls JEREMY towards him and passionately kisses him. They hold each other, making out for a beat. Then a MECHANIC enters.)

MECHANIC
You guys need a mechan...oh, whoa. Um...Hey, hey. Uh...yeah. You guys are...uh...making out.

(Pause.)

So... that your guys's Jeep?

(They continue making out)

What the hell, man.

(unzips his coveralls revealling his chest)

Let’s do this.

(Jumps towards them as...)

(BLACKOUT)

(THE END)

A Monologue by Me

Well, for starters, if there’s one major problem with me, it’s my memory. It’s really out of whack. Never works the way I want it to. Name any person in the room, or anybody I know for that matter, and I’ll be able to remember exactly where and when I met them. Not always to the date, but usually I’ve got the full story down. I know what you first said to me, what I was thinking at the time, and what was going on. It’s more accurate if it’s a pretty girl. Now ask me what I was did last Wednesday, and you’ll lose me. What did I have for breakfast? Not too sure. Give me a second. I need some time to think. It will get weirder sometimes. I can recite the names of every teacher I’ve ever had, but spelling Wednesday is still a challenge. Whenever I think of a funeral procession, and try to recall how the tune goes, the only thing that comes to mind is the Imperial March, without fail. Even if I just heard it.

But you know, maybe that’s just how it should be done. What’s wrong with adding some style to your funeral. The Imperial March blazing triumphantly as your coffin is carried through the graveyard. That’s the kind of drama I want when I die. Hell, I’d even have the men dressed up as stormtroopers. Those costumes have got to be around somewhere. Why not just theme the whole damn thing. Put it all in your will. No one’s going to argue, and let’s be honest here, who doesn’t love Star Wars. Pre-order everything and have them delivered the day before. My mom and dad can be Han and Leia. Some weird uncle gets the Chewbacca costume. Grandpa is Obi-Wan Kenobi (from A New Hope, not the first three episodes). He kinda looks like Sir Alec Guiness anyway. Someone could be Lando, or the Emperor, or even Greedo if he’s cool with getting shot (and my dad would have definitely shot first). Just imagine the facial expression your best friend will make when he opens up the packaging and its Boba Fett’s armor. Jetpack and everything. If that were to happen to me, the first three words that would come to my mind would be: “Best. Funeral. Ever.” People would probably be happy I died. Wouldn’t you? If you were invited. Which you would be.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’d feel guilty if everybody just got depressed. But you know there would be some young second-cousin stuck up girl who is just miserable that she has to sit there in her gigantic paper-maché mask of some random alien extra character who has a strange name nobody really knows except huge geeks like me. But you know what, she’s alive, I’m dead. This is my show, not hers. That some young second cousin can deal with it. She can’t say no. Imagine the rift you could create between the family between members who are OK with a Star Wars themed funeral, and those who refuse to participate. Some controversy to spice up the mourning process.

The wake would definitely be closed casket (and set in the Mos Eisley Cantina), but here’s why. Beforehand, I’ll have a projector installed in the coffin. It will be pointed up at the wall. And there, projected before the crowd, will be the ghostly image of me, dressed in full Jedi robes, standing next to Yoda, Obi-Wan and Anakin Skywalker. Gazing down upon everybody, smiling with approval, so happy that I have finally returned to the Force. So thankful that everyone came and got all dressed up. If seeing that would not make your eyes moisten up a bit, then I don’t know what you’re doing at my funeral. You clearly don’t miss me that much.

Ah, A Blog!

I had almost completely forgetten this thing's existence over the course of the summer. What a shame. Poor little blog.

Ha, blogs. "Blog" is everyone's new favorite word now. It's on news sites. It's on Apple commercials. (We are all controlled by Apple and the Media) Everyone's got one, and if they don't, then they don't matter. Not to sound too pretentious or anything, but I totally had a blog before this whole new fad took over. Except we didn't call them blogs, they were "journals" or "diaries" or "way less cool things." I wasn't very proud of it. Less proud than I am of my MySpace. And MySpace really sucks. When American civilization crumbles to dust underneath the sands of time, future historians will accredit the downfall to MySpace. Or just the Internet in general.

Imagine if there were no Internet. It's not an easy thing to do.

If presented with a working A) Time Machine, B) Magic Lamp, or C) Birthday Wish, I think my top priority would be along the lines of: starting my life over from the beginning of high school and focus most of my learning efforts on Wilderness Survival (and losing my virginity sooner). 'Cause, dude, that's got to come in handy someday. If electricity were to mysteriously fail on us, I want to still be on top of things and not scavenging around the Urban Wasteland like the majority of our population will be. Utterly helpless without their cell phones, automobiles, money, and so on. It'd be chaos. But I wouldn't be affected. I'd be trapping and cooking the few remaining animals on this planet and building shelter and surviving to live on another day and be there to see what will come next.

That got a bit out there. My bad. Anyways, I think I'll blog more. I'll be writing a lot these next two semesters, and I'll always need a fallback place for my really bad/weird/innapropriate ideas.

Peace,
TC

Holy Shit!

I have a blog! Crazy! Totally forgot there. Spaced, I guess.

Once I'm not in a job that requires 24 hour attention of children in the middle of the woods with limited Internet access, I will maybe keep this up some. Maybe.

Fun Fact: I'm learning Russian.

A Russian Lesson:

ya gavaru niemnoshka paruskie
I barely speak Russian.

Acting I, Final Scene

THE AUDITION

CHARACTERS:
Travis Curran - young, aspiring actor; wiseass
Nick Cyr - older experienced actor; pompous

SCENE:
The green room for Hamlet auditions. Travis is sitting in one of the chairs patiently. There is another chair, and a stool at center.

Nick enters and sit. There are moments of silence as each actor reads and prepares their scripts.

TRAVIS
So...hey, man, what’re you doing?

NICK
Hm? Excuse me?

TRAVIS
What’s your monologue?

NICK
What’s it to you?

TRAVIS
Sorry, man. Just, you know, attempting some friendly conversation.

NICK
Sorry, just didn’t know we were friends.

TRAVIS [under his breath]
Sheesh, dick.

NICK
Excuse me?

TRAVIS
Oh nothing, nothing at all.

NICK
Well, if you have to know I’m doing Lines 56 through 70, Act Three, Scene One...

A silent moment passes.

You know...the “To Be or Not to Be” soliloquy...

TRAVIS
Oh yeah, oh yeah, I knew... Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you deliver a little bit of that right now, to me. Yeah, how about it? You know, I can critique you.

NICK
You? Critique...me?

TRAVIS
What? Scared? Dude, I will critique the shit out of you.

NICK
Really? Oh really? Allrighty then. Take some notes, you might learn something

Nick stands and walks to center. He delivers the “To Be or Not to Be” speech.

NICK
Wait, hold on a second....Did you just hear something? I just heard a bell. Yeah, I hear a bell ringing, because I just took you to school.

TRAVIS
Oh, reeeally. Well, then. We’ll see who’s teaching who right now. I’ve got five George Washingtons right here, and they all tell me that you won’t be able to place this piece I’m going to show you right here.

Travis stands and places five one dollar bills on the stool.

NICK
Ha ha, well you know what? My buddy Lincoln here is telling me that I will. Lines, scene and act.

TRAVIS [worried]
Okay then.

Travis stands up and delivers Rosencrantz’s speech to Claudius, lines 12-24, Scene III, Act III
After it’s over, Nick claps slowly


NICK
Act three, Scene three, Lines 12 through 24. Rosencrantz to Claudius.

Nick stands, and slowly walks to the stool and takes the money. Travis is speechless.

NICK
Why hello, Mr. Washington. Oh look! You brought your friend Mr. Washington. And his twin brother George!

TRAVIS
Allright, allright. You’re good. Is that what you want to hear? Will that satisfy you, Mr. Shakespeare? Look, just because I don’t sit down and study every single piece he’s ever written just to make myself look better in front of people, doesn’t mean I’m not a good actor.

NICK
Oh yeah, well what makes you a good actor?

TRAVIS
Natural talent, that’s all.

NICK
Natural talent?? Oh mean, like, the actor’s flare or something? Listen, once you’re through with your freshmen year you’ll realize what it takes to act here.

TRAVIS
Oh yeah, what?

NICK
It’s all practice that’s all. You’ll learn, through time.

TRAVIS
I call bullshit. I don’t think you’re any better at acting than I am. I’ve been to a couple of auditions here already. It’s all about the director. Nobody’s a “good” actor.

NICK
Are you trying to challenge me?

TRAVIS
Do you want a challenge?

NICK
If it’ll get you to shut up and sit down, surely I’ll challenge you.

TRAVIS
Know any sonnets?

NICK
Ha. Do I know any sonnets? Are you asking for a ... Sonnet-Off?

TRAVIS
I think that’s what it’s coming down to.

NICK
All leading up to this, eh?

Nick stands up and stretchs out a bit. Travis rolls up both sleeves.

TRAVIS
Rock, Paper, Scissors to see who goes first?

NICK
Let’s do this.

They rock, paper, scissor and Travis loses.

NICK
Tough luck.

They say nothing. Solemnly, they walk center and turn back to back. They take six steps out and slowly turn to face each other. Nick clears his throat. He speaks the first two lines of his sonnet and takes a step forward. Travis instantly counters with the next two lines of his own sonnet, and steps forward. This continues as they get closer and closer and louder and louder. At the end of both sonnets Nick shoves Travis back violently. Travis shoves Nick. Fight Scene occurs.

VOICE FROM OFFSTAGE
Number 13? Number 13, you’re being called on?

NICK
Oh crap, that’s me.

TRAVIS [panting]
Oh...hey, man....good luck, man.

NICK
Yeah, thanks...you too man.

TRAVIS
No problem. Break a leg.

NICK
Allright, man. See you later.

Nick leaves and Travis sits

END.