Don't know if I shared more than one of these last time, but I like writing them. I have an amusing time, nettling these philosophers. 5:29pm: I think I recall some of this from a past post after reading it over. I thought I only stumbled on the 'Village Goody Men' from the Analects last year, but I could have done so earlier. Please erase any outside posts which show too many similarities with my scripts.
Host: What time is it? Better check the compass! It's time to Net-tle the Wise Man! And I'm the host! (Cheers.) Our learned guest today is that fountain of fortune cookie proverbs, that guru of gurus, the ethereal Confucius! (Cheers. Seated at a table, Confucius bows from the neck.) Our contestants will compete to see who, by sheer nettling, can put this gentle sage through the most physically measurable torment over a carefully timed interval. The winner will take home a cash prize of twenty-five thousand dollars! (Cheers.) And we're going to get the gall rolling with a mother-child team from Yellow River, Colorado, Mrs Joyce Donaldson and her young boy, Jody! (Cheers.) Mrs Donaldson, you are set to upset.
Donaldson: Marvellous. (A post is affixed to the floor as the Donaldson's take position in front of Confucius.)
Confucius: (Smiling) Hello.
Donaldson: Hi.
Confucius: Nice looking boy.
Donaldson: Thanks.
Confucius: (Sweetly, to the boy) What's your name? (No answer.)
Donaldson: His name's Jody.
Confucius: Doesn't he talk?
Donaldson: Not yet. He's only eight. (Confucius is taken aback.) Mind if I play with him?
Confucius: No, go right ahead.
Donaldson: Thank you. (She pulls a ball out of her purse and tosses it.) Go fetch! (Jody runs after the ball and promptly returns it to her.)
Confucius: (Aghast) Is that all he knows?
Donaldson: (Throwing returned ball) No, sometimes I use a stick.
Confucius: Don't you want to see if he can catch it?
Donaldson: I'm afraid I might hurt him. (She takes the ball from her son and throws it out again.) Good boy! Run hard!
Confucius: (Momentarily) Please stop.
Donaldson: Now? Yes, I suppose that's enough exercise. (She whistles.) Here, Jody! (Jody comes over to her. She pops a candy in his mouth and tethers him to the post by his neck.)
Confucius: Why did you do that?
Donaldson: Because we're done playing.
Confucius: Release that child.
Donaldson: I don't think that's a good idea. I've just given him sugar.
Confucius: Release the child!
Donaldson: All right, but remember, you asked for it. (As soon as she untethers the boy, he pounces up on the table, barking ferociously, and seizes Confucius's hand in his jaws.)
Confucius: Ouch! Let go! Let go! (The bell sounds, putting an end to Confucius' ordeal, as the mother calls her boy off. Paramedics appear to treat his hand as he pants from the sudden exertion.) And we're off to a flying start, with our sage's examiners already reporting a highly erratic heartbeat! (Cheers.) That's all right. They have valium. Better give him a rabies shot, while they're at it.
COMMERCIAL
Host: Welcome back to Nettle the Wise Man, where Confucius is feeling much better after a nice hot cup of green tea. Are you ready to face your next challenger, oh sagacious one? (His hand bandaged, Confucius folds his arms and nods his assent. Cheers.) I should have known. Our wise men are the bravest. And that clears the way for a hospitality worker from Las Vegas, who signs his name unpretentiously as Louie the Glove, to have a go at our guest. (Cheers. The contestant wears a black suit with a white tie and black hat.) Mister Glove, you may rile when ready.
Glove: Great. (He struts over to Confucius.) You know what you look like?
Confucius: (Worried) Agreeable, I hope.
Glove: You look like a man who appreciates quality. (Looking Confucius over) I see you're a suit and sash man. Vinnie! (A tailor wheels in a rack loaded with silk sashes. Glove pulls a bright one off and hands it to Confucius. Confucius hesitates.) Ga' head! On the house.
Confucius: (Accepting the gift) This is very nice.
Glove: You like sashes? I can put you up to your waist in sashes. Patterns, plains, every colour in the rainbow. Vinnie here can take your measurements.
Confucius: That won't be necessary. This will more than suffice. Thank you, kind sir. You are most generous.
Glove: Oh, I can be more generous than that. Sam! (Enter a butcher holding a young pig in his arms.) How'd ya like to skim your bacon off that baby? (Poking Confucius in the shoulder) Huh? Huh?
Confucius: Well, I don't know...
Glove: All's you gotta do is take a snort from this damp rag. It won't hurt you. It'll just drive your blood pressure up for a few minutes.
Confucius: You want to alter my vital signs? But that would falsify your score!
Glove: Yeah, so you can say you earned the pig.
Confucius: You're trying to corrupt me.
Glove: Who's corrupting? I'm just trying to do a little business. What, pig not enough? How about a tasty dessert to go with it? Sadie! Get out here! (Enter Sadie on the now somewhat cluttered stage. She is attractive and dressed demurely, as though for a job interview, and holds a family photo album like a textbook.)
Confucius: So, now you would attempt to bribe me with this efficient looking young stenographer. You know I need one.
Glove: Oh, Sadie has a lot more skills than shorthand. Here's her portfolio. (He takes the photo album from Sadie and hands it to Confucius. Confucius opens it and his face contorts to a wildly perverse expression, much as the demon possessed priest's in the climax from the Exorcist. Stricken, he drops the album and tries to shake off his unbearable condition. The bell sounds.)
Host: Well done, sir! Your sneaky, torpedo like assault has put you squarely in the lead! (Cheers. A horizontal Confucius is attended by paramedics and a priest.) Let's see if this genius can extrapolate the spirit to go one more round after this.
COMMERCIAL: Grain Spirits
(A cocktail party. A view from the counter of the bar. Laughter on the perimeter signals the punchline of an amusing anecdote. The storyteller excuses himself from his group and approaches the camera, taking its lens for a familiar friend.)
Guest: (Beaming) Great to see you! Isn't this a terrific party? You know, I used to get a lot less out of life. I didn't have the heart for struggle. I thought I lacked spirit. But I know better now. Bartender? Another glass please. (From immediately behind the lens, a bartender displays his hands filling a glass from a bottle clearly labelled GRAIN SPIRITS. The guest's eyes fix rapturously on the liquid as it pours. The glass full, he takes it and holds it up in tribute.) Glory to God in the Highest. (He has a look around before tilting his head back and guzzling.)
Announcer: Grain Spirits: reap your eternal reward.
Host: We're back, and Confucius is ready for more after being treated with acupuncture by our resourceful priest! (Cheers. Confucius smiles and holds a thumb up.) His last, but far from least, challenger will be a three-piece calypso ensemble, Gene, Stu, and Alto, collectively known as the Village Goody Men! (Costumed as splendidly as matadors, the performers take position in front of Confucius.)
Confucius: Oh no!
Gene: Thank you, thank you. How is everyone doing out there? Are you ready for a really fun time? Did I hear a yes? Why, of course, you are! That's why we are here! We're the Village Goody Men, and before we perform, I just wanted to say how lucky we've been to have a genius like Stu on the bass. Stu, I love what you do. (Cheers. Confucius sighs.)
Stu: Thanks, Gene. That means a lot to me, coming from a hero like you. Folks, our front man is too modest to tell you, but he just helped reunite a lost child with her mother on the way over here! (Weaker cheers. Confucius groans.) That's just the kind of selfless man he is.
Gene: Who, me? I'm not the hero. It was Alto who did the driving. (Scattered applause.)
Alto: That's nice of you to mention, but I think you guys paid for the gas. (Silence. Confucius scowls. His face grows flush.)
Gene: Well, without any further ado, then, we'll head right into our first number, which went all the way to number eleven on the Island Top Ten! Are you ready, men? Hit it!
Goody Men: (Strumming guitars and singing in unison) All day, all night, Mary Ann/Down by the seaside, sit in sand/Even little children love Mary Ann/Down by the seaside, sit in sand...
Gene: (Singing solo) Oh Mary Ann, Mary Ann, won't you marry me?/We should live together and create a family/All the little children running in the bamboo hut/One for every palm tree and coconut - Everyone! (Smiling showgirls in grass skirts, with fake fruit piled high on their heads, appear in a line behind the band. Tropical coloured balloons slowly rain down on the stage.)
Goody Men: (In unison) All day, all night, Mary Ann... (Clutching his temples, Confucius stands up and signals his breakdown with a prolonged howl of pain. The bell sounds, cutting the song short.)
Host: And, once again, our final contestant has achieved the highest score! Congratulations, men! (Wild cheers. Confucius is wheeled out on a stretcher with an IV taped to his arm.) Gee, I wonder why it always turns out like that. Anyway, thanks again, out there, for joining us, and don't worry about poor old Confucius. All he needs is a nice tall margarita! Hit it, men!
Goody Men: All day, all night, Mary Ann... (The host rhumbas merrily with the showgirls.)
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