Life is Like a Box of Whores (You Never Know What You're Gonna Get)

"Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you're gonna get." ~ Forrest Gump, Forrest Gump (1994)

[Part 2 of 2]

Due to its personal and lecherous subject matter, I think it best I express the second part of my two-part series on prostitution in a one-act play.

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NOW PLAYING

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Holy Crap! Didst She Say Whore?

Chicago, Illinois USA

This ribald tale, showcases the effect of prostitution on society, and indirectly on the everyday language of children. A tawdry modern day story set in Old England, follows a stay-at-home Knight as he struggles with Elizabethan Era verb conjugation, and the use of the word "whore" by his seemingly innocent young girls. Remarkably, this sassy, timeless family classic is based on a whores d'oeuvres of real life events which took place within a 24-hour period in May, 2008. The unrehearsed and uncensored, one-act play, will give the audience a voyeuristic view inside a bawdy game of Closh, the pages of a titillating children's classic, and an unseemly lesson in rhyming.

Running Time: Approximately 8 minutes

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"During this performance, please feel free to let your cell phones and pagers ring willy-nilly. However, do remember that there is a heavily-armed knight on stage and you might well be dragged up and impaled." ~ Pre-curtain announcement, taken from Monty Python's Broadway musical Spamalot (and adapted ever so slightly)

HOLY CRAP! DIDST SHE SAY WHORE?

CHARACTERS, in Order of Appearance:

Narrator

Sir Jagger

Leigh

Luella

Jonesy

NARRATOR:

Once upon a time, there lived a stay-at-home Knight named Sir Jagger. The handsome, although admittedly slightly overweight, Knight had three beautiful young girls. Each pure of heart, and until this cursed day . . . pure of tongue.

SCENE I - W-h-o-r-e Play

[The noble carriage]

NARRATOR:

One day, as Sir Jagger accompanied Leigh on a trip to see her Dance Master, his twelve-year-old shared a most salacious story. Good God. Let's watch!

LEIGH:

My Lord, I know not if I durst tell you this tale. But 'tis oh so funny. Doth I have your blessing?

SIR JAGGER:

As you will, my young and saucy daffodil.

LEIGH:

While playing Closh today with friends Gleda and Shandy, I hath a terrible time with my Klos-beytel and quickly fell behind H-O to naught. My next shot I was nary the hoop. Burdened with H-O-R, and without thought I said, "I am a HOR."

SIR JAGGER:

Pray pardon?

LEIGH:

(excitedly) Aye, then Gleda screamed, "Thou churlish clay-brained dewberry! Canst thou wit what thou just spoke? Thou said thou art a 'whore'! "

To which Shandy added, "Aye, come thou impertinent tickle-brained tart!" .

Having realized what I hath said, red faced I shouted "I trow not! But I am a mammering fool-born giglet, I am."

(laughing) We didst laugh, until we didst cry!

SIR JAGGER:

(laughing uneasily) E'en so?

NARRATOR: Bawdy indeed! . . . Although using this same sophomoric "whore" joke himself hundreds of times before, the Knight was not amused. His forced laugh an attempt to cover up his discomfort with his twelve-year-old referring to herself as a strumpet, even in jest.

SCENE II - Onions Gone Bad

[The noble nursery]

NARRATOR:

That evening, Sir Jagger sat reading the children's classic The Tale of Penley Rabbit to Luella, his two-and-a-half-year-old daughter. Another off-color tale of ribaldry? Let's find out!

SIR JAGGER:

[reading aloud]

"Suddenly, Penley heard the noise of a hoe -- scr-r-ritch, scratch, scratch, scritch. There was Master McGregor hoeing onions -- and just behind him was ye gate!

Penley started running as fast as he could go."

LUELLA:

[pointing to the picture of Master McGregor]

He hor-ing?

SIR JAGGER:

What say you my darling poppet?

LUELLA:

He hor-ing?

SIR JAGGER:

I crave your parden?. . . Oh, he didst hoe? Yay, he didst.

[he quickly turns the page]

NARRATOR:

Ooooohhhh! Naughty, naughty! Sir Jagger was staggered by this last whore-ah! He began to question the true meaning behind the classic children's book. Might have author Lady Potter intended for Master McGregor's garden to represent the temptations of society? Master McGregor, a pimp? The onions, cocaine and myristic acid smoking trollops? How lasciviously scrumptious!

SCENE III - For, Your, Whore

[The noble den]

NARRATOR:

It is the next morning and Sir Jagger reads aloud his six-year-old's carefully scrawled list of rhyme words. Is there one more surprise for Sir Jagger? Let's hope so!

SIR JAGGER:

[reading aloud]

time

Rime

lime

fill

Gill

Bill

sore

more

NARRATOR:

The next word brought Sir Jagger to a dead stop. . . Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Oh, yes! . . . There, written in #2 pencil was that naughty word. Dare I say it? I dare not!

SIR JAGGER:

[Pointing to the word on the paper]

(playing dumb) What word is this, h-o-r-e?

JONESY:

"Whore?"

SIR JAGGER:

Whence did you learn this word?

JONESY:

I don't know.

NARRATOR:

Delightful! Paranoia begin to creep into the mind of the whore-iffied Knight. Oh, how delectably tawdry!

SIR JAGGER:

Didst you learn it from your sister?

JONESY:

No. . . 'Tis a real word?"

DAD:

Eh, no 'tis not. (mumbling) As far as thou art concerned. (speaking clearly) Find another rhyme my golden marigold.

[Jonesy takes the paper and runs from the room. Sir Jagger sits thinking.]

NARRATOR:

Oh, no, no, no! Is that it? No more? . . . Not as tawdry as I had hoped. (tired and dejected) Jonesy, like Leigh and Luella before her had innocently used the word "whore." There, I said it. Whore, whore, whore. [sigh]. . . But still, Sir Jagger sat wondering how all three of his uncorrupted girls could have spoken this same not-so-naughty word within a twenty-four hour period.  Was it mere chance? Or perhaps somebody's twisted idea of magic? Or possibly, the work of witches? 

He could come up with only one answer: it was the witchcraft of the two old crones that propositioned he and a fellow Freshman classmate twenty-five years ago, as they walked to a Dunkin' Donuts in San Antonio. . . (excitedly) Oooohhh! A possible tale of ribaldry? We'll have to save this for another day! Until then, goodbye!

"No, no, no, no, we'll have none of this! You've gone too far! You've ruined it for me! Well, this tale is over, but you must admit it was a ribald tale, wasn't it?" ~ Evelyn Quince (Jon Lovitz), Tales of Ribaldry (Saturday Night Live)

In Case You Were Wondering . . . My Pimp Handle?

I interrupt my two-part series on prostitution to bring you this special announcement . . .  

According to playerappreciate.com's pimp name generator, my pimp handle would be "Big Plahah J. Wicked."

On the Radio (Donna Summer - 1979)

[This post begins a two-part story spotlighting the world's oldest profession and its impact on a suburban trophy husband, and his three children.]

PART I

From the backseat came the voice of my six-year-old daughter, "What's this song about?"

Holy prostitution, Batman!

Playing on the radio was "Roxanne," the 1979 hit by The Police, about a man who falls in love with a call girl.

Roxanne, you don't have to put on the red light

Those days are over
You don't have to sell your body to the night
Roxanne, you don't have to wear that dress tonight
Walk the streets for money
You don't care if it's wrong or if it's right

Roxanne, you don't have to put on the red light
Roxanne, you don't have to put on the red light

Sure, sex acts for money is a perfectly reasonable topic of discussion for a six-and-a-half-year-old. Don't you think? I could have easily turned the radio station and given Jessie the standard "inappropriate for a six-year-old" response.  But no, having just read in Rolling Stone Magazine about Michelle Braun, "The Sex Queen of LA," and her "celebrity" escort service, I believed I had this one under control. So in an Eliot Spitzer minute of judgement, I tried explaining it to her.

(Now, don't worry) I used a twisted, G-rated, pay-for-friendship illustration. It was one of those explanations that half-way into it you have a Talking Heads, "Once In A Lifetime" moment and ask yourself,"Well, how did I get here?"  The rest of the explanation is spent just trying to get back to where you started; an attempt to explain away what you've already explained.

This is usually achieved by deliberately confusing the hell out of the unsuspecting child in a maze of gibberish -- the bigger the words, the better. The goal is by the end of the anti-explanation, the poor child is so utterly confused she can't remember what the question was; or if asked by an adult, cannot coherently articulate anything you've spewed.

(What's she talking about? Oh, I have no idea Auntie Tina. It sounds like some song about friendship. . .  I don't know maybe she's thinking of "You've Got a Friend," or "You're My Best Friend," or some other age appropriate song she learned in school. . .  Red light? Got me. Where in the world do kids get this stuff?)

Jessie was not shaken. "Is this based on a true story?" she asked.

"Nah, it's just a song. You know, like 'Mary Had a Little Lamb.' Sure, somewhere a lamb could have followed a girl named Mary to school, but it's not why the song was written."

Nodding her head Jessie said, "Yeah and if it did, I don't think the teacher would allow a sheep in the class."

"Exactly. Right. Good point.  You got it."

Jessie was silent, and "Roxanne" ended none too soon. Thank God the next song was the wholesome rock ditty, "I Love Rock N' Roll," by Joan Jett and The Blackhearts. A good ol' fashioned song about meeting someone at a bar, and taking that nameless someone home -- the all-American way, FREE of charge. I quickly turned the station. Sure, I didn't want another question, but more importantly, I hate the song.

Little did I know that Jessie's innocent question was a mere portend of the whore-id things to come in the days ahead.

To be continued . . .