Friday, October 21, 2011

The Don't Steal Show: Episode XXX

The Don't Steal Show: Episode XXX
The show continues at Come Out to Show Them. (https://newshowdave.blogspot.com).

Me: I grew up on the border with Quebec. The French had strippers and all-night drinking, but we had farm jobs. If we could have got together, we would have had it all, but the French were too upset about being left out of a sales promotion for a flavoured breakfast cereal. It was typical of the kind of discrimination that Quebecers have had to endure since Montcalm fell in the battle of the Plains of Abraham in 1759. It started with a pancake embargo, followed by a poutine policy, and by the 1970's, junk food exports to Quebec had receded to a trickle. Such cruelties reflect the hopeless barrier between English Canada and its French ancestor, going so far as to divide families like my own. My nephew from Gatineau knows what I'm talking about. Maurice Bouchard-Kowalski!

(Applause. Enter Bouchard-Kowalski.)

Me: Maurice, why don't you ever visit me?

Bouchard-Kowalski: Are you still sleeping on the floor?

Me: You don't visit your English relatives enough.

Bouchard-Kowalski: You don't concentrate the alcohol in your beer enough for me to handle that hillbilly music.

Me: Well at least it stops us from getting into snowmobile collisions in broad daylight on a frozen lake.

Bouchard-Kowalski: Sure. After you gave me the keys and told me it could fly.

Me: Maurice, let's not fight, okay? I wanted you to answer some questions for me.

Bouchard-Kowalski: Go ahead.

Me: Didn't you say 'Bain Oui.' once and doesn't that literally translate to 'Bread Yes'? That must be improper French. And didn't your father say 'C'est bon marchez!' which means 'a good walk' when he was talking about a good deal? That's very confusing. I wish you would speak your French more clearly.

Bouchard-Kowalski: You must be kidding.

Me: No. I'm serious.

Bouchard-Kowalski: English has thousands of confusing idioms.

Me: Like what?

Bouchard-Kowalski: Like when you say 'It's raining cats and dogs' or when you say 'She's in hot water'. Or when you say 'It's across the board'. What board? Do you mean an executive group? Or a piece of wood? Where?

Me: But you people don't swear harshly enough. In English 'sacrament' isn't even a swear word. You need to sink lower so you can pull out words like fuck and fucker and fucked and asshole and-

Bouchard-Kowalski: Fuck is a sex word. French people are less offended by that than by religious swear words.

Me: Yeah, but in English you can join a religious one to a sexual one and say 'goddamn motherfucker'.

Bouchard-Kowalski: We would just double up on a religious one: 'sacrement tabernac'.

Me: What does that mean?

Bouchard-Kowalski: It's sort of like saying 'goddamn church'. What gives you the right to criticize my French anyway? You can't even speak French.

Me: I can read it. That's enough.

Bouchard-Kowalski: Oh yeah? (pulling out a note pad and writing on it.) What does this say? (He tears off a sheet and hands it to me. I look at it for a second.)

Me: We're out of time.

Bouchard-Kowalski: Wrong.

Me: No. We're out of interview time. But thanks for visiting, Maurice. And my sleeping accommodations are much better. I have a carpet now. But even that would probably not be good enough for you. Maurice Bouchard-Kowalski! We'll be back right after this.


+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Commercial: Save Dave

(A pizza parlour.)

Me: (humbly) Could you just save me the crust?

Customer: You want the crust? Why don't you stand on your head and I'll feed it to you as my friend takes your picture?

Me: Do you think I have no pride?

Customer: Then I'll eat it all.

Me: Go ahead.

(She munches on the pizza slice.)

Me: Yes. That satisfying warmth, that chewy cheese...

(She looks up at me, her jaws still working.)

Me: The saliva glands kick into gear. The mouth is full; the taste buds stroked by tiny gondola pilots, sending happy vibrations of tangy goodness to the brain-

Customer: Turn around.

Me: Aw! (I put my hand up to stem the drool as I reluctantly make a ninety degree turn. She takes another bite. I try to sneak a peak.)

Customer: All the way.

Me: Aw!

Announcer: With no money, Dave got no respect. He's only now learning to put his life back together.

(The parlour. Same group.)

Me: Can I buy you a pizza slice?

Customer: Sure.

(I buy her the slice.)

Me: Where do you want to sit?

Customer: Aren't you eating?

Me: No.

Customer: Well you're not watching me eat.

Me: Aw!

Announcer: He gave you his heart and you won't even let him watch you eat. But what if there was an earthquake?

(Ruins. I rotate a squirrel on a spit over a campfire.)

Customer: Can I have some of that?

Me: (with loving kindness) You can have the tail.

Announcer: Dave knows how to catch rodents. And he'd share with you. We know you can't send him the millions of dollars he deserves, but even if you only have a few fast food coupons, you can still help this tragic victim.

(I arrange a stack of slices, hold it between myself and the customer, and we cheerfully bite off its opposing ends.)

Announcer: Brought to you by the Foundation to Save Dave.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


Me: I must have impressed our next visitor from out of province with my tales of going to the corner store for beer when I was in Quebec because he went all the way there to see for himself. My friend, Manfred Ziegler!

(Applause. Enter Ziegler.)

Me: Nice to have you back for a visit. I'm surprised you went over there.

Ziegler: After you told me all about their superior health care and welfare system when I was out of work? After you mentioned their affordable rent the day after I payed my landlord? After you said they had a soft spot for poets when I was trying to write a book?

Me: I didn't think you'd really do it.

Ziegler: You talked me into it, Dave, and I paid the price.

Me: Hey, if something went wrong, don't go pinning it on me. I was just telling you what it was like for me. I have family over there and I drew employment insurance. But they do love poets.

Ziegler: Well that might be true for French poets, but not English devil poets who would threaten cultural integrity.

Me: You didn't go to the corner store for beer?

Ziegler: I didn't draw employment insurance. Why didn't you tell me that before?

Me: You couldn't cash in on the cheap rent?

Ziegler: No. But there's a gang of drifters from English Canada that live in an abandoned railroad tunnel on the city outskirts. We learned how to store the potash in barrels and burn it to keep us warm.

Me: (unsure of myself) And the health care?

Ziegler: My form here used to say 'disability: depression'. There it reads 'disability: english'. You get one polio shot.

Me: So they didn't roll out the red carpet for you.

Ziegler: No, Dave. They swept me under it.

Me: Oh well. I'm glad you made it here tonight. Manfred Ziegler! (Applause)

Ziegler: By the way, I can't catch my ride home until Sunday. Can I crash here for the weekend?

Me: Oh, I don't know. That wouldn't be proper.

Ziegler: Then I guess I'll have to let you roll out your carpet.

Me: You want to stay in my room? Sorry. I don't have the space for a guest right now-

(Applause. Commercial.)

Me: Some provinces have been accused of exporting their undesirables to other provinces. I dislike the use of a term like 'undesirable'. I don't like to see anyone get put in a category. With that in mind, our final guest on the D.S. Show - before we go off the air to develop the new format - just got here from Montreal and is just as normal as anyone else, Gaston Salut!

(Applause. Enter Salut.)

Me: How do you like it here?

Salut: I like the mountains and the woods.

Me: You like it out there?

Salut: It reminds me of my childhood training.

Me: Training?

Salut: In the woods with my father. My father had a lot of weapons. He showed me how to use them in the woods when I was growing up. We would practice on the bears.

Me: You're allowed to do that? I can see how they offer an easy target, but you wouldn't want to miss.

Salut: You don't miss with high explosives.

Me: You know how to use those?

Salut: I know how to make them. Nothing to it. But if you want to take out a larger area, you need to throw some shrapnel in the mix: bent nails, glass shards, you know. You pour some gunpowder out on a table, sprinkle them in, maybe pass the rolling pin over it a couple times...

Me: Why would you want to widen the (pause to gulp) killing zone?

Salut: To get more revenge on the English for turning my people into second-class citizens outside of their homeland.

(Suddenly we are interrupted by the voice of a police negotiator with a megaphone, accompanied by the beating of helicopter blades closing in.)

Officer: Gaston Salut. We have you surrounded.

Me: Sounds like someone wants to talk to you.

Salut: Who is it?

Me: A police SWAT team.

Salut: Police? Mon Dieu! My brother Sylvain must be at it again. Using my name. He's out of control.

Me: What's that hanging out of your sleeve?

Salut: That? That's just a loose wire - I mean - thread.

(Commercial.)
  
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© 2007, 2011. Script, lyrics and music by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.

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