Shut Up And Listen 96 Bush’s America: A Play In One Act We open in the living room of a normal American family. We have a father, a mother and two young children. The children are a boy and girl, ages 10 and 7 respectively. They’re watching TV. Father: Gee, isn’t it great watching TV as a family? Son: Sure is, dad! Much better than doing drugs and being a terrorist scum who has to be shot for the purification of the country! Father: You got that right, son. TV: We’re sorry to interrupt your patriotic sports TV program, but we have breaking news! We’re going to reporter Ken Foxx now. TV (Ken Foxx): I’m here at a secret military base where one hundred and eighty-four super-secret biological nuclear cocaine warheads have just been stolen. The theft occurred between eight last Wednesday and just minutes ago. Officials at the base are suggesting that people panic immediately as we’re all screwed and should be bombed with our own weapons by terrorists within the hour. This is Ken Foxx reporting. Father: Sweet fancy Moses! We’re doomed! Daughter: Mommy! Daddy! I’m scared! Mother: We all are. Oh, what are we going to do? Father: I don’t know, honey. Son: Fuck it, I’m gonna smoke some pot if we’re going to die. Father: What did you say? Son: I’m getting high. Anyone want to join me? The son produces a bag of marijuana and begins rolling himself a joint. Mother: Oh my god! Our own son a terrorist! Father: You! You stole those weapons! Terrorist scum! The father pulls out a shotgun from behind the couch and shoots the son in the head. He then reloads and shoots the corpse for good measure. Mother: Great job, honey! You killed that traitor good and dead! Father: Darn right, I did. Daughter: You shot him . . . Father: Sure did, honey. Daughter: He was your son. Father: No, he wasn’t. Not anymore. No, he was a terrorist and had to die. My son died a long time ago thanks to drugs and terrorism. TV: Shut up! We have another news bulletin from Ken Foxx! TV (Ken Foxx): I’m here at that secret military base from before with relieving news. Apparently there are no such things as super-secret biological nuclear cocaine warheads, so our previous reports were incorrect. I’ve also learned that this isn’t a secret military base, but in fact a mental hospital. We’d like to apologise for our mistake and any hardships suffered because of it. Father: Well, that sure is a relief! Mother: You can say that again. Daughter: What the fuck? Father: Did you just swear? Daughter: They fucking lied to us! And because of it, you shot my brother! What the fuck!? Mother: She did it again! Father: Terrorist scum! The father pulls his shotgun back out and shoots the daughter. Mother (crying): Oh, what’s happened to our family? Our children became terrorists. Father: I know. I don’t know what to say except at least we got them. Mother: Yes, that is a comforting thought. Father: With all this terrorist killing, I’m in the mood for some whoopee, if you know what I mean. Mother: Not right now, dear. I have a headache. Father: Don’t you want to make another little patriot for Uncle Sam to send overseas and kill terrorist scum? Mother: Not tonight, dear. Father: Terrorist scum! The father gets his shotgun AGAIN and shoots the mother. Father: Damn terrorists taking over America. The father sits down and watches football and drinks beer. Fade out. Bush’s America 2: A Play In One Act Open on the same family as before (all alive) sitting around the dinner table, talking. Father: Son, would you say the grace? Son: Uh . . . Father: What? Son: I don’t believe in god, dad. I’m an atheist. Mother: GASP! Father: WHAT? Son: Yeah, I find the idea of a god rather archaic and downright silly. Like Santa Claus or Richard Nixon. Daughter: Santa’s not real? Father: Sure he is, honey. Look what you did, son? Son: She would have found out eventually. Mother: Oh deary, what am I going to tell your grandmother? Father: You say the grace now, son, or you’re not a good wholesome American, but nothing more than a terrorist sent here to blow up our landmarks and smoke marijuana. Son: Sorry, but these are my beliefs. I have the freedom to have them, you know. Father: Normally, son, that would be true, but we’re at war, so those freedoms don’t exist. We fight for them, but to actually win, we’ve got to ignore them. Son: What? Father: Adhering to freedom of speech or freedom from illegal search and seizure will be letting the terrorists win. We have to sacrifice so that when America doesn’t have an enemies, future Americans won’ have to. Son: Oh. Father: Do you see now, son? Son: Sure do, dad! Father: Will you say the grace now? Son: Of course I will! I’m a good American! Father: You sure are, son. You sure are. Fade out. Bush’s America 3: A Play In One Act The father is watching TV and the son is getting ready to go out. Father: Where you going, son? Son: To play. Father: With who? Son: Friends. Father: Which friends? Son: Billy, Jonny, Stevie, Freddie, and Mohammad. Father: What was that last one? Son: Mohammad, dad. Father: Is this Mohammad of a Middle-Eastern descent? Son: I don’t know. Sure, maybe, I guess. Why? His family’s lived here since his great-grandfather came here. Father: Well, son, you know I don’t promote racism in any way, shape or form, and people from the Middle-East are welcome in America, but your little friend is a terrorist. Son: What? Father: It’s true. All people with slightly darker skin, but not fully black are terrorists. Except if they’re from Israel or Saudi Arabia. Son: Oh. Father: So you can’t play with him. I’m sorry, son. Son: Would it be okay if I kicked his ass? Father: No, because that would be racism, son. What you should do is avoid him and stare at him in public and whisper about him with your friends. And always watch what he does to make sure he isn’t trying to kill good, hardworking Americans with his terrorist ways. Son: I will, dad! Father: That’s my boy! Fade out.