The Pageant of Modern Wonders.

  

The Pageant of Modern Wonders

An Interlude with Anachronistic Absurdities

By Benjamín Gavarre (Adapted into English)

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© BENJAMÍN GAVARRE SILVA

bengavarre@gmail.com

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DRAMATIS PERSONÆ:DRAMATIS PERSONÆ:

• SIR SIMON OF STRATFORD: A London gentleman of cloak and sword, old-fashioned and strictly Elizabethan.

• PARSLEY: His servant, loyal but deeply dazed by modern times.

• LADY CYNTHIA OF CHELSEA: A high-society lady, inhabitant of modern-day London (or trapped between two eras).

SETTING: A square in London.

SCENE I

(Enter Sir Simon, marching proudly with his hand on the hilt of his sword, and Parsley, carrying a heavy bundle).

SIR SIMON By the breath of my ancestors, Parsley, there is no fairer city in all of Christendom than this London, the very court of our monarch. Behold what skies, what pristine air!

PARSLEY Pristine, your worship says? My eyes are burning from a foul stench blowing from those metal carriages that run without horses! But tell me, master, how shall we reach the tea houses of Piccadilly if the road is blocked?

SIR SIMON Fear not, for to shorten the leagues we shall travel through the very bowels of the earth. We shall take the... the Tube, the Piccadilly Line!

PARSLEY (Stops dead in his tracks. Looks at the audience with wide eyes. Rubs his eyelids hard with both hands). The... the what? The Tube? What devilish word is that, master? Do you wish us to damn our souls by descending into Hell itself for the price of two shillings with a free transfer?

SIR SIMON (Scratches his head, confused by his own words). By Saint George, I know not what tongue I just spoke. I meant... we shall hail a Black Cab. (Rubs his eyes too, shaking his head). Forget what I said, Parsley, for the heat of the City turns my brains to mush.

SCENE II

(Enter Lady Cynthia, fanning herself furiously, complaining loudly).

LADY CYNTHIA Good heavens and all the saints! It has taken me three hours just to cross from Trafalgar Square. It’s simply outrageous!

SIR SIMON (Making an exaggerated bow). God save your ladyship, beautiful dame! What sorrows afflict you? Has a dragon or a band of highwaymen blocked your path?

LADY CYNTHIA What dragon, you ridiculous man? It’s Eros! The statue of Eros is right in the middle of Piccadilly Circus with his bronze bow, blocking all carriage traffic! And to make matters worse, they’ve closed the street for demonstrations, and some ruffians in short trousers are celebrating a football match. That statue is more obstructive than a rainy Sunday in Lent!

PARSLEY (Leaps backward. Looks at the sky, then at the audience, slaps his own cheeks gently). Lord have mercy! The pagan god Eros is causing traffic in London? Demonstrations of what—joy or mourning? And what in God's name is "traffic"? (Rubs his eyes vigorously). My lady, please speak in plain English, for my stomach is turning.

SIR SIMON Zounds! (Rubs his temples). I saw them... in my dreams... Frenchmen, activists shouting, and trams... trams?! No, no! What am I saying? What is a tram? By Christ’s wounds, either I see visions or I am losing my wits!

LADY CYNTHIA And I don't mean to alarm you, gentlemen! But thanks to another of those dreadful protests on Oxford Street, we are all going to be left without public transport. I couldn’t even make it to the nursery school to pick up the children. The entire street is blocked by a march for LGBT rights and climate justice!

PARSLEY (Stops dead, mutters curses ten times in a row, and wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his cloak). Rights... for the L, the G, and the... what? And what is a nursery, milady? Is it a new order of German friars? And are those Germans the ones protesting? Oh, you know how foreigners are, but why do they do it?

SIR SIMON (Looking at the audience, rubbing his temples in despair). Do not look at me, for I know nothing of letters or modern Germans! At most, I imagine these are French antics, for everyone knows... the French... But hark! If it comes to protesting and marching in the streets... by Christ’s wounds, I have my own grievances! I should like to stage a public protest against the chamber pots that the neighbors empty from the balconies onto the streets! It’s all fermented and smells like a thousand demons!

PARSLEY (Cheering up, forgetting his confusion for a second). Aye! If we are to raise our voices, I protest against those deceitful, lustful curates who promise a good supper and silver coins in exchange for... well, another kind of "supper" from a young, handsome lad like myself!

LADY CYNTHIA (Indignated, hitting Parsley on the arm with her fan). Absolutely not! Do not meddle with the Holy Church and our vicars, young man! They are saints and do not do such devilish things!

PARSLEY Mmh, I don’t know... They probably just ignore you, milady.

LADY CYNTHIA You impudent knave! You shall burn in hell!

SIR SIMON It occurs to me then, that we should protest against the gossiping women of the parish, who leave no reputation standing, yet defend the most unpresentable rogues!

LADY CYNTHIA Oh, no, no, and no! Do not touch the gossips! Thanks to those neighborhood circles we find out who goes to church, who is a good Christian, and who belongs to those dreadful minorities, bless my soul! (Pauses, changing her tone to a bourgeois, frivolous one). Anyway, with all this street chaos, I would a thousand times rather go have high tea with my friends at the polo club... it is much more therapeutic.

SIR SIMON AND PARSLEY (Look at each other, then at the audience with open mouths, rubbing their eyes with both hands at the same time). WHAT??? DREADFUL MINORITIES, SHE SAID?!

SCENE III

(A loud squawking sound is heard from above, imitated by the actors, simulating birds).

PARSLEY (Looking at the sky, terrified). Look, master! Up there, towards the fields of Heathrow! What a monstrous gathering of fowls! It is a sign of the Apocalypse!

SIR SIMON Calm yourself, Parsley. They are geese, or ducks, or storks... or pheasants! 'Tis a fine season for a good poultry stew.

LADY CYNTHIA What geese, what pheasants? They are flocks of pigeons and crows! There are so many birds at Heathrow Airport that the airplanes are having severe trouble taking off. The three o'clock flight to Edinburgh is two hours delayed because a magpie flew into the jet engine!

(Parsley and Sir Simon freeze. Time seems to stop. Both look at the audience slowly. Parsley kneels on the ground and covers his eyes. Sir Simon drops his sword, which hits the floor with a loud clatter).

PARSLEY (From the ground, trembling). Airplanes? Jet engines? Iron birds flying through the skies to Edinburgh? Master, the lady is possessed by a demon, or I have drunk a tainted ale! (Rubs his eyes with his fists like a small child).

SIR SIMON (Walking back and forth, hitting his forehead). Wait, Parsley! I... I have seen that iron bird in my dreams... First, they strip you and inspect your very teeth to ensure you carry no gunpowder. Then... they make you wait in rows of garishly colored chairs alongside people who look as if they just smelled a rotten haggis... Next, they shove you into the belly of a gigantic metallic worm, and you enter the iron bird, where the same ill-tempered people glare at you as if they want to murder you... You expect to be served feasts and delicacies, but oh, no... they offer you a tiny plastic bag containing three miserable peanuts... Stop this thought! What is "plastic"?! (Looks at the audience in desperation, rubbing his face). It is an enchantment! London is bewitched!

LADY CYNTHIA (Looking at them as if they were mad). What on earth is wrong with you two? Have you never taken a transatlantic flight before? What a pair of country bumpkins!

PARSLEY (Turns around and stands up, pointing to the horizon). Master! Let us flee this square! Let us return to honest work or a good sleep. If we stay one minute longer, this lady will drag us into the Tube to go to Heathrow and fly in a jet engine while dodging pigeons!

SIR SIMON (Picking up his sword, still dizzy). Right you are, Parsley! Let us go to an honest tavern where wine is wine, ale is ale, the French do not march, the English do not dare to, and foreigners wear sober clothes without those absurd neon colors, please...

PARSLEY Aye! And where Black Cabs are not yet invented, for they are highwaymen of the highest order; and where horses are still made of flesh and bone. And as for those airplanes... better not speak of them! One of these days, one will drop right on our heads. How is it possible for such a metal beast to fly alongside the pigeons?

SIR SIMON Hold your tongue, Parsley, and let us run out of this play before Lady Cynthia starts talking to us about Climate Change and Artificial Intelligence!

(They run off, rubbing their eyes and looking back in terror. Lady Cynthia watches them, shakes her head, and walks away in the opposite direction, fanning herself).

THE END

EL RETABLO DE LAS MODERNAS MARAVILLAS.

 

El Retablo de las
Modernas Maravillas

Entremés de corte cervantino y disparates anacrónicos

Por Benjamín Gavarre

 

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© BENJAMÍN GAVARRE SILVA

bengavarre@gmail.com

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DRAMATIS PERSONÆ:

DON SIMÓN DEL TOBOSO: Caballero madrileño de capa y espada, chapado a la antigua (estilo Siglo de Oro).

ALONZO PEREJIL: Su criado, fiel pero profundamente aturdido por las novedades temporales.

DOÑA MENCIA DE LA LOMA: Dama principal, habitante del Madrid actual (o atrapada entre dos mundos).

LUGAR: Una plaza en Madrid.

ESCENA I

(Entran Don Simón, con paso marcial y mano en el pomo de la espada, y Alonzo, cargando un fardillo pesado).

DON SIMÓN

Por vida de mis antepasados, Perejil, que no hay en toda la Cristiandad villa más hermosa que este Madrid, corte de nuestro católico monarca. ¡Mirad qué cielos, qué aire tan limpio!

ALONZO

Limpio dice vuestra merced, pero a mí me escuecen los ojos de un vaho pestilente que sale de unos carros de metal que corren sin mulas. Pero decidme, señor, ¿cómo llegaremos a las teterías de la Plaza Mayor si el camino está cortado?

DON SIMÓN

No temáis, que para acortar las leguas entraremos por las entrañas de la tierra. Tomaremos el... el Subte, que llaman la Línea Uno.

ALONZO

(Se detiene en seco. Mira al público con los ojos como platos. Se frota los párpados con fuerza con ambas manos). ¿El... el qué? ¿Subte? ¿Qué vocablo del demonio es ese, señor? ¿Acaso queréis que callemos nuestras almas bajando al mismísimo Infierno por un precio de dos maravedíes con transbordo?

DON SIMÓN

(Se rasca la cabeza, confundido de su propia boca). Por Santiago, que no sé qué lengua he hablado. Quise decir... que tomaremos un taxi. (Se frota los ojos también, sacudiendo la cabeza). Olvida lo dicho, Alonzo Perejil, que el calor de la Villa me trastorna el seso.

ESCENA II

(Entra Doña Mencía, abanicándose con furia, quejosa).

DOÑA MENCIA

¡Válgame el cielo y todos los santos! Tres horas llevo para cruzar desde la Puerta de Alcalá. ¡No hay derecho!

DON SIMÓN

(Haciendo una reverencia exagerada). ¡Dios guarde a vuestra merced, hermosa dama! ¿Qué cuitas os afligen? ¿Acaso un dragón o un bando de bandoleros os ha cerrado el paso?

DOÑA MENCIA

¿Qué dragón ni qué niño muerto, caballero? ¡Es la Diosa! ¡La Cibeles estorba! Está en medio de la plaza con sus leones de piedra, tapando todo el tráfico de carruajes, y para colmo, han cortado el paso porque hay manifestaciones y para colmo, unos rústicos con calzones cortos celebran un juego de pelota. ¡Esa estatua estorba más que un lunes de Cuaresma!

ALONZO

(Pega un brinco hacia atrás. Mira al cielo, luego al público, se da dos bofetadas suaves en las mejillas). ¡Válgame san Crispín! ¿La diosa Cibeles estorba en Madrid? ¿Manifestaciones de qué, de alegría, de duelo?... ¿Y qué es eso del "tráfico"? (Se talla los ojos vigorosamente). Señora, por favor, hablad en romance llano, que se me revuelve el cuajo.

DON SIMÓN

¿Josúuu! (Se frota las sienes) ... Yo los vide, en mis sueños, franceses, africanos gritaban, y tranvías, y ¿tranvías?... ¡No, no! ¡Pero qué digo! ¿Qué es un tranvía? ¡Por los clavos de Cristo, que veo visiones o me estoy enloqueciendo!

DOÑA MENCIA

¡Y yo no quiero alarmaros, caballeros! Pero por culpa de otra de esas dichosas manifestaciones en la Gran Vía, nos vamos todos que quedar sin transporte urbano. Yo no he podido llegar a tiempo al kínder a recoger a los nenes. ¡Toda la calle cortada por una protesta a favor de los derechos LGTB y la no discriminación de los migrantes!

ALONZO

(Se detiene en seco, dice mecachis diez veces seguidas y se limpia los ojos con la manga de la capa). ¿Derechos... de la L y la G y la tb? ¿Y qué es un kínder, señora? ¿Acaso es una nueva orden de frailes alemanes? Y son alemanes esos que protestan por la l y lab... ah, ya sabéis como son, pero por qué lo hacen...

DON SIMÓN

(Mirando al público, frotándose las sienes con desesperación). ¡A mí no me miren, que yo de letras y alemanes no sé nada! Cuando mucho imagino que esas son cosas de franceses, no tanto de alemanes, porque ya se sabe... los franceses... Pero oiga... si de manifestarse y protestar en la calle se trata... ¡por los clavos de Cristo, que yo también tengo mis agravios! ¡A mí me gustaría manifestarme en público contra las aguas de orines que echan las vecinas a la calle desde los balcones, que están ya fermentados y tienen un olor a los mil demonios!

ALONZO

(Animándose, olvidando por un segundo la confusión). ¡Pues si vamos a alzar la voz, yo me manifiesto contra los curas mentirosos y libidinosos que prometen una buena cena y hasta doblones a cambio de otra cena que de uno, tan mozo y guapo como soy,  hacer quisieran.

DOÑA MENCIA

(Indignada, dándole un abanicazo en el brazo al desprevenido Alonzo). ¡Ah, no! ¡Con la Santa Madre Iglesia y con los curas no se meta usted, jovenzuelo... ¡Ellos son unos santos y no hacen esas cosas del demonio!

ALONZO

¡Mhhh, no sé… A usted porque no la pelan.

DOÑA MENCIA

Majadero, al infierno habréis de ir.

DON SIMÓN

Se me ocurre entonces que protestemos contra las mujeres chismosas del barrio, que no dejan honra en pie, pero defienden a los impresentables!

DOÑA MENCIA

¡Ah, no, no y no! ¡Con las chismosas no se meta, que gracias a esos corrillos nos enteramos de quién va a misa y quién es buen cristiano, y quién es de esas mugrosas minorías, bendito sea Dios! (Pausa, cambia el tono a uno burgués y frívolo). En fin, con tanto alboroto callejero, yo prefiero mil veces irme a tomar el té con mis amigas del club de tenis... que es mucho más terapéutico.

DON SIMÓN Y ALONZO

(Se miran el uno al otro, miran al público con la boca abierta, se frotan los ojos con ambas manos al mismo tiempo). ¿¿¿QUÉEEE??? ¡MUGROSAS MINORÍAS!,¿DIJO?

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ESCENA III

(Se escucha por lo alto un graznido fuerte imitado por los actores, o un ruido que simule pájaros).

ALONZO

(Mirando al cielo, espantado). Mirad, señor allá arriba, hacia la dehesa de Barajas. ¡Qué barbaridad de aves! Es un signo del Apocalipsis.

DON SIMÓN

Tranquilo, Perejil, son Gansos o Patos o Cigüeñas, ¡o Faisanes! Bueno es el tiempo para una buena escudilla de volatería.

DOÑA MENCIA

¡Qué gansos ni qué faisanes! Son palomas y grajos a bandadas. Hay tantos pájaros en Barajas que los aviones tienen graves problemas para despegar. ¡El de las tres a Sevilla lleva dos horas de retraso porque se metió una urraca en la turbina!

(Alonzo y Don Simón se quedan petrificados. El tiempo parece congelarse. Ambos miran al público lentamente. Alonzo se arrodilla en el suelo y se tapa los ojos. Don Simón suelta la espada, que cae al suelo con estrépito).

ALONZO

(Desde el suelo, temblando). ¿Aviones? ¿Turbinas? ¿Pájaros de hierro que van a Sevilla por los aires? ¡Señor, la dama está poseída por un demonio o yo he bebido un sorujillo en mal estado! (Se frota los ojos con los puños como un niño chiquito).

DON SIMÓN

(Caminando de un lado a otro, dándose golpes en la frente). ¡Espera, Perejil! Yo... yo he visto ese pájaro de hierro en mis sueños... PRIMERO TE REVISAN HASTA LOS DIENTES POR SI NO TRAJERAS BOMBAS, LUEGO... Te hacen esperar en unas hileras de sillas de colores chillantes con pura gente con cara de que olieron una  morcilla apestosa... más adelante te meten por el interior de un gusano gigantesco y ya entras al pajaro metálico donde la misma gente maluhomorada te mira como si te fuera a asesinar... Luego tú crees que te van a dar viandas y manjares, pero ah, no... te ofrecen una bolsa de plástico minúscula con tres cacahuates... ¡Párenme este pensamiento! ¿Qué es el "plástico"? (Mira al público con desesperación, se restriega la cara con ambas manos). ¡Es un encantamiento! ¡Madrid está hechizada!

DOÑA MENCIA

(Mirándolos como si estuvieran locos). ¿Pero qué os pasa a vosotros dos? ¿No habéis hecho nunca antes un vuelo trasatlántico? ¡Vaya un par de provincianos!

ALONZO

(Pega la vuelta y se pone de pie, señalando al horizonte lírico). ¡Señor! Huyamos de esta plaza, volvamos al trabajo o al buen dormir, que si nos quedamos un minuto más, esta señora nos hará entrar al "Subte" para ir a Barajas a volar en una "turbina" esquivando palomas.

DON SIMÓN

(Recogiendo su espada, aún mareado). ¡Razón tienes, Alonzo Perejil! Vámonos a una taberna honesta donde el vino sea vino, el sorujo sorujo, los franceses no se manifiesten, a los españolitos ni se les ocurra, y los alemanes que sigan usando ropa seria, sin colores por favor…

ALONZO

¡Ah! Y que los taxis todavía no se inventen, que son unos rateros de marca mayor; y que los caballos sigan siendo de carne y hueso. Y de esos aviones... ¡mejor ni hablemos!, que un día de estos se nos cae uno encima. ¿Pues cómo ha de ser posible que semejante bestia de metal vuele junto a las palomas?

DON SIMÓN

¡Y sujeta bien esa lengua, Alonzo Perejil, y salgamos corriendo de este entremés antes de que Doña Mencía nos hable del cambio climático y de la Inteligencia Artificial!

(Salen corriendo, frotándose los ojos y mirando atrás con espanto, mientras Doña Mencía los mira negar con la cabeza y se marcha por el lado contrario abanicándose).

FIN

 

 

 

 

MARTIANS AT UCLA.

 

 

MARTIANS AT UCLA

THE PRANKSTER PRANKED

By Gavarre Benjamin

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© BENJAMÍN GAVARRE SILVA

Contact this address if you have produced it or wish to do so: gavarreunam@gmail.com

 

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"Martians at UCLA" is a fast-paced, witty college comedy about who really holds the upper hand on campus. Leo and Ben, two lazy undergrads looking for a quick laugh and social media fame, design what they think is the ultimate prank to humiliate Professor Harrington: a fake "alien encounter" in the dark, isolated bushes near Parking Structure 4. Armed with cheap special effects and a cellphone camera, they push the strict linguistics professor to his limits. However, in the game of campus wits, decades of academic experience might just have the ultimate counter-prank ready. A hilarious story proving that the oldest fox always knows the newest tricks.

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MARTIANS AT UCLA

THE PRANKSTER PRANKED

 

SCENE I

SETTING: An outdoor hallway on the UCLA campus. Dusk.
(PROFESSOR HARRINGTON walks in, dragging a leather rolling briefcase overflowing with heavy textbooks, his travel coffee mug, and a container with his dinner).

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON:
Unbelievable. Three hours explaining Shakespearean syntax, and those kids stared at me as if I were a Star Wars hologram. God, I wish I only taught graduate school. Undergrads look like high schoolers—what am I saying, middle schoolers! And I am starving... Well, at least I’m out. I need to get to my car before the freeway traffic turns into a parking lot. Or before some student catches me with a last-minute request... One of these days, a student is going to sneak into my home shower just to hand in a late essay. And all that just to hope for a passing C grade. They are the epitome of mediocrity.

(ENTER LEO, walking slowly, staring at the concrete floor, feigning deep anguish).

LEO:
I don’t know... I don’t know what to do. What if I sell it on Craigslist? No, they might rob me at the meetup spot. What if I rent it out for a party at Frat Row? Or maybe I should just keep it and become a millionaire on social media...

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON: (Annoyed, without stopping)
Leo. Please. I know you’ve been following me all the way from the Humanities building, even if you’re walking three paces behind me… I can smell your desperation. You smell like you’re about to ask for another extension on your homework. Don't waste my time with your existential crises; it's already late.

LEO:
Professor! I'm so glad I caught you. You’re exactly who I was looking for. See... I have something incredibly valuable in my possession, seriously, very cool, and I don’t know what to do. It’s wild, I swear.

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON: (Keeps walking toward the parking lot)
Leo, I know you. I'm sure this is another one of your scams. Did you already forget last semester when you wasted forty minutes of my time trying to sell me an "exotic wingless butterfly" that turned out to be a Chinese buffet shrimp coated in lacquer?

LEO:
It was a taxidermy butterfly, Professor! A collector's item. That was a misunderstanding; I got ripped off at the flea market too. But today’s thing is real. It’s mysterious and dangerous, but worth a fortune. I’d show you right here, but there are too many students and security cameras around. Why don't you come with me out back, by the dark bushes leading to Structure 4? Near the big trees where the campus lights don't reach.

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON: (Stops dead in his tracks and looks at him, narrowing his eyes)
Behind the campus hill? In the daytime, it’s a lovely green area to read, but at this hour of the night, it looks like the backdrop of a serial killer movie. There’s a huge difference, young man. That’s where wild raccoons attack people. Are you trying to mug me for my wallet or what?

LEO:
Oh, Professor, come on! If you want, I’ll just give it to you. Simply because you’re my favorite teacher.

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON: (Interested but maintaining his intellectual stance)
Uh-huh... Well... let’s not exaggerate. But I’m sure it’s nonsense. Stop wasting my time; my stomach is growling.

LEO:
Just listen to how I found it. I was walking through a dense forest, thick with heavy fog...

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON:
You are in West Los Angeles, Leo. There are only palm trees, squirrels, and the marine layer coming off the Santa Monica coast. You are not in the Amazon.

LEO:
Well, in the bushes behind the library, then. But it was right next to a pile of decomposing organic waste...

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON:
A pile of garbage?

LEO:
Rotting trash, Professor! The weird thing is, it was glowing with a fluorescent green light, and then it would turn off. Boom! Glow and turn off.

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON: (Scooffs)
Oh, Leo. It glows and turns off... It must be a garden firefly, genius. You got scared by a simple insect.

LEO:
It wasn't an insect; it was much bigger, and it moved on its own, as if it had its own artificial intelligence.

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON:
I know, an old animatronic doll discarded from a Hollywood studio. And did it talk too?

LEO:
Yes! It talked, how did you know? I said, "Ugly doll, you're an idiot"... and the damn thing tried to be funny and repeated the exact same thing back to me in my own voice: "Ugly doll, you're an..."

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON:
Enough, enough, I get it. It must be a cheap toy with a clearance voice-recording chip. Once the battery dies, it’ll be completely useless. It’s cheap internet junk... that’s why it ended up in the trash.

LEO:
And how do you explain the green light coming out of its mouth?

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON:
Well, that’s just the design of the damn toy. Sometimes they have LED lights in their eyes, sometimes in their mouth... like a knockoff Buzz Lightyear.

LEO:
Professor...! Don't tell me you like Toy Story! You, so serious, such a distinguished scholar of Applied Linguistics.

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON:
That is precisely why I am well-acquainted with slang and pop culture in this country, Leo. I don’t live under a rock in the desert. But you’re acting way too mysterious... Why?

LEO:
Because... I found it really bizarre that its head spun a full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, and it stretched out its robotic arms for me to pick it up. And then, when it answered a direct question, that’s when I actually got goosebumps.

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON:
What do you mean it answered you? Now you're just making up sci-fi stories.

LEO:
For real. It stared right at me and said, "I need a trustworthy adult with a tenured university position and a good credit score to come save me, because my ship crashed upon entering Earth's atmosphere."

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON: (Feigning a mix of bewilderment and suspicion)
You’re pulling my leg. Either this is a cruel fraternity prank... or you’ve truly lost your mind from sleep deprivation.

LEO:
No, Professor. I agreed to meet him right now at eight o'clock, out back, by the dark trees of Structure 4. Come on... At this hour, there are no campus security guards around that area; it’s completely deserted.

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON: (Looks at his watch, feigning nervousness)
Look... it’s not that I believe you. It's just that you must be hallucinating from drinking too many energy drinks. But... let’s take a quick walk, just so you can calm down and stop bothering me. But first, let me stop by my car to drop off these heavy books in my backpack.

LEO: (As the professor opens his car trunk)
Professor, you do know that digital textbooks and cloud servers exist now, right?

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON:
So you can all just copy and paste on your screens? Or worse... so you can let an Artificial Intelligence write your essays? No way. Shut up and walk.

LEO:
Copying from AI? Never, Professor, never... well, maybe...

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON:
Walk!

(They both exit toward the darkness).

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SCENE II

SETTING: The back of the campus, near Structure 4. An area surrounded by weeping willows, wild ivy bushes, and brick walls. It is pitch black. The wind from the Santa Monica coast blows hard through the branches. The place is completely deserted.

(ENTER: PROFESSOR HARRINGTON, lighting the path with his iPhone’s flashlight, and LEO).

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON: (Trembling exaggeratedly, feigning panic)
Let’s see, Leo... Are you absolutely sure its skin was fluorescent green? You didn’t mention that when we were back in the hallway.

LEO:
Yes, Professor. Glowing green, with huge, bulging eyes, like a deer caught in headlights.

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON: (Terribly frightened, overacting)
Oh, my goodness... It could be an actual extraterrestrial creature... Heaven protect us.

LEO:
You know what, Professor? I think you already knew them. They’re like from your era, right? From back when you were in college in the eighties.

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON:
Quiet, Leo! Look! Those ivy branches moved. And that is not the coastal wind. Something or someone is watching us from the bushes. This is madness, we should head back to the lit area.

(From inside the bushes, a voice distorted by a toy megaphone echoes).

VOICE OVER:
¡Leeeooo... Leeeooo! Did you bring the trustworthy senior citizen with a good credit score that we asked for?

LEO: (Feigning terror, hiding behind the professor’s corduroy jacket)
Oh, no way! Professor, it spoke to me! And it said "we asked"! There are multiple ones, it's a freaking invasion!

VOICE OVER:
We are one and we are thousands... We know who flunks students on their essays just for fun...

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON: (Faking absolute terror, dropping dramatically to his knees on the grass)
Leo, this has gone too far! This is a cosmic punishment! They want to set me up to record me with your phones, and I’m going to go viral on TikTok. I don’t want to be a viral meme, Leo, I'm warning you! My academic reputation on the West Coast has cost me decades of work!

LEO:
Professor, look! Something flew right over your head!

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON:
I didn’t see anything, you’re hallucinating!

LEO:
It buzzed like a giant hornet, I swear on my life.

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON:
A freaking drone! Or a bat! I didn’t see a single thing!

(Suddenly, a bright green light illuminates the bushes from below).

LEO: (Adopting a mystical tone and voice)
Professor, look at that celestial light! A quantum portal just opened in the tree. Everything in there is wonderful... it’s outer space, it’s Malibu with no traffic, Professor... It’s calling me... it tells me it’s my destiny. I have to go. If the dean asks for me, tell her I went to a better place. Not the cemetery, a better cosmic plane... you explain it to her. Thanks for everything, you were a great teacher, a great prof...

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON:
Leo, don’t be an idiot! Don’t go into the bushes! Stay here with me, don’t leave me alone in the dark! Leo!!

LEO:
I can’t, Professor. My planet needs me. I’ve been chosen. Goodbye!

(Leo walks gracefully, taking exaggerated slow-motion strides toward the green light. A sound like an old camera flash is heard, and the light shuts off completely. Everything falls into absolute silence).

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON: (Feigning absolute panic)
Oh, my God! What on earth was that... I have just witnessed a real alien abduction... Leo? Leo!! This can’t be happening! No, no, no... Surely they’re coming for me next, and they’ll want to dissect me in their spaceship or harvest my organs... I have to save myself!

(The Professor runs with his travel mug in hand, limping exaggeratedly toward the brightly lit campus and screaming like a madman. He vanishes from the stage).

(Three seconds later, LEO and his sidekick BEN emerge from the bushes carrying a flashlight wrapped in green cellophane, an old studio flash, and a Bluetooth speaker. They are laughing hysterically, barely able to breathe, high-fiving each other).

LEO: (Lying on the grass, dying of laughter)
We did it, Ben! Did you hear him scream? The old man dropped to his knees like he was in a horror movie! “It must be cheap internet garbage,” the know-it-all used to say... "I don’t want to be a viral meme!" Hahaha... He swallowed it hook, line, and sinker! It was epic!

BEN: (Celebrating silently, fist-bumping Leo and showing him his iPhone screen)
It’s brilliant, Leo! The video looks amazing. But I just hope we don’t get busted if this video spreads across the department...

LEO:
Oh, come on, Ben, don’t be a coward like the professor! Listen... Tomorrow I’m going to blackmail him with an anonymous text: "Either you give me a perfect 'A' in the class, or this video goes straight to the university meme pages." (Looking at the phone screen) He looks so ridiculous... We’re going to break the algorithm, seriously. Oh, Professor, honestly...

(Suddenly, a deafening, metallic, and piercing sound cuts the students' laughter short. It is the dreaded siren of a UCPD (University of California Police Department) patrol car echoing through the area, followed by the static of a high-powered loudspeaker).

VOICE OVER SPEAKER (OFF): (A gruff, authoritative voice with an official American law enforcement accent)
"ATTENTION, STUDENTS. THIS IS CAMPUS SECURITY / UCPD. YOU ARE IN A RESTRICTED AREA AFTER HOURS. YOU HAVE BEEN SPOTTED BY SURVEILLANCE CAMERAS COMMITTING ACTS OF EXTORTION, TRESPASSING, AND PROPERTY DAMAGE. DO NOT MOVE AND PUT YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!"

LEO: (Stunned, completely pale)
What...? Ben... campus police? We’re going to get expelled from the university!

BEN: (In total panic, swats the iPhone out of Leo's hand, slamming it to the ground)
Screw this, Leo! Patrol cars are coming! Let's move, let's move! They’re coming!

(Leo and Ben, completely terrified, leave all their gear scattered on the grass and sprint away at top speed in the opposite direction, tripping over branches and screaming in fear).

(The police siren shuts off. Absolute silence falls. From behind the trunk of a massive campus tree, PROFESSOR HARRINGTON steps out. He has a triumphant, ear-to-ear grin, and in his hand, he holds the portable megaphone he just used to fake the police voice).

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON: (Turns off the megaphone, walks to the center of the stage, and picks up the green toy, the cellophane flashlight, and the iPhone the students left behind)
Well, well, well... So "the old man swallowed it hook, line, and sinker," huh? Poor kids... they mistake years of experience for naivety. They forget that this old fox knows every single trick they’re barely trying to learn from the internet.

(Professor HARRINGTON looks directly at the audience, raises the green toy in the air like a literary trophy, and delivers his final line with a sharp, elegant smile):

PROFESSOR HARRINGTON:
As the literary classics used to say, my dear friends: "The prankster ended up pranked"... I didn't flunk you, boys; you flunked yourselves for failing to properly study your opponent. Now, with your phone confiscated for the rest of the academic year and my conscience clear, I am heading home for dinner. Good night!

(Professor HARRINGTON bows comically and theatrically to the audience, throws his bag over his shoulder, and walks off with his back perfectly straight and a smile of absolute victory).

T H E

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