Plays 1: Weird Time Blues by Colin Peterson, George O'Sullivan (parable of the sower read online TXT) 📖

them marching on the spot, creating a pounding, war-like rhythm and a big beat. They stop and stand to attention; Lacey looks on nervously. Duvac enters, his penis and scrotum still inflated. Suddenly, a swollen testicle bursts. He screams. Duvac recovers and looks angrily at the Troops.

Duvac: (in pain.) You shitters! You know we have a war to fight! What war? I hear you say, but all those pirates at the other colony are illegal immigrants, ruining our future, your future, your children’s future! All those fuckin’ shitty futures! They’re going to be punished and we’re the last of the united forces. We’re having to make robots -you know! You see it, on that robot programme - that have to fight. COOL HUH!

Lacey: Sir, you know that robot programme was probably a re-run of Robot Wars.

Stifled cartoon sounding laughter amongst the Troops.

Duvac: Clever clogs again, huh? Well, I’m going to call you…errr… urm…clogs. Eh, Doc?

Lacey: I thought you were going to call me Clever Clogs?

Duvac: I did! You're trying to confuse my words, so my words are all mixed and all, you know...all...what’s the -

Lacey: Mixed? Okay, I’m lost: what the fuck you talking about? Does anyone else here think he’s fucked? (The Troops cheer.) Do you think he’s a dick? (The Troops cheer even louder; Duvac looks stunned.) Do you think this war is pointless? (The Troops cheer again, howling like wolves in delight.) I do! (Duvac tries to cover his hand over Lacey’s mouth, but Lacey wrestles him, as he speaks to the Troops and the audience.) So what if they're some poor people from earth trying to forge a good life on some ball of rock - like we are, right?

Duvac: (getting a hand over Lacey’s mouth.) Who you working for, boy? We know you spent a lot of time in the Digivid-archive. That's quite a sci-fi name - don‘t you think? (Lacey shrugs.) You know you’re right; we’re onto you! Like this guy!

Duvac points, with his free hand, to the Troop who urinated and followed through; he releases Lacey, pushing him into the piss. Lacey cleans up the piss with one of the flags off the wall.

Duvac: (cocky, feeling confident. Approaches the soiled Troop.) What’s your name, Shitball?

Shitball: (takes off his mask with one hand, throwing it one the floor. He’s a blotchy man, with no particular features, or race. He’s just blotchy. He wipes shit from his other hand, as his trousers sag at the back.) That’s mah name now sir!

Duvac: Oh. Why Shitball?

Shitball: I don’t know. It was Pissball, but now you jus’ changed it. I like it. I really want to be individual and express myself, as I was workin' as a plumber before this; but I thought I should be creative. So I quit. I was always into art at school. Dunno what to do now, maybe a degree thingy.

Duvac: But we drafted you? THIS AIN’T NO FUCKIN’ GAP YEAR,SUCKA!

Shitball: Well, I don’t mind. I come to the army for the sex.

Duvac: You suck cocks?

Shitball: Why yes,siree! Can’t you tell?

Pause. Shitball fumbles with his fly, struggling to rip it free; it’s jammed and he‘s too weak to break it. Duvac smiles, looking at Shitball’s fly in a trance.

Duvac: (breaks the trance.) Look, you tone it down, Shitball; the army has a reputation. Come to my office later to discuss the terms of what you just said. BUT ANYMORE ODD PEOPLE HERE, I’LL FUCK YOU...ALL...UP!

Lacey: You’re -

Duvac: No, I just have allergies. Look, don’t question your Sergeant: that’s rule number one.

Lacey: I thought it was to: ‘Kill, kill, kill! Wait, I forgot to growl, then go: ‘Kill, kill, kill! See, I’m still in Russ Meyer mode, but I’ll get the hang of -

Duvac: (pause; staring intensely at Lacey.) Are you mocking me?

Lacey: (completely serious, smirking, looking into the audience) No, I’m not. I’m being honest.

Troops: (all.) Oh, no he isn’t!

Lacey: That was good; we have at least some time to put on that panto!

Duvac: (grabs Lacey by the throat and holds him up.) What you doing to my core? What are you doing to them? You a spy? You some foolish propagandist? They're going all…soft. Are you a pessimistic bastard who wants to see us lose everything our ancestors gained? They’ve lost millions trying to keep them out of our civilisation!

Lacey: I know people have died -

Duvac: I was referring to the trillions of credits and old dollars. Lives need to be used.

Lacey: Oh. I see.

Duvac: Look, I know you’re all lardey-da, but you could be a leader if you wanted. COLLEGE BOY, DO I HAVE TO GET FUNKADELIC WITH YOU?

Lacey: Do I get a -

Shitball: You can get fun-keyed up with me!

Lacey: (to Shitball.) I think he is, you just don’t know yet!

Duvac: I’m going to kill you, Lacey - I forgot yer number, but I got names! You watch your back.

Lacey: I can’t.

Duvac: Exactly.

Shitball: But I will!

Duvac: I know what you’ll be looking at!

Lacey: What?

Duvac: (in Lacey’s face.) I was talking to Shitball, YOU SHIT! (Looks at the other troops; points to one to step forward; they take off a mask and Duvac sneers, as we see a woman called Fringle.) You! Bitch! Talk.

Fringle: Yes sir, yes.

Duvac: Fringle! (Checking her out, rubbing his swollen genitals against her.) Do you know you’re a woman?

Fringle: Yes, sir, yes.

Duvac: Does that bother you?

Fringle: Yes, sir, yes!…NO.

Duvac: I suppose you joined to prove a point?

Fringle: Yes, sir, yes. NO.

Duvac: Well, as you’re native of Colony Forty-Six, I can’t be complaining about your courage, but women are shit fighters. Aren’t they?

Fringle: Try me, Princess.

Duvac: What?

Lacey: (applauds Fringle.) Oh, brilliant Fringle! Well done! Is this gonna be a docu-soap, or something?

Duvac: Don’t tempt me. You... (Fringle and Duvac square up. Tense beat. Duvac is scared. Fringle wears heeled boots and she towers over Duvac, as he cowers.) Don’t…or I’ll call for the guards. And then you’ll get a butter fisting to show you who’s boss.

Fringle: I always thought you were -

Lacey: (addressing the Troops, pulling them all in to a group hug, forcing out Duvac, and facing the audience.) Don’t rise to this coward’s spill; we’re all going to get through this training programme together with no problems.

Duvac: (head-butting Lacey, who laughs at how weak the head-butt was; it was as if Duvac rubbed his head against Lacey’s.) You’re a bastard!

Fringle: Shit, I’m with the geek here, this is phoney bullshit. I want kick butt.

Duvac: (going to slap Fringle, but hesitates) Why - you fools! Fucked up fools! You’ll fail in the holo-simulation; you'll be slaughtered! You know that’s known as Colony forty-six-ex. Scary, huh? Some troops don’t make it past that, you know?

Lacey: What! You kill your own troops?

Duvac: No, not exactly. That’s illegal.

Lacey: So, after you finish Colony forty-shit-sex, you can drop out?

Duvac: Calm your tongue kid; you’re all for it now!

Duvac is sweating. He panics, presses a button on a remote, which he has taken from a pocket, but it falls apart; he then exits. They then all try to beat them all up by bouncing into them gaily: it looks like a scene from a kids TV programme. They are all having so much fun.

Scene 5.
Tunk’s office. Duvac enters sweating. He looks exhausted. Tunk pours him a drink in a tin can, hands it to him, while Tunk holds the tin can, but Duvac drinks it through a small red straw.

Tunk: I see this subversive is not a subversive, but a nothing. He’ll be pulped. I’m going to help you out Duvac, like I did when I got your arse out of the war and declared you retired. You’ll be helped by an insider. I’ll bring in an out-laster, maybe a couple. We haven’t got many. These droids will blend in and kill the little twat. He’s not going to ruin 46X. That was one of the best training simulations we’ve ever created. I mean that’s a whole world, that baby! Nooowaaay, sireee! He won’t ruin it with any fashionable pacifism; he has no other causes. He’s a tabloid radical - give him a few more pence and he’ll swing the other way. As long as he gets a beer at the end of it all, the little fucker.

Duvac: I don’t think he will. They’re watching kids TV now.

Tunk takes Duvac’s drink and downs it, pours in some washing powder, hands it back to to Duvac’s, who stares at it.

Tunk: I’ll bring in the Cackman.

Duvac: Not the man from the frontline - the man who eats his own shit?

Tunk: Yep. They all love their shit on the frontline.

Duvac: I think he needs evaluating - he’s a risk!

Tunk: Yes you’re right! This war has been raging for five years - Bowie was right! I’ve never needed so many people - to kill that is! Send in Tosst from the research wing and drug-up Lacey. Then we’ll let Cackman do some damage. (They laugh.) Send Lacey to the infirmary, he’ll crack wise no more!

Duvac: I’ll send him straight away!

Tunk: No, early in the morning - just before drill.

Duvac pours the white powder over himself, as if it’s cooling him down, but he screams, raging stamping on the spot for a while then charges as if he’s just gone over the top.


Scene 6.
Barracks. Lacey is on a bed (which is really a piece of cardboard troop target that he holds to his back). He is bored. Fringle and Shitball play cards, on the floor, and others look miserable.
Then Fringle takes out some chocolate from her butt.

Fringle: Who likes chocolate?

Lacey: (throwing the cardboard aside.) How did you get that? That’s a listed product!

Fringle: I won it in a game of cards with front liner named Cakeman.

Lacey: Cakeman? You sure that was his name? That’s a Top Gun name.

Fringle: It’s a nickname - a code between comrades. Fun really, yeah? I think that was his name, weren’t really listenin’ to him, busy screwin’, tryin’ to make it in good time. I’m not sure if it’s his real name.

Lacey: Well, I’m going to get high on this chocolate; I need to feel happy. (Takes a little black bag from his pocket.) Here. (Offering the bag to Fringle.) I’ve got some stuff from the cleaning department, while cleaning the floor with my tongue; it’s a mixture of various chemicals from around here. Mainly hobnob crumbs - very rare, man! - and some poppy seeds. It’s been soaked in recycled piss-whisky, as well.

Fringle hands Shitball a piece of chocolate. Shitball takes out a spoon, places the chunk on the spoon, pouring some lemon juice in the spoon, heating up the spoon, with a Zippo. A