tlog part three

ACT ONE, SCENE THREE

The stage lightens to reveal control with apparently no one about. There is a faint sound of rummaging. Suddenly, from under the desk, we hear:

GALAXY
Fuck!

GALAXY stands up from under the desk, with a bluey over his head. He is holding a bag and mask in one hand and balancing a glass bowl containing goldfish in the other. He looks bewildered and frustrated.

GALAXY
Hmm… I seem to be having difficulty finding what I’m looking for.

He disappears behind the desk again the sound of rummaging is heard once again. A few seconds later, GALAXY reemerges with some towels wrapped around his head, holding a plastic model of a knee joint in one hand and a plaster saw in the other. He presses the trigger and the saw comes to life. Nevertheless, he is crestfallen. He looks left and right, clearly lost.

GALAXY
Uh, a little help? GINGER? GINGER!?

GINGER appears from one end of the stage, pulling her tight uniform around her hips and smoothing out the crumpled dress. She has sleep in her hair and that post-coital satisfaction in her eyes.

GINGER
Yes, dear?

GALAXY
Uh hi, I’m Galaxy, the intern, remember me?

GINGER
I thought your name was Uranus? Anyway, what can I do for you?

GALAXY
I’m looking for some size seven gloves? And some KY?

GINGER
Did you look under the desk?

GALAXY
(Looks at the plastic knee joint) Uh, I think so?

GINGER
Okay let me have a look for you. (Steps behind the desk and rummages) What’s all this for anyway?

GALAXY
Uh… I have to disimpact the cat in 5.

GINGER
Ah yes, I overheard. (Gives GALAXY a big wink) Well, you’re going to need a lot more than gloves and KY. Here, let me get you ready for your first arsehole adventure.

GALAXY
(Bewildered) My first what?

GINGER
(Wrapping GALAXY up in layers of surgical gowns) Arsehole adventure. Don’t you worry about a thing, my little arsehole virgin. I’ll make sure you’re water tight. Can’t do much about the smell though, sorry. We’re still waiting on that SCUBA tank to be refilled.

GALAXY
Uh… I thought all I had to do was stick my finger in and loosen the faeces?

GINGER says nothing but puts a ski mask on GALAXY’S head and some booties over his shoes.

GALAXY
(With building uncertainty) Right?

GINGER
(Leads GALAXY to the edge of the bed, where the outline of the cat cut out can be seen) Wrong. Think about the worst constipation you’ve ever had.

GALAXY thinks.

GINGER
Now think about something ten times worse. And think about it ten days later, all dried up and stuck fast. Then think about your puny, weak, untrained, unfit, virgin finger poking against that hard, dried-up, scraggy, pellety, monstrous lump of poo with tentacles wedged against all the corners of the rectum.

GALAXY’S face turns to a mask of terror. But GINGER is not finished.

GINGER
And you do know what’s dammed up behind all that hard poo, don’t you? A flood of diarrhea, that’s what. It’ll be a spray of superheated pressurized liquid faeces heading straight for your face. It’s biblical. It’s worse than the Boxing Day tsunami. All I can say is: once you dislodge that hard poo, you better make sure the pan is in position and you’re right out of the way. Otherwise you’ll be scrubbing your face for a long time.

GALAXY nods weakly. He holds up his double gloved finger. Looks at it resignedly. And gingerly reaches for the cat’s behind. As his finger reaches the cat,

Light fades.

And suddenly, from the darkness, we hear GALAXY’S scream.