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Thon! (or Attack of the Clones!)
(Applause up, then we go to commercial, and back to work lights on stage. BEATRICE emerges and attempts to freshen up MAXWELL’s makeup.)
BEATRICE: Let me just, let me just—
MAXWELL: I’m fine, Beatrice.
BEATRICE: This’ll just take—
MAXWELL: Beatrice, what did I tell you would happen if you touched my face again?
BEATRICE: (suddenly very, very afraid) You’d… you’d bite my arm off.
MAXWELL: Yes. I said I would bite your arm off.
(Pause. Then MAXWELL suddenly barks at BEATRICE, who shrieks and runs offstage. SKIP emerges, with his hand behind his back – he’s got a surprise for MAXWELL.)
MAXWELL: Skip, how much—
SKIP: Forty seconds, Max.
MAXWELL: What about—
SKIP: The hookers are backstage, Max.
MAXWELL: Can I—
SKIP: (shakes his head) Haven’t finished delousing.
MAXWELL: Gotcha. So can I get—
SKIP: (produces a plate filled with white powder from behind his back) Way ahead of you, Max.
MAXWELL: Oh, hey, don’t mind if I do.
(SKIP hands MAXWELL a straw. He leans down as if to snort from the pile, then suddenly sneezes loudly and smacks the plate from underneath, blowing/knocking powder all over SKIP’s face. At first, MAXWELL looks surprised, then points at SKIP and starts laughing and laughing and laughing. At first, SKIP gets a deer-in-headlights look on his face, then he reconsiders and joins in as they laugh and laugh and laugh.)
SKIP: And five. Four. Three.
(SKIP mouths “two, one,” then ducks off stage, as the lights on stage dim, and we hear our announcer, BIFF, from somewhere off stage, bringing us out of a commercial break.)
BIFF: Welcome back once again for more of this year’s annual Maxwell Beep Intellectual Dystrophy Association Telethon!
(A canned round of applause rings out.)
BIFF: And now ladies and gentlemen… please, dear god in heaven, don’t leave your children alone with… Maxwell Beep!
(Spot up on MAXWELL, big round of applause for him.)
MAXWELL: Thank you, thank you, and hey, it’s not just your children, you might want to lock up your pets, too.
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