ARMAGEDDON

GRAMMY:  Oh, Lord.  Don’t tell me.  Jules is back and you’re in one of his plays?

ME:  How did you know, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  Why else would you be dressed like that?  So what’s the play about?  A day in Hell?

ME:  Close, Grammy.  It’s about Armageddon.  Jules thinks it’ll be a hit, what with all this interest in 2012.

GRAMMY:  2012?

ME:  You know.  When the world’s supposed to end.

GRAMMY:  Says who?

ME:  The Mayans.  Although they don’t really say it.  Their calendar stops in 2012, and people are saying it’s because it’s the end of the world.

GRAMMY:  People are idiots.  Everyone knows the world will end when God says so.  And He isn’t saying.

ME:  Gee.  I wonder why?  Could it be because he doesn’t exist?  Now, I’ve got to get going or I’ll be late.  See you.

GRAMMY:  Wait for me.

ME:  You’re going to attend one of Jules’ plays?

GRAMMY:  I wouldn’t miss it for the end of the world.  You’ve just insulted God.  This is gonna be one hell of a disaster.

Photo:  Jeff Burton

PHILOSOPHY

JULIUS:  Like my poster, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  A black blur with words too tiny to read?  I’d hang it on my wall.

ME:  It’s not a blur, Grammy.  That’s Earth.  And isn’t that a great quote?

GRAMMY:  Quote?  It’s a dissertation saying we’re all a bunch of worthless nothings.

ME:  Well, it’s true Grammy.  In a way.  The problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world.

GRAMMY:  You’re quoting movies now?

ME:  It does suit the message.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, well in my topsy-turvy world, the problems of three people may not amount to a hill of beans, but this is our hill and these are our beans!

TYPHUS:  Hey!  That’s from The Naked Gun.  Wasn’t OJ great in that?

GRAMMY:  Yeah.  Too bad he turned out to be a murderer.  Would have made a hell of an actor.

ME:  Grammy, we’re talking about philosophy here.  And science.  And Carl Sagan.  Not to mention Casablanca, the best movie ever made.  You’re comparing all that to OJ and The Naked Gun?

GRAMMY:  Hey, you watch your movies and I’ll watch mine.  Now get the boy a thumb tack and let him hang up his poster.

Photo:  Source

MEN WITHOUT SHIRTS

ME:  Where have you been, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  Over at Alfie’s.

ME:  Alfie's?

GRAMMY:  Hey, just because you’re mad at him doesn’t mean I have to be.

ME:  I thought you thought he was weird.

GRAMMY:  He is.

ME:  So why would you go over to see him?

GRAMMY:  I didn’t go over to see him.  I went over to see his friends.

ME:  His friends?

GRAMMY:  He’s got a dozen half-dressed men over there working on some monstrosity.

ME:  A dozen?

GRAMMY:  Give or take.

ME:  Half dressed?

GRAMMY:  And in their prime.

ME:  Well.

GRAMMY:  Well, what?

ME:  Well, why are we sitting here looking at each other?  Let’s go, Grammy.  I think it’s time Alfie and I made up.

Photo:  Jason Florio

UNEMPLOYMENT

ME:  You know, I could get used to being unemployed.

GRAMMY:  Could?  Seems you have.

ME:  Funny, Grammy.  But it’s really nice not being slave to a job you go to for no other reason than to make money.  This is real freedom, waking up and knowing you  can do whatever you want.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, if doing what you want is sitting around the house all day.

ME:  I don’t sit around the house all day.

GRAMMY:  You’re right.  You don’t. You sit around my house all day.

ME:  Well, what else am I supposed to do?  I am on unemployment.

GRAMMY:  Go volunteer somewhere.  Climb a mountain.  Do something exciting or interesting instead of sitting on your ass all day.

ME:  You know, Grammy, I think you’re right.  I’ll see you later.

GRAMMY:  Where are you going?

ME:  Shopping.  I think it’s time I splurged a bit on myself.

GRAMMY:  Of course.  What else is an unemployment check for?

ME:  I’ll buy a new outfit or two, and maybe even a new clothes dryer. The old one has been shrinking my clothes lately.  See ya.

GRAMMY:  Lord, a new dryer.  What she really needs is a mirror.

MUSIC LESSON

ME:  Grammy?  What’s snowflake doing outside?

GRAMMY:  Looks to me like she’s sucking up to Alfie’s dog.  You’d think the dumb dog would bite her head off.

ME:  How did she get out there?

GRAMMY:  I let her out.

ME:  Why?  She’s a house cat.  She could get lost.  Or hit by a car.  I’m going out and getting her.

GRAMMY:  Sorry.  You can’t.

ME:  Why not?

GRAMMY:  You might get mugged or hit by a car.  Maybe an airplane will fall out of the sky right on top of you.

ME:  You’re being ridiculous, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  Gee, no kidding?

ME:  I’m not that bad.

GRAMMY:  No.  You’re worse.  Now leave the damn cat alone.

ME:  But what if she doesn’t come . . . ?  Oh!  I get it.  You’re teaching me a lesson in that warped way of yours.  It’s like that Sting song.  If you love someone, set them free!

GRAMMY:  No.  It’s like the Guns ‘N Roses song.  I used to love her, but I had to kill her.  The damn cat has scratched the hell out of all my furniture and she isn’t setting foot in here again.

BELLY BUTTONS

JULIUS:  Whatcha doing, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  Just looking for something.

JULIUS:  Looking for what?

GRAMMY:  Oh, never mind.  What are you doing?

JULIUS:  Looking at my belly button.

GRAMMY:  Your belly button?

JULIUS:  Uh, huh.  Typhus has an outie.  I have an innie.  What do you have?

GRAMMY:  Ha!  I haven’t seen my belly button in years, boy.  I’m afraid to look.

JULIUS:  What’s it for?

GRAMMY:  What’s it for?  It’s for people to stick their fingers in.  You know, like you do with your ears and your nose.

JULIUS:  But what if you have an outie?

GRAMMY:  Well, then you get to push it in and out like a button.

JULIUS:  Why?

GRAMMY:  Why?  Well, why are you poking around at it now?

JULIUS:  I don’t know.  Something to do.

GRAMMY:  Well, there you go.  Sometimes, you just have nothing to do and your belly button is always handy.

JULIUS:  You’re so smart, Grammy.  You know everything.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, except for what the hell I came out here looking for.

EASTER RAT

JULIUS:  Mom!  Grammy!  Look what Typhus gave me.

ME:  A rat?

TYPHUS:  It’s not just any rat.  It’s the Easter Rat.

GRAMMY:  Don’t you mean Easter Bunny?

TYPHUS:  No.  The Easter Bunny’s dead.  The rat killed him.

GRAMMY:  Oh, Lord.

TYPHUS:  It’s true.  My Mom told me.  That’s why I stopped getting Easter baskets when I was six.  The Easter Rat ate the Easter Bunny.

GRAMMY:  Yeah?  So who’s delivering Easter baskets now?

JULIUS:  Nobody.  That’s why I never got one.

ME:  Julius, you never got a basket because . . .

GRAMMY:  Because Typhus is right.  The rat ate the bunny.  Now why the hell do you want to keep a killer rat?

JULIUS:  Someone has to.  Or else he might go out and kill other bunnies.

TYPHUS:  Yeah. It’s like rat jail, Grammy.

JULIUS:  Come on, Typhus.  Let’s go out and play with him.

GRAMMY:  Well, that was one hell of a story, huh?  It explained why the boy doesn’t get a basket, and makes him feel important, too.  He’s saving bunnies from a killer rat.

ME:  I don’t believe you.  Or Typhus.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, well, Julius did.  That Typhus is going to make a great politician some day.

Photo:  Renat Martov

OMG!

ME:  Hello, Grammy!

(no answer)

ME:  Grammy!

(no answer)

ME:  Grammy?  Oh, my . . .  Julius, quick. Call 911.

JULIUS:  Is she dead?

ME:  I don’t know.  Call 911.

JULIUS:  The phone won’t work.  I think they’re both dead.

ME:  Oh, my God.  Grammy?  Grammy?

GRAMMY:  Ha!  April Fools!

ME:  Grammy!

GRAMMY:  Thought I was dead, didn’t you?

ME:  Yes!  Why would you do something like that?

GRAMMY:  What, are you deaf?  I said April Fools.

ME:  April Fool’s Day is tomorrow, Grammy.  Not today.

GRAMMY:  Well, what’s the point of playing a damn joke on April Fool’s Day?  Then you’d know it was a joke.  Besides, you don’t come over here on Thursdays.

ME:  I can’t believe you did that, Grammy.  I could kill you!

GRAMMY:  Ha!  A minute ago you were in tears because you thought I was dead.  Now you’re gonna kill me?  Make up your mind.  Do you want me dead or alive?

ME:  I want you alive, Grammy, so I can kill you myself.  Come on, Julius.  We’re leaving.

GRAMMY:  Hey!  Where are you going?  I thought you were gonna kill me?  Sheesh.  That woman will never amount to anything.  No follow through.

Photo:  Source

CRAZY BABY

BABY:  (runs through apartment)  YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!

GRAMMY:  What the hell was that?

ME:  The baby from hell.

GRAMMY:  Oooh.  Not our usual Barney self today, are we?

ME:  Shut up, Grammy.  I’m not in the mood.

BABY:  (knocks kitchen chairs down)  WHEEEEE.

GRAMMY:  Okay.  Who is she and where did she come from?

ME:  It’s my neighbor’s daughter.  Her babysitter cancelled and she was in a bind, so I volunteered.

BABY:  (slams kitchen door over and over)  YAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!

ME:  She just doesn’t stop.  It’s been like this all day.

GRAMMY:  So you brought her here?  To my house?  What the hell is wrong with you?

(Baby pulls knickknack shelf over)  CRASH

ME:  I don’t know what to do, Grammy.  I can’t get her to stop.

BABY:  (runs past)  YAYAYAYAYAYAY!

GRAMMY:  Lord!  She’s like the Energizer Bunny on speed.  You try to catch her.  I’ll go get the whiskey.

ME:  This is no time to be drinking, Grammy.

(Baby rips off diaper and flings it)

GRAMMY:  It’s not for me.  It’s for her.

ME:  Oh!  Good idea.

(twenty minutes later. Baby’s asleep)

ME:  Well, that was an experience.

GRAMMY:  Yep.  I’m telling you, Barbara.  There’s nothing a bit of whiskey can’t fix.

Photo:  Philip Rogan

BEGGING

GRAMMY:  I saw your ex today.  He’s out in front of the supermarket begging.

ME:  Begging?

GRAMMY:  Yeah.  He was bent over on the ground, cup in front of him, scrounging for money.  Even got the cat and dog in on the act.

ME:  Oh, Grammy.  He wasn’t begging.  He trained the cat and dog to do that ages ago.  It’s the art of Street Performance.

GRAMMY:  Well, that’s exactly what he was doing - performing the art of begging in the street.  And how the hell is that gonna help Julius?

ME:  What do you mean?

GRAMMY:  Admit it, Barbara.  The boy has idiots for parents.

ME:  That’s nonsense, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, well tell him that when he goes to school and everyone makes fun of him because his father is begging outside the supermarket.

ME:  I told you.  He’s not begging.  He’s performing.  And even if you don’t understand that, other people will.

GRAMMY:  Well, if you’re not gonna do something about it, I am.

ME:  Grammy?  Where are you going with that rifle?

GRAMMY:  The supermarket.  I’m gonna put on a little performance of my own.

ORANGE

JULIUS:  Grammy, I need help.  I need to write down ten things that are orange.  Besides an orange.

GRAMMY:  And what do you have so far?

JULIUS:  A pumpkin.

GRAMMY:  That’s it?

JULIUS:  Uh, huh.

GRAMMY:  Well, sweet potatoes are orange. And life jackets.

JULIUS:  Oh, and goldfish.  Remember when we ate one?

GRAMMY:  Yeah. It was kind of yummy. Wasn’t it?

JULIUS:  Kind of wiggly, too.

GRAMMY:  So, what else is orange?

JULIUS:  Clown hair and circus peanuts.

GRAMMY:  Circus peanuts?

JULIUS:  You know.  Those orange squishy candies.

GRAMMY:  Oh, yeah.  Taste like wet cardboard.  Let’s go buy some.

JULIUS:  Really?

GRAMMY:  Sure.  And we’ll get something to drink with our orange peanuts.  How about an Orange Julius?

JULIUS:  But I’m not orange.

GRAMMY:  It’s a drink, boy.  Named after you.  And it just happens to be orange.  But don’t tell your mother.

JULIUS:  Why not?

GRAMMY:  Well, you know how she is with all her health food crap.  She’s not really an orange person.  She’s more into yellows.

JULIUS:  Like cream corn and lemons?

GRAMMY:  You got it, boy.  Like cream corn and lemons.

Photo:  Source

NEW CAR

TYPHUS:  Hey, Grammy.  Come look.  I bought myself some wheels.

GRAMMY:  Hell, are you even old enough to drive?

TYPHUS:  Got my license two weeks ago.

GRAMMY:  Well, I’ll have to remember to be more careful when I cross the street now.  Where is it?

TYPHUS:  It’s the blue convertible in front of Alfie’s.

GRAMMY:  You’re kidding me?

TYPHUS:  I got a great deal.  Only three-hundred bucks and it’s practically brand-new.  Only has 200 miles on it.

GRAMMY:  And you didn’t ask why you were getting a brand-new car for $300.00?

TYPHUS:  I know it’s got problems.  The dealer said it was in a small accident and the owner didn’t want it anymore.

ME:  What’s everyone looking at?

GRAMMY:  Typhus got himself a car.  Got a great deal on it, too.  Brand-new and only $300.00.

ME:  That’s ridiculous.  You can’t buy a new car for $300.00.

GRAMMY:  Oh, I don’t know.  You’d be surprised.  Come see.  It’s the one in front of Alfie’s.

ME:  But that’s . . . that’s my car.

TYPHUS:  You don’t have a car.

GRAMMY:  Not any more.  It was in a small accident.  Got crushed by a garbage truck.  Happy driving, Typhus.
 

Photo: Musty Moments

FLAMINGOS

GRAMMY:  What’s with all the damn flamingos?

ME:  What flamingos?

GRAMMY:  Alfie’s got over a hundred of them out in his front yard.  Didn’t flamingos go out with the fifties?

ME:  Oh, it’s probably some art project he’s working on.

GRAMMY:  Well, that doesn’t sound enthusiastic.  Usually, you’re fawning all over everything he does.  What’s the matter, you two love birds have a fight?

ME:  We’re not ‘love birds,’ Grammy.

GRAMMY:  Yep.  You had your first fight.

ME:  Alfie doesn’t fight, Grammy.  Or argue.  Or get mad.  He shrugs and says, “Oh well.”

GRAMMY:  Or he plants flamingos.

ME:  What are you talking about?

GRAMMY:  Well, look at the damn things.  Bound legs, beaks tied up tighter than a noose, feet frozen in the ice, and every one of their beady little eyes trained on this window.

ME:  So?

GRAMMY: So, he’s telling you to shut up, go away and die. Hell, he’s screaming it.

ME:  That’s ridiculous, Grammy.  I don’t know where you get all your crazy ideas.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, well, what you need to get is a restraining order.  Lord, I can almost hear the creepy music playing in the background.

Photo:  Stanislav Odyagailo

PARADE

ME:  Don’t you just love parades?  The balloons and the bands, the popcorn and cotton candy?

GRAMMY:  Standing around in the cold, freezing your ass off.

ME:  Oh, look!  There’s the high school’s marching band.  Don’t they sound great?

GRAMMY:  Yeah, if you like the sound of constipated pigs.

ME:  And there’s the mayor.  He’s doing a wonderful job, don’t you think?

GRAMMY:  Yep.  He’s taken more bribes this year than anyone in the entire history of the world.

ME:  Oh!  Miss New Hampshire!  I heard she’s going to be a brain surgeon.  Not only pretty, but smart, too.

GRAMMY:  Smart enough to date the head judge of the contest.

ME:  Oh, and look at the clowns!  They’re so funny.

GRAMMY:  You’re ignoring me, aren’t you?

ME:  Yes.

(pause)

ME:  Oh, look, Grammy!  The Fire Department!  God, they’re so hunky in uniform.  And they look so much better out of them.

GRAMMY:  Where?  Move the hell over and let an old woman see.  (sigh)  Don't you just love a parade?

Photo:  merlinprincesse

GODZILLA

ME:  Grammy, look what Julius did in school.

GRAMMY:  He wrote a poem about Godzilla?  So?

ME:  So look at the sentiment and the emotions involved.  And he’s attributing them to a monster.

GRAMMY:  So?  Monsters can’t have feelings?

ME:  Grammy!  Godzilla destroyed Tokyo.  He murdered millions.  And Julius is feeling sorry for him!

GRAMMY:  Uh, you do know Godzilla is fictitious?

ME:  I know.  But does Julius?  And why would he empathize with monsters?  His psychologist thinks he might have done something awful and now he’s sorry about it and thinking of himself as a monster.

GRAMMY:   Oh, Lord.  The man’s an idiot, and you are too.  We watched Godzilla vs. Mothra last week.  Julius probably felt bad for him.  Hell, he saves Tokyo and everyone still wants to kill him just because he’s a monster.

ME:  Well, can you blame them?  I mean, think of it - having your city destroyed over and over again.  Seeing your loved ones die.

GRAMMY:  The point is, Barbara, he saved them.

ME:  So he could come back and destroy them himself later.

JULIUS: (Whispering to Typhus)  They do know he’s make-believe, right?

TYPHUS:  Maybe we should call your shrink.

Photo:  Godzilla Haiku

BUBBLES

GRAMMY:  What are you doing, boy?

JULIUS:  Blowing bubbles.

GRAMMY:  Really?  Just blowing bubbles?

JULIUS:  Uh huh.

GRAMMY:  So if I look out that window, I’m not gonna see some damn freaky bubble sculpture?

JULIUS: Unh uh.

GRAMMY:  And you’re not conducting some God-awful experiment where you trap bugs in bubbles or some other weird stuff?

JULIUS:  No.

GRAMMY:  So all I’m gonna see are bubbles floating away until they burst?

JULIUS:  Uh huh.

GRAMMY:  (takes deep breath and looks out window)  Well, I’ll be . . . it’s just . . . bubbles.

JULIUS:  I told you.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, you did.  (sigh)

JULIUS:  What’s the matter, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  Well, it’s kind of a let-down.  I was expecting . . . hell, I don’t know what I was expecting.

JULIUS:  Wanna try?

GRAMMY:  What?  Me?  Blow bubbles?

JULIUS:  It’s fun.  It’ll make you happy.

GRAMMY:  Oh, right.  Like that’ll ever happen.

JULIUS:  Try, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  Oh, hell, boy.  Move over and gimme the stick.

JULIUS:  Isn’t it fun?

GRAMMY:  Yeah, it is.  I tell you what.  I’ll blow the bubbles and you take my cigarette and see how many you can pop before your mother gets home.

Photo:  Source

CAUSES

ME:  I have to go, Grammy.  I have to get to the demonstration.

GRAMMY:  You won’t take time to find a job, but you have time for a demonstration?

ME:  Yes, Grammy.  It’s important.

GRAMMY:  Not as important as eating, obviously.

ME:  I have my Unemployment, Grammy.  And somebody has to do something.  The dolphins can’t save themselves.

GRAMMY:  And who’s gonna save the fishermen?  You may be happy living on Unemployment, but that doesn’t mean they will.

ME:  Well, they shouldn’t even be fishing in the first place.  People shouldn’t eat other living creatures.

GRAMMY:  But it’s okay for the animals you’re trying to save?  They can eat other living creatures?  And what about those plants you’re continuously shoving down your throat?  They’re alive too, you know.  Well, they are until you rip them from the ground and cut them into pieces.

ME:  Plants aren’t sentient beings, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  How do you know?  Hard to tell when you don’t speak plant.

ME:  I’m going to ignore you, Grammy, and go.  See you later.

GRAMMY:  (sigh)  Give a woman a brain and her possibilities are endless.  Give her a cause, and she’ll turn into a blithering idiot every time.

Photo:  Source

OUCH!

JULIUS:  Grammy!  Grammy!  Come quick!

GRAMMY:  Lord, what’s the matter now?

JULIUS:  It’s Typhus.  He’s stuck!

GRAMMY:  What do you mean he’s . . . ?  Oh my Lord!

TYPHUS:  Get me down.  Please!

GRAMMY:  Didn’t I tell you not to be jumping on my bed?

TYPHUS:  Yeah.  And I’m sorry.  Now get me down.

GRAMMY:  Sorry, boy.  We all have to learn from our mistakes.

TYPHUS:  Grammy?!

GRAMMY:  See what happens when you act like a dumb twit.

TYPHUS:  I see.  Now get me down!

GRAMMY:  Sure.  No problem.  But first, I’m gonna have me a smoke and a whiskey while I watch my soaps.  See you in a few hours.

TYPHUS:  Grammy!!!

GRAMMY:  Hey, you wanted to hang out in my bedroom.  So hang.

Photo:  Gregor Collienne

BIRDS AND BOOZE

GRAMMY:  Ha!  You didn’t believe me, did you?

ME:  Believe what, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  That animals are conspiring to do away with us.  Read this.

ME:  Mountain climber and photographer plunge to their deaths after being attacked by birds.

GRAMMY:  And all they found was the camera with that picture in it.  It’s just like in that Hitchcock movie. Do you think they saw it?

ME:  What?

GRAMMY:  The birds!  Do you think they saw the movie?  Maybe that’s where they got the idea.  I’m telling you, Barbara, this isn’t a war we’re going to win.  Not if the bugs get in on it.

ME:  Uhm, Grammy, have you been drinking today?

GRAMMY:  I drink everyday.  What the hell are you implying?

ME:  Well, you’re not talking rationally.  Did you take any medication?

GRAMMY:  Just that garbage the morticians at the deathhouse gave me for my arthritis.

ME:  Grammy, you shouldn’t take medication with your whiskey.

GRAMMY:  What the hell is wrong with you, Barbara?  We’re under attack by a horde of evil, maniacal animals, and you’re worried about my medication?  Go get me my shotgun.  The next bird that lands on that windowsill is mincemeat!

REVENGE

GRAMMY:  Whoa!  What the hell happened to you?

ME:  Oh, the power went out during the storm and I was wandering around in the dark, trying to find a flashlight or a candle.

GRAMMY:  So what did you do?  Trip over a piece of furniture?

ME:  No.  I stepped on Snowflake’s tail.

GRAMMY:  Ha!  There’s nothing more dangerous than a black cat in the dark.  Did she bite you or claw you?

ME:  Both.

GRAMMY:  Serves you right, keeping the damn thing locked up in the house its entire life.

ME:  I don’t keep her locked up.  She gets out when we come here.

GRAMMY:  She comes in a cat crate!  That’s getting out?  You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s been planning this for a long time.  Just used the power outage as an excuse.

ME:  Really, Grammy.  She’s a cat.  Animals don’t know how to plot and scheme.

GRAMMY:  Yeah?  Remember that chimp that tore off a woman’s face?  And the killer whale at Sea World that drowned his trainer for no reason at all?  Believe what you want, Barbara, but me - I’m gonna keep that cat knee-deep in catnip when she's here.

Photo:  Laini & Samin