Another short play, this time for a mere 4 players, so long as you can find a pianoforte.
The scene: a lecture hall somewhere in Scotland. A liar and a fisherman are present. An accountant is lecturing on the proper attire for a loss-adjuster. Subdued organ-music is playing from an undisclosed location.
Fisherman: Where do you suppose that organ music’s coming from? It’s terribly subdued.
Liar: I do not know, though I enjoy it.
Fisherman: As do I; it reminds me of the last time I was at sea, in May.
Liar: What were you doing at sea in May?
Fisherman: (sing-song voice) I was fishing, as my trade dictates.
Liar: I know that, you simpleton, but all the world’s seas turn to coagulated blood in the late spring now, thanks to global warming.
Fisherman: Ah, curses upon out forefathers and their irresponsible ways. Truly their sins are visited upon us, as laid out in the Old Testament!
Liar: You mean the bit with the two women and the dead baby?
Fisherman: No, that was a Tim Burton movie, Helena Bonham Carter played the lifeless baby.
Liar: Ah yes, shame she didn’t try her hand at method for that one.
Fisherman: Have faith, brother! She’ll get hers come the revolution.
Liar: Well, quite, though that doesn’t explain what the devil you were fishing for in a sea of rancid blood.
Fisherman: I think you’ll find it does. Cast your mind back to basic training and our discussion with that Romanian optometrist.
Liar: Ah yes, I had forgotten to account for the p-orbitals. Quite so.
Lecturer: (falsetto) …so you see that leather chaps will always have a place in any professional’s wardrobe. Unless, of course, the professional is a rat-catcher, like this gentleman here!
A rat-catcher enters, stage-right. He carries a small pianoforte on his back with an elaborate harness made from the tails of rats.
Lecturer: (triumphant) As you can see, this man is not wearing any leather chaps at all.
The rat-catcher twirls gracefully, he is wearing torn Levis in some fashionable style. They are splattered with blood.
Lecturer: Indeed, I would imagine that this gentleman has never even heard of such a garment. Have you, sir?
Rat-catcher: Well, actually I have. I used to have an anteater that wore leather chaps. He was called Archduke Reginald Pianoforte, and I carry this on my back wherever I go in memory of him.
All: that’s a bloody odd name for an anteater!
Rat-catcher: (baritone) He was a bloody odd anteater!
Fisherman: And relax!
The rat-catcher relaxes a little, and falls over from the weight of the pianoforte. He hits the floor with the chord of G.
Liar: And with that, gentlemen, I must depart this oily stage. I go to fight communism in all its forms!
Fisherman: A noble endeavour indeed, though this is not where you are going. You have told a most blatant lie!
Liar: I have not!
Fisherman: You did it again!
Liar: I very much did not!
Fisherman: And a third! Bravo sir, you are a credit to your kind!
Liar: I have no idea what you’re talking about, and now I must away!
Fisherman: Oh, very good, bravo indeed!
The liar stands up and produces a slender revolver from the brim of his hat. He shoots himself in the head and collapses, motionless. The fisherman starts to sob uncontrollably, the lecturer and rat-catcher dance with each other slowly, to the now sombre organ-music.
