ME: Hey kid, why are you crying?
Sobbing Child 1: I want my mommy!
Sobbing Child 2: I want to go home! I don’t like it here!
ME: It’s school, no one likes it here.
SC1: I want my mommy!
SC2: I need to go to the nurse!
ME: Are you sick?
SC2: I want to call my mommy so she can take me home.
SC1: I wanna go home!
ME: Listen, kids, they’re not going to let you go home unless you’re sick. If they let every kid just go home, there wouldn’t be anybody left in school. Then they’d have to close the school down, I’d be out of a job, I wouldn’t have any money for food, and I’d die alone in the streets. You don’t want me to die, do you?
SC2: I don’t like it here!
SC1: Yeah, it’s haunted here!
ME: Why do all you new kids think this school is haunted? Is it because there was blood all over the place? Ghosts don’t bleed. I think you kids are just yung and easily freudened.
SC1: “Yung and easily freudened”? That’s how you console a sobbing child, with a Joyce quote? What the fuck?
ME: Hey! You stay in character! This could be my big break as a playwright, I won’t have it mucked up by shoddy actors!
SC2: I have to agree with my fellow thespian. Your attempt at assuaging the homesickness and fears of these young children is hardly worthy of dramatic reenactment. All you’ve done is tried to use scare tactics and pretentious asshattery, without ever stopping to put yourself in the mind of a small child, in a new school, away from his mother and the life to which he had grown accustomed.
ME: Who cast you midgets? I won’t stand for this kind of unprofessionalism! Where’s the director?
Enter SIR IAN MCKELLEN
ME: Sir Ian, why are you allowing this to continue? Does not your love and knowledge of the theatre compel you to make these actors stay in character.
SIR IAN: My good man, the only thing I’m interested in is making absolutely certainly that my pearly white percy stays lodged well within the delectable vagina of the young woman I met at a recent WNBA game. Delectable vagina–that is why I got involved in theatre in the first place.
Exit SIR IAN MCKELLEN
ME: I really need to stop involving that guy in my projects. But he was so damn good in Last Action Hero.
SC1: Can we get on with this? I’ve got a soup commercial audition.
ME: Okay, where were we? Ah yes, I had just made one of my patented references to a book I have no intention of ever reading. Sobbing Child 2, I think you’re up.
SC2: I want my mommy! I want to go home!
SC1: I want to go home!
ME: Okay kids, here’s what you do: Finish your chicken nuggets and then go out to recess for fifteen or twenty minutes. By the time you get done and back to class, it’ll be almost time to go home.
SC1: Really?
ME: Yup.
SC2: But school goes on all day. Are you lying to us?
ME: Me? Lie to children? Heavens no. You’re young, you have no concept of time, so it just seems like school goes on all day to you. Just eat up, run outside, and before you know it, your mommies will be coming to pick you up and take you home.
Exit SOBBING CHILDREN
ME: Shit. I need to get a different job.
Curtain
Sir Ian isn’t into the poonanny. He likes delectable penis. (Isn’t that a Flaming Lips song?)
Are you thinking of King Missile’s “Detachable Penis”? And I might have to add poonanny to the Love Hewitt Word Filter. Maybe replace “poonanny” with “Robert Smith”?
Sir Ian McKellen only pretends to be gay in order to get ahead in Hollywood. He also pretends to be Jewish, an asshole, and to have big, fake tits. Sir Ian McKellen knows how to play the system.
As a former thespian, I can say that not only are there too few sobbing children on stage, but also that audiences are desperate for more sobbing children. In fact a documentary about sobbing children (working title: “Waaaah-ah-ung-ah-ung-waaaaaaaaah!”) exploring why they are sobbing and what can be done to shut them the hell up would no doubt knock ‘em dead at Cannes.
Poonanny!
Don’t forget about the way Sir Ian is always finding a way to get himself into the tabloids. I hear TMZ.com has an entire server dedicated to hosting the terabytes of upkilt pics of McKellen’s member.