Miracle Max: Delusions of Grandeur was a comedic magic show I created and performed in the London Fringe Festival in June 2013.
Trailer:
https://vimeo.com/manage/videos/73132316
Full show:
Author: STEVE_SEGUIN Page 1 of 2
Edward:
I’d like to welcome the newest member to our literary society, Merilee Watkins.
[Polite applause from the group.]
Merilee:
Thanks. It really means a lot for me to be here. When my husband and I moved here from Toronto, I was afraid I’d lose all of the intellectual pursuits I love so much. I was so happy to find out there was a literary discussion group here.
Edward:
We’re always glad to have new members – even from Toronto.
[Polite intellectual chuckles from the group.]
Edward:
Let’s get started, shall we? Our selection for this week was the “Collected Works of Edward Ferguson, Volume III.”
Merilee:
Um, I know this is my first night here, but I have to admit I didn’t understand this week’s selection. It was just a bunch of handwritten notes and drawings thrown in a three-ring binder. It wasn’t really a book at all.
Edward:
And what does this tell you about the author? Anyone?
Others:
Oooh, ooh, pick me!
Edward:
Sarah?
Others:
Groan.
Sarah:
It tells us that your all-encompassing genius is easily misunderstood by those who lack your obviously superior intellect. Right, Mr. Ferguson?
Edward:
Very good, Sarah. I am often misunderstood.
Merilee:
I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you wrote this. Do you usually discuss the writing of people within the group?
Paul:
No, that would be crazy. We just discuss Mr. Ferguson’s writings.
Edward:
Shall we continue? I’d like to direct everyone’s attention to the passage entitled, “I’m much more smarter then God (and taller, too)”. Now in this passage, I –
Merilee:
Um, I don’t mean to interrupt, but I was wondering what the picture at the top of the page was.
Edward:
That’s not a picture, that’s oatmeal. I wrote this particular passage when I was eight. For the sake of our newcomer, can anyone tell me what the significance of the oatmeal is?
Others:
Ooh, ooh!
Edward:
James?
Others:
Groan.
James:
That you were trying to construct a new fossil fuel entirely out of oats.
Edward:
No, that was when I was twelve. Sarah?
Sarah:
The oatmeal represents the mindless mush of everyone else’s brain when compared to your mighty intellect?
Edward:
Good answer. Cookie.
[He tosses her a cookie. She catches it in her mouth and wags her tail. Well, if she had a tail, she’d be wagging it.]
Edward:
Now, onto the passage itself.
Merilee:
I actually liked parts of this one. There were certain traits reminiscent of Melville’s man raging against nature in that –
Edward:
Excuse me. What does this Melville nobody have to do with the subject at hand – that being me? Anyone?
Others:
Oooh, ooh!
[Edward points to Paul.]
Paul:
Nothing?
Edward:
Right, nothing. Let’s keep this discussion focused purely on me, shall we? Now, who wants to rub my feet?
Others:
Ooh, ooh, pick me!
Edward:
James.
Others:
Groan.
[James begins to massage Edward’s feet.]
Merilee:
This isn’t a literary discussion group. This is some kind of cult.
Edward:
I’m not asking you to bow down and worship me –
James:
That’s our Friday meeting.
Edward:
I’m just trying to share a part of myself with the group. Do you think that’s easy for me? Do you think it’s easy to take my most private thoughts and put them on display so people like you can put them down and ridicule them? Is this how you pay me back for my honesty and sharing?
Merilee:
I’m – I’m sorry. It must be a huge risk to share something like this with the group.
[Historian’s note: The following are excerpts taken from the rediscovered Houdini diaries, long thought lost to posterity. Apparently, they were only “misplaced to posterity” and recently turned up in the underwear drawer of a certain Miss Santanna, a telemarketer in Phoenix.]
March 17 – Escaped from a safe today. Even though I did it in record time, the crowd seemed restless. Must remember to mention this to my agent. Things are looking up on the home front. I finally found a credenza to match the drapes. Tried to knock the price down by offering to escape from a set of wrist shackles he had lying around, but he wouldn’t go for it. Still, life is good.
March 20 – Lunch with Morty today. The poor man has spent the last year locked in his flat, determined to write the world’s funniest musical. At the end, by sheer coincidence, he had managed to reproduce the complete works of Ezra Pound. He insisted on seeing it performed anyway, and kept insisting that it was funny, the actors just kept putting the emphasis on the wrong bits. Artists.
April 12 – My agent told me I had to freshen up my act, so I added a pony. People love ponies. I’ve given him a top hat and a tailcoat. I call him Lord Henbetty, and he stamps his hoof to count out how long it takes me to get out of the milk can.
April 19 – Dinner again with Morty, then drinks afterward. Morty always finds it funny when we are at the bar and he hides my keys. He laughs for hours.
April 23 – Had to get rid of the pony. He stole too much of the spotlight. On a brighter note, I won’t need to buy beef for quite some time.
May 3 – For a lark, I broke in to prison. Thought it was quite funny ’til the strip search. Guess they had the last laugh.
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?” the old man chortled joyously. “Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day!”
I dropped my gruesome trophy by the door as the old man calloohed and callay’d. He hugged me fiercely. He felt fragile in my arms. Long years had left him short of breath and shaky in flesh.
I remembered the day – ages ago – when he had taken me into his house. He was the storyteller. I was the outcast. He fed my spirit, and I cleaned his eaves. He asked for nothing. He gave me everything. He loved me when I did not love myself.
I thought of this and more as I beat him and stole his few possessions.
Bill:
Uh, hi. I’m here to see Dr. Malone.
Doc:
Doctor Malone’s on vacation. I’m Doctor Kathryn Hall. I’m taking care of Doctor Malone’s patients while he’s gone.
Bill:
Oh. I – I guess that’ll be ok. I just need to have a physical for my health plan at work.
Doc:
All right then I need you to strip down and hop up on the examining table.
Bill:
You know I’ve never been to a woman doctor before.
Doc:
It’s just like going to a male doctor, I assure you. There’s nothing to be nervous or self-conscious about.
[She turns and sees Bill in his tacky, novelty boxer shorts and dress socks and undershirt. She stifles a chuckle.]
Bill:
What? I knew I shouldn’t have worn these today. Maybe I should come back when Dr. Malone is here.
Doc:
Don’t be silly. I’m a doctor. There’s nothing for you to feel self-conscious about. Now take off your shirt.
[Bill removes his shirt and holds in his stomach.]
Doc:
[Behind him with a stethoscope] Take a deep breath.
[Since he’s already holding in his stomach, Bill can only take in a small gulp of air.]
Doc:
Deeper.
[Small breath]
Doc:
Deeper.
[Small breath]
Doc:
Let it out.
[Bill let’s out all of his breath, releasing his paunchy gut.]
[Doc continues doing doctor stuff, like tapping his kidneys and looking in his ears while Bill rambles on.]
Bill:
So, a woman doctor. Did you have to go to a school for that? What am I saying, of course you had to go to school. Look, I’m really uncomfortable. Maybe I should…
Doc:
Mr. Richardson, I am a physician. It makes no difference if I’m a man or a woman. Now we’re almost finished so please let me do my job.
Bill:
You’re right. I’m being stupid. The worst is over, right?
Doc:
Right. Now just turn your head and cough.
Bill:
What?!
Doc:
It’s part of the exam. Please, just turn your head and cough.
Bill:
Nooooo way. Uh, uh. I’m a happily married man. You’re not allowed to look there. No ma’am.
Doc:
It’s a simple procedure. It just takes a second. It’s done thousands of times.
Bill:
Slut. [He realizes what he said and clamps his hand over his mouth.]
Doc:
What?
Bill:
I’m sorry! I’m just nervous.
Doc:
Mr. Richardson, I’m starting to be offended here. I am a fully qualified professional. I have earned my right to practice medicine. My gender has absolutely no bearing on my ability as a doctor, and I find your attitude to be both sexist and demeaning.
Bill:
You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I apologize.
Doc:
That’s better. Now let’s just get this over with. [She pulls the front elastic of his boxer shorts forward.] It’s just a simple – hello!
[Bill looks embarrassed.]
Doc:
This is a lot easier to do if you’re relaxed.
Bill:
I am so embarassed.
Doc:
No, it’s a normal biological reaction.
Bill:
This never happened with Dr. Malone.
Doc:
You know, this is starting to look like a case of sexual harassment.
Bill:
No. Look, I told you I’m not used to a woman doctor. What am I supposed to do?
Doc:
Make it go away.
Bill:
I’m trying! It’s not working.
Doc:
Think about your grocery list or Andy Rooney or anything.
Bill:
Can’t you just look at whatever you have to look at so we can be done here?
Doc:
I can’t quite make it out. Maybe this will help. [She pulls out really large magnifying goggles.]
[Bill frowns.]
Doc:
Works every time. [Puts goggles aside.] Now, turn your head and cough.
Bill:
Cough.
Doc:
I’ll have your exam results typed up and sent in to your office. Good day, Mr. Richardson.
Bill:
That’s it?
Doc:
You’ll just have to leave a urine sample, but my nurse can take care of that. [Calls] Nurse, can you come here?
[Lou, a large burly man, enters.]
Lou:
Yes?
Doc:
Please show Mr. Richardson where he can give us a urine sample.
Lou:
Yes, Doctor. If you’ll follow me, Mr. Richardson.
Bill:
[Exiting with Lou] You know, I’ve never had a male nurse before. I feel kind of awkward.
Scene: A darkened living room, lit only by the glow of a t.v. screen. A young couple are “necking” on the couch.
T.V. News Report:
Police are looking for an escaped mental patient in the Greenville area. More information following our Wheel of Fortune marathon.
[Sounds of a storm.]
Dave and Crystal:
[Assorted smooching sounds.]
[A shuffling or scraping noise from offstage.]
Crystal:
[Breaking off kiss] Did you hear that?
Dave:
Hear what? [He moves to kiss her again, but she stops him.]
Crystal:
I thought I heard something in the kitchen.
Dave:
There’s a loose shutter by the window. It makes noise sometimes.
[They kiss again. Suspenseful music plays. A figure walks up behind the couple.]
All Three:
Aahh!!
Dave:
Dad!
Crystal:
You live with your father?
Dave:
I thought you were going to stay upstairs?
Dad:
I wanted a sandwich. I didn’t realize I’d be stepping into Sodom and Gomorrah here.
Dave:
We were just kissing.
Dad:
“Just kissing”? I didn’t kiss your mother like that until we’d been married for eight years, and even then she had half a bottle of rye in her. But you go back to your “just kissing”. I don’t want to interrupt you on your way to eternal damnation.
Dave:
Dad, I’m 29 years old.
Dad:
Yes, but as long as you’re living under my roof…
Dave:
This is my house. You moved in with me, remember?
Dad:
How could I forget? You keep rubbing it in. [To crystal] There I was – alone, about to be thrown out on the streets, and I had to beg my only son to let me live with him. After all I did for him as a child. He wouldn’t have been able to afford this house if I hadn’t worked so hard to put him through school.
Dave:
You were laid off from the factory when I was six. Mom put me through school.
Dad:
And it’s a good thing your mother isn’t here to see this. God rest her soul.
Dave:
Why do you keep saying that?
Dad:
What?
Dave:
God rest her soul. She isn’t dead. You know perfectly well that mom’s living with that chartered accountant in Kingston.
Dad:
Well, it’s still a good thing that she isn’t here to see the two of you locked together in that sweaty embrace. Your lips pressed together, your bodies writhing with carnal ecstasy, your heated blood surging through your sweaty flesh… Uh, you don’t think that the three of us could…
Dave:
Dad!
Crystal:
Mr. Hatfield!
Dave:
Where do you get an idea like that?
Dad:
Nowhere.
Dave:
C’mon, I know all about those magazines under your bed.
[Dad looks at the floor, sheepishly.]
Dave:
[Moves over to Dad, consolingly.] I know the last few decades have been hard for you, but you’ll get through this. You know I love you, don’t you?
[Dad nods.]
Dave:
Then give me a kiss.
[They kiss. Then they kiss again more deeply. Crystal freaks out and leaves.]
Dad:
I’m sorry I spoiled your date, Son.
Dave:
That’s okay, Dad. [He strokes his father’s face.] You know what, Dad?
Dad:
What?
Dave:
I miss Mom.
Dad:
Me too, Son. Me, too.
[They exit room, arm and arm.]
Jim:
[Subdued] ‘Morning, Al. How was your weekend?
[Al simply grunts as he shuffles towards the coffee maker with his eyes half shut.]
Al:
Coffee…
[Al takes the pot out of the coffee maker and goes to pour it into his mug. Al shrieks in distress when he discovers the coffee pot is empty.]
Jim:
[Tired and subdued] We’re out of coffee. I checked.
Al:
[Moans]
Judy:
[Trudges in] God, I need some coffee,
Jim:
There is no coffee.
Al:
[Moans again, staring at his empty cup.]
Judy:
What do you mean there’s no coffee? How can we work without coffee? There has to be coffee somewhere. [She grabs Jim by the shirt.] I need my coffee. Someone has to have coffee.
Al:
Coffee…
Tim:
[Sails in, bright, cheerful, and extremely hyper.] Good morning, everyone!
Jim:
We’re out of coffee.
Tim:
[Very peppy] Oh, that’s ok. I’ve got this great idea I’d like to get working on. I figure I can reorganize the file system for all our accounts. Judy, did you get a haircut? It looks great! Anyways, with the files, I figured we could…
Judy:
Didn’t you hear him? There’s no coffee.
Al:
[Sobs.]
Jim:
[Comforts Al.] There, there. It’ll be okay.
Judy:
Ok?! Everything’s not going to be ok! Look at Al. How can he function without his coffee? How can any of us function? We’re not going to make it I tell you. We’re not going to make it!
[Al is crying now.]
Jim:
Stop, you’re scaring him. [He hugs Al to comfort him.]
Tim:
Oh well, better get started on my project. Excuse me.
[Tim leaps over to his desk and ducks behind it. The sound of an espresso machine is heard. He comes out from behind the desk, wiping his lips, then leaps over to get some files.]
Judy:
How come you’re not tired like the rest of us?
Tim:
What? Oh, yes. I’m tired. I’m very tired. See? [Tim is incredibly hyper trying to pretend he’s tired.]
Judy:
What have you got under your desk?
Tim:
Nothing! Nothing at all. Nothing’s under my desk. Well, back to work.
Judy:
What’s that on your breath?
Tim:
Nothing! I just want to get back to my collating…
Judy:
You’re holding out on us, aren’t you? Aren’t you?
[Al, with a Frankenstein-like groan, pushes Tim aside and reaches under the desk. He pulls out an espresso machine.]
Judy:
I knew it! Espresso!
Tim:
[Grabs the machine from Al.] That’s mine!
Jim:
We really need that espresso.
Tim:
No, it’s mine.
[The group closes in on Tim who is hugging the machine defensively.]
Judy:
Give it to me!
[They struggle over the machine. Finally, the machine breaks apart, sending Tim sprawling. He hits his head on the corner of the desk and collapses.]
Jim:
[Bends over Tim’s body] Great, now Johnson’s dead.
Judy:
Never mind that, what about the espresso maker?
Jim:
It’s broken.
Judy:
Fix it!
Jim:
[Sobbing] I don’t know how.
Judy:
There has to be caffeine still in his bloodstream! We can drink that!
[Judy dives under the desk. She reaches up to pull a pencil off the desk and stabs it down like a knife.]
Mr. Maxwell:
[Enters] Hi, sorry I’m late. I remembered we were out of coffee so I stopped to pick some up for everyone.
[Judy sticks her head up, her face has blood on it. Al rushes over and grabs a cup of coffee and guzzles it.]
Maxwell:
So, did I miss anything important?
[Everyone avoids his gaze.]
Maxwell:
Say, where’s Johnson?
Judy:
Uh, he had to step out.
Al:
Can I have his coffee?
Tea parties don’t plan themselves, and mine was no exception.
Choosing the tea was the easy part – West Bengal Darjeeling plucked before the 2006 drought and dried in Northumberland. Selecting the biscuits proved to be the biggest challenge. Plain chocolate hob nobs? Yorkshire digestives? Which would bring out the nuances of the tea without overshadowing it?
After the biscuits, the china, the napkins, the doilies – oh my God, don’t get me started on the doilies! Still, I persevered. Days of anguished soul searching produced place settings, guest lists, invitations, and seating charts.
As the guests arrived, I could gauge my success by the delight in their eyes. Everything would have been perfect if not for the atomic blast.
Few people realize that Hunter S. Thompson was an avid balloon animal maker. I didn’t realize myself until he showed up at my 18th birthday party. He arrived unannounced, made colorful balloon doggies for my friends, read us some of his works, and then closed with his hilarious tribute to the whoopie cushion.
He stayed for several days afterwards, camped out on a rusty lawn chair in our backyard, shooting beer cans (much to my parents’ chagrin). Dad finally had to turn on the sprinkler to get rid of him.
Nevertheless, that birthday remained my favourite childhood memory for many years until the year I turned 26 and Maya Angelou took me to a strip club.
I painted my neighbour’s red door black. He didn’t get it.