27 Jan 2009 @ 8:00 AM 

Scene: Cafeteria.

Tables, chairs, and potted plants are overturned, forming two parallel rows with a clear space of 10 feet separating the rows. People in camouflage are entrenched on the far sides of the rows. Think “gun battle in a restaurant” of any action movie of your choice. There is a considerable amount of food debris covering the floor and the tables.

FAR TEAM, composed of 5 people, is on left side.

Zoom to right side. There is SARGE, PRIVATE 1, PRIVATE 2, and PRIVATE 3 with their backs against a table.

Enter ALBERT in suit, stage right.

SARGE: Albert, get down!

SARGE grabs ALBERT and pulls ALBERT down. Two apples and an orange bounce off the table as ALBERT hits the floor.

ALBERT: [sputtering] What’s going on here?

SARGE: It’s a war out there son! You can’t just waltz into a war zone!

ALBERT moves to get up. SARGE pulls him down. Meanwhile PRIVATE 3 rips open a milk container, looks over the table, and throws it. He is hit with two grapes and a banana, and falls over, not moving.

PRIVATE 1: Sir! Johnson is down!

SARGE: Foo. Fine solder, he was. He deserved better than to get taken out by grape shot.

ALBERT peeks at far team. Far team throws a candy bar at ALBERT. ALBERT ducks. SARGE lobs a sandwich back. ALBERT looks scared. SARGE sees ALBERT’s expression, and sympathy crosses his face.

ALBERT: Why us? Why now?

SARGE: Food war is heck, Son. Just remember, it’s us or them.

A woman enters far stage left carrying a tray with food on it. She walks down between the tables, looks side to side, rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

FAR TEAM throws a pie at the woman. It hits her on the side of the head. She falls, twitches, and lies still.

PRIVATE 2: Sir! They’ve got custard!

FAR TEAM throws pie at PRIVATE 2.

PRIVATE 1: Incoming!

Pie hits table, splashes over and hits SARGE. SARGE grabs ALBERT’s arm and collapses.

SARGE: I regret… that I have but … one hour to give to my lunch room.

Sarge stops moving, eyes open.


ALBERT grabs a bunch of grapes, an apple and two pears. He leaps up and starts throwing them at the far side. The far side tries to hit him with a few shots, but duck behind the tables to avoid the onslaught.

ANNOUNCER: OK, everybody! Lunch is over!

Everybody gets up, dusts themselves off, and exits stage far right.

ALBERT: [addressing Sarge] Good one, Sarge!

Dissolve to Gas Station.

Posted By: greenman
Last Edit: 28 Jan 2009 @ 12:38 AM

Categories: Humor, Surreal


Responses to this post » (One Total)

  1. singingnettle says:

    Rightie-o, then.


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