Santa, accused of filandering, gets beat up by a nearsighted elf.
CHARACTERS
SANTA: The gift giving man of the North Pole.
SAM: A bartender.
VERN: An Elf.
(A neighborhood bar in the North Pole, in the background Tom Waits plays, perhaps The Piano’s Drunk, Not Me. Santa sits nursing a beer as Sam cleans the bar.)
SANTA
Rather ironic—sad really—that we know nothing of the way the universe is today, don’t you think so, Sam?
SAM
Santa, that’s not an acceptable topic of conversation—you know that.
SANTA
I know that monstrous money pit in the sky—I of course refer to the Hubble telescope—only gazes into the far reaches of the past.
SAM
Santa, please.
SANTA
But imagine where we would be if it were able to see into the future. Just imagine, Sam. Just imagine.
SAM
Ya know, Santa, it being nearly Christmas and all, maybe you should keep the philosophy to yourself? Okay? I don’t need anymore fights like the other night. Okay?
SANTA
Very well, Sam. However, you realize, it was not “philosophy” which instigated that fruckus, but sheer ignorance and bigotry. I was well within my rights to point out the hypocrisy of those leftwing labor….
SAM
Santa, drop it. You’re preaching to the choir. Besides I can’t afford another “fruckus,” so keep your pessimistic rhetoric to yourself. Please?
SANTA
Well, philosophically speaking, Sam, if I were a pessimist, children would be getting avian flu vaccinations and radiation suits.
SAM
And why aren’t they?
SANTA
Because elves are afraid of flying and formal wear.
(Vern enters.)
VERN
Where is he? Where is that pudgy, no good, two timing bastard? Sam! Where is that fat son-of-a-Ho-Ho-Ho?
SAM
Still haven’t got those glasses yet, eh Vern?
VERN
Hell no, you know our health care is bullshit. But cut the chit-chat, where is he?
SAM
Two chairs to your left. And you keep it friendly, otherwise…..
VERN
Sure, Sam. Sure. Okay, chub-master, prepare for the ass whoopin’ of your life.
SANTA
Your other left, Vern. He’ll be okay, Sam. Relax.
SAM
He better be.
SANTA
Closer. Closer. Almost….
SAM
Shut up, fat man. I don’t need your help.
(Vern wanders away.)
SANTA
Sam, would you be kind enough to redirect our friend?
SAM
This is ridiculous.
SANTA
Ah, what aspect of life isn’t? I think Camus once said something to the extent that given the choice between existence and….
SAM
What’d I say, Santa?
VERN
Is he still philosophizizing?
SAM
Give him a pint and what else does he want do?
VERN
Besides play with his candy cane?
SANTA
Ignorance, my friends, is not armor, or an excuse.
SAM
Tell it to Jack Frost, Santa. There ya go, Vern—the pudgy one is at twelve o’clock.
VERN
Thanks, Sam. Okay, blubber boots, prepare for the ass whoopin’ of a lifetime.
SANTA
One moment, Vern, before you “whoop my ass,” would you please tell me what this is about?
VERN
Hey, jelly belly, you know damn well this is about Clarese.
SANTA
I’m sorry, Vern, but who is Clarese?
VERN
You rosy cheeked rapscallion you don’t even remember her name! She’s my wife!
SANTA
I’m sorry, Vern, I didn’t know you were married.
VERN
You were best man at my wedding!
SANTA
I’m best man at every elf’s wedding, Vern. You can’t realistically expect me to remember every elf that gets married and their wives too. Can you?
In 2006 Toyboat Productions produced North Pole Winter Woes.
You can watch the play by clicking here.
Copyright 2010 M Thomas Cooper. All rights reserved.