Lupus and the Greedy Jesus
(A One-Act Tragedy Play for a Modern Recession and a Poor Faith Economy)
by
Matt Zbrog
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CURTAIN:
It was the opposite of a dark and stormy night. The Wells Fargo branch was quietly going about its business… Marshall the bank teller was standing at his post with hopeless ennui… Matt was on the far end of the bank, an air conditioning vent running softly through his gorgeous hair…
ENTER ANNE, a gigantic potato sack of an old lady… she speaks with the loud authority of a Martin Luther King, Jr., and with the righteous indignation of a fox news lunatic…
Anne: YALL NEVER GONNA BELIEVE
WHAT HAPPENED TO ME
Anne stumbles towards Marshall… her walk looks like a water balloon tumbling lazily across smooth tile… She has a smile on her face as wide as a watermelon slice… And she launches into her Shakespearean sonnet where syllables and pace are missing but only because she is eloquent enough not to need them…
Anne: I GOT THE LUPUS
GOT MY OLD CROCK-ED HIP
EVERY STEP FEELS LIKE I’M FALLIN
BUT YALL KNOW ME
THAT AIN’T THE WORST OF IT
Her fat melting tootsie roll fingers slap the papers on Marshall’s desk…
Anne: I’M HERE TO DISPUTE THESE CHARGES!
Marshall studies the pages with absolute blasé. He confronts the reality of his day to day job in terms of the big picture and blah blah blah blah bank stuff blah blah… back to Anne…
Anne: I WROTE A 20 DOLLAR CHECK
AND YALL BOUNCED IT
Anne waves a twenty dollar bill in the air like a white flag from a foxhole…
Anne: BUT I GOT THE MONEY
RIGHT HERE
Marshall shrugs his shoulders and says something stupid about that not mattering and he feels like blah blah blah dude you work in a bank no one cares blah blah blah. Anne continues…
Anne: I WROTE THAT CHECK
FOR TURTLE ROCK BAPTIST CHURCH
YEAH
THAT’S RIGHT YOU SON OF A BITCH
I WROTE THAT CHECK TO JESUS.
Silence. Then, on cue, from far away, Matt speaks up…
Matt (softly): Woah!
Anne does not hear this. She continues…
Anne: YOU SEE NOW?
JESUS WANTS HIS CUT
OK
OK
ALL PIMPS GET ‘THEY’ SLICE
BUT
NOW JESUS WANTS TO CHARGE ME FEES?
NOW JESUS WANTS PROOF I GOT HIS CASH?
SOMEONE BETTER TELL JESUS
TO GIVE THAT SHIT A REST
In the distance, Matt hangs on every word, hands clasped as in prayer… Marshall’s reaction is worthless and disrespectful… Anne has exhausted her obese body with all this emotional rage… She fans her moist, gelatinous skin with her clammy hand…
Anne : I MEAN
LOOK AT ALL WELLS FARGO GOT!
LOOK AT ALL THAT CRACKER MESSIAH GOT!
WHAT DO I GOT?
I GOT A BOUNCED CHECK
AND THE GOD-DAMN LUPUS.
… Anne pauses for a breath into her fat, fat, grocery bag lungs… musters every joule of energy… And then yells out her Faith Eulogy, confronting her upbringing, her creator, her destiny, her reality (!!!) …
Anne: THIRTY DOLLAR FEE ON A TWENTY DOLLAR CHECK?
WELLS FARGO AND THAT GREEDY JESUS
CAN GO STRAIGHT TO HELL.
Silence, it has a sound.
The bank-turned-congregation tries to process the miracle just performed, but their tiny bank-minds are grappling with implications far beyond their bank-depth. Marshall begins to sob… few are concerned…
Matt: HALLELUJAH!
FIN.
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