Ten Years of Uselessness

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It makes sense that I should post this somewhere I can point to it, since I still do that. Up to now, I've simply given a link to some site or other that has reposted it, but what if they all wise up and drop me? Then what? Hah? Anyway, back in July of 2003, I was laid up with the flu. This was the tangible result. It began, "I've been sick lately, and, well, I wrote a sketch..."

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USELESS INVASION SKETCH (by Kip Williams, age 46)

THE AMERICAN PEOPLE (played by John Cleese) walks down the street carrying THE IRAQUI INVASION (played by an empty parrot cage). He walks into THE WHITE HOUSE (played by a cheesy storefront) and addresses COLIN POWELL (played by Michael Palin).

AP:
Excuse me... boy!

CP:
(turns around and stands up) What d'you mean, 'boy?'

AP:
I'm sorry; I have contact lenses. At any rate, I wish to register a complaint!

CP:
Sorry, squire, I can't talk to you now. It's Code Orange! (he hastily starts to put up a sign)

AP:
Never mind that now, my fine fellow. I wish to register a complain about this military action, which you sold me just a couple of months ago.

CP:
Oh yes, the Iraqui invasion. Lovely little war, that was. What... uh, what seems to be wrong with it?

AP:
I'll tell you what's wrong with it. It's empty, that's what's wrong with it.

CP:
Oh, no, no, no. It's not empty at all. It's served its purpose, it has. Freed the oppressed people of Iraq, fed the homeless, brought everlasting fame and glory to our bulging leader.

AP:
But when I purchased this dreary little police action from you, you assured me that the whole and entire purpose was to disarm Saddam Hussein and take away, quote, his vast stockpiles of ready-to-use weapons of mass destruction, end quote.

CP:
Oh, there's some mistake. We went in to liberate the poor oppressed people of...

AP:
Listen, mate. I took the liberty of recording your voice when you sold me that thing, and here's what it says. (produces tape recorder)

Tape: (CP's voice)
"We know just where they are. We know just what they've got. They're buried in these bunkers right here, which our surveillance satellites have photographed not more than twenty minutes ago. They could not possibly be used for any purpose other than the storage of hideous, slime-dripping nuclear anthrax chemical weapons of mass destruction. Say, are you recording me?"

AP:
Right. And when we "liberated" those poor bastards, the bunker was found to contain little more than a twenty-year collection of Penthouse and Hustler magazines, plus a dozen lava lamps and a mini-bar.

CP:
Well...

AP:
Well?

CP:
Well, of course they'd cleaned it out before they left. Sold it all to their chums in the Taliban, they did.

AP:
I happen to know that their 'chums,' as you so colorfully put it, hate their guts and have referred to them repeatedly as "scabrous lackeys of the internationalist secular state," end quotation.

CP:
Well, they have to say that, don't they? I mean, it's all part of the grand scheme. Lovely little war, wa'nit? Liberated all them poor...

AP:
Stoppit! All you've done is make their lives worse than before. That's why they keep killing our soldiers.

CP:
Oh no, squire. They're grateful. That's why they pulled down that statue.

AP:
I've seen the footage of the event, and the only Iraquis in the picture appear to have had their feet nailed there.

CP:
Well, of course they were nailed there. If we hadn't nailed them, they'd've been crushed by the falling statue, wouldn't they? It was for their own safety. That's why we liberated the...

AP:
Shut up. Did you or did you not allege on several different occasions that we had found the weapons of mass destruction and that therefore the entire ill-advised escapade was a rousing success?

CP:
What, them trailers? Well, of course they was weapons of mass destruction. They could've used them for germs, or chemicals, or...

AP:
In fact, they were used for hydrogen, and precious little of that. They didn't even have walls, for pity's sake.

CP:
Well, hydrogen's pretty dangerous, isn't it, Squire? It could power tanks or jets or... and what about that Hindenberry thing? Let's see you stand in a room full of liquid hydrogen with nothing but a ripe boysenberry to defend yourself with, and you'll soon see mass destructive. Wouldn't want to be in your shoes then! And anyway, we liberated the...

AP:
Liberation don't enter into it, mate. It was a bleeding sham.

CP:
No, it was liberation!

AP:
Sham, sham, sham! And you didn't find any weapons of mass destruction!

CP:
Well, of course we didn't, Squire. They was... they was looted.

AP:
Looted? LOOTED?

CP:
Yeah. When our boys was busy not looking at the museum, they looted all them weapons out from under their noses. And anyway, we liberated...

AP:
You're saying that starving peasants with no resources of their own simply looted vast stores of nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons? With What??

CP:
They carried them off on their bicycles.

AP:
But a missile weighs several tons, and a bicycle can only carry, at most, a couple of hundred pounds.

CP:
They used two bicycles, with a bungee cord between 'em. They're a nasty lot, Squire. Not like the ones that sang songs to us when we liberated...

AP:
Will you shut up? Since when is it liberation to leave a people destitute, without food, water, electricity, or law enforcement?

CP:
Those things was all shackles on them. We freed 'em, I tell you! They're grateful to us. They're singin' songs...

AP:
Those aren't songs, you parsimonious prevaricator, they're protesting in the streets, and shooting at our soldiers.

CP:
They're just exuberant. Like to fire off their guns a lot, now they're free and all. They don't mean nuffin' by it. They're just so happy to be liberated, with Hussein gone. You mark my words; he was the real weapon of mass destruction his own self, why, he...

AP:
That's another thing. You didn't even get him, did you?

CP:
Well...

AP:
You don't even know where he is, do you?

CP:
We got a tip...

AP:
You've been blowing up caravans and bombing cities and striking about blindly, because your yahoo cowboy boss refused to listen to any intelligence that contradicted his beliefs. Which, when you come down to it, precluded the use of any intelligence whatsoever.

CP:
I see. Quite. (pause) Well, then, we'd better replace it, hadn't we?

AP:
With what?

CP:
Well, them Iranis are gettin' pretty swaggery, ain't they?

AP:
I thought you were encouraging them to rise up against their religious leaders, now that they aren't accepting any more cakes from your lot.

CP:
Fair enough. How about something in a nice little Afghanistan?

AP:
You've already done that one. Worse than Iraq, if I recall.

CP:
How about... coming up to my place and re-electing my boss?

AP:
Why in the world would I want to do that? Why wouldn't I just vote for the Democrats and chase you idiots out of office, once for all?

AP:
Oh, no, Squire! No, no, no, no! You wouldn't want to do that, trust me on this one.

AP:
And why not, if I may be so brash as to query?

CP:
Well, they're a bunch of psychopathic liars, they are, always Whitewaterin', 'aving sex in the Oval Office, taking' expensive haircuts on Air Force One, trashing the White House, murderin' poor ol' Vince Foster, and claiming they invented the Internet.

AP:
Point taken! Well, then, I'll have a North Korea to go, please.

CP:
You won't regret it, Squire! I'll just wrap it up. (tears an American flag off of a roll and clumsily wraps up the same cage the AP carried in.) Come again!
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social media (song)

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filtered through a radioactive Michael Jackson impersonator — title and tune at end

You still together? Did your cable come back?
How 'bout this weather? Whad ja have for a snack?
We're hangin' here on every single message now, Jack,
So tweet it! Just tweet it!

Is your car working? Is it cold in your flat?
Got coffee perking or a .gif of a cat?
You need to tell the motherlovin' world about that!
So tweet it! Put your words on that screen.

Just tweet it, tweet it, tweet it, tweet it,
Pray that it'll be repeated
They don't all need  
To end with a snort
Don't need it deep, long as it's short
Just tweet it, tweet it
Just tweet it, tweet it
Just tweet it, tweet it
Just tweet it, tweet it

Seven score letters, try to leave some slack
You want your name to fit there if they tweet it back
Use 'em all up and you'll look like a hack
But tweet it, just tweet it

Your life is boring, it's a stinkin' crime
Nowhere to go today, no mountains to climb
So let your life run out, a gross of letters at a time, and
Tweet it! Did they favorite this one?

Just tweet it! Tweet it!
(repeat until bored)








[title: Tweet It. ttto: Beat It — (I hoped it was obvious)]
lyrics above ©2013 by Kip Williams
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minas morgul

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Minas Morgul was Minas Ithil
Now it's Minas Morgul, not Minas Ithil.
Now the shadows grow in old Minas Ithil
On a moonless night, by runic light.

The Uruk-Hai in old Minas Ithil
Lurk in Minas Morgul, not Minas Ithil*
So if you've a doom in fair Minas Ithil,
It awaits thee in fell Morgul.

Even old Mirkwood was once the Greenwood great.
Why'd they change? I dare not say --
(Evil One liked it better that way!) So--

Take me back to old Minas Ithil.
No, you can't go back to old Minas Ithil
For the road leads not to cold Minas Ithil.

Why did poor Minas Ithil pop its corks?
That's nobody's business but the Orcs!

[ttto: Istanbul (not Constantinople). New words (c)2004 by Kip Williams]


*This has been criticized, but it is a true statement. The ones that are there do that. I didn't say there were a lot of them. Q.E.D.

(I realized I don't have this up on my own page. I wrote it in 2000, right around or just after the time I was in "The Mikado" at CNU.)
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My Object All Sublime


In 2000, I decided that the theatre program at Christopher Newport University was a class act, and determined that, over the hill as I was, I would use my position as a faculty spouse to justify trying out for shows. I auditioned (using "The Girl Friend of the Whirling Dervish" as my song) , and was offered a part in the Chorus, which I accepted, knowing full well it would be harder than any part I'd ever done. And it was, but it was so worth it. I got to work with director George Hillow, who not only brought out humorous scenes and situations I never suspected were in the original script, but who also created fantastic sets.

(In the photo, I'm the really pale one. My character was called "Honorable Third-From-Left".)

Early in rehearsals, George put out a call for new lyrics in two of the show's numbers, "I've Got A Little List," and "A More Humane Mikado." Though most of the show's lyrics have aged well, the social offenders on whom the characters were wishing death and humiliation have been replaced by much newer annoyances to revile. It turned out quite soon that he was happy enough with a set of lyrics for the little list that had been used in another production, and I turned my attention to the Mikado's number.

One or two verses I initially wrote were axed and replaced by better ones (also by me). In the course of rehearsal, bits of business were added in.

It was just wonderful, hearing my lyrics sung by a soloist with chorus and orchestra for a live audience that gave the impression they were enjoying it. (The highest compliment the show received, in my opinion, was a student sitting behind my wife, who remarked to his chum, "This is more fun than getting wrecked!")

Allow me to set the stage. The Mikado of Japan, feared by all for his jovial enjoyment of torture, comes to the town of Titipu, where he is greeted by all the other principals and the chorus. The laughter heard in the opening lines of his song comes because the factotums have brought a huge box out onto the stage, and the Mikado has just popped out of it like a mikado-in-a-box. (Jon, our Mikado, carried this off with hauteur and aplomb, despite being claustrophobic.)

By way of introduction, he sings the words of W.S. Gilbert (which I will put asterisks in front of, just in case anyone thinks I'm trying to pass off his lyrics as more of my work):

Mikado:
*A more humane Mikado never did in Japan exist!
*To nobody second, I'm certainly reckoned a true philanthopist.
*It is my very humane endeavor to make, to some extent,
*Each evil liver a running river of harmless merriment.

*My object all sublime, I shall achieve in time--
*To let the punishment fit the crime, the punishment fit the crime--
*And make each prisoner pent
*Unwillingly represent
*A source of innocent merriment, of innocent merriment!

The boring breadwinner who rings you at dinner
To change long-distance plans;
We'll let this annoyer try calling his lawyer
With string and two tin cans.

The dowager old, who makes so bold
As to 'lift' her form and face --
When she has healed, 'twill be revealed
Her nose they did misplace.

The chip-eating chap in his easy chair's lap
Who's wild for spectator sport
Will play them all from inside the ball
Being bounced around the court!

The lout who enjoys his musical noise
And shares it with you on the street;
We shall make a drum of his bum-bum-bum
And kick it on every beat...

*My object all sublime, I shall achieve in time
*To let the punishment fit the crime, the punishment fit the crime,
*And make each prisoner pent
*Unwillingly represent
*A source of innocent merriment, of innocent merriment.

Chorus:
*His object all sublime, he shall achieve in time (etc)

Mikado:
The caliginous creep with his cell-phone's beep
In crowded concert halls;
His number we'll lend to the Psychic Friends
And let them receive his calls!

The lawyers who...

At this point, a cell phone is heard. Jon stops singing. The orchestra stops playing. The chorus and everyone else on stage starts digging frantically through their costumes, looking for the phone. A Gentleman of Japan, who is somehow third from right at this point, triumphantly comes up with the chirping instrument, opens it up and says, "Moshi-moshi? ... hai... hai... " Sudden realization that the call is for the Big Guy himself, who regards me with royal impatience. I knee-walk over and hand him my phone. "Mikado," says Jon. "Sorry, I'm in the middle of a number. Yes... Yes, I love you too, Mumsy." He clicks off and puts the phone in his pocket. I grovel back to my place.

Mikado:
...The lawyers who race and ambulance chase
As a business strategem
Will see how they like to pedal a bike
While the ambulance chases them.

The mentalities small, who write on a wall
That "So and So is a Jerk" --
We'll see to it these'll be everyone's easel
Of calli-o-graphic work!

The playgoer loud, so exceedingly proud
To announce how the show comes out
Will be condemned to announce the end
Of himself; quite soon, no doubt.

*My object all sublime, I shall achieve in time (etc)

Chorus:
*His object all sublime, he shall achieve in time (etc)

(We moved from Virginia in 2005, but for as long as we were there, George was telling people that the biggest laugh ever was when I said "Moshi-moshi." I believe it was Jackie who provided me with this standard telephone greeting. Nowadays I think I should have turned out as the reaction was dying down and shushed the audience, but we only think of these things when it's twelve years too late. Edited to add an audio file, and I think I might be able to provide video of it in the near-ish future.)

15 Nov 2013: I was thinking about the show again today, wearily working out at the Y, and the remarkable talents we had. Fred, our Ko-Ko, has been working steadily on stages in New York City and around, since he graduated. Erik, our Pooh-Bah, has been a fixture on professional stages farther south. When Erik and Fred and Chad performed the trio, "I Am So Proud," the star power on that stage was downright scary. And Jon, who popped out of a box as The Mikado, did so with grace and confidence each night, notwithstanding his nigh-overpowering claustrophobia. The things we are able to do in front of an audience! (My back had gone out, and as I stepped away from the stage, I'd sag more and more until I had to crawl to a couch until my next entrance. I remember seeing Mike doze on the same couch, and when a stagehand gave us the customary alert, "Five minutes," he replied "Thank you five" without waking up.)

What I wanted to say was that I still admire Erik, not just for his virtuoso performance (without changing a word of dialog, he made the scene where he advises Ko-Ko as a variety of functionaries into a cadenza of celebrity impersonations) but for his curtain call. All through the show, he was stern and unbending. As he took his bow, he glared at the audience one last time, raised his fan to his face, and when the fan came down, he was smiling broadly. He had dropped the mask with a wonderful gesture I will steal if I ever get the chance, facing the audience for the last time as himself.

The closest I came to an inspired curtain call was for "Where's Charley?", a show in which I spent my time trying to woo a wealthy widow, never suspecting it was Charley. The real widow, played by Angela, was to my left as we came out. Every night, I gallantly offered her my arm, and every night, she didn't even see me, turning to the gentleman who had won her affection in the last act, at which I would turn away and pretend not to mind. Angela didn't even know I was doing it. Somebody told her, and she said it made her feel so sorry for me! Or rather, for Simon Sylvester Salsonberry Spettigue, I suppose.