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In the Postcrypt. The normal setup. POET FROM HELL is on stage, reading from N.Y. White Pages. POET FROM HELL: Zzzyandottie Archimedes I, 505 Park Ave, 4213430; Zzyandottie Archimedes I, 200 E 66, 223-3955; Zzzyrmidgeon A, 23 Jones 242-2108! (thunderous applause. POET storms off. HOSTESS comes on.) HOSTESS: Let's hear it again for the Poet From Hell! (more applause.) Wow. I mean wow. That's, that's all I can...wow. Oh God, yes. (Wipes her forehead.) Does anyone have a cigarette? (A dozen packs reach into the screen. She takes one.) Thanks. She will be coming back real soon, next Friday actually, to read some recent stuff including "New York-Chicago Amtrak Timetable." applause) POET: (offscreen) Goodnight! (gunshot) HOSTESS: ...WOW...now there lies a poet! (thunderous alause) OK, time to move on to our next singer-songwriter. The next one is, of course, another white male from a semi-well-off suburb somewhere on the East Coast who is trying to convince us that he has suffered. Brothers and sisters, please welcome James Taylor's Bastard Son! (Thunderous applause. B.S. walks onstage) B.S.: My friends just call me B.S. Wow, man, it's great to be at the Postcrypt finally. You cats are, like, wicked beautiful. I'm serious. I think I love you. So I'm gonna play a tune just for you, from the immortal Dan Hill. So take another drag, close your eyes, tune in, turn on, and--(HOSTESS hands him a note)--and please browse in the Postcrypt Gift Shop on your way out. Thanks. (Struggles through "Sometimes When We Touch," as audience fervor rises during song to cathartic finale. B.S. walks off triumphantly. HOSTESS returns.) HOSTESS: Wow. That was great, B.S. Oh wow, this is great. O.K., before we go on, we have some announcements. (Groans) Yea, I know, but we have bills to pay. So, please, buy as many rounds of Rolling Rock as is physically possible. Some of that money goes to the Save Jerry Lewis fund, and the other 99% goes to us. If you end up incapable of driving home we can take you in the Paisley Civic or the Safe Love Bus. What else? Oh yeah. Please, the brown sugar on the tables should only be used for the herbal tea. O.K.? O.K., enough about me. We have a real, real wow of a treat for you. What can I say? These guys have been rocking the house since the Beatles. They've heen in a teeny slump for, oh, twenty years, but they're back. Kicking off their world tour right here, brothers and sisters, the Bee Gees! (The BG's come on to dead silence. She pleads with the croud.) Hey, I know they're not our types, but they're really nice...And they're doing it for free... BARRY: And the next round's on us. (thunderous applause.) That's better. Yo, we love you N.Y., we're the new, improved, prewashed Bee Gee's. This here's my freakin' posse, on my left is MC Maurice, over here is Rappin Robin, and you are looking at Eazy Barry, and it is time to get down with the cactus. ROBIN: Word, Easy. Yo, we're here to bust a move and rock your bells. We are back, and back is beautiful. BARRY: And we're proud to be back, y'all! And that's a fact y'all! Man, that is some def prose, Robin. We still got it, homeslice. MAURICE: You said it, man! This gig is far out, and we're gonna blow your mind. So grab a chick with a compatible sign and get ready to boogie! Let's twist the night away! Let's knock, knock, knock on wood! Let's freak out! Let's do the hustle! Come on, all you hipsters, let's get night fever! Let's--(his bros stare at him. He cringes.) Am I acting square again? BARRY: Homeboy, you be illin. ROBIN: Word. BARRY: But we be bros, see? So I gotta accept you as you are. MAURICE: Gee, that's really swell of you guys. BARRY: Just start laying the bass down. MAURICE: Sure thing, man, I mean dude, I mean homedog, no- ROBIN: Maurice! (MAURICE cringes, goes to turntable and starts the groove.) BARRY: Def, man, this groove is jammin. Let's go. (They sing "Jive Talkin" with the rap backbeat. Occassional fist pumping, crotch grabbing, Robin chants "Go Bee Gees," while Maurice does disco moves. No one claps at end. The brothers look nervous.) BARRY: (to ROBIN) I guess that's it. ROBIN: Yeah. MAURICE: (tearful) Can't we all just get along?
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