“Yes, is this Mr. P. Drub?”
“Who wants to know?
“Oh, hi honey.”
“Hi. I was just calling to see if the phone still worked if I was on another end.”
“Do you still love me Mr. Drubby?”
“Of course I do sweetie.”
“Are you sure? I just need to know because I’ve never spoken to another man from a foreign phone. Please, tell me you love me.”
“Please Puddly, please tell me you love me. It would be the first time since we got married. And it’s kinda kinky, you know, saying it over the phone.”
Hesitation. Then in a hoarse whisper, “I… love…. you.”
“Sorry, puff pastry, but the line’s breaking up, can you say that again?”
“Puddin’ of lard, are you still there? All I hear is heavy breathing.”
“Tell me you love me Puds. Just tell me. You’ve never told it to me over the phone.”
“Yes I did, way back in 45, when my mother got a rotary.”
“But that was when you were dating Mary Lou Bantock.”
“Well, I don’t think you meant it, and, anyway, I was on a friend’s phone.”
“Are you still there floppy plob?”
“Look honey, the game’s on in a bit, why don’t I just e-mail you, okay?”
The above on-man play was performed by an assemble cast of text messengers from an unknown venue. No phones were hurt in the production, but a innocent bystander lost his job when his personal cell call to a sex hot line interrupted the play right before the heavy breathing scene — which was later edited in because it sounded so real compared to the actor’s bad imitation.
If you’d like a transcript of this play, please send a carrier pigeon to the following address: Dave, 22 Eggers Rd., McSweeney, The Republic of Tea.