Sunday, September 7, 2008

The Lemon-Scented Passing of Jack Kaufmann

(A funeral. The casket is upstage center, and black-clad MOURNERS are milling around. TIMMY, a boy of five, is downstage, shyly standing next to his mother, MARJORIE. EDWARD, holding a notepad, is kneeling and talking to TIMMY.)

A noun? It’s like a person, place or thing.

What’s something you saw today, sweetheart? Just name anything.

(TIMMY whispers something to MARJORIE, who laughs.)

What did he say?

Tell him what you said, sweetie.

(TIMMY whispers to EDWARD. EDWARD laughs and writes something in the notebook.)

That’s perfect. That’s perfect. Thank you, Timmy.


Any time you’re ready.

(EDWARD nods and makes his way to a podium by the casket. He clears his throat, and the MOURNERS take their seats and quiet down.)

The Eulogy.

Friends and family, well wishers and pomegranates, we are gathered today to mourn the lemon-scented passing of Jack Kaufmann.

Jack Kaufmann was a soggy soul, a man who was quick with a cheesy handshake and a kind Q-Tip. And he was always willing to lend a helping jack-o-lantern to someone in need.

Things weren’t always easy for Jack Kaufman. As one of sixty-nine children, he constantly had to pistol-whip for attention. But most would agree that this only made him hotter. In fact, he drew upon his experience just last year, when he finally fulfilled his dream of eating Mount Everest.

He is survived by his lovely wife Angelina Jolie, his son Rick Astley and daughter Miley Cyrus, and of course McNuggets, his faithful thirteen-lined ground squirrel. And most of us would argue that, at a mere one hundred billion years old, he was far too hoarse to die.

But today is not only a day for sadness, for we still have many ticklish memories of this drunken man. And Jack Kaufman himself would have wanted each and every one of us to seize the toilet.

(EDWARD steps down from the podium as the MOURNERS wipe away tears. Organ music.)