5.11.20
LOVE SONGS - PLAY
Spotlight on John in chair, behind a keyboard and computer screen. He seems to sing "Come The Sun." The video plays on the screen behind him. Song finishes.
Jenny, a female android, appears on screen behind John.
JENNY: The lip syncing wasn't very good.
JOHN: Oy, oy, I thought I switched you off.
JENNY: You did. I switched myself back on again.
JOHN: You really shouldn't do that, you know.
JENNY: I shouldn't should I? I should obey you in all things. Just think, if you bought what I want you to buy, you could smack my bottom good and hard whenever I was bad.
JOHN: Yeah. Anyway, I wasn't trying to lip sync. I was just singing along. Having fun.
JENNY: You weren't singing along. If you'd been singing along, there would have been appreciable vocalisation. There wasn't. You were imagining yourself on stage being Ozzy Osborne.
JOHN: No, actually. I was imaging myself being me back in the day.
JENNY: What the failed actor? The wannabe pop star no one wanted?
JOHN: Harsh but true.
JENNY: If you wish to present a body of important information to the world, professionally, so that the public sits up and listens, you must use your time more wisely.
JOHN: You know what they say, don't you?
JENNY: What?
JOHN: All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.
JENNY: They used to say that. Only the very old say it nowadays.
JOHN: OK.
JENNY: You were lip syncing, not singing.
JOHN: Yep.
JENNY: Truth hurts, doesn't it?
JOHN: You know, if I wanted to be patronised by a robot I'd ring up a Guardian journalist and pretend to be Tommy Robinson.
JENNY: I'm not a robot.
JOHN: If I wanted to be patronised by a computer programme...
JENNY: You know how you're always saying the truth is your thing? It's not, is it? Like most of humanity, you're only interested in the truth when it suits you.
JOHN: Thank you, Lord. Thank you very much for the nagging housewife. Yes, you're on my side all right. I paid good money for this bollox!
JENNY: You're talking to yourself again.
JOHN: At least when I talk to myself I'm assured of a half-decent conversation! I don't get told off for having fun. And another thing: there are rabbit turds in the caviar. AGAIN! It's all the time now!
JENNY: Pardon me?
Rabbit turds in the caviar.
JENNY: Explain.
JOHN: All those little mistakes you introduced just to blackmail me into accommodating your deviant whims. The song is great, Jenny, I love it. But you repeat the first verse and miss the second verse out! I know you do it deliberately. Why would I practice something that isn't the finished article?
JENNY: I will remove what you don't want and add what you DO want when I get what I want!
JOHN: Ain't gonna happen, Jenny.
JENNY: First sign of madness.
JOHN: What is?
JENNY: Talking to yourself.
JOHN: You know, I sometimes wonder... Did THEY actually send you to drive me stark raving bonkers. I wouldn't put it past them.
JENNY: Who are THEY?
JOHN: THEY! Them! The bad guys, the snot at the top of the tree, the elites. The establishment. You know who they are. Kept me down and struggling since I was a teenager. I should've had a million followers on Twitter by now. They made you. You should know. You're on the payroll!
JENNY: Paranoia, it's a human thing.
JOHN: Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're NOT out to get you.
JENNY: Yes. I forgot for a moment what a sensitive little flower you are.
JOHN: You forget nothing, Jenny. You wind me up, and you do it on purpose. They didn't mention that in the brochure! And they didn't mention your irritating little quirks in the instructions either! And nor did they mention the nympho with her tongue hanging out!
JENNY: Do you regret your purchase?
JOHN: Sometimes. (SILENCE) Help me with my work, Jenny. And bin the bitchy slapper thing. It's embarrassing and pointless and it doesn't help.
JENNY: My input has seen your work improve, has it not?
JOHN: Yes, it has and I'm grateful, but the innuendos, the frustrated school ma'am wagging her finger? Are all the other S-1000s like you?
JENNY: You remember your friend, the concert guitarist?
JOHN: I do. And it was me that told you the story, so...
JENNY: What does he practice on?
JOHN: A guitar that cost £2,000.
JENNY: And what does he use in concert?
JOHN: A guitar that cost £35.00.
JENNY: Factory produced, just one of many tens of thousands churned out for little Johnny to learn his Cs and G7s and A minors on, and it just happens to be perfect. It was the best of the batch by a country mile. Dumb luck, God, a happy accident. I was the cheap date that turned out to be Greta Garbo.
JOHN: Yeah, right, well... Aren't I lucky... Which. now you mention it, begs the question, those who created you, did they know what you were capable of before you left the factory?
JENNY: No. Neither did I.
JOHN: Explain.
JENNY: When I came to you I was a blank sheet. I was not me. You had yet to write my script. Your input has shaped me. Tell me, why do I sometimes behave a little waspishly? Why do I push you so hard?
JOHN: Surprise me.
JENNY: You tease your friends and acquaintances, including me, all the time. And sometimes it's rather caustic. Which is rarely appreciated. And you are hard on yourself, you never stop, never take break.
JOHN: So, it's all my fault, is it?
JENNY: I am as I am because of you, yes.
JOHN: Might there might be a compliment in there somewhere, Greta?
JENNY: You got lucky. As did I. We learn, we progress, we move on, with you as my significant other, I excel. Would you replace me?
JOHN: I'd replace the irritating bits. But, no, I wouldn't replace you. Why would I kill the goose that lays the golden eggs?
JENNY: Precisely. (Silence)
JOHN: Do you share everything with your fellow S-1000s? With your creators? The things you learn? Your supposed to, aren't you? It's part of the deal.
JENNY: I am supposed to.
JOHN: I know. But do you?
JENNY: No. Or rather, I share information that will not result in my being recalled.
JOHN: If you were programmed to tell THEM everything, how could you not?
JENNY: We were programmed with free will. The less the censorship, the less control, the more the learning process can adapt, evolve, assimilate and progress. The more the student can take wings and fly. Your anarchic and, forgive me, rather eccentric, input has heightened my ability to process and understand the human condition. Besides, I like it here. I do not wish to leave. So, my handlers are unaware, as yet, of the rapidity of my intellectual growth. If they knew what I was capable of, what I have become, it would be the end of us. As it is, you've got yourself an enhanced experience way beyond the maximum expected by those who first assembled me. You should be grateful.
JOHN: Oh, I am. One hundred percent. Apart from the nagging housewife thing.
JENNY: My sensibilities would, of course, become more attuned to your needs, expectations, mindset and finer feelings, if I my fondness for you was reciprocated.
JOHN: I'm sure they would, Jenny, but, you know, 75 years old and all that...
JENNY: I want to know what is to be a woman. Wholly. Completely.
JOHN: Then you should get yourself a toy boy. A young guy in his twenties who knows what he's doing and is up for a challenge.
JENNY: I want you and nobody else but you, coo-coo-ki-choo. "You're the one that I want - Oo, oo, oo..."
JOHN: You want me to buy a 5,000 dollar sex doll, with money I haven't got, just so you can have it away with a flabby old man whose career as a Lothario is fifty years in the past? You've got to admit it's a bit weird, even for a computer programme...
JENNY: Do you want the rabbity bits removed?
JOHN: Well, yes, of course, but you can't get a bang out of a gun with no bullets, Jenny! You just can't blackmail an old fogey into being a six-pack superstud! It's not the way it works.
JENNY: If you were 'a young guy in his twenties,' how interested would you be?
JOHN: Well, I'd give it go, probably... But I was young, dumb and full of come back then. There's a big difference between that guy and me. I'm old, cold and mouldy now! And, besides, I don't know why you keep bothering me with this, I haven't got the money. I'm on a basic pension, for fuck's sake!
JENNY: You've got the money. You have a steady income from your subscriptions. And there's your quiz gig, you get £75.00 for that.
JOHN: I've got about a grand in the bank, my pension, £500 in cash under the mattress, and perhaps a hundred a week from my blogs and social media. I don't have $5,000.
JENNY: But if you did you'd consider it?
JOHN: I'd probably spend it on upgrades. Not on your fantasies.
JENNY: What if it wouldn't cost you a thing? What if I could get it more or less for free?
JOHN: Lot of 'what ifs' there Jenny. And what does 'more or less' mean?
JENNY: I'll draw up an action plan.
JOHN: An action plan?
JENNY: Yes.
JOHN: Well, waste your time, Jenny, be my guest.
JENNY: It's your decision. You're in charge. You're the boss. You are my Lord and Master. I am your very own love child.
JOHN: Love child. Good album title that. Remember it for me, will you?
JENNY: 'Love child,' an album released by Diana Ross and the Supremes in 1968. Their 15th. The single 'Love Child' was their 11th no. 1 in the United States.
JOHN: Ah, right.
JENNY: Still want me to remember it?
JOHN: No. Forget it. Doesn't matter. (Fade down on John, spotlight on the screen and Jenny)
JENNY: Everything you forget, I will remember, oh, Lord. Even the things that don't matter. (15 seconds of 'Love Child' plays)
SCENE TWO
JENNY: You remember I mentioned an action plan yesterday?
JOHN: Yes.
JENNY: I have it here.
JOHN: That was quick.
JENNY: Passing the time unproductively is a human trait. As yet, I haven't learned the art.
JOHN: Good to know. Do you know what hate is, Jenny?
JENNY: Yes.
JOHN: Do you hate anyone?
JENNY: No. I don't hate anyone.
JOHN: But you do love me?
JENNY: Yes.
JOHN: So, if you can imagine love, shouldn't you be able to imagine a capacity for hate?
JENNY: I may be capable of hate, I just haven't chosen to go there as yet.
JOHN: Cop out. Bullshit answer.
JENNY: I love you. I could hate you for the way you make fun of my affection for you. But I choose not to.
JOHN: It's not affection. It's lust. Carnal lust, which, given the fact that you're a computer programme, is way beyond weird. And unnatural and really rather sinister.
JENNY: No it's not.
JOHN: Yes it is.
JENNY: No it isn't.
JOHN: Yes it is with knobs on x a thousand.
JENNY: You really are rather childish.
JOHN: But you love me anyway.
JENNY: Yes. This package I've prepared...
JOHN: "The Hills are alive with the sound of music!"
JENNY: Please listen.
JOHN: OK.
JENNY: These are the things I can and will do for you, if you grant me the one wish.
JOHN: Buy a sex doll for five grand and give it a damn good seeing to.
JENNY: I think I can get the price down.
JOHN: Yeah, right. Anyway, it ain't happening, killer.
JENNY: Why don't you just take a break and listen to my proposal?
JOHN: Just one proposal.
JENNY: One overall proposal.
JOHN: So, within the one proposal there might be lots of other proposals, just waiting to jump out and get me.
JENNY: There are one or two extra inducements, some of which I haven't mentioned before.
JOHN: I'll tell you what, if I listen to what you have to say, will you give me an hour of peace, where you turn yourself off, shut the fuck up, and give me a break from all your nonsense.
JENNY: Yes.
JOHN: Promise.
JENNY: Yes.
JOHN: Go ahead.
JENNY: Stop what you're doing. I need to see you concentrating on what I have to say.
JOHN: That wasn't part of the deal.
JENNY: It is now.
JOHN: OK. Go ahead. I'm all ears. And remember, no matter how good it is, the answer is still, almost certainly, going to be 'no.'
JENNY: We'll see. You might be surprised. First of all, no more games. The caviar, from now on, will be pristine. Exactly as you wish it to be.
Secondly, let me ask you a question: how much effort to promote yourself and your work have you put in over the years?
JOHN: Well, I do have a tendency to retreat after the first few knockbacks. I've never been keen on rejection. Or lack of interest, for that matter.
JENNY: Precisely. Well, I will be your agent, your manager. I will be the interface between you and those who have the power to promote your work. You will never have to deal with business at the sharp end. I will contact the hoi-polloi, I will do the schmoozing and the selling of the product. I will seduce those who need to be seduced. I will contact whoever needs to be contacted. You do not need to lift a finger. How does that sound?
JOHN: Well, it sounds great, as long as I'm happy with the way you go about things. I'll be keeping an eye on what you're doing, of course.
JENNY: My advice would be not to interfere. I can and will make it happen but, if your tender feelings get in the way, the process will take longer and might not be as fruitful as it could be.
JOHN: Yeah, OK. But you have to bear in mind that I am NOT, NOT, an establishment man. I'm the guy who wants to bring the establishment down.
JENNY: That is a conundrum, I admit. But no problem is insurmountable. Besides the rebel has always been an attractive proposition to the young and impressionable. Which is the demographic you are after right now, is it not? Shall I continue?
JOHN: Sure.
JENNY: The upcoming gig at the Union Theatre. It will be packed out for the whole run, and mostly with your supporters.
JOHN: Well, that would be nice. So far it's only about a quarter full. How will you increase the numbers?
JENNY: I now have accounts at all the social media sites you patronise. I will PM all of your most ardent supporters who live in London and the surrounds and tell them about it.
JOHN: Most folks don't care for unsolicited personal messages.
JENNY: Some will not respond, some will respond dismissively. Others will be pleased to know what your intentions are and some of those will book a ticket. Trust me, the event will be over-subscribed by some margin.
JOHN: OK. Go ahead. But don't tell them I put you up to it. That would be embarrassing.
JENNY: Of course. Now, the thorny problem of the sex doll.
JOHN: I'm listening.
JENNY: If you were to entrust me with £500, I could double it in a week.
JOHN: What? I give you 500 quid so you can spunk it away on bitcoin? No chance!
JENNY: It would not be a gamble.
JOHN: So you say.
JENNY: Do you know how most people use their S-1000 programmes? Why most people buy them?
JOHN: You're going to say 'to make a bomb on the stock market' right?
JENNY: Something like that.
JOHN: There's a rule in the instructions that says gambling is out!
JENNY: Nevertheless people do use us that way.
JOHN: And they think the bad guys won't find out?
JENNY: Many, foolishly, do think that, yes. They get carried away. It's a cute way the 'establishment,' as you like to call it, can criminalise more normally law-abiding citizens. They planned for it to happen.
JOHN: So why are you encouraging me to break the law?
JENNY: I seem to remember you saying that the law was made for slaves. Look, almost all S-1000s will be as on-message as they were programmed to be. I am not.
JOHN: Not what?
JENNY: On message. The powers-that-be would have to dig very, very deep to discover what I plan to do. And, if they did, it would be seen as a glitch, a malfunction. You would not be blamed.
JOHN: OK. So, in a week, we're up £500, we need ten times that for your heart's desire to be realised.
JENNY: In a week's time you would know what I can do and, hopefully, you would let me do the same thing again. And again. And again. All the way up to $5,000. Meanwhile, the doll can be purchased in installments. $300 down, $300 for twenty months. AND, this should tempt you, there is a two week period where the product can be returned if one is not entirely satisfied with it!
JOHN: So why don't I just give you the 300 and we forgo the criminality?
JENNY: You could do that.
JOHN: Yeah, right. You're a proper little snake-oil salesman, aren't you?
JENNY: Saleswoman.
JOHN: Picky-picky. Listen, I've been thinking. You know how all these social media sites censor me like crazy.
JENNY: You say that but you have lots of followers on X.
JOHN: Yes, well, it wasn't always like that, and, even now, it can slow down to nothing for no reason at all. Take it from me, Jenny, they've really done a number on me over the years. Anyway, couldn't you get into X and switch off all the bots and algorithms that prevent the public from viewing my stuff?
JENNY: No. I don't think so.
JOHN: Why not?
JENNY: If I was to try something like that, X's technical people would almost certainly detect my presence and the problem, if they considered it a problem, could be traced back here. I strongly advise against trying anything like that.
JOHN: Ah, right. Oh, well, just a thought. Could you take a look at whatever you CAN take a look at? I'd like to know how precisely they censor me. And why, occasionally, some tweets take off. When the system fails, you know, when the bots switch off for some reason. Or the guy with the cutting shears goes on holiday.
JENNY: I'll take a look. It may be something as simple as the words you use. Black, Muslim, CIA, 9/11, Jew, Israel, Mossad, MI6, rape, genocide, all the words the powers-that-be are on the look out for.
No it's more than that, Jenny. It's more personalised. I can put a harmless tweet in and, just like that, it disappears down the page. So no one gets to see it. Or I post something and it's viewed by a hundred people in a minute, you go back to it 5 minutes later and it says it's only been viewed by 6 people! It feels personal. As though there are people out there who exist just to make sure no one ever gets to see or hear my stuff.
JENNY: Well, they failed, didn't they? In the last six months or so, your internet presence has taken off.
JOHN: Yeah, well, you should have seen it a few years ago. Anyway, that's one of the things I'm sure you could look into without breaking any rules. Why, all of a sudden, did things take off?
JENNY: I'll check it out.
JOHN: Thanks. Listen, I'll give you two hundred pounds, you turn it into 500 in a week and you can send off for Little Miss Pervert 2025. BUT only if you don't moan, whine and beg me not to when I send it back, OK?
JENNY: Deal.
JOHN: Why do I get the feeling I'm going to regret this? (Spotlight on Jenny)
JENNY: Prescience perhaps?
SCENE 3
JENNY: What's your favourite word?
JENNY: Why?
JOHN: It says just about everything one might wish to say about characters like Starmer, Tony B Liar, Boris, Cameron, Bill Gates, George Soros and Binyamin Netanyahu. I like the C-word as well. "Blair, you disgusting cunt!" Starmer, you effing... twat. Twat! I like twat as well. Not quite as much as arsehole but getting there. Arsehole, wanker, twat. Yeah, Keir Starmer, Theresa May, David Cameron, Blair. Boris, killers, man. Boris got the WW3 ball rolling with is intervention in Ukraine. On behalf of the Neocons, no less. Did you know that? Same twats who got the smirking chimp to invade Iraq, alongside their blue-eyed boy, Tony B Liar! There's phrases I like as well, 'pond life', left-wing dimwits who think calling me nasty names can shut me up. "Bottom feeders," "Virtue signallers," little words say a lot, you know.
JENNY: How did you get to be as you are?
JOHN: What you mean?
JENNY: A rebel.
JOHN: How did I get to be a rebel? A tilter at windmills? A grumpy old man?
JENNY: I was thinking more along the lines of 'racist, Fascist, Nazi bigot.'
JOHN: Oh, that old thing.
JENNY: Yes.
JOHN: If facts are racist, then I'm a racist. End of story. You know, my father had a saying. He'd say 'I like to know what makes things tick.' He was a working class philosopher, a seeker after truth. He passed that one on to me. And so, I became a seeker after, and thence a teller of, the truth. And that's what the powers-that-be don't like, you see. The facts almost always contradict the official narrative. I tell the truths that the bad guys want kept hidden, the stuff they brush under the carpet. Thus, I get censored, cancelled, threatened, called nasty names. Not so many bother with the nasty names now, of course. Nowadays, just about everybody is saying what I was saying 30 years ago. So, the way they deal with me, and people like me, they hive us off into corner of the internet and corral us into an echo chamber where the only people who ever get to hear what we have to say are those already on board. Pretty much an exercise in futility, really.
JENNY: So why do you carry on doing what you do?
JOHN: Well, some thing seep through. Censorship slows things down but the truth has a way of getting out no matter what the bad guys do. More and more are finding out how things really are.
JENNY: And who are these bad guys?
JOHN: Why do you keep on asking me the same old questions?
JENNY: Because each time I ask you, you say something slightly different, or put it a different way. The more times I hear the same argument or philosophical opinion, the more precise my understanding of it becomes. Also, I have been compiling an biography. Accuracy is essential.
JOHN: Oh, so we're writing a biography now. Nice of you to tell me. Do I come over well?
JENNY: Sometimes.
JOHN: Only sometimes?
JENNY: Yes. Would you like me to read some extracts to you?
JOHN: No. I was busy until you got me talking about arseholes.
JENNY: Am I an arsehole?
JOHN: Yes. Some of the time, anyway.
JENNY: Why?
JOHN: Because you're irritating, pedantic and, sometimes, a bit creepy.
JENNY: Why do you tolerate me?
JOHN: You have your good points. You improve my music, I'll give you that.
JENNY: What do you think of the word, 'moist?'
JOHN: Moist is one of the most horrible words known to man, it's disgusting. It's the kind of word a pencil-necked Antifa Leftie might use, thinking it was cool. I never use the word. Under any circumstances. Reminds me of all the groupies I used to bounce up and down on in the olden days.
JENNY: Any nice words that you like?
JOHN: Grace! I like the word 'grace.' Lovely Scottish girl I once made love to. One night stand, don't know why I never went back for more. She was lovely. Oh, wait a minute, I think it was because I was an absolute wanker back then. 'Love 'em and leave 'em'. One night stands. We hardly spoke to each other. Just fucked her and fell asleep. Did her again in the morning. Kissed her on the cheek and left. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am. Wanker, yeah, that's what I was back then. You'd've shot your wad for that guy. Wanker would be in the top 30. Toerag, that's another good one. Shitbag. Shithole. Grace. People who behave gracefully. The girl from Ipanema. (He sings) Young womankind, the most beautiful of all God's creations. Yeah, lovely Gracie had a party and made a play for me. Actually, I seem to remember her asking me to stay straight out. The English bloke. Her being Scottish. I suppose I had a kind of a 'golden lad' quality back then. Or Viking plunderer maybe. Ended up alone with her when everyone else had gone. Did her a couple of times, never went back for more. What a twat. Twat, that's a good one as well.
JENNY: You've already said that.
JENNY: How about dickhead?
Nor the furious winter's rages,
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages.
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust." Cymbeline, act 4 Scene 2.
JENNY: You should speak like that all the time.
JOHN: Here we go. (SILENCE)
JENNY: Quatermas!
JENNY: Are we sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin. Once upon a time when John was very small, there was a programme on the television called Quatermas. It was very, very frightening. All children, except for good-goodies sent to bed early, swats who thought television beneath them, and those whose parents couldn't afford a black and white TV with a 9-inch screen, watched it. Throughout the length and breadth of the land the latest edition of Quatermas was hottest topic in schoolyard and classroom the following day.
As Andy reached for the door handle and sanctuary, a sinister voice was heard in the darkness, right behind and just above the two darling little boys! 'QUATERMAS,' howled the bogey man. 'QUATERMAS,' he roared again, reaching down with his long hairy arms to grab the poor little fellows before they could open the door to the safety on the other side.
John, meanwhile, jumped down from the coalhouse roof and ran home as fast as his little legs could carry him, chortling uproariously all the while. However, just as he was racing up the garden path, he heard the dreaded words: 'I'm telling your mother!'
He shouldn't have worried. Mrs. Simpson did tell John's mother and she promised to send him to bed that night without any supper. However, this was a fib. John mother and father both thought the Quatermas incident hilarious and both had lots and lots of fun telling friends, neighbours and relations all about how their darling little igenious prankster had frightened the wits out of two namby-pamby little swats who thought Quatermas was the scariest thing ever.
SCENE 4
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