Lord of the Fruit Flies

(A rooming house. A mad tenant worships a pile of rotting fruit skins with high-pitched buzzing in the background.) Worshiper: (consuming a banana) Oh great and fragrant one, extend thy withered hand to receive my offering. (He tosses the skin into the pile.) In return, I would like a new motorcycle for my birthday, a real nice one I can park in the front yard and use for imaginary rides. It will draw customers for my lemonade stand, to add to your appeal. I will gather your worshipers from around the whole block to join in shrill tribute to your mushy magnificence. From you shall sprout a new culture- (Another tenant sees his activity through his open door and interrupts him.) Tenant: (noticing increase in insect noise) Oh, it's you! For Christ's sake, take that to the compost heap before we all go deaf! Worshiper: You dare speak that way before the Lord of the Fruit Flies? Salvation lies within squalor on the Lord of the Fruit Flies.
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© 2007, 2016. Scripts by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.