Alias Jak/Jyl
[full length play, no intermission]
An intensely dark and modern fantasia in which Jak is an Internet junky obsessed with sex and Jyl is a death-obsessed librarian tending to her comatose dad, who shot himself in the head and didn’t quite die. How Jyl ends up pretending to be a dominatrix engaging in “water sports” for money is only part of their downfall. As Jak and Jyl stare into their computer screens, Dad, in his fedora and hospital gown, moves around the stage revealing the details of his attempted murder of Jyl’s mom and promising to reveal by the end of the play, the “Secret of Happiness.” Mom, it turns out, is still around, too, living in a refrigerator where Dad did his level best to contain her and preserve his memory of her. It’s Papa God versus Mama Nature, dukin’ it out for the world heavyweight crown while Jak and Jyl just try to make sense of a senseless world. And yes, you do get the “Secret of Happiness.” [cast 2 m, 2 w]
DAD: My guess is, you came here lookin’ for...the Secret of Happiness. And right here and now, I’m makin’ you a promise that before you leave, you’re gonna know it just as sure as I know it. And then you can either take it or you can leave it. But you’re gonna get it from me. The Secret of Happiness...
JYL: We’ve joined the cult. The “cult of individuality.” United in our non-conformity, striking out for our right to fit in with everyone else who doesn’t fit in. Just like everybody else we know, Over-educated, under-skilled, resource poor...just like everybody else we know...
DAD: Seems like a good place to offer a word to the wise: In this life, there are no unanswered prayers...It’s just that 99 times out of a hundred, the answer is: better luck next time, sucker!...
JAK: You’re out of work, your dad’s a bag-filling brain stem, and your lover’s hooked on the scumnets trying to remember why he stayed in graduate school...
I don’t know. Almost four decades into this charade and all I’m an authority on, besides deviant sexual practices of the overfed, is what I DON’T know...
JAK: This isn’t about us. This is about those less fortunate. From the half-formed to the half-baked, the routinely desperate to the desperately routine. And finally, this is about the decadent-and-gagging-on-their-own-ill-gotten-luxury players out there who can afford to pay for our services. Don’t you see, now that it’s possible to shop and work and entertain without ever leaving our homes, the thing people will be willing to pay through the nose for...is a “house call.” A personal invasion. On demand. Fantasies...made flesh...anonymous leather...and flesh.
JYL: You know what my father used to say about “survival”? He’d say, “In this world, survival is nothing more than a gift-wrapped turd: NEVER what you’d expect, and always a hell of a disappointment...”
JYL: You broke the rules. You know what happens to slaves who break the rules? Sometimes they feel Death’s kiss and live to tell the tale...And sometimes they see God...and She is not amused...
DAD: All right. I promised you the Secret of Happiness, and I’m gonna deliver. So listen up...The Secret of Happiness in this life...is a good dump. That’s right. A healthy, life-affirming bowel movement is what it’s all about. Ideally, smooth and firm, but not too firm. Not reekin’ of rot but offering just a hint of the corruption of the flesh. Simple as that. Puts a smile on your face and lets you know you’ve got somethin’ to show for your day’s efforts, a tangible contribution back to the environment. Like all good things in this life, it’s too easily taken for granted and largely wasted on the young. But just you wait. Fifty, sixty, seventy years from now, you’ll be noddin’ and probably groanin’ as you try in vain to pinch off a shriveled, rock-hard old stogie, or waitin’ for some nurse to change your colostomy bag. And then you’ll be sayin’, “By God, that old geezer was right!” Secret of Happiness. Mark my words...And you heard it here...
