Act II:
It's Tea Party and I'll Heil if I Want To
PSzymeczek, this one's for you.
Act I
Act III
[Cue First Interlude]
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Mitt! The Musical
Act II
by Quicklund MMXII
([Cue First Interlude] if you have not already done so.)
Any resemblence between the characters in this parody and any persons or lifelike automotons, living or dead, is a miracle.
The Players
The Kingbee Family
Mitt, a golem.
Ann, a wife.
The Drones (This, That, A, Another, Thefat) sons
John, a former ambassador and distant cousin from out of state. cough.
The Major Key Chorus
Ixnay Brothers (Karl, Grover) political advisors.
Onay Brothers (Senator, Representative) machine politicians.
Amscray Brothers (David, Charles) wealthy machinists.
the minor key chorus
Lenil Twins (Michelle, Richard) presidential candidates?
Rick and the Family Ranch (Rick, Herman, Newt) yes, presidential candidates.
Ron Crack, a galtpot
The Help
Senator Mavis Richard "Mav" McMaverick, a former Presidential candidate
A Tall Caucasian Man Wearing A Blue Suit, a debate moderator
The Media, an estate, 4th or whatever it is
The Enablers Assosciation, base ranks and files
Get Your Bible Thumpin', une troupe des danseuers
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Act II:
It's Tea Party and I'll Heil if I Want To
Scene I
[Curtain reveal to Main Street USA. Sidewalks at stage left and right taper to stage rear. The back wall is the facade of a large columned building. A banner hung between the columns proclaims "Town Hall"
The members of the minor key chorus are scattered about Main Street. As the curtain rises, the mkc candidates are seen in pantomime oration. Except for Ron Crack, who chicken-walks erratically but energetically about the stage. As the First Interlude plays, members of The Enablers Assosciation cluster and dance enthusuastically about one of the candidates. Members of The Media join up with them. Then the TEA enthusiasts spot a different candidate and run over to them. The Media follow. The cycle repeats.
When a mkc member is abandoned, their shoulders slump. They move slowly to stage left front to watch the proceedings with head bowed. As the First interlude plays out, members of TEA and The Media exit stage rear into Town Hall. Ron Crack continues to wander and chicken-strut oblivious to the others.]
[Cue musical score Media]
Rick Ranch: They pester me with avid glee
Portray me as a dope
Newt Ranch: They obsess over rubbish like
Eight hundred dollar soap
Richard Lenil: Behind their neutral facade
Is audacity and hope!
Michelle Lenil: I even heard a ringtone from Obama
RR: They're always late for pressers
Herman Ranch: But their appetite is real
NR: They're always late for everything
HR: Except for a free meal
RL: I hate to have to say it but I very firmly feel
minor key chorus: The media's in the tank for Obama!
ML [speaking]: I'd like to say a word on their behalf
RL: [speaking] Then say it sister Michelle
ML [speaking]: Rupert owns full half
mkc: How can you blame your problems on media?
How can your mistakes on them pin down?
How do you implicate the media?
Ron Crack: Buk! Flibberty-jibbit!
ML: It's commie controlled!
RR: Back down?
mkc: Many a thing you know you've already told them
Many a point's been made for them and made so well
ML: But they report you say
RL: We should exile the gay
Lenil Twins: And not with Christ but with hatred do you sell, oh
mkc: How can you blame your problems on media?
How do you avoid Twitter hashtag hell?
RR: When I'm with them I'm confused
Out of focus and bemused
And I never know exactly where I am
HR: Unpredictable as weather
ML: I'm as flighty as a feather
NR: They are snarling!
RL: They are demons!
mkc: Kill them where they stand!
ML: They out-Doocy my bidet
HR: Repeat errors you may say
RL: Slander you with cheap shots and sarcastic mocks
RR: They are left-wing
NR: They use guile
HR: They are elites
NR: They are vile!
RR: They're an assache!
ML: They're unbalanced!
mkc: 'Cept for FOX!
How can you blame your problems on media?
How can your mistakes on them pin down?
How do you implicate the media?
RC: Buk! Flibberty-jibbit!
ML: It's commie controlled!
RR: Back down?
mkc: Many a thing you know you've already told them
Many a point's been made for them and made so well
RL: But they report you say
ML: We should exile the gay
LT: And not with Christ but with hatred do you sell, oh
mkc: How can you blame your problems on media?
[Mitt Kingbee stumbles in, straightens himself up, exits stage rear to Town Hall.]
mkc: How do you avoid Twitter hashtag hell?
[The singers turn to face stage rear. They suddenly scramble and run, pushing and shoving, and exit into Town Hall.]
RC [still onstage]: Buk-buh-KAW!
[Curtain]
-
Scene II
[Curtain reveal town hall interior. A podium at stage right faces towards stage left. Stage left and stage center are filled with a audience comprised of The Enablers Association along with The Media. They all face listlessly towards the podium. In a separate area at stage right front stand Mitt and Ann Kingbee plus the Ixnay Brothers. They are in the 'green room' waiting for Mitt's stump speech to start.]
Mitt Kingbee: Gosh, it's sure nice of you guys to some. Isn't it Ann?
Ann Kingbee: Yes.
Karl Ixnay: No other place we'd rather be.
[That Kingbee pokes his head in green room.]
TK: Father? You're on.
MK: Jeepers.
KI: Kock 'em dead champ!
GI [voice rising]: Don't forget to talk about taxes!
[Mitt Kingbee takes the dias, The Drones assemble behind him. They are met with a stony silence from their audience.]
[Cue musical score Walk Rich]
MK: How are all you ordinary people tonight? My name's Mitt Kingbee...
TEA Audience: [Aloof silence]
MK: Gosh, it looks like I have some selling of myself to do. Heh. Heh-heh.
[Singing]
Walk rich
Rich
Down my
Self-made road
Walk gold
Rich
Feed my greed's
My code
I've been born and coddled; inherited at too
Had to struggle everyday my whole life through
Took my trust fund cash and lev'raged to the moon
Now I want a White House to stash my silver spoon
Walk rich
Rich
When they ask
'What have you done?'
Walk gold
Rich
I just say
'I fired your son.'
Even though I've been told time and time again
Rubbing their faces in it's no way to win
What better time to degrade a poor guy
Then when you're standing on money mountan high
You know when I was a boy
Folks used to say to me
"Build the country Mittens, don't walk so rich"
And I used to tell them
Life's a race, whoever has the most toys wins.
And I'll walk as damn rich as I please
How do I walk boys?
The Drones: RICH!
MK:
When I beat Obama on election day
Gonna call some fat cats and to them I'll say
I shook your hand and my hand was dry
Let's drain these pigeons so hard they can't even cry
Walk rich
Walk rich
Walk rich
Walk rich
[A smattering or polite applause ripples through the generally dumbfounded audience. Members of The Media start a furious scribble. Mitt and sons walk triumphntly back to the green room. Ann gives Mitt a hug and a kiss then gazes adoringly at her husband. Lights fade in the town hall area of the stage.]
KI: [tugging at his collar] That was... something.
GI [refaced]: What about taxes? Nothing!
KI: Mitt ... We think you were a bit off-message there.
GI: Who talks that way? Walk rich? What the hell does that even mean?
KI: Mitt, we have to take a meeting. ASAP. Sooner. Just clear your schedule and be there, OK?
GI [voice rising]: Not one damn word!
[Curtain]
-
Scene III
[Curtain reveal to darkened stage, Spot lighting on stage front reveals several men sitting around a large table. They lean in close to converse.The table is well-polished and stylish, in a pre-fabricated, ordered-over-the-Internet sort of way way. From its modern look we know this is not the stodgy drawing room. Mitt Kingbee and another man stride up.]
MK: I hope no one minds, but I ran into my cousin John at the airport. His meeting isn't until tomorrow so I asked him to come along.
KI: Um...
Senator Onay: [coughing] Ambassador Kingbee! What a surprise...
[furtive glances]
Charles Amscray [standing]: Not at all. By all means Mr Ambassador join us.
[All sit]
GI [sneering] So, what was it like working for that Obama?
MK: Now now, we all know John resigned weeks ago. I'm sure all that's behind him now. Gee whiz, I don't even remember what I ordered for lunch. I haven't done the research on that yet. But I feel full. So I know I ate.
SO: Words for the ages.
Representative Onay: So moving...
MK: That's swell. Thank you very much Representative Onay. Here, use my hankie.
RO [through sobs]: It's 'Speaker'.
John Kingbee: Excuse me?
RO [blowing nose]: I go by 'Speaker Onay'. Now that the new Congress has been sworn in.
JK: Well of course. It was rude of me to forget.
David Amscray [nodding]: But it still says 'RO' over there on the left.
CA: Quiet, you.
SO: Well now. Our Tea Party performed beyond wildest expectation last November. No more warnings of petards, hey brother mine?
RO: [recovering composure]: Nope. Nothing but smoooooth sailing from now on.
MK: That's all good to hear. But Jimminy Whiskers, what's so important I had to drop everything and fly out here?
[furtive glances]
CA : Mitt you are a rich man.
Ixnay Brothers: Yubba dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dum.
JK: What's wrong with those two?
RO [shrugging]: All day long they've biddy biddy bummed.
DA [nodding]: They're drunk.
IB: Hey!
MK: Hey! Cheese and crackers, but this this is ever so fun.
CA: As I was hrumphing... Despite your [chooses his words carefully] status as a person of some means, you can't just campaign on that.
MK: Really? My instincts tell me I'm on pretty solid ground there.
SO: Mr Amscray is correct Mitt. I am here to tell you from experience: you must retool your campaign. And you must retool immedeately.
MK: Gosh, you fellows have given me a lot to think about. But there's one thing I still don't understand. Why are we having this meeting at a lesbian bondage-themed strip club?
JK: In Hollywood?
[Full stage lighting reveals the group is sitting around a table in a lavish strip club. Much of the brass-poled stripper stage is taken up by a large mud pit. Well-dressed customers sit at other, smaller tables. A steady bass beat fills the air. Dencers from Get Your Bible Thumpin' are onstage, on poles, and on table tops. You know the drill.]
[furtive glances]
[You do so.]
SO: Well... The last guy pre-paid a line of credit...
[All cutting in]
KI [smirking]: Waste not want not.
CA [dribbling]:Sunk cost.
DA [nodding]: Trickle down, am I right?
RO [droning]:Even at these artificially-inflated prices it takes awhile to burn through an appropriation of ten million dollars.
GI [aneurizing]:We've already paid taxes on it!
[Conversation halts. GI slowly unclenches his death grip on the table.]
SO: We all share Mr Ixnay's passion over unfair taxes. What do you say we channel that energy?. Why don't we tell the next President of the United States what we have in mind?
CA: Mitt, the Ixnay boys have prepared a briefer on your new campaign strategy.
MK: Oh goody.
[The MKC stand. The Ixnay brothers move to the club stage. The two Kingbees remain seated. A pair of dancers approach and start to massage shoulders.]
DA [nodding] Just sit back and hear us out.
[Cue musical score Attacks]
KI: Wee-ell. Oh oh
GI: Wee-ell. Now!
[As the Ixnay's sing the rest of the MKC pantomime lewd acts with GYBT dancers. Other dancers wrestle in and throw mud at one another. Only the most refined and nuanced metaphors went into the making of this stage play.]
Ixnay Brothers:
Attacks will do it
When you want to get through it
Attacks will do it
Get your campaign won
Attacks jump to it
When you're seen to suck do it
Attacks all through it
On your campaign run
Or your run is done
Our PACs can do it
When you want a surr'gate
Attacks will do it
Get your campaign won
Attacks jump to it
When you're seen to suck do it
Attacks all through it
On your campaign run
Come-oh oh oh
[The Ixnay's motion Mitt to approch the stage.Dance choreography deposits the other MKC members there. the Amscray brothers in the middle, left hands extended.]
Onay Brothers: But point them in the right direction
Ixnay Brothers: Foot-shooting is your inclention-ooh yeah
Amscray Brothers: Dreams: Dad's dreams
MKC: Schemes: our schemes
AB: If submit you
MKC: -Mitt you
AB: Submit you
MKC: -Mitt you
AB: Submit you come and kiss our rings
[Mitt crawls forward pulled by pinched ears held by a pair of dancers. A third dancer rides horsie... never mind, you're way ahead of me.]
CA: King me Kingbee...
[Mitt crawls forward and kisses the Amscray's rings.]
MKC: Attacks
Will do it
Attacks
On your campaign run
MK: [Still on floor] I'm running. I'm running-yeah
[Mitt jumps up, joined by dancers, form an energetic robot-dancing kickline]
MK: Attacks I'll do it
When what I just said blew it
With PACs I'll do it
On my campaign run
Attacks jump to it
When I'm seen to suck do it
Attacks will do it
MKC: Mud!
MK: Get my campaign won
On my campaign run
Or my run is done
IB: Funnnnn....Huh!
MK: Low is up
The Sea of Mud
Oh feel it
MKC & MK: Attacks will do it
When you want to get through it
Attacks will do it
Attacks jump to it
When you're seen to suck do it
Attacks will do it
MK: The time is mine the time of slime... come.
[John Kingbee has been watching with his mouth agape.]
JK: This is reprehensible! Mitt, you're not going to do along with this are you?
MK: No! Of course not! I'm not going to go along with [puzzled] with what?
JK: The plotting. The negative campaigning. The schemes.
MK: Oh that. Of course I'm going along with that. I'm ... what was your point again?
JK: My point? My point? I'll tell you what my point is. I'm not going to let you embarass all of us Kingbees!
JK [jumps to his feet]: I don't want Americans to think every Kingbee is like this. I'm going to run for President myself! You heard me. For President. And, and what's more ... I'm gonna win! Yeah! That's right, I'm gonna win! You'll be sorry! You'll all be sorry!
[JK storms off amid guffaws and cries of 'by George', exits]
JK [re-enters, to nearby dancer] You are open tomorrow night, right?
[Curtain]
-
Scene IV
[Curtain reveal to the Town Hall Interior. This time The Media has brought TV cameras. This time the TEA audience is seething with energy. Instead of a single podium at stage right this time there are eight. Each has a translucent base and glows from within.
Here are found Mitt and John Kingbee plus the members of the minor key chorus. Not at his podium is Ron Crack, who once again tirelessly chicken-walks about the area. Sitting among The Media is the chief moderator, A Tall Caucasian Man Wearing A Blue Suit. He is also wearing a brown paper bag with cut-out eyeholes over his head. Behind them the TEA audience mills impatiently.]
A Tall Caucasian Man Wearing A Blue Suit: Good evening, real America. Welcome to the one hundred forty-seven Republican Presidential Primary debates.
[The light inside Ron Crack's podium goes dark. No one including Crack seems to notice.]
ATCMWABS: The first question goes to Michelle Lenil: "If you are elected President, what will be your message to America in your inaugural speech?"
[Cue musical score Smells Like Tea Spirit]
ML:
Load up on guns, bring your friends
It's fun to rage and to pretend
Your place in Heaven be not feared
Follow - Also - I'm not a beard
TEA Audience:
Hell no, Hell no, Hell no, How Low?
Hell no, Hell no, Hell no, How Low?
Hell no, Hell no, Hell no, How Low?
Hell no, Hell no, Hell no
[The light in Michele Lenil's podium goes dark. She exits.]
Feed us lies how, peace is dangerous
Here we are now, entertain us
We are stupid, it's contagious
Turn us loose now, be outrageous
[A soldier in a US Army dress uniform joins Newt Ranch at his podium.]
A commando
That is homo
Is no hero
He's a pinko yeah
Hate... Hate
[Newt Ranch's podium goes dark, he exits. John Kingbee slams his fist on his podium.He exits in a huff. Rick Ranch addresses the audience.]
RR:
I'm worst at what I do best
That is getting things off my chest
Three things are true here's the first one
Er mumble um are we done?
TEA:
Hell no, Hell no, Hell no, How Low?
Hell no, Hell no, Hell no, How Low?
Hell no, Hell no, Hell no, How Low?
Hell no, Hell no, Hell no
[Rick Ranch's podium goes dark. He curls up into a ball underneath it and goes to sleep.]
Feed us lies how, peace is dangerous
Here we are now, entertain us
We are stupid, it's contagious
Turn us loose now, be outrageous
[Richard Lenil identifies a sickly man in the crowd and waves him onto stage.]
If that zero
Can't pay solo
For his chemo
He can die oh yeah
Hate... Hate
[Richard Lenil's podium winks out. He exits. Herman Ranch, distant, distant, distant cousin, makes his case.]
HR:
And I forget pizza with taste
Oh, yeah, I guess flavor is good
But munchies make... with enough wine
Oh well, whatever, 9-9-9
TEA:
Hell no, Hell no, Hell no, How Low?
Hell no, Hell no, Hell no, How Low?
Hell no, Hell no, Hell no, How Low?
Hell no, Hell no, Hell no
[Herman Ranch shrugs as his podium goes dark then takes a seat at The Media's table.]
Feed us lies how, peace is dangerous
Here we are now, entertain us
We are stupid, it's contagious
Turn us loose now, be outrageous
[Ron Crack continues strutting, ignored as though invisible.]
A mulatto
House albino
Swat mosquito
Earn the halo
[Mitt Kingbee strides forward, hands clasped together above his head in victory.]
A denial, a denial, a denial!
A denial, a denial, a denial!
A denial, a denial, a denial!
[Mitt lumbers offstage, smiling and waving to what he assumes is applause. He joins the Ixnay brothers abd Ann in the green room.]
KI: Congratulations Mitt, you did it!
GI [shaking hands] Congratulations Mister Presumptive Nominee. It's all over but the convention now.
KI: Yeah, and that means it's time to start hitting Obama.
GI: [voice rising] That revenue-raising growth-stunter!
KI: You're going to hit Obama with your strengths Mitt.
GI: Foreign policy.
KI: Charm offensive.
All: Mitt Kingbee is going on a wold tour!
[Big finish]
[Curtain]
[Intermission]
Act III