 wherever. So if you want to just take out your cell phone and send a little text to a friend saying, hey, I'm at the show. It's part of this festival. You should really check it out. That would be fantastic. And you're also welcome to tweet about it during the show afterwards. And so after you finish that, if you could turn your cell phone off, that would be wonderful. Tonight's performance is about 75 minutes long. No intermission. No. One hour. One hour. One hour. Absolutely. 61. 61 minutes. Hands up and I'll let you laugh. And clap. So this evening's performance is 61 minutes long. I'm sorry. One more, three minutes. Oh, and of course, the extra, extra important part, emergency exits. The emergency exits in this space are back out through the door that you came in and then down along the hallway where it says exits and restrooms. So you'll go out the door. Well, if there's an emergency, I will stand up and I will direct you out. And we'll go out the left. Thank you very much. Now I'll let this start. D, welcome. And thanks so much for daring to come to a show whose subtitle is Meditations on Mortality. We would be very pleased if you felt so moved after the show to come and give us any responses that you have. And if you would like to see some of the puppets more closely, we will make them available to you and so on. As Ashley said, it's just a little bit over an hour. This is my Darth Vader look. This is up for me to talk to you, but when it's down, I'm not here. So this is hands up. What's in the goddamn fertilizer? They grow. I choose the company we keep. It's not about when vegetation is better than the other, like anti-Semitism. I mean, I've been living like a live, but I mean, it's my area. This is a psychiatric case of delusions proven to patient brought to the EER with nausea following chemotherapy transferred to the psych ward after outbursts in which he claims to have murdered Howie Doody. This response is normal. Obsession confined to the issue of Howie Doody. Do we need a doctor thing? Is that relevant? Well, yeah, it has some way to say that it's a kid's TV show for the 50s. Lots of people don't know that. How about just the granddaughter comes in? You asleep? Grandpa? Not anymore. Sorry, but you called me to come. I think I'm dying now. I'm dead. I had this vision, this creature of light with a smile and a gleaming halo says, your old fart's going to croak. Grandpa. India, I need to talk. It's crazy. You Google the death of you get 44,000 hits. You're more desperate. India, for God's sake, come here. Listen to me. I got to confess. Please. I murdered. So then what if it's the afterlife and he's on trial? And the witnesses are Buffalo Bob, Mr. Bluster, the flabba-dub. That's right. And Claire Rambel with his horn and his seltzer squirter and its total chaos and the kids all go berserk, which God knows we wanted to do in 1953. No, I never actually ever watched it. And then Howie with his wooden smile. Oh, could we get sued? My little boy, Richie. That was Daddy. Richie. Well, he was your little boy, Grandpa, but he was my daddy. I know where babies come from, got it? Oh, sorry. Richie loved Howie Doody. He watched it every day in a Howie Doody cowboy suit. He prayed for Howie Doody. Now he's dead. That's right, Grandpa. Daddy died eight years ago. I know that. I don't mean him. But who? Richie loved that little pimple. He thought that was Howie Doody. I know the truth. What, copyright? Well, yeah, it is copyrighted. Copyrighted. Raitmar happened to circumcise. Yeah. We are not representing that character or showing the image. It's not that one. It was the other one. Grandpa, please, you have to forget about Howie Doody. Who brought the flowers? I did. 53. What? 53. I was a young lawyer with Peters, Peters, Peters and Bork. We may have this case, this puppeteer brought against the Howie Doody show. He supplied the puppets, wanted to share the licensing rights. They said no, so he took away his puppets, including the star who was originally an Elmer. Howdy sounds better. So they got another puppet, bandaged its head and told the kids that Howdy was having a facelift. So then, suppose we have puppets come up and they say, he's running for president of the kids of America and we want a happy guy, not a goofy guy. No, no, no, no, we can't pretend to play this show. We'll have Peters, Peters, Peters and Bork will play. Howdy Doody is part of the culture. He's an icon. He's an American icon. American icons are owned. Nicky Mouse is owned, Michael Jackson is owned, the U.S. Senate is owned. Cut the politics, I'm on my deathbed. Listen. No. Yes, so the new guy, the new puppet, they took off the band-aids. There he was. Reckles, red hair, big smile, sunrise in America. Grandfather. Listen. Pickle. It's snow. It's snow. So the guy sued that had the goofy puppet. He sued their ass. We represent the producers, settle out of court, a lot of money, on condition that- Mr. Lowry, as junior member of the firm, we offer you a unique opportunity. On condition- Our client needs to ensure that the original so-called Howdy Doody does not appear and lay claims to be the original Howdy Doody which would compromise the integrity of the iconic Howdy Doody and the licensing rights pertaining to the iconic Howdy Doody. So what happened was that it's in a book. Esophized cremation. To be carried out on the premises of Peters, Peters, Peters and Bork, the custodian will arrange your desk and smoke detectors are rare in 1953. Is this agreeable? I could have said no. But we're all puppets. I'm a puppet. You're a puppet. We're under control. Oh, no, Grandpa. You're just feeling bad. We're people. We're not puppets. Oh, excuse me, but the fact is your grandfather is correct. You are puppets. This is a puppet show. Sorry, it's a fact. We need you to listen. Grandpa, there's research in neuroscience that explains this feeling you have. Guilt! Shame! Disgust! I'll read up on it. So could we have the nurse pop up with a red nose and she says, Mr. Lowry, it's clown time. You need to laugh. It's therapeutic. No, I'm sorry, we cut the nerves. Yes. Look, I think we need to keep this very simple. A man is dying, he feels guilty, and that's it. Okay. So, lift up the box. Gets himself out of bed. Barely. He's two minutes from being dead. How you doing, Mr. Lowry? How's tricks being good? Not so good. Too bad. How about you? Kinda squished. Mr. Lowry, good to see you. Yeah, you're all right. Long time. You're not much of a puppeteer. Guess not. You're a good lawyer though, I bet. I guess. Say, Mr. Lowry, say hi to Richie for me, would you? He's a good little boy. Okie dokie. It's... I have to think about the fire regulations. We're gonna have to imagine the fire. I mean, in the lawyer's office you can make a fire. You can burn whole cities down. But you can't let them match it. The silliest thing you ever saw. Right on the conference table. It was about a half an hour. People standing around. That was it. And Richie and all the millions of kids, got what was left. Howdy doody. Lunchbox. Cookie. Jar. Squeeze. Toy. Wristwatch. Earmuffs. Piggyback. The official. Howdy doody. Junior Firefighter's Patch. It's ok, friends. It was just a puppet. And they got another one. And the kids loved it. And life went on. You were young then. Excuse me. It's visiting hours or over. He needs to die quietly. I thought we got rid of the nurse. Maybe just sing a song. Words are copyright. Just the melody. That's how our book here. That's public domain. And the granddaughter stays with him. The question you may have. Sure to be something. No question. Are you selling something? Mr. Smith means that we are the messengers of doom. And the identification. More than enough. Testimony. Relations and prophecies. You're welcome. Mrs. Jones. Without beating around the bush. Without hamming and hoeing. Without any shilly shallying. Without giving you some kind of song and dance. Without a moment's hesitation. You were just sitting there. Without a care in the world. Mr. Jones has snapped. What? Snap. Snap her. Snap. Mr. Jones has snapped. Doom. Sit down. Mrs. Jones. Let me fill you in. Your husband has been under strain. A lot of it's money. You buy things. Say, if instead of being the messengers of doom. We were selling magazines. I'd look at you. I'd say, that's an easy mark. Well, he's been working off with hard. I mean that his companies had to lay a lot of people off. Make ends meet. And that's caused him to have to work overtime. Which he's done. He's done some, say, 17 or 18 hours a day. Because those ends have got to meet. And the mud crutch has been hard on you too. Where you haven't always been in the mood to fulfill your marital duty. As they say. And he's upset. He's under strain. He's tried to get a little tail around the office. But you know what? Because most of the tail has been laid off. Snap. Snap. We come in to tell you. I don't understand. Yeah, but there's a breakdown of what? Where is he? In the hospital. Mrs. Jones, don't be so concerned. Because that ain't the worst. You sign this paper please. And this one too. What is it? Sign it. I'm taking some paper with me. Mrs. Jones, you have a father, right? Sure. Your father's retired. He's vulnerable. He's living on social security, right? Vulnerable to inflation and emphysema. Mrs. Jones, you put him in a nursing home. I know you thought that was the best thing. Because you had to go out working. You couldn't stay home and change his diapers. I know. But you must have heard. Harp. You heard of nursing homes at Starfield, gentlemen. You've seen them on TV. They drug the old ladies. They don't let them have babies. They take away their weedies. And they let them shrivel up you. Read all about it? No. Well, your dad got in with her. Boy, thanks. Shut up. Three hungry cutters and seven ravenous crones. Your father was hard-paring. And when they told him what they were going to do, he said, carry on. David's consent? Right. Unconditional. What's wrong with your dad? Served him up? Worsters yourself. Three weeks? No, no, no. Of course we heard. No hard feelings. In the morium. Three insoles. Made the price. Roll on now. Deep in dark blue ocean roll. Missing an action. Absent with leave. Stop it. Are you crazy? What do you want? I don't understand what you're saying. I don't understand. Cush it under those reasons for that. Maybe you're dumb. So we're here to tell you, so then you'll know what you don't understand. Give me a dollar. No. You don't understand. You certainly don't understand. I'm going to scream. Give me a dollar. Just if you're screaming while I tell you. Miss Jones, you have a good boy. You love your little boy. You ain't got a barrel of money, but love makes up for a lot. Well, I'll tell you. I'll tell you. I'll tell you. Your little boy got an owie. Got an owie in his tummy. They had to take him to fix his tummy, but then they couldn't wait. He hadn't established a credit rating. Of course not. He's only five years old. He can't take it all on. He has absolutely no way to demonstrate that the hospital could expect any compensation for removal of the owie, other than the profound and heartfelt blow of Christian charity, which just won't happen. So your little boy, Miss Jones, has reached a dead end. Round zero. Lost her eyes. Call the wild. Stop it. Tell me. Give it up. Here's it. Tax over $4. No. My private question, but are you incorporated? If you were, you could include an indemnification clause which would cover whatever your board decided was proper, assuming he was engaged in the business of the corporation, which you define in your articles. I'd recommend it. No, say it. Then it's subject to windfall. You can't beat windfall. But what do you do? Have you tried it all? You read all the best sellers. Melt the owie inches while you sleep. 100 proven ways to make a million. 50 cents a day buys life after death. You sent for those tips on kitchen magic. You sent for Dolly Parton's greatest tips. But she didn't tell you then. You tried to open the free sample, but you couldn't get through the plastic. You tore at it, ripped it, bit it, hurried it, finally threw it out. And then you got the bill. You thought, what if I change my name? You thought, what if I rapidly die? You thought, what if I build a more powerful vocabulary and get a better understanding of the erogenous zones and diversify my holdings of stocks and bonds and become truly liberated and discover the power of prayer and look out for number one. But what do you do? What do you do if you stare for? What do you do if you can't find the switch? What do you do if some clowns show up at the door? Yeah. You're screwed. See Miss Jones, we just want to let you know how the system works. Not very damn well. Because you don't know how the system works. You're at the mercy. Rummy. Sitting duck. Hood, wing, ten-men, muzzles. Stunned and befuddled. Duped and abused. In point of fact, there is some hope. Understand? Of course not. I wouldn't expect you to. And it's not very interesting anyway. All full of technical jargon, raps and charts and decimal points. It's your choice. It's your choice? It's your choice. You can take time to scour through a library of books and try to understand what's baffled up the best minds of our time. I mean, it's your choice. Or. Or. You can make a better choice. Here it is. Give me a dollar. Sonny side of the street. Happy ending. Life is a cabaret, old child. All ass. One buck, and you can be sitting pretty, unsnap your hubby, sew up your little boy and set up a polished memorial tablet to your daddy who has met a fate approximately equivalent to death. See, we don't want to be the messengers of doom. No way. We'd rather be the harbingers of hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. three months and you never have to worry. They say there's always hope. Is there some kind of special deal? Understand. You know what I mean. But you're in the system. There's a lot of guys that die at the end of the show but they don't just last five minutes. Life is just a way of attracting attention. No way. Hold on. There's five stages to this. I read this. This was a best-seller. A denial. Right. You're in the state of denial. I am not. See? All this crap. The swine flu, the bird flu, the global warming, the communist men's arm again. It's all bullshit which I could demonstrate if I had more time but I've only got four minutes. You better get on with your stages. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Total fucking freak out. Freak out. If I was some hot shit movie star you'd give me more than five minutes. Check my resume. It's meaningful. There's a story. It's being told. Every human life has value. We should always pretend that that's true. Mr. Leonard, you have a hand up in you, yes? And it falls out of the station in exactly three minutes. All right. My kids, can I say goodbye to my kids? Puppets do not have children. They have three little pigs or wicked stepsisters or they throw the baby out the window. Health insurance. They cannot get a refund. Mr. Leonard, we're not interested in your haemorrhoid value. Okay, I'm not headlining material but I'm putting up a fight. Don't they make movies out of these guys fighting the odds and they have this life-affirming will to live. Well, maybe one of these nice people out there will make you into a movie. Please. Say please. I said please. Please. Please. It reminds me of the days when people said please. Don't laugh. The clock is running. You know, at this point, lots of people get more spiritual. Oh, God. God, God, God, God, God. Two minutes. Time for despair. Want some water? Oh, yes. We charged by the cops. In the middle of last, I went to college. My mom was a bookkeeper. My dad was drunk. I got married, I think. I had kids and a trip to Yellowstone. I remember a girl named Janice. I'm seeing headlights. I had a puppet show. TV puppet show when I was a kid. There was a dragon. Hi, kids! That wasn't him. His name was Ollie. Well, shaped me like a dish rag and sucked me like a pickle. I'd like to recite a poem. Something beautiful. The final stage of acceptance. I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree. Damn. Tongue with snow upon the bow. And stands along the woodland. Lonely, dark and deep. Five. Four. Dark. Three. But I don't know why. They really are. Hard to recognize. I've changed a lot. You and me both. Was it here? I don't recall the place. I remember the light. It was after some election. You had that scarf I gave you. And I finally said it. I don't remember. I don't remember any fights. I remember you kind of pull back and get depressed. No, it was the war. Which war? No, you expressed yourself very clearly. You pull back, you get depressed, and I never know what to expect. And that has a certain fascination, but it wears thin. I need some space. Empty space. Say something, idiot. You didn't know what to say. I don't know. It's not you. It wasn't you. It was the war and the news and the job and the faces. People's faces, people's faces. And touch him. You don't want him to go. You meant every word, but you don't want it. You don't want that to be the end of it. Say something, idiot. Take a sip. If you got an itch, then scratch it. Some side of life, okay? And then put the hounds. Reach out. Take hold of her hand, and maybe you'll spend the rest of your life together, okay? Touch him. I know it wouldn't work out. No, I suppose not. Oh, look at that. Idiot can't even react. But hey, come on, he was young, okay? And anyway, you've had a good life. Amazing kids, accomplishments, love, fantastic. And so have I. What's to regret? We lived. Yes. You love him. Yes. So sudden. So crazy. It had to happen. I lived. Like West. The ocean. The sun. That smelly apartment. That was a job. Those crazy sun-free apartments. Chris's graduation. Thank God. God damn. I'm sorry, car. She's not my dog. She's my girlfriend's fucking dog. And she left, and I'm stuck. I'm sorry, car. You missed the moment. And then the story you thought you were in, you're not. You're in a different story. But I wonder if bugs have stories. Remember that dog? What kind of dog was... Don't go. That was actually pretty funny. No. You don't know me. I just come here sometimes. You're not here either. Damn dog. I guess I oughta dance. Get closer. Who it is. Oh, I did a term paper out. It's... Collie stands under a cloud of blue balloons, prom dress, print-a-loons, and skulls, and waits to be asked. I cross the floor, come to her. She reaches out, six of her hands. It's a slow dance. A two-step. She smiles and shows me her soft, flat, hungry tongue. It is your truest desire. I think that's what she said. I don't know. I want to leave Omaha. I want to dance, obviously. I want to tell the truth. I want to tell the truth. I want to see what I really want. I don't have anything to do with it. I just want to say it and have it heard. And nobody pissed off. I think it's the end of the world. The truth that's great, that's love, and trust, and I'm having a brother. I can do it. Just open my mouth and say it in the simplest terms. And trust. Trust somebody with my bank account and my children. Trust somebody not to stab me if I snore. I can trust. And taste. To taste the honey, and bitter stuff, and sour like cranberries. Taste like it tastes in dreams. And the colors are changing. I just feel it's coming alive in your teeth. I wish I could. They're dancing. Dancing. They look older. Older. Wait, that's his high school. Older. Is that Nick and Christine? Older. Get up off the floor. He's down. He's in the grass, in the world. The dance floor is clear. They're huddled around the edges. Walk in the desert. Sprouts where you step. In footsteps. Margin. And now there were babies crawling around on the floor. They're toddling. Dancing together. Rising, stumbling, falling, crying, crowing. Babies kissing and making love. Sweet. Babies in intercourse doing it there on the floor. Babies birthing babies. And swar. Sprout. Teenage babies. Young married babies. Career track babies. Grandpa and grandma babies. No, no, wait. I have to go. People see me. My friends right now. They're all dead and dying. But tomorrow they'll laugh at me. And I'll sort you right away. I could toast you. I'll put this flipper in my tongue. Well, we're talking about reality. It's my necklace. Look at you now. You're naked. I read in the talks. It peeled off. Who am I? Now, we need to garnish. She led me on to the dance floor. Dance. Would you make love with a woman who's deaf and blind? Yes. Would you screw a man who's chewing snuff? All right. Or strip a girl without a nose? Which eye? Or bang the fat gal who sells you stars? I can. Will you shag a woman who bleeds? Okay. Or fuck a man who's dying? Another slow lift. Her skirt arched back to open herself. Our bodies sing. And children tumble in multitudes from our mating cries. I felt the river surge. The circumvent of rivers that fill me. I'm Genji's the Nile. The Tigress. Euphrates. Yellow river. The Vold. The Congo. The Mississippi. Rivers like colossal serpents slithering up the tree. They're taking our picture. Slow. We're dancing together a spiral dance. She's lover to me and wife and mother and daughter. And the rivers run up to the stars. It's a joke. She's joking. She laughs. Sucks it up. She steps on my toes. Graduation. Pro. Trips to the dentist. Pro. My first time with a girl. My second. My third. My skin a comic book. And my fights with my mother. What am I talking about? Pro. My marriage. My son. Pro. Noses. Shelf in a comic book store. I pick it up. And it's me. There's John. There's Ellen. Steve. Ralph. Liza. Camilla. There's Adam. Tim. You. I loved you. But it's all distorted. And I'm turning the pages backwards, backwards into the future. All different worlds. And it's throat. And the nurse is a foxtrotting witchress who brings me death in a cup. Notions and rivers of blood. That's not my order. I didn't order that. Oh, yes. Translucent. Spreading. Our bodies lie in these pools and their ripples. The heat in the honey, the rich oil sweat of the floods in the lowlands. And waterfall rise from its surface. Plenio rapture. The mother is rising into the open mouth of God. We lack the fluid of arrows. The dark water eyes of lakes. The dragon drums. We all kiss. On our website there are a lot of our, it's a little bit different style. But our whole 94 episode radio series. Lots of radio traumas. That are there for free listening. And a whole bunch of other crazy stuff. And a few video samples and so on. We also have some books and videotapes over here. We have a complete puppet production of The Tempest. We did it a couple of years ago. And The Descent of the Goddess Inana. So if you are so minded, why please buy something. But in any case, we'll grab a couple of puppets. And if you'd like to share responses or see them up close. Thank you.