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Rocket, v. 1, issue 1, March 1940

Page 23

23

HYSTERIA IN A HEARSE
by Walt Daugherty

If N.B.C. could reject "History in Reverse" it is rather hard to say what they would do to this if I ever mustered up enough nerve to submit it. Never-the-less I give it to you in its uncensored version. (Note: Even the censors won't read it.) Anyway, here it is, don't say anything until you count to the usual ten after reading it, for courtesy's sake, if nothing else. Who said, "Who is that dame Courtesy?"

Orchestra: OLD FASHIONED SONG

Announcer: Tonite Ladies and gentlemen of the telioscopic audience, we present an old fashioned melodrama of the early 25th century as near as possible in presentation to its predecessor. It's been ages since you've had an opportunity to hiss the villain. But inasmuch as hissing is applause for him, let's oil up the old hisser and give him a big hand. Tonite we present the Transplutonian Dramatic Stock Company in an untimely dramatic play entitled "Interplanetary Sabotage" or "Who Swiped the Jets from Grandma's ROCKET?" At this point we will let ACKERMAN-EASE into the role of Silas FICTIONEER the SCIENCE FICTION minded father. MOROJO will moroll you over as Mirandi FICTIONEER, the old fashioned mother who still believes that an exclusion act is a trip to the SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION. Plug -- "IT'S CHICAGO IN 1940" The fellow who is the object of our hisses is none other than the famous MOSCAHEIM, known to his friends and inmates as WOLLOWITZ. ( Get it? If you don't you'd better get a NEW FANDOM in the FUTURIAN), who plays the role of Tobias Flint the dirtiest rat who ever wiped his feet on SCIENCE FICTION's front door mat. Our simple, sweet, and unconscious heroine is FUFA BRADBURY; he of the humorontype, the tweenie of tweenies, the emblem of imbeciles, the perfect specimen of the Spiralis Bradbillious Gonera. (nuff said) And, not to be forgotten is VOICE (you can use your imagination here) the ethereal heckler who would be the star of our play except that nobody novas what he's going to say next. I won't mention his name, but should you be thinking of hustle, bustle and hodgepodge, I think you've got something there. He is the fellow who knows all, and how he tells it; In other words he puts in his two-bits in Kibitz. Our scene is the home of Silas and Mirandi. As the scene opens it is rather hard to say what time it is as we are in the void, and must avoid mentioning days and Knights. As the fog lifts, Mirandi is seated by an old fashioned gas fireplace as Silas enters from his chores milking the 'you know what' seeing that the hired hand Orion had Taurus well in hand, and replacing the bulb in the tail-light of their space ship.

Orchestra: STORM MUSIC (preferably Mendelssohn's Spring Song)

Silas: It's a terrible night out tonight, Mirandi.

Mirandi: Your right, Silas. 'Tain't fit for man nor beast.

Silas: Yep. 'Tain't fit for man nor beast. Gody pity the LENSMEN on a night like this.

Mirandi: Well, Silas, guess we can count ourselves fortunate we've got a gravity nullifier over our heads.

Silas: You're right, Mirandi. But I'm afraid we're about to lose

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23 HYSTERIA IN A HEARSE by Walt Daugherty If N.B.C. could reject "History in Reverse" it is rather hard to say what they would do to this if I ever mustered up enough nerve to submit it. Never-the-less I give it to you in its uncensored version. (Note: Even the censors won't read it.) Anyway, here it is, don't say anything until you count to the usual ten after reading it, for courtesy's sake, if nothing else. Who said, "Who is that dame Courtesy?" Orchestra: OLD FASHIONED SONG Announcer: Tonite Ladies and gentlemen of the telioscopic audience, we present an old fashioned melodrama of the early 25th century as near as possible in presentation to its predecessor. It's been ages since you've had an opportunity to hiss the villain. But inasmuch as hissing is applause for him, let's oil up the old hisser and give him a big hand. Tonite we present the Transplutonian Dramatic Stock Company in an untimely dramatic play entitled "Interplanetary Sabotage" or "Who Swiped the Jets from Grandma's ROCKET?" At this point we will let ACKERMAN-EASE into the role of Silas FICTIONEER the SCIENCE FICTION minded father. MOROJO will moroll you over as Mirandi FICTIONEER, the old fashioned mother who still believes that an exclusion act is a trip to the SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION. Plug -- "IT'S CHICAGO IN 1940" The fellow who is the object of our hisses is none other than the famous MOSCAHEIM, known to his friends and inmates as WOLLOWITZ. ( Get it? If you don't you'd better get a NEW FANDOM in the FUTURIAN), who plays the role of Tobias Flint the dirtiest rat who ever wiped his feet on SCIENCE FICTION's front door mat. Our simple, sweet, and unconscious heroine is FUFA BRADBURY; he of the humorontype, the tweenie of tweenies, the emblem of imbeciles, the perfect specimen of the Spiralis Bradbillious Gonera. (nuff said) And, not to be forgotten is VOICE (you can use your imagination here) the ethereal heckler who would be the star of our play except that nobody novas what he's going to say next. I won't mention his name, but should you be thinking of hustle, bustle and hodgepodge, I think you've got something there. He is the fellow who knows all, and how he tells it; In other words he puts in his two-bits in Kibitz. Our scene is the home of Silas and Mirandi. As the scene opens it is rather hard to say what time it is as we are in the void, and must avoid mentioning days and Knights. As the fog lifts, Mirandi is seated by an old fashioned gas fireplace as Silas enters from his chores milking the 'you know what' seeing that the hired hand Orion had Taurus well in hand, and replacing the bulb in the tail-light of their space ship. Orchestra: STORM MUSIC (preferably Mendelssohn's Spring Song) Silas: It's a terrible night out tonight, Mirandi. Mirandi: Your right, Silas. 'Tain't fit for man nor beast. Silas: Yep. 'Tain't fit for man nor beast. Gody pity the LENSMEN on a night like this. Mirandi: Well, Silas, guess we can count ourselves fortunate we've got a gravity nullifier over our heads. Silas: You're right, Mirandi. But I'm afraid we're about to lose