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Snide, issue 2, February 1941
Page 25
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KLAXIN (spitting out feather): Not this one. The Scientist-at-Large gave me a broken-down crate mended with flour-paste, ten bucks and a PRT slug and told me to bring him back samples of Grimpazian ooze. But he didn't give me a pail. So I was planning to hand him the double-cross and hightail it for Madison, Wis., when I met those pigeons ( spits out another feather) - damn them! STEPHANIE (angrily): They had the right of way, didn't they? ( In more tender tones) Any bones broken? Bleeding? Breathing? Shock? KLAXIN (gets to feet and moves about gingerly): I'm okay. What's a good-looking dame like you doing out here on the docks? I wish you'd put a hat on. You're blinding me. (A crab scuttles onstage, bites him, waves a claw coyly, scuttles off.) What the hell was that? STEPHANIE (sadly): Once he was a poet. He loved me; he made pretty rimes for me. But I wouldn't marry him and live in his apartment on Park Avenue, so he drowned himself in the kitchen sink. Somehow his love seems to have survived everything; he bites anyone who talks to me. KLAXIN (slapping at mosquito): What's this? Another ex-flame? STEPHANIE: Just an installment collector. He insisted on pestering me every Friday for money, money, money. Just because I'd bought things. I tied him to the wall one day and stoned him to death with nickels. KLAXIN: Personally, I think... Well, never mind. How about a drink? Any cases around? STEPHANIE: Cases? Sure; what'll you have[:?] syphilis, agraphobia, pneumonia, smallpox, insolvency, or near beer? 25
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KLAXIN (spitting out feather): Not this one. The Scientist-at-Large gave me a broken-down crate mended with flour-paste, ten bucks and a PRT slug and told me to bring him back samples of Grimpazian ooze. But he didn't give me a pail. So I was planning to hand him the double-cross and hightail it for Madison, Wis., when I met those pigeons ( spits out another feather) - damn them! STEPHANIE (angrily): They had the right of way, didn't they? ( In more tender tones) Any bones broken? Bleeding? Breathing? Shock? KLAXIN (gets to feet and moves about gingerly): I'm okay. What's a good-looking dame like you doing out here on the docks? I wish you'd put a hat on. You're blinding me. (A crab scuttles onstage, bites him, waves a claw coyly, scuttles off.) What the hell was that? STEPHANIE (sadly): Once he was a poet. He loved me; he made pretty rimes for me. But I wouldn't marry him and live in his apartment on Park Avenue, so he drowned himself in the kitchen sink. Somehow his love seems to have survived everything; he bites anyone who talks to me. KLAXIN (slapping at mosquito): What's this? Another ex-flame? STEPHANIE: Just an installment collector. He insisted on pestering me every Friday for money, money, money. Just because I'd bought things. I tied him to the wall one day and stoned him to death with nickels. KLAXIN: Personally, I think... Well, never mind. How about a drink? Any cases around? STEPHANIE: Cases? Sure; what'll you have[:?] syphilis, agraphobia, pneumonia, smallpox, insolvency, or near beer? 25
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