(2 Tons is loitering as Ike enters.)
Spex: Hey, I got your text message.
2 Tons: Did you? Good, I can never tell if this thing is working or not.
(He presses buttons and his cell phone rings, which shocks him into dropping over-clumsily.)
Spex: No, I got it. It sounded urgent. Is something wrong or did you just mistakenly text with an urgent tone?
2 Tons: No, no it’s… pretty urgent. We need to talk.
Spex: Geez, it’s already sounding pretty serious.
2 Tons: Yeah. You have a problem. And it’s something I feel like I have to address before it gets out of control and something terrible happens.
Spex: Wait, wait- is this an intervention?
2 Tons: I’m afraid so. This is serious business.
Spex: But why only you? Aren’t there usually more people at an intervention?
2 Tons: It’s not that serious.
Spex: I don’t understand, I only drink on occasion and then only to get drunk, I don’t smoke, I only did drugs that one time and only because everyone else was doing it. I’m not addicted to anything. What is this about?
2 Tons: Well, I’m afraid you’re- that you’re becoming a prop comic.
Spex: You’re crazy, I’m no prop comic. Just a regular, run of the mill sketch comic.
2 Tons: I thought you might deny it, but you have to remember I am your friend. I’m not going to judge you, just mock you. It’s okay. You can be honest with me.
Spex: Well, I am, I am, I am, I am. Being honest.
2 Tons: You sure?
Spex: Scoff. Scoff. Scoff.
2 Tons: I didn’t want to have to do this, but-
(2 Tons produces a box of props.)
2 Tons: I found this in your closet.
Spex: What exactly are you doing spying within the innards of my closet?
2 Tons: I was going to borrow one of your cowboy shirts, but then I remembered I’m much taller than you. Still, I felt compelled to rummage through your closet. I’d call it divine intervention if I believed in that sort of thing.
Spex: You don’t believe in God?
2 Tons: No, I don’t believe in drag queens.
Spex: Look, you’re looking at this all wrong. There’s-there’s-there’s nothing wrong with prop comedy if you do it right, and in moderation.
2 Tons: Listen to yourself, would you?
Spex: Why, I know what I sound like. You listen- to my act!
(Spex grabs the box from 2 Tons.)
Spex: Let’s see here. (Pulls out a stapler, pretends to eat it.) A staplewich? My favorite! (Pulls out a cordless phone, holds it over his eyebrows.) Doctor says I got telebrow. (Pulls out a spatula, speaks into it.) Hello? Hello? Is thing on? Who flattened my microphone?
(2 Tons grabs the box from Ike.)
2 Tons: Stop it, stop it! You disgust me. Literally disgust me. I threw up in my mouth a little, that’s how much you disgust me. I pooted in my butt a little.
Spex: But that’s what I’m going for. I want audiences pooting in their butts with laughter, vomiting cheerfully at my antics.
2 Tons: In that sense, you’ve succeeded. But never forget, you can be too good at something. And when that happens, you push everything and everyone away from you, because you’re so good you’re too good for them. Like that Right Said Fred song.
Spex: Don’t Talk Just Kiss?
2 Tons: No.
Spex: Deeply Dippy.
2 Tons: No!
Spex: You’re My Mate.
2 Tons: You’re missing the point. You have to admit you have a problem.
Spex: But it’s-it’s not- okay, fine! I’m a prop comic! (Pause.) Oh my God. I’m a prop comic.
2 Tons: It’s okay. How do you feel?
Spex: Actually, better. Much better. It’s like a giant prop weight has been lifted off my chest, only it turned out to be a real weight and a prop chest.
2 Tons: It’s just the first step, buddy. There’s a long road ahead of you.
Spex: I’m scared.
2 Tons: Hey, don’t be scared. You won’t be alone.
Spex: Really?
2 Tons: Probably not. I don’t know. Who cares? Now, let’s go get drunk.
Spex: Sounds terrific, chum. Sounds terrific.
(Arm in arm, Spex and 2 Tons exit, leaving the box of props behind, bereft and bewildered.)
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