WE GO TOGETHER LIKE-

Horse shoes & hand grenades
Water & hangovers
Birds & tree branches
Led Zeppelin & Lord of the Rings
Jerry Lewis & Muscular Dystrophy
Cereal & the rest of a balanced breakfast
Army men & dark green hats
This American Life & slight speech impediments
Semi-colons & run-on sentences
The internet & ladies who like to take their clothes off
Ice & rapper names
Panty hose & bank robbers
Batman & movies about Batman
Moustaches & cowboys
People & places

TWO! TWO! TWO ITEMS OF NOTE!

First, the site will be relatively quiet for some time, as I will be participating in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo to those in the know) so your homework is to read and re-read the pterodactyl play and leave your positive feedback daily.
Second, we here at False Moustache have recently been made aware of a different blog, which is exceedingly similar to this one, with someone very similar to the entity of me, with a similar name, Cotton Candy Beard. The difference: this is a Wordpress blog, and it's for kids. Give it a look and see if you agree:

http://cottoncandybeard.wordpress.com/

10. THE ANCHORWOMAN SUMS IT ALL UP

(Anchorwoman once again is seated at her desk.)

Good evening, I’m Sonya Pseudonym, but not really. Now the 6:17 News Special Report. Have you noticed a calmness, a quiet, a lack of utter fear and sheer terror in your neighborhood? That’s right, those pesky pterodactyls, the sweet potatoes of the sky, have vanished mysteriously. It ended as it began, full of intrigue, uncertainty and doughnuts. The intrigue? What has happened to the pterodactyls? The uncertainty? Will they be returning anytime soon? The doughnuts? My breakfast.

The mood in our fair city is as if Paula Cole had actually asked the musical question, “Where have all the pterodactyls gone?” Dr. Freud could not be reached for comment, but one of his lab assistants, a Frank or Larry, did relay this information. If you are the residents of any neighboring city and you do come across the dinosaurs, do not provoke them, use soft, soothing tones. No name-calling. And hide any and all jam from sight. He then thanked me for the call, and promised to call later. Sources close to my heart report he has yet to do so, and cause me to question the validity of anything he says.

But such is the nature of this enigmatic experiment. Nothing is as it seems. What you think is a genuine turtleneck sweater turns out to be a mock turtleneck sweater. What you believe to be butter is in fact Butter It’s Not. That smell you notice certainly seems to be Giorgio, but then it’s revealed to be Primo. It’s much like an elaborate game of Guess Who, except the game cards do actually talk. What they say doesn’t clarify so much as not clarify, however, and we are left back at square one.

I know what’s on everyone’s mind, and that is what is it that I personally think the future holds for us. I think science will forge onward and upward, cloning and reanimating and leaving us all behind, without so much as a text message. But what will be next, you ask? Brontosaurs? Triceratopses? Canadian reggae sensation Snow? Your guess is only slightly less good as mine. But, I am certain we will not be hearing from the science world again for a very, very, very, very long time. And when we do, one hopes it will be a heartfelt apology. I’m Sonya Pseudonym, thanks for checking me out.

-fin-

9. THE PTERODACTYL LEAVES THE FOLD

(Shecky Pterosaur sits at a desk, composing a letter to his brother pterodactyls.)
Dear Stink-odactyls: Just kidding. Anyway, I’m writing this letter to inform you porcupine racetracks that, as of today I’m leaving you all in the dust! I’ve been mulling it over in my brain the size of a pea and I’ve decided that I can’t live the normal pterodactyl life anymore. I’m through with the pillaging, destroying and lifting of things in my talons. I need to pursue my lifelong dream, which we all know is to move to Vegas and become an insult comic. You googly-eyed goofballs are aware of my formidable skills at knocking folks down a few pegs verbally, and I think it’s time I shared my put-downs with the public.
Ever since I was reanimated, I’ve been studying the great insult comics, all of them. Groucho Marx, Don Rickles, Jacky Mason, they all helped me find my new purpose, and it’s opened my eyes and ears like water to a duck. And speaking of ducks (makes a fart noise with his hand/talon.) That probably doesn’t translate well to the page, but I just made a fart noise. I know Philo is cracking up at that one. See, this is how I roll, fellas. No holds barred, no bars held. I gotta be me, right? No one can stifle old Shecky Pterosaur no more. To all those folks who don’t get me, or think I’m too in your face with the put-downs and the truth bombs, just what the H-E double hockey pucks is wrong with you, ya nimrods! You gotta be duller than a marching band not to get what I’m saying, am I right? What are you, John Philip Snooze-a?
I know what some of you might be thinking. Isn’t cracking wise with the guys enough for you? But you’re thinking too small, which is admittedly understandable, considering the size of our brains, and don’t we have one in our butts, too? That’s just trouble waiting to happen right there. Wait, I just had a thought (makes another fart noise.) You’re welcome, Philo. But seriously, now and all kidding aside, I’ve got big plans for little old me. Of course I’d start small, like the Catskills, or maybe even smaller, the Kittenskills. I’d hit the late-night shows and work my way to Vegas, where my act might include a couple of songs. “I Gotta Be Me,” obviously, and maybe that pterodactyl classic, (screeches.) Though that may confuse non-Spanish speaking audiences. This will inevitably lead to my sitcom, “Winged Assault,” where I insult my family, neighbors and co-workers, and introduce the world to my infamous catchphrase, “What are you looking at, dicknose?” After a healthy ten-year run, I’ll retire the show and exit the limelight for about five years and then start my brilliant comeback with a stand-up tour, introducing newer, more conceptual insults, like the fact that a pretty penny has a different meaning for Abe Lincoln fetishists. Then I’ll retire for real, guest-hosting the occasional talk show and maybe writing my memoirs, Yes I Can… Fly. Of course, the very first step is to get married, so I can insult my wife’s cooking and shopping habits, and my mother-in-law’s cooking and shopping habits. So, if you know of anyone, hook a winged finger up, if you know what I mean.
Look fellas, this is the hardest letter I’ve had to write, and not just because my talons weren’t designed to operate a fountain pen. I’m really gonna miss you guys, no fooling. But this is something I gotta do. Not just for me, but for the good of the world. Humankind has a big hole that needs to be filled by a sarcastic dinosaur. It’s my destiny. But I’ll never forget the little lizards that were there for me in the beginning. Philo and Ralph, and of course Crow. And to you non-believers, why don’t put some skates on your face, and skate! Sincerely: Shecky Pterosaur. PS: I just have one last thought on my mind (Makes yet another fart noise.) Just needed to close with that remark. See ya, suckers!

8. THE OUTSIDERS TAKE CONTROL

(The leader of the Outsiders stands on a box and wears a Members Only jacket. He addresses his ruffian brethren.)

All right, all right, quiet down. Listen up, youse bums, I’m gonna make this short, but not sweet, cuz I ain’t no queer. The pterodactyls are takin’ over our city, bruddas, and I ain’t gonna let ‘em no more. We sat back and let the pigs and the army have their say, but they’re just all talk. I for one think it’s time somebody took some action. And that action is gonna be taken by us. Who’s with me? I said who’s with me?

All right, here’s the deal. I know we’re just a bunch of Outsiders and I know that “society” doesn’t accept us because we’re poor and rude and have colorful nicknames for each other. And I know you’re thinking right now why? Why should we, the Outsiders, step up and help the citizens of a town that don’t even want us around? Why? I’ll tell you why. Because then maybe we’ll be more accepted. Maybe after we come to this city’s rescue, people won’t walk a little faster when they see us coming. Maybe they’ll be able to see past our jean jackets with the sleeves cut off, and t-shirts and combs that flip out like switchblades and our gum chewing and outside voices and greasy hair. Maybe they’ll see past the stereotype to the caricatures we really are. I’d like to live in a town like that, ya know. And I’m willing to be my Newsies dialect any of you would like to, too.

How many crimes have we been unfairly accused of? Stealing everything from Old Man Mose’s front lawn to Cher’s last name, setting fire to Mrs. O’Leary’s cow, drug running, drug speedwalking, jaywalking, Kay walking, mail fraud, World Com, switching the public library’s card catalog to the overly complicated Louie Decimal System, the list goes on from there. Until it ends. And really, how many of those could we have done? There’s a good two or three of these things I don’t remember doing, anyway. Besides, they don’t get us. They don’t get how hard it is to be filled with teen angst, especially when you’re in your thirties. The richies don’t understand what it’s like to live in a house with ten other people and no camera crew. They don’t get the loyalty and love we have for each other is undying and not at all fruity. And they don’t get our nicknames and the importance we carry them with. The pride I feel when you guys call me Tugboat, because I earned that name. I wear it like a badge over my real name.

So, I think I pretty much sold you on why we should do this, now let me tell you what I think we should do. I was rereading Charlotte’s Web the other day, and I suddenly had this great idea. Since pterodactyls are basically like big lizardy flies, the one thing that should stop them is, what? A web, amirite? Now a real spider web won’t work unless we had a big mutated spider. That was my first big idea, but time is running out, so I had to think of something else. That’s when I remembered the World’s Largest Volleyball Net, from the World’s Largest Volleyball Net and Bottomless Cuppa Joe Café. If we can set this up and somehow coax the pterodactyls into it, they’ll be caught. So, here’s the plan: Ponytail, Bubble-Up, you two sneak into the restaurant and distract the owner. Maybe do your Morosey Medley, that’s pretty enchanting. You’re welcome, fellas. Now, while they’re doing that, TV Tag and Burger Time, you’ll be stealing the World’s Largest Volleyball Net, so be sure to wear your coats with the big pockets. Then, we’ll set it up at the Muffin Sangria Memorial Cave, where Windy Winston and Messy Tessie will be doing their best impressions of pterodactyls in heat. I know you guys have been practicing this, so it’s your time to shine. Okay, Mike’N’Ikes and Star Trek IV, you’ll be on either side of the net, and once all the pterodactyls have been snared, you’ll run as fast as you can at each other. But don’t forget to hold onto your end of the net, bruddas, so we’ll really get them tied up. Otherwise, you’ll just be running really fast at each other. Then, me and Walk-In Closet will drop them into the Great Sodium Lake, where they’ll drown to their deaths. And we’ll go back into town and collect our hero medals. For heroic behavior.

Speaking of heroes, I’m reminded two of my biggest heroes in two of their two biggest moments, and the biggest words the two of them said. First, I remember when Helen Keller won the Olympics in 1812, and she gave that speech where she said, “I have a dream that some day there won’t be anymore Nazis, and my favorite flower is the dandelion.” Rumor gots it the Berlin Wall shrunk three times that day. Morning, noon and night. The other quote I think of in this challenging time is what Grandma Moses said, ya know, when she was swallowed by the whale? Remember how she kept repeating and repeating, “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can,” until the whale spit her out in disgust on accounta the repetition. But this city’s never gonna spit us out, right guys? Right? So, let’s show ‘em what we’re made of, in a metaphorical way. By saving this town. Are we ready? Are we ready? I think we are, youse guys! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! (Exiting.) TV Tag’s driving, and I call shotgun! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!

7. THE GENERAL IS A GENIUS

(The general is seated, and is a genius. She has a stack of note cards she constantly refers to.)

I am a genius. You know how I know? Because I can intuit myself like no one… (checks note cards.) can. You see, I am a General, or used to be, and I came up with the perfect plan for world domination, and the domination of the pterodactyls. Few people realize, but we as a nation are in a constant state… (checks note cards) of war. Why, just the other day, I said to a colleague, "Chum, we are in a constant state of war." I think that proves my point.

Being a resourceful… (checks note cards.) Having a resourceful mind, I’m constantly thinking, meditating on how we can be one step of the enemy, who always seems to be one… (checks note cards.) step above of us. How can we outmaneuver the tricky lizards? (Laughs.) No need to answer yourselves, that’s what I’m here for. I have the perfect plan. Do those clowns at the head office agree? (Checks note cards.) No! And do you know why? Because my plan is so simple, so spectacles, spectacular, that they wish they had thought of it. It’s always been there, right above our nose, below our… somewhere in the nostril sector. (Checks note cards.) How do these dinosaurs attack? By land? No! By see? No! In the air? No! (Checks note cards.) Yes! That’s exactly how they do it! Flight! It’s been their secret for centuries, hundreds of hundreds. Of centuries. And here we are, without a solution. No. We have a solution. We can indeed combat flight. And I am the one who knows how (Checks note cards.) to. Here’s what I say to Newton: pbpbpbpbpb! What? Oh! (Does a raspberry.) That’s what I say to Newton! The Wright brothers? Wrong!

But how? You ask. How… (Checks note cards.) how… how do you combat flight? The answer came to me while sketching. Simply remove the ground! Let me illustrate what I mean. (Removes a tiny piece of paper.) You see here where I have an object? Hm. Rather small. I have a bigger one. (Produces a bigger one.) Notice how it’s just an object on the page. All right. Witness this (Another paper.)! See how it’s flying? Now, watch the process in reverse? (He does this.) Voi-ola! So you see, an object cannot logically fly unless there’s something below it to be flying above. And so, we eliminate the ground! The pterodactyls can no longer fly! And then where are they? (Checks note cards.) Nowhere. Right where they started! B.C.! Bitchingly… concealed. From winning! Because they lose, and so winning is concealed from them. Bitchingly.

Right now you’re thinking one of two things: I’m so envious of her, or I’m madly in love with her. Both points are valid. But let me strap… estrap… extrapolate further. As you may have already noticed, I am a woman. That in itself is a chore, what with the body image issues, uncomfortable shoes and the endless cyclical war on menses. But add to that the Boy’s Club of America that is American Politics of America and you’ve got a double-edged sword of awfulness, where no one takes you seriously as a military commander because you’ve got lady parts. So of course, the President doesn’t like my idea. Nor does the Secretary of War, or the Treasure Guy, or the one with the beard, he’s hated me all along. They don’t understand, we’re living in an age! (Checks note cards.) Of reason! And as such we must conduct ourselves accordingly as people of reason! And as such we must conduct ourselves accordingly as people of reason! And as such… (Stops. Looks at note cards, mumbles the words to herself, saying coherently the words in bold, then) They don’t understand we’re living in an age of reason! And as such we must conduct ourselves accordingly as people of dignity! It’s ontological to be afraid of fright, so don’t be! I… It’s only logical to be afraid of flight, so don’t be put off by the idea of its demise. This is what I told them, the chefs of hate, the chiefs of state I mean. (Checks note cards.) To say. Some called me mad, and others called me… mad. This is so I won’t be able to distinguish between the two. But there is a subtle difference. Tones of voice. Phones of choice. W.E.B. Dubois. (Looks.) I meant to cut that.

Anyhow, the question has frequently been posed to me of how do you remove the ground? Well… (Turns the card. There is no other card. She goes back, looks behind, searches for the missing card, and stops. Looks at the audience. Thinks about what to say. Pauses. Then, runs as fast as her legs can make her run.)

6. THE SADDEST POP STAR IN BRITAIN ASKS FOR CHANGE

(Morosey, the saddest pop star in Britain, makes his way to the stage as despondently as humanly possible.)

I acknowledge and respect your lack of applause. No, I do. I truly do. Though it can be heartwarming to receive recognition from your peers, in a world full of nothing but disappointment, it would only serve to cause more harm than good. There’s nothing more disheartening than crushed hope, or a dream deferred, dried up like some sort of fruit snack in the sun.

I, of course, am Morosey, the saddest pop star in Britain. I write the songs that make the whole world weep openly. I singlehandedly bummed out the Johnson County Fair, I brought a thirteen year-old girl overdosing on Prozac back to the brink of despair, I was once advised to cheer up by the ghost of Franz Kafka. You may be familiar with my hit songs, “Not Enough Tear Ducts in My Face,” “Everyone’s Just Not That Into You,” and “Qualified to Saddify You,” which have led me to be dubbed the Duke of Despondence, Master of Melancholia, and The Fozzie Bear of Forlorn. And I have won numerous awards, which are ultimately meaningless in the void that is existence, except that none of you have won them, so there.

But tonight is not about me. No, this evening the annual Why Don’t You Care-aoke and Cry Jag is a benefit for those misunderstood creatures, the pterodactyls. As a misunderstood creature myself, I’m filled with nothing but sympathy, aside from despair, ennui and cabernet sauvignon. In honor of these noble winged dinosaurs, I’ve composed a poem which I shall now perform for you, accompanied only by a lonely arrangement and depressingly dramatic poses. It is entitled, “Save the Pterodactyls (I’m No Longer Worth the Effort.)” (Music starts.) My face has never known the shape of a smile/ I believe I’ll wallow in that thought for a while/ I can no longer tell the difference twixt a laugh and a lie/ If my heart were not beating then surely I would die/ And be objectified by judgmental morticians./ These lines that I recite, no they’re not even mine/ I looked within my soul and I plagiarized/ If I fall in the woods then nobody cares/ They’re too busy debating the fecal habits of bears there/ The only important movements are those of the bowel./ Save the pterodactyls. Save the pterodactyls/ Please, save the pterodactyls, I’m no, no longer worth the effort./ Oh, my invisible friend, his name is Despair/ He’s a lot like me but with much worse hair/ We spend evenings together under a blanket of grief/ And Joaquin Phoenix’s name used to be Leaf/ I’ve always wondered why he changed that./ You abandoned me in a wintry hour/ My face folded in like the opposite of a flower/ You said you were looking for someone less gloomy/ Like an argyle sock, you were trying to shoe me/ Even I am unsure what I mean by that./ Save the pterodactyls. Save the pterodactyls/ Please, save the pterodactyls, I’m no longer worth the effort./ And even though I’m irredeemably sad/ You still try to find a way to redeem me/ Like an empty bottle of grape soda/ You know so well how to low self-esteem me/ Save the pterodactyls. Save the pterodactyls/ Please, save the pterodactyls, I’m no, no not no longer worth the effort./ And I would try, except that I’m just too shy. (Music ends.) Thank you, thank you. Your applause is like an auditory cocktail shaker, mixing my emotions. I must go now, but remember to think about what I’ve done, and what you haven’t done. And save the pterodactyls. Thank you.