A ghastly and colorful jester emerges from within a veil of toxic green fog. His beady eyes protrude crustacean-like, his exaggerated grin appears to bisect his misshapen skull, and his skin - where it is not hidden by a clumsily-applied makeup of questionable origin - is of a sickly pallor.
A spotlight suddenly illuminates the jester. He chuckles, cancerously, and presents it with a comically extended middle finger. Suddenly, becoming quite still, he peers at an unseen audience and shouts:
BEHOLD THE INEXORABLE SLIDE INTO SENILITY OF THIS ARROGANT ORGANISM, MAN, WHOSE WIRING HAS BECOME BRITTLE IN THE STALE HEAT OF HIS WANING PASSION, WHILE HE SO VAINLY STRIVES TO MAINTAIN A DESPERATE GRASP ON MEMORY - ONLY TO WATCH IT BECOME . . . LESS . . . AND. . . LESS. . . DISTINCT!
Behind the jester, heavy curtains part to reveal a cinderblock wall, painted white. After an uncomfortable amount of time has passed, the jester strides toward the viewer and out of sight.
The sound of slaps delivered and received, breath being pummeled out of lungs, dishes being shattered, automobiles colliding, lasts for a period of several minutes, before the light of a projector illuminates the cinderblock.
Sinuous vines of verdant hue slowly embrace the wall until it is covered in a lush and complex tapestry of vegetation. Buds swell into pale white blooms. Bees gather pollen among the vines. Then, the blooms begin to whither and the vines to shrivel, gradually shedding bits of themselves onto the floor of the stage. This process of decay reveals the projected image of a suburban livingroom.
A housewife in a colorless robe rushes into the room. She is a blur, consumed by grief, rendered unstable by shock. Her son, a boy about nine years old, is entranced by the image of Bugs Bunny battling robots on a black and white television set. As the shock of his mother's sudden appearance - and the words she is screaming - induce an alien numbness in the boy, the images on the television are burned deeply into his brain. Nerve endings convulse; synapses realign themselves in the blink of an eye, to deal with a sudden and brutal infusion of wakefulness.
"He's dead! he's DEAD!" The boy's mother screams.
He's dead! he's DEAD! The jester mocks, from offstage.
"Your daddy's DEAD!" The boy's mother cries.
Your daddy's DEAD! The jester echoes, and laughs.
Blue jays scream the news of the family's loss from the trees; the traffic whispers it from a highway somewhere in the distance. In the living room, projected against the white of the cinderblock wall, the boy's mother shuts the television off with a frantic slap. The house begins to settle into the soil with a faint groan. Soon it is lost to sight.
The merest remnants of vines adhere to the wall now. The light winks out and a crack appears upon it. The jester hugs himself, huddled on the dusty floor of the stage, trembling. His laughter has gotten the better of him. Finally, he surrenders to his mirth as a puddle of urine spreads across the stage.
The stage curtains slowly draw shut.
