ACT III
...
An office room, filled with a basketball court. As the man, the Un-Dadler, talks to Son Boy, the basketball players skirt past. The red team is losing.
UN-DADLER
Now, Son Boy, your father has died, correct?
SON
PIPSY! (Cries, chews on knees)
UN-DADLER
Your Pipsy died of a severe heart-crusting.
SON
PIPSY!
UN-DADLER
Your Pipsy is dead.
SON
PIPSY!
UN-DADLER
Please, Son Boy. You must be strong boy, young boy. I have taken to the matters of un-dadling you. The process is almost complete - but first it will mean ridding you of your fatherly hairs.
The wizardly wink of the Un-Dadler, a-tune to a grassharp whiz mixed with mischievous clarinet scales, instantly removes all of Son Boy's hairs.
UN-DADLER
(Pleased) Yes. That will do.
SON
(Shining like a supple calf) Oh Monsieur, if I am un-dadled, am I no longer Son Boy?
UN-DADLER
I'm afraid not. From this point forth, you are simplySon Boy.
SON
Ohh...
Son Boy leaks orange drink, in sorrow. A basketball hits him in the back of the head, but it does not bark.
SON
Will I ever be Son Boy again?
The Un-Dadler gives an aggressive look, as though his thoughts are constipated with grief and jelly. His veins begin to undulate, his wrinkles wrink.
UN-DADLER
Eue - !
Raw beef jettisons from the opening in the Un-Dadler's chin and coatsSon Boy in a fine pink paste.
UN-DADLER
(Relieved) The process is finished! You are officially un-dadled!
SON
But I didn't - !
UN-DADLER
I'm afraid that is that.
The Un-Dadler runs away.
SON
Now whatever will I do?
The basketball players crunch. The lights dim. Spotlight onSon Boy.
SON
(Accompanied by lonesome piano ballad - Sings sonorous, melodious, shrill) Oh, I am but aSon Boy! Ah! A Son Boy! Ah! To, to be, toto to be, oh be, a Boy, but a Boyyy, a Son of Suns a Boyyyy!....Beeeeee! To be a Son Boy Boy oh bibbib b bahh boyyy....! Suuuuaaaong, boy... Son.... Boy.
The lights fade slowly, asSon Boy shrieks and vomits profusely on the court like a poisoned toddler.
End of Act III.
(Act IV coming soon.)
UN-DADLER
Now, Son Boy, your father has died, correct?
SON
PIPSY! (Cries, chews on knees)
UN-DADLER
Your Pipsy died of a severe heart-crusting.
SON
PIPSY!
UN-DADLER
Your Pipsy is dead.
SON
PIPSY!
UN-DADLER
Please, Son Boy. You must be strong boy, young boy. I have taken to the matters of un-dadling you. The process is almost complete - but first it will mean ridding you of your fatherly hairs.
The wizardly wink of the Un-Dadler, a-tune to a grassharp whiz mixed with mischievous clarinet scales, instantly removes all of Son Boy's hairs.
UN-DADLER
(Pleased) Yes. That will do.
SON
(Shining like a supple calf) Oh Monsieur, if I am un-dadled, am I no longer Son Boy?
UN-DADLER
I'm afraid not. From this point forth, you are simply
Ohh...
Will I ever be Son Boy again?
The Un-Dadler gives an aggressive look, as though his thoughts are constipated with grief and jelly. His veins begin to undulate, his wrinkles wrink.
UN-DADLER
Eue - !
Raw beef jettisons from the opening in the Un-Dadler's chin and coats
UN-DADLER
(Relieved) The process is finished! You are officially un-dadled!
But I didn't - !
UN-DADLER
I'm afraid that is that.
The Un-Dadler runs away.
Now whatever will I do?
The basketball players crunch. The lights dim. Spotlight on
(Accompanied by lonesome piano ballad - Sings sonorous, melodious, shrill) Oh, I am but a
The lights fade slowly, as
End of Act III.
(Act IV coming soon.)
