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The Journal of Literary Satire | Hastily Written & Slopilly Edited
Monday, January 29, 2007

Beavis and Butt-Head Do Beckett

Waiting for Godot

A country road. A tree.


ESTRAGON, sitting on a low mound, is trying to take off his boot. He pulls at it with both hands, twitching and cursing.

He gives up, exhausted, curses and twitches some more, tries again.


Estragon (stopping, staring straight ahead): Nothing to be done. Hehe.

Vladimir: Damn it, Estragon. Huh huh. I’m beginning to come around to that opinion.

Estragon: Yeah! Hehe.

Vladimir: Together again at last! Huh huh. We’ll have to celebrate this. But how? (He stares blankly.) Get up till I embrace you. Huh huh.

Estragon: What?! Hehe. That’s gay, Vladimir! Hehe.

Vladimir : Shut up, Estragon. Huh huh.

Estragon: Hehe!

Vladimir : Huh huh.

Enter BOY.

Boy: Mister … ( Vladimir stares ahead, not acknowledging Boy) … Mister Albert.

Vladimir: You have a message from Mr. Godot. Huh huh.

Boy: Yes, sir.

Vladimir: He won’t be coming this evening. Huh huh.

Boy: No, sir.

Vladimir: Then get out of here, asswipe. Huh huh.

Estragon: Yeah! Go! Hehe. Leave, asswipe! Hehe. Get outta here!

Boy runs away crying.

Vladimir: I rule. Huh huh.

Estragon: Yeah! You rule! Hehe. Shall we go?

Vladimir: Pull on your trousers, dumbass. Huh huh.

Estragon: What?!

Vladimir: Pull on your trousers, dumbass. Huh huh.

Estragon: You want me to pull off my trousers? What are you, gay?! Hehe.

Vladimir: Huh huh. Well? Shall we go? Huh huh.

Estragon: Yeah! Hehe. Let’s go!

They do not move.


End Game

Bare interior.

Cartoonish light.

Rear centre, a couch, pink. Front centre, its back to audience, a television.

Centre, on couch, motionless, insipid-looking, Hamm and Clov.

Brief tableau.

Clov (fixed gaze, tonelessly): Finished, it’s finished, nearly finished, huh huh. Grain upon grain, huh huh. One by one, huh huh … I’ll go now to my kitchen and find some chips. Huh huh. Nice dimensions, baby. Huh huh. Nice proportions, baby. Huh huh.

Hamm: Yeah! (He twitches.) Nice, baby! Yeah. (He twitches again.) Hehe! Oh! I am willing to believe they suffer as much, errrrgh!, as such creatures can suffer, errrrgh! But does that mean their sufferings equal mine? (He makes rock locks, holds them up in air.) Suffer, sufferings, sufferrrrrrrrr! Yeah! Hehe. Suffer.

Clov: Shut up, Hamm . Huh huh.

Hamm: Sufferrrrrr!

Clov: Your name’s Hamm , huh huh. That’s a stupid name, Hamm . Huh huh. Stupid Hamm . Let’s go outside, huh huh.

Hamm: Outside of here it’s death! Hehe. Yeah! Death! Yeah! Hehe.

Metallica song sounds from television. Headbanging.


Krapp’s Last Tape

A late evening in the future.

Krapp’s den.

Front centre a small table, the two drawers of which open toward audience. Atop table, a television.

Sitting at the table, facing front (i.e., across from the television), a stupid-looking old man: Krapp

Also on the table, a tape recorder with microphone and a number of cardboard boxes containing reels of recorded tapes.

Krapp: Ah! Huh huh. Box … three … spool … five. (Krapp remains motionless, staring at the television.) Huh huh. Spool. Spooool! Huh huh. I’m Krapp.

Tape: Hehe. You said “Krapp”! Hehe.

Krapp: Damn it, tape. Huh huh. Shut your pie hole.

Tape: Krapp! Hehe. Krapp! Krapp!

Krapp: Huh huh. Huh huh. Huh. Box … three … thrrreeee … threeeeeeeee … thrrrrrreeeeeeeeeee. Huh huh. (Krapp continues staring straight ahead.) The black ball. Huh huh. The dark nurse. Huh huh. Slight improvement in bowel condition …

Tape: Hehehehehehehehehehe! Hehe!

Krapp: Shut up, tape. Huh huh.

Tape: I am Krappholio! Give my T.P. for my Krapphole!

Krapp: You’re a dumb bastard, tape. Huh huh.

Tape: Holioooooo!

(Krapp motionless, staring at television. The tape runs on in stupid gibberish and nonsensical laughter. )


Eric Feezell has appeared, among other places, at McSweeney's Internet Tendency, Opium, and 7-Eleven. He can be found on the InterWeb at ericfeezell.com.