When Jackasses Fly

 

When Jackasses Fly

A Skit Featuring Right Angle Man, Maarlburro Man, Bio-Photon Man, and One Very Unlucky Jackass

Scene: The Edge of a Canyon

(A scenic backdrop of a massive canyon. Right Angle Man is furiously drawing geometry on a chalkboard that’s propped against a cactus. Maarlburro Man sits nearby on his burro, sipping tea. Bio-Photon Man watches from a sunbeam, glowing faintly.)

Right Angle Man (excitedly, flapping arms like triangles in the wind)

"You see, it’s all about angles! With the proper trajectory, this jackass can achieve flight!"

Maarlburro Man (deadpan, sipping tea)

"Mmmhmm. Sounds legit."

Jackass (blinks, chews grass, is unimpressed)

…

Right Angle Man (grabbing makeshift cardboard wings)

"A little lift here, a bit of velocity, some forward thrust—basic physics! The Right Angle makes ALL the difference!"

Bio-Photon Man (smirking, glowing slightly brighter)

"That’s the problem with straight lines, my dude."

(Right Angle Man straps the cardboard wings onto the jackass, stands back, and nods confidently.)

Right Angle Man (raising an arm dramatically)

"Prepare for greatness, noble beast! The skies await!"

(He slaps the jackass’s rear. The jackass hesitates, looks at the audience, then takes off running toward the canyon’s edge…)

(…flap, flap, flap… a moment of pure, suspended hope… then—gravity wins. The jackass plummets straight down.)

Right Angle Man (staring over the edge, blinking)

"Huh. Didn’t calculate for reality."

Bio-Photon Man (sipping tea next to Maarlburro Man)

"Told ya. Nature prefers curves."

(Maarlburro Man nods, still unfazed.)

Maarlburro Man (watching the dust settle below)

"Reckon he’s got a point."

(Curtain closes as a distant, faint “HEE-HAW” echoes up from the canyon below…)

END SCENE.

When Jackasses Fly – Scene 2: The Looming Presence of Branch Breaker

(The stage is dimly lit. A low, eerie hum vibrates through the theater. The canyon backdrop remains, but now, fog rolls in. The faint echo of the fallen jackass’s distant “HEE-HAW” still lingers. Right Angle Man’s chalkboard remains, abandoned and covered in desert dust.)

(From stage right, Branch Breaker enters, his knuckles dragging along the wooden floor, each step sending an ominous creak through the boards. His shirt reads, in bold, unapologetic letters: “BRANCH BREAKER” … and beneath it: “I Might Break You Too.” He stops at center stage, squints at the audience, then smirks.)

Branch Breaker (deep, gravelly voice, cracking his knuckles loudly)

"Are we learning anything?"

(Silence. The audience is unsure whether to respond. Somewhere, a cricket contemplates chirping but thinks better of it. Branch Breaker nods to himself, as if answering his own question.)

(He resumes walking, knuckles still dragging, his heavy steps making the stage creak. As he reaches the left front stage, he stops, facing the void before him.)

(Suddenly, an echo from the first scene whispers ominously:)

Right Angle Man (from the past, voice distorted through time and space)

"Careful… he has the Right Angle…"

(A faint wind stirs. Branch Breaker exhales sharply through his nose, unimpressed.)

(Meanwhile, on the upper right stage, Bio-Photon Man stretches lazily and exhales a golden cloud into existence. The cloud swirls, thickens, drifts downward like a sentient mist, curling around Branch Breaker’s feet. The audience watches, breathless.)

(Then—)

FLAP FLAP FLAP.

(The sound of wings. A large, unseen bird soars through the cloud, its silhouette barely visible. Its movement sends ripples through the mist, creating ghostly currents that swirl around the stage. The cloud reacts like a living thing, shifting and pulsing in rhythm with the unseen bird's flight.)

(The stage flickers between shadow and light, as if reality itself is being rewritten in this moment. Then… silence. Absolute silence.)

(Branch Breaker, still facing left stage, lifts his chin slightly, as if considering something. Then, without turning his head, he speaks—)

Branch Breaker (grinning, cracking his knuckles one more time)

"Good."

(The lights snap to black. The sound of a single branch breaking echoes through the silence.)

END SCENE.

When Jackasses Fly – Scene 3: The Right Angle of Indoctrination

(The stage is dim, a single spotlight illuminating Right Angle Man, seated at a desk in the center. The glow from the light sharpens every edge of his body, making him appear almost… too angular. He wears a pristine suit, stiff and starched, with a ruler in hand. His desk is painfully symmetrical, positioned at the absolute center of the stage. The air itself feels measured.)

(He stands. His movements are precise, mechanical, like the ticking of a well-calibrated clock. His back straightens to a perfect ninety degrees. With his right hand over his heart and his left raised solemnly, he recites the pledge—his voice unwavering, rhythmic, predictable.)

Right Angle Man (voice monotone, void of life)

"I pledge allegiance to the flag…"

(The words spill forth, rehearsed, programmed, almost digital. He lowers his hand, sits back down, places his ruler neatly at the desk’s edge, exactly aligned. The precision is unsettling. The light on him fades… but the stage is not dark for long.)

(A curtain partition at mid-stage begins to roll up, revealing a starkly different scene—)

The Classroom of the Conditioned

(Rows of students sit at wooden desks, dressed in uniforms. Their posture is identical, backs straight, hands folded neatly. Their eyes stare ahead, glassy and unblinking. The teacher, a gaunt figure, stands at a massive blackboard filled with equations, slogans, and the looping cursive of obedience. The Prussian education model is in full effect.)

(The students do not speak. They do not think. They absorb. The air hums with the sterile scent of chalk and compliance.)

(In the background, the faint sound of a bell chimes—not to signal thought, but to condition response. The Pavlovian mechanisms are at work. The students’ hands move in unison at the chime, turning pages in their books with robotic precision.)

(Then—)

BOOM.

(The voice of Branch Breaker rumbles through the air like distant thunder, shaking the very foundations of the set. The classroom trembles, the chalkboard cracks down the middle, desks vibrate. The students, for the first time, hesitate. Something is off. Something is wrong.)

Branch Breaker (deep, reverberating, primal)

"Are we learning anything?"

(For the first time, a student hesitates. A girl in the third row blinks, her fingers twitch. A boy in the back looks sideways, as if sensing something beyond the walls. The Prussian illusion flickers.)

(Then—)

"MEH."

(A loud, apathetic, universal Meh erupts. The class resets. The hesitation dies. The spell is reinforced. The students go back to their programming. The system reboots, absorbing the tremor, adjusting for deviation. The classroom is secure. The illusion holds.)

(The lights fade to black. The faint sound of a ruler tapping a desk is heard. Tap. Tap. Tap.)

END SCENE.

When Jackasses Fly – Stage Reset: Scene 1

"The School of All Schools"

(The stage transforms. Gone are the rigid desks, the suffocating classrooms, the Pavlovian conditioning. In their place—open grasslands. The air breathes freely now, unbound by rulers and bells. Trees sway in the breeze, their leaves whispering secrets of wisdom older than any book. A distant river hums, carrying the sound of pure thought.)

(*At center stage, under the shade of an old oak tree, sit Thomas Jefferson and Samuel Adams. No thrones, no pomp, no ceremony. Just two men, in simple work clothes, their hands calloused from the real labor of life. They speak—not in scripted lines, but in ideas.**)

Jefferson (leaning against the tree, whittling a piece of wood)

"Politics was never meant to be about fame or wealth, Sam. It was about ideas. Bold ones, new ones—ones the Crown silenced for generations."

Adams (sipping from a tin cup, nodding)

"Aye, Tom. Ideas they feared because ideas are dangerous to tyrants. Ideas break chains, ideas set men free."

(He gestures to the land around them—vast, untamed, teeming with opportunity.)

Jefferson (smirking)

"And yet, here we stand, having won the right to speak them openly. To debate, to refine. No king to dictate what is acceptable thought. No empire to burn books or hang men for words alone."

(He tosses the whittled wood aside, wiping his hands on his trousers. He looks to the distance, seeing farmers tilling fields, children climbing trees, men and women building homes. This, to him, is the true schoolhouse of liberty.)

Adams (smiling, looking out at the same scene)

"You know, Tom, we were all schooled once—before this Revolution. But not in classrooms. Not in their institutions. Our teacher was Nature itself. The land, the seasons, the struggle of survival. We learned from life, not from doctrine."

(A hawk screeches overhead, circling before diving into the tall grass. Jefferson follows it with his eyes, nodding in agreement.)

Jefferson

"Nature is the school of all schools, Sam. And yet, there are men already scheming to replace it. To control learning, to dictate which ideas are ‘correct’ and which must be forgotten."

(Adams frowns, setting down his cup.)

Adams

"Then the Revolution is not over. Not really. We’ve only bought time, Tom. Time for the next generations to stay awake. But will they? Or will they fall asleep under the spell of comfort, of ease, of controlled learning?"

(The two men sit in silence for a moment, the weight of their thoughts heavier than their words. The land is free, but for how long? The school of Nature still teaches, but will men listen?)

(A distant bell rings. A sound out of place in this natural world. It is not a bell from a church or a farm—it is the sound of a school bell. The sound of the future creeping in. The sound of structure where once there was only freedom.)

(Jefferson and Adams exchange a look. The stage fades to black. The audience is left wondering: Did we stay awake? Or did we fall asleep?)

END SCENE.

---

Scene 2: "The Right Angle of Manifest Destiny"

(The lights rise slowly, illuminating the grand pulpit at center stage. The wooden structure looms over the audience, adorned with gold-trimmed banners that read “Manifest Destiny.” Towering above it all, in stark black and white, a massive Right Angle symbol.)

(Standing behind the pulpit is Right Angle Man, his posture rigid, his face sharp and severe. He holds a ruler in one hand, gesturing with it as he speaks. His voice booms, confident and absolute.)

Right Angle Man (sermonizing)

"The Lord, in His perfect geometry, has granted us this destiny! And as General Jackson rides forth, as he shapes this nation with the divine Right Angle of Order, we must obey! For is it not written—"

(He pauses, lifting his Bible, where a ruler peeks out as a bookmark, each one engraved with Manifest Destiny. He raises it high, the congregation nodding, murmuring in agreement.)

Right Angle Man (continuing)

"A crooked line is the line of confusion! But the Right Angle—the straight path—is the path of righteousness! The path of progress! Of civilization!"

(Applause erupts. The lights fade on Right Angle Man, his shadow elongating grotesquely as the light dims. Silence takes over.)

---

(Suddenly, the lights fade up on stage left. The atmosphere is starkly different—no rigid structure, no booming voice. Instead, there is a gathering of men, their clothing simpler, their expressions grave. The remaining Founders—those still alive—sit across from leaders of the Iroquois Nation. There is no pulpit here, no banners of Manifest Destiny. Only a long wooden table, two peoples meeting face to face.)

(For six silent seconds, the audience simply watches. They see the weight of lost ideals in the Founders' eyes. They see the stoic wisdom of the Iroquois. They see the fork in the road—one that will soon be paved over by Manifest Destiny.)

(Then, just as quickly as it appeared, this image fades into darkness.)

---

(Lights rise on stage right. The scene is now inside a book-binding shop. The sign above the workers reads:* "REVISIONISM AT WORK."** Rows of books line the shelves, but something is off. Workers are not just binding books—they are altering them. Some pages are torn out, others rewritten. A man stamps a book, and as he lifts it, the audience sees the title: "The Official History."*)

(A foreman watches the process, nodding approvingly as stacks of these revised books pile higher and higher.)

(The lights fade to black.)

---

(Four seconds of total darkness. Then—)

"MEEEHHHHHHHHHHH."

(A loud, guttural Meh rumbles across the theater, shaking the stage, breaking the silence. It echoes, stretching beyond time, beyond history. Is it a voice of protest? Of apathy? Or is it the sound of the audience waking up?)

(The stage remains black. The next scene waits to be born.)

Scene 3: "The Empire of the Right Angle"

(Lights rise on a new world. It is the early 20th century. The rigid structures of Manifest Destiny have hardened into something greater—The Empire of the Right Angle. The land is gridded. The roads are straight. The cities are perfect, geometric, rectangular machines. The people move in lines, their lives measured in clockwork precision.)

(At center stage stands a massive ruler, embedded in stone, a monument to the Right Angle. Above it, a banner reads:* "Order Through Measurement. Prosperity Through Precision."***)

(A parade marches by—uniformed men, all with rulers strapped to their belts. They do not question the system, for they were taught not to. Schools still use Prussian methods, now reinforced by radio waves and film reels. A loudspeaker crackles to life.)

Loudspeaker Announcement:

"Citizens! Progress is measured! Order is enforced! The crooked shall be made straight!"

(The crowd cheers. But something is off. The sound feels hollow. Forced. The lights flicker. The illusion of stability wavers.)

(Then—)

(A CRACK. A split in the perfect geometry. The Right Angle Monument fractures. Smoke billows from the cracks. The lights dim. Sirens wail. The sound warps—distorted, broken, unnatural.)

(And from this collapse—)

(A slow camera pullback.))

Scene 4: "The Unseen Hands"

(The stage pulls away, revealing a dimly lit room, high above the crumbling city. A long table. Around it, figures in shadows. The unseen architects of the system. Their faces are not clear, but their voices are.)

(A single ruler lies on the table. One of the figures lifts it, measuring something in the air.)

Figure 1 (calmly):

"The system is holding. They do not question."

Figure 2 (sharply):

"For now. But cracks are appearing. The Meh is growing louder."

(Another figure taps on a typewriter. On the paper, the words: "Revised Curriculum - 2025 Edition.")

Figure 3 (amused):

"Then we must rewrite. Again."

(They laugh. But then—)

(The lights flicker violently. The shadows shift. The laughter distorts.)

(A new voice emerges. It is not from the table. It is not from the room. It is something older. Something outside their reach.)

The Voice (whispering, growing):

"Are we learning anything?"

(The figures freeze. The laughter stops. The Meh rumbles again—louder, more defiant.)

(The lights cut to black.)

Scene 5: "The Oldest Architects"

(Total darkness. Silence. Then—slowly—)

(A dim glow, revealing an ancient chamber. No walls, no ceiling—just an endless void, filled with shifting fractals of light and shadow. Floating geometric structures rotate, forming and collapsing—hexagons, dodecahedrons, golden spirals. At the center of it all, a massive stone table.)

(Around the table sit figures—tall, hooded, ancient. Their forms flicker between humanoid and something else. Their faces are obscured, shifting like mirages. They do not speak with voices—their thoughts ripple through the chamber, heard in the mind.)

First Architect (resonating):

"The Right Angle is failing."

(A pause. The fractal walls pulse in response.)

Second Architect (softly amused):

"They always fail. The Straight Path cannot hold the Curve forever."

(A spiral pattern forms on the stone table, golden-ratioed tendrils expanding outward. The Architects watch as if observing a natural process, as if they have seen it a thousand times before.)

Third Architect (studying the spiral):

"And yet, they rebuild it. Again and again. The rulers, the grids, the straight lines—they believe they are eternal."

(One of the figures lifts a ruler, examining it. The perfect straight edge begins to bend. A crack forms down its center. The golden spiral on the table grows.)

Fourth Architect (finality in its tone):

"The Fracture is inevitable. The Right Angle can never contain the Curve."

(Silence. The Architects do not celebrate. They do not mourn. They observe. They wait.)

(Then, from beyond the chamber—far away, yet pressing against reality itself—comes the distant echo of a familiar voice.)

The Voice (growing louder, defiant):

"ARE WE LEARNING ANYTHING?"

(The chamber shudders. The Architects remain still, watching as the spiral grows—unstoppable.)

(The light fades to black.)