from WHIPLASH. . .
What do you think, Frank . . . think you just don't want it any more? Like when the alpha lion walks into the bush with his head sort of hanging . . . because he's tired of the chase . . . because it's harder and harder to catch the meat, and the blood doesn't taste good any more . . . So what's left but to thump off, shut his eyes and die.
from AMERICAN SUNDAY . . .
They're talking that evolution hogwash again! Well, they can put gold rings in its ears, but they'll still have the same old hog! How do they explain that what a cow eats turns to hair, what a chicken eats turns to feathers, and what a sheep eats turns to wool? The world's no accident. But if this crowd has its way, turtledoves will mate with buzzards, cats'll bark and yesterday will follow tomorrow! Their bastard evolution is pure jackass nonsense!
from MERGERS AND ACQUISITIONS . . .
It was so damn weird. I get off the plane from Denver . . . go home . . . change . . . hop an Uber and walk in. A waiter sticks a glass of Pinot crap in my fist when a seventy-something––Alice Windbag or other–-sidles over and coos . . . 'Mister Wooster . . . may I introduce you to my very new acquaintance, Cay Grumman.' . . . And I look down and am damn pleased the old fart sidled over.
from A NASTY TEMPERED MAN . . .
Please, Your Eminences, this is just a nothing case . . . a never-should-be. And look, look . . . a plum dumpling for your tea, first poached, then fried. . . . Your mouth will water like a mountain spring. Don't be cold-hearted, your mightiests! I will knit you the finest waistcoats, the softest mittens, made from the wool of unborn lambs. Take pity, Your Graces, take pity!
To read expanded dialogue, look for Carolyn Moses at: www.newplayexchange.org.
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