Tag Archives: comedy

Luck Is For Shallow Men: A Short Play by Sterling Arthur Leva

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Luck Is For Shallow Men: A Short Play by Sterling Arthur Leva

Luck Is For Shallow Men- A Short Play by Sterling Arthur Leva

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Ella’s Pawnshop: A Short Play by Sterling Arthur Leva

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Ella’s Pawnshop: A Short Play by Sterling Arthur Leva

Ella’s Pawnshop–A Short Play by Sterling Arthur Leva

Self-Fulfilling Prophecies: A Ten-Minute Play by Sterling Arthur Leva

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Self-Fulfilling Prophecies: A Ten-Minute Play by Sterling Arthur Leva

Self-Fulfilling Prophecies– A Ten-Minute Play by Sterling Arthur Leva

Coitus Interruptus: A Ten-Minute Play by Sterling Arthur Leva

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Coitus Interruptus: A Ten-Minute Play by Sterling Arthur Leva

Coitus Interruptus by Sterling Arthur Leva

Wait For It

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Wait For It

People don’t pray to me too much anymore. Not like the good old days, at any rate. Mostly just the occasional dingbat or screaming loon seeking divine direction for some two-bit revenge scheme. Sometimes I provide it, sometimes I don’t. I mean, after all, I’m a god damn trickster god, dig? Unpredictability is part of my charm.

But ol’ Hermes don’t get called on too much these days. It seems the desperate are more inclined to take their business to the major players: Yahweh, Buddha, hell even Satan gets more clients than me. I just ain’t in vogue in this modern age. Maybe my asking price isn’t high enough– I’ve never been interested in collecting souls, just punch lines. I just love a good punch line. I ain’t shook about the lack of clients though, because every once in awhile I get a real gem of a gentleman caller, reeking of resentment and pettiness and malignancy, and it makes up for all the down time. Lee Harvey Oswald was one of my favorites– that was a hell of a punch line, wasn’t it? Told him I’d make his little assassination dream come true and provide a patsy to boot. I stuck to my word, didn’t I? I guess I may have interpreted the deal a little differently than he, but that ain’t my fucking problem.

There are some lesser known good ones too, some real unsung heroes of tricksterdom that I lent my services to. I remember Foster Conley and his rumblefish restitution racket. That was a real knee-slapper. You see, Foster had this wife that he couldn’t stand. She was always on his case about this or that, chiding him over house chores and salaries and keeping up with the fucking Joneses (who, incidentally, lived next door). Foster may have been able to bear all this horseshit off his old lady if it wasn’t for her god damn fish. You see, she had this expensive as hell aquarium with these prized rare fish sporting stuck up names like Goya and Francois that she coddled and cherished and it drove Foster nuts because she treated those cocksucking fish better than him.

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Nostalgia Is, Essentially, Temporal Epilepsy

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Nostalgia Is, Essentially, Temporal Epilepsy

I don’t have a checkered past—
It’s more polkadot
or pinstripe
or paisley
even.

Some of it I’ll never forget, but more of it I’ll never remember.
And thank heavens for that:
I’ve read the police blotters I’ve made cameos in
and if I can take their word for it
then I’d just rather leave certain things blotted, please.
How do I look on paper?
Well, that all depends on the paper.
(College transcripts and rap sheets, unfortunately, are two entirely different kinds of coverage.)

One of my finest moments:
Being asked by a cop what I was on probation for
and
without wasting any time
replying
“Bad grades”
and smirking in his stupid fucking pig face
because it was true
and I thought myself
oh so clever.
The moral of the story?
Hubris gets you handcuffs
and my answer to the same question today
would be very different, indeed.

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The Aesthete’s Lament

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The Aesthete’s Lament

He sees a pair of sweatpants and pants and sweats.
Has panic attacks over unpressed khaki slacks.
Grimaces over Christmas sweaters and jackets with letters, man.
He can’t spot a sports jersey without feeling queasy.
Someone’s got Crocs on and it’s making him uneasy.

He finds function over fashion a dysfunctional passion.
He’s all ascots and porkpie hats,
smoking jackets and backpocket handkerchiefs.
A dapper child of Oscar Wilde
getting sick at the wardrobes
from the Wal Mart aisle.

He saunters down the street,
glances sideways at a department store display
of perilous apparel and garments gone
astray,
and starts bleeding from his eyes,
leaks crimson on his finest peacoat,
collapses on the pavement,
and chokes a sob from his throat:
AESTHETIC IS DEAD.

Composed 2012. Gratitude to Michael Lohrman for the title. Read the rest of this entry

Fukushima Fallout Blues

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Fukushima Fallout Blues

I’m seeing radiation loud
In standard issue fog clouds—
I’ve got them Fukushima Fallout Blues.

I’m walking the dog
With matching gas masks on—
I’ve got them Fukushima Fallout Blues.

I’m calling family and friends
Telling them I love them, but it’s the end—
I’ve got them Fukushima Fallout Blues.

I’m avoiding Pacific fish
And fishy pacifists—
I’ve got them Fukushima Fallout Blues.

I’m flying a kite into that nuclear night
But that line’s been used and the core’s been fused—
I’ve got them Fukushima Fallout Blues.

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No Nostalgia Sundays (Time Travel Edition III): Oblivion Buddies

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No Nostalgia Sundays (Time Travel Edition III): Oblivion Buddies

In many ways, the Acid Kid was my soulmate, a kindred spirit that I ended up sharing a very important and sizeable chunk of my life with. We weren’t lovers, although we spent so much time together that others may have suspected otherwise. We just understood each other on a deep, unspoken level and, moreover, were equally fucked up.

The first time I laid eyes on the kid, he was lounging out in front of the student apartment building I lived in wearing a Velvet Underground T-shirt, a purple baseball cap, high top Chuck Taylors, and Harry Potter glasses. At this point, I hadn’t made a single real friend at Berkeley. I had friends in San Francisco and Oakland, but none at school. That particular night, I had been drinking tequila very openly on the sidewalk in front of the building and hurling drunken verbal insults at every college kid that walked past, half trying to make friends and half trying to get myself expelled from college so I could have an excuse to go back home.

When I saw the Acid Kid though, I didn’t insult him; I told him I liked The Velvet Underground very much and that all these other college kids were into lame shit like Nickelback and Creed and that I was probably going to end up murdering my roommate because he would play said lame shit at unacceptable volumes and that it was cool that at least one other person liked ok music at this fucking university. He told me he played piano and worshipped the Beatles. I told him I played guitar and worshipped The Replacements. We were instantly and irrevocably best friends and completely inseparable for the next four years.

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25 Reasons To Drink (An Abbreviated List)

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25 Reasons To Drink (An Abbreviated List)

A professor of mine asked the class to come up with twenty-five reasons to drink as an assignment. This is what I came up with.

  1. Because people understand what you’re saying too easily otherwise, and putting on a slur keeps them on their toes.
  2. Because vomit stains will give your shoes that artsy, unique look you’ve been going for.
  3. Because you’re a great admirer of tile, carpet, and wood flooring, and passing out drunk helps keep you close to the things you love.
  4. Because pants are a prison for your legs and booze will set you free.
  5. Because dive bars are a great place to meet successful, productive, like-minded people to network with.
  6. Because you really cherish the engaging, thought-provoking conversations you have with the guy behind the counter at the liquor store as a highlight of your day.
  7. Because waiting for the liquor store to open at six AM reminds you of waiting for Santa Claus at Christmas as a kid and it’s nice to reminiscence sometimes.
  8. Because you really want to believe her when she tells you she’s eighteen.
  9. Because bar fights are a great substitute for cardio.
  10. Because you want to be the most enthusiastic fan at your kids’ little league games, and getting ejected from the stands for disorderly conduct shows how invested you are in their athletic endeavors. Read the rest of this entry