As you probably know, each Friday night I like to take the train in from Long Island, go to a show with my girl, then eat dinner at Dave & Buster’s to “make a night of it”. Hah, jokes featuring comedy. No, but this past weekend I did “get” to go and see the new Cirque de Soleil show Wintuk at MSG with my friend Jenny Slate. Why, you ask? Because she had a playwriting contest among her friends to see who got to accompany her and I won. Obviously. How else do your friends distribute tickets to Canadian circuses?

The show was pretty fun especially because of how drunk we were. There was a surprising amount of BMX bikes and rollerblades, but I think it’s because the show was meant for 9-year-olds. Here are two pictures:

And after the jump is the play I wrote based on Jenny’s chosen theme of “Winter in New York.” I write to win. (And by win I mean it is kind of really inappropriate and will continue to keep this website on lots of companies’ blacklists.)

Title: Wintertide in New Amsterdam

Characters:

GALE, 29, a sassy, no-nonsense Manhattan businesswoman. She has two Palm Pilots and she is very fierce and is always drinking coffee and trying to get places and hail taxi cubs and telling construction workers to fuck off in a way that makes them reconsider how they view women in heels.

JACK, 34, a construction worker in Brooklyn. He is a huge castle of man but doesn’t talk that much. He is actually really sensitive though. He is really loyal but also so physical.

SETTING: Gale’s Apartment, the entire first floor of a brownstone in Brooklyn Heights, which she owns. A cold December evening.

GALE, is sitting in a papasan in her spare and modern living room, reading an old dog-eared issue of Real Simple. She is wearing a maroon juicy suit and platform flip flops, but even though her athletic form seems poured quite sincerely into the outfit like so much batter into a waffle iron, something about the arch of her brows while she flips through a guide on how to rearrange her medicine cabinet suggests there is more there, that there is an irony to all of this. That is how comfortable with herself she is. She thinks..

A KNOCK at the door. GALE seems surprised, and gets up slowly to look through the peep hole. Her expression immediately changes to delight and she opens the door, letting JACK in.

GALE: Holy fuck, Jack. This is so awesome you’re here. I thought you were building that building all night?

JACK: No, we stopped building it.

GALE: Why come?

JACK: Cuz cold.

GALE: Oh my garsh, of course! You must be freezing half to death because even though you are so big you have like no body fat. Come sit with me on the papasan underneath my duvet my parents bought me.

They go sit on the papasan and get under the duvet. JACK seems uncomfortable.

GALE: Is that better? It is so cold out there! They are saying that it’s one of the coldest winters ever in New York. But no snow! I love to see some snow, because I was born in Hawaii and I don’t know what it looks like.

JACK: I am sure there will be snow sometime.

GALE: You are right. But brrrr, I am freezing. It seems like I can never get warm! Curse you, Jesus, for giving me gigantic milky pendulous breasts but such a skinny frame!

JACK: I think I’ve got some things to warm you up.

GALE: What sort of things?

JACK: Ball things..

GALE: Oh my god, did you bring me a half pint of Giuseppe’s Famous Lamb & Veal Meatballs from that place also in Brooklyn I love so much near your job site?

JACK: Not exactly.

GALE: I am tired of guessing!

JACK: I’ve got..

JACK reaches into his pocket and slowly pulls out..

JACK: .. a whole pint!

JACK produces two forks from his other pants pocket.

GALE: Oh my god, Jack, you are the best. You know that I love these meatballs so fucking much. It is times like these that I remember why I don’t mind that you just do construction work and also the fact that you never know where your next paycheck is going to come from.

GALE totally starts going to town on the meatballs. She is putting like five in her mouth at a time and then using her hands to squish her cheeks and help her chew and mush up all the meat in her petite ruby-red mouth. She swallows quickly and often, gasping for breath and reaching frequently for the gallon of Hood-brand Egg Nog on her coffee table to help wash the meatballs down. Within minutes, the pint is gone, though it seems like even less than minutes.

JACK: If I could just be 1/10th the woman you are on your worst day, I’d be twice the man I’ll ever be.

GALE: Jesus fucking Christ, Jack Gundickson, I love you so much that my pussy is screaming curse words.

GALE buries herself in JACK’s butte-like pectorals.

JACK: One more present.

GALE: I hope it isn’t more meatballs! I just ate like 20 of those things. Good thing I can’t gain weight in anywhere but my breasts!

JACK: Hahahaha

GALE: Hahahaha

JACK: Hahahaha. No, it’s not more meatballs. It is a different kind of balls.

JACK reaches into his pants and pulls out… two snowballs!

GALE: Oh my god, snow! Jack, how did you do this? No one has been able to have any snow this year I thought!

JACK: I scraped frost everyday for a month off the cooling coil of the refrigeration unit we are installing in the current building I am working on. I saved it in my freezer then made balls with it.

GALE: Jack, I don’t know how this Christmas Eve could get any better.

JACK arches one eyebrow then reaches into his pants once again and pulls out his ridiculous meat. It is tan and glistening and looks like the arm of a bloated castaway of a ship who has passed out in his rowboat while waiting for rescue and thrown his sun-blackened forearm over the side of the vessel. The head of it seems to be smirking and looks like a Garbage Pail Kid’s face but the kind you’d root for, you know.

GALE: Woah, Jack. That doesn’t look like your regular pumpmuscle at all. What happened?

JACK: Let’s just say that I met the emperor of an imaginary arctic kingdom and he granted me one wish.

GALE: Well, what should I call it? Because it doesn’t seem right to call it what I normally call your crackhammer, which is Dr. U.T.I.

JACK: Haha, good point. Well, how about… WINTUK!

JACK then looks at the audience and winks, but when he opens his winked eye like a thousand gallons of cum (real or fake) goes shooting out of it into the crowd. Fade to black, as snow (real cum) falls slowly and everywhere onto the stage.