CAST
CATHY: a hard-working mother and Democrat candidate for the Kansas state legislature
FREDDIE: a 10-year-old boy who’s gotta poop
OLD MAN MACNAUGHTON: a crotchety old buzzard and right-wing paranoiac
SETTING: On the doorstep of a house in suburban Kansas.
CATHY and her son FREDDIE are out door-to-door campaigning, cradling pamphlets and yard signs. FREDDIE fidgets, with a pained look on his face, while CATHY rings the doorbell beside a sign that says “NO SOLICITING.”
Old Man MacNaughton comes to the door.
OLD MAN MACNAUGHTON
Can’t you see the sign says “No Soliciting” ?
CATHY
I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but could my son use your bathroom? We’re out canvassing, and I’m afraid he’s in dire need.
OLD MAN MACNAUGHTON
Nice try, lady. You think I’m fallin for that old Trojan Horse? You’ll have to get up a lot earlier than that to fool me.
CATHY
I’m not trying to fool you, sir. He really has to go. Don’t you, Freddie?
FREDDIE nods his head, embarrassed.
FREDDIE
Real bad!
CATHY
Please, sir. It’s urgent.
OLD MAN MACNAUGHTON
Listen, toots, I know your game: I let in your little agent provocateur here under the pretenses of a weakening sphincter, meanwhile you stand here brainwashing me with your communist propaganda. By the time junior here lightens his load (that is, if there even is one), I’ve signed up for a yard sign and joined the Kansas Feminist party. That sound about right?
CATHY
What?? No, not at all!
FREDDIE
(straining)
Mommy, I can’t hold it much longer!
CATHY
(to Freddie)
Just breathe, baby.
(to Old Man MacNaughton)
Are you really going to stand here and make a 10-year-old boy poop his pants?
OLD MAN MACNAUGHTON
That’s a bluff I’m prepared to call.
(bends down squinting at Freddie)
Did your mom put you up to this kid? Huh? (Beat.) Say, how do I know you’re even a boy, and not an undercover dwarf? One of them deep government dwarves that they sent to bug my house and record me in the nude to blackmail me into voting Dem? Well, nice try, little fella, but no cigar.
FREDDIE
Oh god, mom, it’s coming out!
CATHY
No, no, darling, just hold it a few--
FREDDIE
I can’t hold, I can’t…. Aaaah...oooooh.
Freddie shits his pants. He starts to cry.
CATHY
Oh no, baby, it’s ok, it’s ok...
(glaring at Old Man MacNaughton)
Well, do you believe me now, you friggin psycho?
OLD MAN MACNAUGHTON
(to Freddie)
What kinda rig you workin with, sonny? A packet of chocolate cake batter squeezed between your hams?
CATHY
Oh my god! You’re insane! Who would crap their pants as a decoy?
OLD MAN MACNAUGHTON
It’s the oldest play in the book, sister.
CATHY
What book?? There is no book--
OLD MAN MACNAUGHTON
Your feeble-minded boy fills his britches, then you ask me to let you inside to clean him up, taking advantage of the guilt I now supposedly feel for denying a child the basic human dignity of not soiling himself.
CATHY
Well, that’s what any halfway decent person would--
OLD MAN MACNAUGHTON
Meanwhile, you’re going through my medicine cabinets, replacing my heartburn pills with zombie mind control drugs, so that I start believin all the phony lies of the liberal media, and then come election day, I cast my ballot for Karl Marx in a skirt. Is that about the size of it?
FREDDIE
Mom, it smells. And it’s running down my legs!
CATHY looks and sees the shit running down Freddie’s legs.
CATHY
Oh god! Alright, c’mon, sweetie-- we’re leaving!
CATHY takes FREDDIE by the hand and shouts at OLD MAN MACNAUGHTON as they
leave.
You should be ashamed of yourself, you crazy old man! You’re the reason our country’s so broken!
OLD MAN MACNAUGHTON waves them away dismissively and shuts the door.
Once out of sight from the front door, CATHY turns to FREDDIE.
CATHY
Goddammit, you pulled the trigger to soon! I was starting to wear him down.
FREDDIE
(in the deep voice of a grown man)
Sorry, boss. The cake-batter packet was startin’ to slip, and I panicked.
(FREDDIE runs his finger along his beshatten leg, holds it up to his face, and licks it.)
But we’ll get the next one.
Blackout.
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