Dog Eat Dog

Then there's another play I have in the works, DOG EAT DOG. That's the name of a PAC, man. Who knows where the money came from -- the Koch cloud financing program, probably -- but their lawyers are the best out there. The SWBs (Southern White Boys, a chorus dressed in drag) are thrilled. Gonna sue. Ain't nothing in the Constitution says you can't fight dogs. That's in the articles, in the brief, that exact language. Powerful stuff. Convincing on the face for those that knows, the Real Americans. 

And it goes to the Supreme Court -- of the US -- and they're hung, four to four. Clarence is on medical leave. But, lo, he's lowered, magisterially, slowly, down in his chair, from above, center stage, his crotch bandaged. Clarence will decide. He will even speak. And he does. Dog fighting is legal, he decrees. 

As the patriotic music wells up, Clarence orates: Dog fighting is the most American sport and the real national pastime, a game that embodies the genuine ethos of America, the Randian competition that makes us great. Do or die -- in the ditch. Makers and takers. The strong and the weak. Supermen and scum. And the dogs? They're valuable assets, Clarence argues, and therefore very well treated.

Like to see you make this into a Capra movie. The chorus provides sound-effects (lots of growls), and is rife with assorted subplots. Butch in the chorus is gay, it turns out. And the others are all having anal sex with someone, mostly their wives. 

Clarence, by the way, if you were concerned, has had plastic surgery. To shorten his dick. A mechanical phallus is employed. Okay, I like them. Saw one used in a presentation of Aristophanes' THE CLOUDS, at UD (Dayton), back in the day. Great production. And we think "the cloud" is new. The Greeks discovered it all. Eureka!