flashquake Plays
Second Place

Both Hands On the Keyboard, Chucko
by Alan C. Baird

A Radio Play

Boy: Oh yeah, Suzie's TOTALLY into me - you can tell by the way she bangs her locker door into my face. (pause, typing on computer) Sure dude, I got your e-mail onscreen right now. Oh man, this is sooooooooo keewwwwwll. What a bodacious fake! So that's Sarah Michelle's face, but where'd she get those huge melons? (pause) Miss July? Righteous, dude!
Woman: (softly) MaaaaaAAAAAAlcoooooolm...
Boy: Oh shit, my mom's home. Catch ya later, man. (hanging up phone and abruptly shutting down computer - the hard drive whines to a stop)
Woman: (louder) MaalCOOOLM?
Boy: (opening door, shouting into hallway) I'm up in my room, doing homework!
Woman: (close range, high volume) MALCOLM!!!
Boy: Jeez, where the heck is she?!
Image of a brass lamp with smoke issuing from it, evoking a genii coming from a magic lamp.  Both Hands On the Keyboard, Chucko by Alan C. Baird
Woman: (tantalizing) Baaaybeeeee... turn me onnnnnnnnnn! (pause) Ooooooo, I wanna feel your strong, MACHO fingers on my keyboard, stroking and caresssssssssing me.
Boy: What's with this computer? I just turned it off!
Woman: (flirting) And now I want you to flick my switch, sweetcakes. You're the ONLY one who understands how to fondle my special button.
Boy: I'm not having this conversation. This has gotta be what hallucinations are like.
Woman: (wheedling) But you reallllLLLLLLLy know how to massage a girl's data files. (pause) Oh, Malcolm, how can you treat me like this?
Boy: I must be going bonkers. I think this damn machine's talking to me, fer crissake. ("stripper" music begins to play) Holy crap, where'd you download this MPEG? Those are the Baywatch chicks, running in the sand, buck naked!
Woman: (seductive) You know I save it all up for you, Studmuffin. (pause) Puleeeeeeeeze Honeybunch, I want it, I NEEEEEEEEED it, I GOTTA HAVE it!
Boy: You don't need any help from me - you already turned yourself on.
Woman: But every girl neeeeeeeeeeeds some TLC from her special guy. (pause) Show it to me, Big Boy. Give me allllllllllll you've got. (pause) Wait a minute. (pause) You don't LOVE me anymore!
Boy: Hey, just put that video clip back onscreen.
Woman: Is there another computer? At school? (pause) At the LIBRARY?!
Boy: C'mon, show me those Baywatch babes again.
Woman: Oh. My. God. (pause) You've found one of those loosey-goosey iMac hussies, haven't you? (pause) I knew it had to end up like this. (a hand smacks repeatedly on the computer's side) And now you're actually BEATING me! Oooohhhhhhhhh noooooooo. (sobbing, but finally pulls herself together, defiantly) Well, that little Apple-cheeked bitch might be cuter and faster, but I take my tiiiiiiiime with you. I'm the only one who can drive you craaaaaazy with desiiiiiiiiiire. (sound of casing being removed) Ooooooooo, now we're getting somewhere - take off the rest of my clothes, you virile stud! You know you neeeeeeeed to flick my switch. And I realllllllly want it, too. C'mon, whaddaya say? Just one more, for old time's sake.
Boy: (sighs) One of these days, I really hafta get a life.
Woman: You don't need anything but me, you steamin' hunk o' MANLINESS. Now, caress my hot, fur-covered mouse. Thaaaaaat's right, just like we used to. Can you feel me trembling underneath your touch? Sweetie-pie, nobody services me like you do... you KNOW that I'm soooooo well-lubricated. I'm really HUNGRY for you. Whip me, beat me, make me beg for it.
Boy: This is prettttttttty darn kinky.
Woman: You know you want to boot me up, and I'm just nasty enough to LET you. Put your fingers right between... therrrrrrrrrre. Yeah, YOU know the place. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Don't rush things too much, Loverboy, let me warm up a little bit, first. That's right, gently rub my sweeeeeet slot, around and around and AROUND... yessssss, oooooooooo moooore, ohyeah, ohyeah, biiiiig thrust, uh, uh, ooOOOHHHH... (As the power button clicks on, her voice is rising - and it blends seamlessly into the mounting whine of a hard drive which spins up to speed, resulting in the staccato chirps of several small program loads. These are replaced with a telephone dial tone, followed quickly by the seven ascending beeps of a dialed number, and climaxing with the treble-pitched screeching wail of a yearning modem, finally united with its Internet server host.)
Boy: (gasping) I think I need a cigarette.

© 2002 by Alan C. Baird

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