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.Vaudevilliput: Story in 10 acts (& Intermission)	By : keithcompany Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Gulliver's Travels Views: 1437 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work fiction,based on Gullivers Travels by Jonathan Swift.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
After the life-threatening sensation of the escapist, you go to a comedy. It’s perfectly logical.
See, the mind guys tell me that humor developed as an interrupted defense mechanism. And death is the biggest threat to our defenses. So, while death itself isn’t funny, surviving death, that’s funny.
After a brush with death, even a vicarious one, people are primed and conditioned to laugh. It’s possible to put a weak comedy here, if the previous act had them on the edge of their seats. At that point they’ll laugh at anything. But that’s cheating.
You could put about anything here, but if it doesn’t allow those giggles to vent, it’ll be strangely unsatisfying. So go ahead and give them a comedy. It’s what they’d demand if they really understood themselves.
Oh, they’ll say ‘I wanted something mindless’ or ‘to put me at ease.” They’ll deny that they laughed because they had to. I don’t care. I don’t get paid to explain it. But I get paid a lot because I know how to use it.
John had taught me this, I’ll admit. So I wasn’t surprised that the Ninth was a complex physical comedy.
The MC announced act Nine: Santa’s Workshop.
It was a long room in a log cabin. Piles of presents, lumber, wrapping paper, paint and other Workshop supplies lined the room from wall to wall, behind a conveyor belt.
A horde of Lilliputians dressed as elves lined walkways beside the belt. A human Santa walked in.
“Okay,” he said, pacing back and forth. “This is the Parole room. You’ve all heard about it. For the last year, you people have been behind quota, or subpar on quality, or insubordinate, or any number of problems.
“This is your last chance. Over in Production,” he pointed to the door at one end of the conveyor, “the elves will be producing toys. Over in Shipping,” the other end, “they’ll be boxing, wrapping and labeling.
“Those jobs are secure. They’re good people in critical areas. What you guys need to do is prove you’re worth the candy canes you draw from Payroll each week.
“This is a group effort. You, and I mean all of you, produce, or you’re all fired.” He stormed out. The elves all looked at each other and stood ready on the walkway. The belt started moving.
First thing out of the door was another elf with a list. He read from the list as he rode down the belt. “Two thousand horses: five hundred appaloosa, five hundred Arabian, two hundred Shetland…” Right behind him the plain wooden horse toys followed in single file. The elves grabbed paints and started assembly line production of horse toys.
Physical humor reigned. If you’ve seen the Stooges, the Marx brothers, Lucille Ball, Carol Burnett, at their best, you have a small inkling of the start. Elves were everywhere, painting anything moving. At one point a sailboat rode the belt, ending up as a pretty dashing Lippizaner before it departed to Shipping.
Then we learn that there’s a second conveyor belt.
The horizontal lines of the lumber pile hid the belt. The production manager elf came down it with a second list. “Two thousand and one toy soldiers: five hundred Army, five hundred Navy, five hundred Army Air Corps, five hundred Marines, one Coast Guard.” Behind him the blank soldiers started to roll.
Now the elves have to man both belts and get the right paints in the right places. No one’s in charge, the chaos grows. Screams for paint in blue, red or thoroughbred color get small cans thrown willy nilly. And yet, every toy going out ends up being a functional present.
Another horizontal line, the wrapped presents near the ceiling, hid another belt. “Five dozen choo-choo trains: one Alaska Railroad; one Ann Arbor Railroad; one BC Rail; one Bessemer and Lake Erie Railroad; one Burlington Northern Santa Fe Railway…” Long before he finishes the list, he’s at the end of the belt. He walks backwards, still reading the list: “…one Canadian Pacific Railway; one Dakota, Minnesota & Eastern Railroad….”
An elf working the first engine with black paint crowds the production manager and elbows him out of sight. He squawks and disappears.
Now they’re shouting for Dakota Black, Arbor Black and Santa Fe Black in the cacophony. Elves descend ropes hanging from the ceiling to paint the tops of toys, swinging back and forth. There’s a lot of narrow misses as paint cans fly past swinging workers.
Then the belt at the front of the stage starts. No one sees it coming, it’s down at the floor. The production manager, with a stroke of black paint across his face, is already shouting orders as a wooden panel falls from the wall to reveal the new door. “Eighty five cows…” He looks at the list, turns it over to look at the other side, shrugs. “Cows.”
At this point, there’s an elf slinging paint out of a human sized can with a shovel. A group has brought in a hand-pumped fire engine and is spraying paint at other toys. Brushes replaced with brooms, trim applied by whipping a paint soaked rope around, paint bombs set off… One elf girl has jumped into the paint and just rolls herself across toys.
In the middle of all this, a real live Lilliput horse shows up on the original line. Everyone freezes in place and watches it traverse the room. Then they go back to the chaos.
A whistle blows and everything stops. Elves freeze in place. Santa comes back in. He looks at the chaos. The elves look at him. The belts start again and take the last toys out of the room. No new ones start.
Finally one musters the courage: “How are we doing, sir?”
“Eh, we did well enough, I suppose,” he shrugs. “But the entire operation has been bought out.”
“Bought out?” one asks.
“By who?” from another.
“Who could possibly need an elf workforce and a facility that…”
The conveyors start up again. A Lilliputian in a bunny suit is on the conveyor: “Five million Eggs: five hundred purple, five hundred green, five hundred blue….”
The curtain drops.
In the segue corner, a tiny woman stands by a table with three cups, asking for a volunteer to play ‘find the pea.’ One of the other performers steps up. “Now watch closely!” she warns. She starts shifting the cups around. Trouble is, the cups are about as big as she is. She can only move one at a time, and that slowly.
Finally she asks “So, where is it?”
He lifts the cup that we all know the pea is under. But it isn’t.
“What the hell?” she wails. “Who stole my pea?”
A stage manager comes from behind the curtain to pick her up and take her backstage.
“No, wait, that pea was dinner! Someone stole my pea!”
- 8
- 9
- 10
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.Vaudevilliput: Story in 10 acts (& Intermission)