I have now completed a longer version of my play, which more fully addresses the social issues involved, Here is the list of characters, the first scene, and the final song:
WORKFARE IN THE ROYAL NUKE
Thomas Hoskyns Leonard
Trithagoras (Name thus copyrighted)
Dr. Greumach MacFothaidh
Ghost of Dr. Donald Ewen Cameron
Dr. Sigismund Crookshank
Chief Nurse Delilah Honeycombe
Staff Nurse Biff O’Neill
Staff Nurse Jippety McCrawley
Voices of Jack Kennedy, Ian Duncan Smith, George Osborne, Dr. Jeffrey Lieberman, Prof. Joseph Biederman, Dr. Jack Carruthers-Smythe
© Thomas Hoskyns Leonard September 2015
A dimly lit waiting room, with a screen on the back wall. Trithagoras is camp, man-sized and cat-like, with blue furry skin, whiskers, and a big bushy tail. He talks with a lisp. Dr. Greumach McFothaidh is a distinguished looking, clean-shaven, white-haired octogenarian. He talks with a Glaswegian accent.
THE ROOM IS INITIALLY EMPTY. THERE IS A PICTURE OF LUCIFER ON THE SCREEN. AND A GIRL IS SINGING 'WHERE LUCIFER LINGERS' IN THE BACKGROUND. FOR BOTH PICTURE AND SONG, PLEASE SEE MY BLOGPOST http://thomashoskynsleonardblog.blogspot.co.uk/2015/05/where-lucifer-lingers-composed-by-ron.html
ENTER TRITHAGORAS. A PICTURE OF QINSATORIX FLASHES ONTO SCREEN
TRITHAGORAS: Why hi there, fellow humanoids! Welcome to the Royal Nuke Loony Bin in Fairmilehead, Edinburgh, just by the Hell’s End ski-slope. I'm Trithagoras, the Minister of Philosophical Re-Interpretation on your multi-cultural sister planet Qinsatorix, and I'm sometimes referred to as the Cicero of the Aton star system.
ENTER GREUMACH WIELDING LARGE RED BOOK, HE BURPS LOUDLY. TRITHAGORAS GIVES HIM A DISDAINFUL LOOK.
TRITHAGORAS (TO AUDIENCE): And, my good folk, I've time-warped to Scotland to further investigate how your cynical Establishment controls and subdues your proletariat and bourgoisie.
GREUMACH: Michty me! Deil tak the hindmist! Michty me!
TRITHAGORAS GIVES GREUMACH ANOTHER DISDAINFUL LOOK, AND FLICKS HIS WHISKERS
TRITHAGORAS (TO AUDIENCE): He sounds like one of the more delusional inmates in God-forsaken establishment.
GREUMACH (looking at Trithagoras): Radge! Radge heidbanger! Radge!
TRITHAGORAS: Speak for yourself, you foolish fellow. (TO AUDIENCE) As I was about to say, I am utterly gobsmacked by your Workfare program. Your volunteers, and that’s a joke in itself, are treated far worse than our grovelling Apollo and dipshit Yankee slaves on Qinsatorix. Even the laziest of our minions get fed before they're crocohorse-whipped.
GREUMACH: What are you doing here, pussy cat? You look as if you’ve just escaped from the Intensive Care Unit with a needle in your knackers.
TRITHAGORAS (indignantly): I’m not a cat! I’m the noble Trithagoras, a felixian and a proud member of my species. Begone from my mid-afternoon psychosis, old man.
GREUMACH: I’m real enough. I’m Dr. Greumach McFothaidh, the resident psychoanalytic psychotherapist in this thrice-cursed establishment. I was trained as a youth by R.D. Laing, you know.
TRITHAGORAS (looking surprised): I would never have guessed that you're a psychotherapist, and I'm most impressed. Laing encouraged his patients to embrace their madness, and he sent them tripping on LSD for good measure.
GREUMACH: Alas! I long for those Halcyon days, Trithagoras. The Glasgow Royal has long since gone to pot, and nowadays all my inpatients have been so brain-fried by either ECT or those damned psychiatric medications that they bleep back at me like the sheep they have become.
TRITHAGORAS: The reason I’m here, Greumach, is that two young people on Workfare called Timothy and Tracy have recently volunteered to kowtow to your Dr. Sigismund Crookshank for thirty hours a week.
GREUMACH: He's a pain in the neck if ever there was one.
TRITHAGORAS. So I've heard. I’m planning to follow Timothy and Tracy into Dr. Crookshank's office in my magical panther suit to observe how Dr. Crookshank endeavours to control them.
GREUMACH: That will be interesting, Our clinical psychiatrists endeavour to control vast swathes of our population with their malicious maltreatments. Maybe Crookshank will subdue the volunteers with toxic psych meds too.
TRITHAGORAS: That's barbaric. Those treatments belong to a bygone age.
GREUMACH: They certainly do. And how do you felixians endeavour to control each other?
TRITHAGORAS: On Qinsatorix we simply send our mentally ill to the Archipelago of the Eternal Life-Giving Insects for a month and they come back as sane as the fiery dragon god Aleph-Baal himself.
GREUMACH: Qinsatorix? How delightful, I was there in my Freudian dreams only last night. I simply love your Crown Princess's antler-shaped breasts and green pubie-shunter.
TRITHAGORAS (chuckling): Your highly vivid sense of imagination is not entirely off the wall, old bean.
GREUMACH: While most psychotherapists are a touch psychopathic, I am not at all psychotic, my good--er--man.
ENTER THE SKELETAL GHOST OF DR. DONALD EWEN CAMERON, THE GHOST OF A WIZENED OLD MAN
GREUMACH: Not you again, Ewen Cameron! A pox on your mind control experiments! You even abused children in torture suits, as well as all those vulnerable adults, while you were fixing their minds with your confounded chemicals and electric shocks.
CAMERON: The entire world order was at stake. What those damned liberals did to Joe McCarthy beggars belief.
TRITHAGORAS (Aside to audience): This is the a mere ghost of an obnoxious twerp who died in 1967 in Lake Placid, New York. They should have killed him during the Kennedy era several years earlier. He was the director of the C.I.A.'s mind control program at McGill University, and he devised the most outrageously cruel ways of dehumanising thousands of well-meaning citizens.
GREUMACH: You're well informed for a space alien, Trithagoras, though The C.I.A.'s barbaric mind control program is better known nowadays as the MK Ultra project.
CAMERON (chuckling manically): MK Ultra! Yes! There was nothing Jack Kennedy could to stop us, either in Montreal or all around the U.S. of fucking A.
PICTURE OF JACK KENNEDY APPEARS ON SCREEN
VOICE OF KENNEDY: We are opposed around this world by a monolithic ruthless conspiracy that relies on covert means for a sphere of influence, on infiltration instead of invasion, on subversion instead of elections, on intimidation instead of free choice, on guerillas by night instead of armies by day.
GREUMACH: Way to go, Jack! I've often wondered who the monolithic ruthless conspirators really are. In my worst moments, I think they're the all-powerful paedophiles, the ones who murder their hapless prey, those who control Britain at this very moment while sacrificing some of their number to protect the rest.
TRITHAGORAS: A fanciful conspiracy theory if ever there was one! According to our imperially funded interplanetary Q.I.A. and Q.C.H.Q. investigations, the monolithic conspirators are all on the board of the huge pharmaceutical company Das Grösste Pharmaunternehmen of Munich, or Grösste Pharma for short.
GREUMACH: They sound as if they're even worse than Glaxo-Smith-Kline and Merck.
TRITHAGORAS (pondering): That could be true, I suppose. If my sources in the Qatermass cell of the Q.I.A. are to be believed, Grösste Pharma helped the Nazis to orchestrate their mass extermination of their mental disabled citizens during the 1930s. And then they helped the CIA to initiate MK Ultra in North America during the late 1950s.
CAMERON: Kennedy knew about our activities, but he struggled to do anything about them. He tried repeatedly to stop our mind experiments in Montreal since he knew we were creating a race of well-controlled super-minions, including a selection of gifted paedophiles, who would help Grösste Pharma to infiltrate every single institution around the world.
TRITHAGORAS: Unfortunately, Allan Dulles and the backstabbing zombies in the C.I.A. got the better of him in 1963.
VOICE OF KENNEDY: There is a plot in this country to enslave every man, woman, and child, and before I leave this high and noble office, I intend to expose this plot.
TRITHAGORAS: Jack said that seven days before his assassination and it sealed his fate.
CAMERON (chuckling): It certainly did. Kennedy was shot through his head from the grassy knoll by a bushy-haired C.I.A. agent called George Bung, or whatever.
TRITHAGORAS: According to my interplanetary sources, Jack knew only too well that Grösste Pharma intended in the long term to turn your proletariats into lapdogs and dummies by putting chemicals into their food and giving them medications which poison their enzymes.
CAMERON: Yes indeed! And the free spirits are getting branded as mentally disabled to this very day, so that their enzymes can be fried with psych meds and their brains with electric shocks.
GREUMACH (snarling): Michty michty me! Your wicked mind control experiments gave rise to an entirely new brand of psychiatry, Cameron. Nowadays, the clinical psychiatrists dominate our profession, and torture, destroy, and murder their patients, while pretending to try to cure them.
CAMERON (laughing): We couldn't have done it without the help of the arch-boffins at Columbia University, and the paedophile eugenicists from University College London.
GREUMACH: And the dreadfully sadistic Dr. William Sargant of St. Thomas's Hospital London, who changed and besmirched the face of British psychiatry beyond recognition.
PICTURE OF DR. WILLIAM SARGANT FLASHES ONTO SCREEN
CAMERON (chuckling): That wimp wasn't in the same class as me.
GREUMACH: I'm sure he wasn't. And now the pompous prat who's Head of Psychiatry at Columbia reigns supreme, while he and his cohorts put the homos, the loose women, and the unconventional into very painful biochemical straightjackets.
PICTURE OF DR. JEFFREY LIEBERMAN FLASHES ONTO SCREEN
TRITHAGORAS: Your Sir Francis Galton started it all when he invented Eugenics at UCL during the 1880s. However, HE thought that mind control could be used to create a superior race of men and women rather than just a privileged aristocracy.
PICTURE OF SIR FRANCIS GALTON FLASHES ONTO SCREEN
CAMERON: Who gives a shit? The innoculations help a bit too, especially when the silly kiddy-widdies suffer from curious allergies.
GREUMACH (shouting): You might have graduated from Glasgow University, Ewen Cameron, but you're no friend of mine.
CAMERON: Who gives a fuck? Psychotherapists just sit on their fat arses while their patients spew hot air.
GREUMACH SEIZES CAMERON AROUND THROAT
GREUMACH: I'll kill you, I'll kill you, I'll kill you.
CAMERON (screaming): Ye cannae, ye glaikit heidbanger. Ah'm awriddy deid
GREUMACH KICKS CAMERON IN HIS CROTCH. CAMERON YOWLS HIS HEAD OFF AND FALLS PRONE ONTO FLOOR
TRITHAGORAS: So much for that piece of shit
GREUMACH: Welcome to Kafka's Castle. You haven't met the rest of the turds yet.
THE TWINS AND TWINKS GLEEFULLY REMOVE THEIR OUTER GARMENTS, DANCE AND PRANCE AROUND IN THEIR IMAGINATIVELY DESIGNED, COLOURFUL UNDERWEAR, AND SING, TO THE TUNE OF ‘ONWARD CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS’:
Onward Workfare soldiers,
Eating as they dare
With the Cross of Osborne
Going on before
While their fat cat masters
Bitch when they’re too slow
Sideways while they prattle
See the tossers go.
At the doomful triumph
Jesu’s host doth flee
On then Workfare soldiers
On to misery.
Hell’s foundations quiver
As they shake and faze
Mothers lift your voices
Loud your protests raise
Like a flighty army,
Move the Workfare crew
Brothers we are treading
Where the ghouls have trod
We are undivided
All daft sods are we.
One in fright and fear
With no charity
Onward then ye people,
Wear our cruel thongs
Blend with ours your voices
In the death knell song
Gore, blood and dishonour
To the cunt-like king
This for countless ages
Men and women sing
TWINS AND TWINKS TURN AROUND, WRIGGLE THEIR BACKSIDES AT THE AUDIENCE, AND SING THE FINAL VERSE:
Onward Workfare HATERS,
Marching as to war,
With the cross of protest
Going on before
We the classless masters
Lead against the foe
Forward into battle
See our banners go
As we inflict on them
Their tale of woe.
© Thomas Hoskyns Leonard, September 2015