Kelechi: you really don't look good at all.
Mr. Maldark stumbles to an upright position then slides back down the coffee room with no coffee.
Maldark: i was hoping that was a banana peel i'm hungry.
Kelechi: oh hell no i'm putting a stop to this right now, mister. you look green.
Maldark: the mystery of environmentalism is greater than the mystery of death---Oscar the Grouch.
Kelechi: it's okay. i'll take your kids this afternoon.
Maldark: not without a warrant.
Kelechi: oh hell we folk don't deal with such uppercrust inanities. it'll feel good to stretch my muscles a bit. with your permission of course, dude.
Maldark: i'm so tired i can't sleep.
Kelechi: that's legally-binding-document enough. you're weak from lack of nourishment. come on, climb on my back. literally. i'll take you home.
Less: hey are you okay, Mr. Maldark? i thought you were more of a hippie.
Deen: he'll be fine. he's Teddy Brosevelt. he just needs some rays of the sun.
on the waterlogged stage, President Bump takes to the podium, cuts down the podium with a Lincoln ax, then proceeds to deliver a wild speech.
he takes off his pressed suit and puts on a set of Jacob Marley rags delivered to him by a pair of hands backstage. only the hands show through the black hole.
Bump: do i scat in reggae or what?
disembodied voice: just do the lines like we practiced. as written. no adlibbing.
Bump throws his hands up in the air, making sure to shake those hands nervously, like he can't control them, but showing them off in the spotlight. the spotlight is blue and the backstage sound effects clang like a pound of spoons being dropped from the roped rafters.
Bump tries to make a fist but his nerves take over. he scowls and shrieks before settling on a cry.
Bump: *loudly* I'M WEAK!!! I'M WEAK! i've always been weak. only the weak profess that they're strong. it's been my shame since i was a little boy who lost his handball. i project ever since i failed my first science project. the volcano one. i have a deathly fear of baking soda. i always think it's drugs. now that you know my secret, what will you do about it?
Bump: am i doing this right?
disembodied voice: yes. don't look at me. look at the spotlight. imagine the spotlight is a hot blonde. finish my script before i have to disembowel. it's very important that you utter these words.
Bump: I'm WEAK! O I'm Weak. so so WEAK. I lost a knifefight once. the knifefight of love. and the knife was a rose. and I got the thorns. and the other dude got the STEM.
the audience pity-claps. one in particular in the back.
Humphrey Bogart: now THAT's a wild finish.
Tom Steyer emerges from the back and takes a bow.
Steyer: thank you, ladies and gentlemen, come again. it's imperative that you do.
Bump: good script, man. they say you're the best. you came highly recommended. who are you again?
Steyer: the man who will make you a star. every drone camera in the world was on you just then. a vital delegation was in attendance. hopefully they don't shut up about it. twitter amirite? i'm your manager but more importantly i'm your mook. you can count on me. who loves ya, baby?
Bump: you do?
Steyer rolls his eyes.
Bump: the voice on the phone said you make it easier to rubberstamp everything.
Steyer: that's right. i'm the Smith. i write the words they use. i massage their message, tailor it so it affects the most number of people. i can make them say what i want. we are all so glad you banned the teleprompter. i did the speeches of Flake, Corker, and McCain God rest his soul. while you're busy disinfecting your hands i'm in the smoke room busily scribbling away with my feather quill and tub of ink. i pour the hot stretchy liquid into my stamp and that's my seal of approval. like they did in olden times. surely you at least know of Shakespeare?
Bump: yeah i wrote all his plays. i'm the most intelligent person who has ever lived. that guy is a snowflake. that other guy popped the cork on the champagne a little too early. you look hot with the long blonde hair. why is there a yellow ring around your wrist?
Steyer: polio. when i was a child. i should be dead. but medical marvels. what a time to be alive. intelligence is more of a philosophical canard.
Bump: i am so sorry that Canadian singer died. he was my favorite. i hope i get a half-mast, too.
Steyer: say aren't you forgetting something? don't answer that. the play's not over. last page after the credits.
Bump: oh, right. join us again next week for another brimming installment of Masterpiece Theatre.
in Kelechi's Pontiac Sunbird
Kelechi: i got this puppy in blue. it purrs like a dog. they were pushing the pink one on me. now that i've got you alone with me i'd just like to take the opportunity to thank you personally for mentoring my niece Halwa. she's really taken a shining to you.
Maldark: i love all my kids. not in that way. my shins hurt. i hate missing class.
Kelechi: it's just traffic school. believe me they won't notice. let's call this an extended lunch.
Maldark: i couldn't eat if my life depended on it. it's the two-week lost war. the first week it's alright and normal, you eat regularly and drink a little too much and win the battle. it's that second week that's killer. the food runs out and not a drop to drink. that sudden shift to sandwiches again severs your stomach.
Kelechi: *her hands off the wheel to make a point* why don't the next time you go shopping buy two weeks' worth of food?
Maldark: i think that kinda defeats the purpose.