Harry & Rhonda

Rhonda: (stage whisper)
Harry, this is not dream girls!

Harry: (stage whisper)
They told me it had c-c-colored folk in it, rhonda, and 
that's always a sure sign of good, solid, musical 
entertainment! how was i supposed to know they'd be this 
ugly?

Rhonda:
They pissed on us, harry! they fuckin' pissed on us! look 
at my fox!

Harry:
I know, dear...but they pissed on me too...he did say they 
were incontinent!

Rhonda:
Just smell this! i think we should get out of here before 
they do something else to us!

Harry:
Leave? now? at these ticket prices? just hold your 
horses...it probably wasn't real piss... only 'theater 
piss'...they probably have a formula... some special 
stuff...comes right outta the fur with woolite.

Rhonda:
What's happened to broadway, harry? used to be you could 
come to one of these things and the wind would be rushing 
down the plain or a fairy on a string would go over the 
audience...but now! harry, i ask you: is this 
entertainment?

Harry:
You're absolutely correct, dear! so far we haven't seen a 

single good-looking pair of legs...a single 
sequin-encrusted whatchamacallit ...no firm, rounded 
breasts! this show is a disaster, rhonda! a complete and 
utter disaster!

Thing-fish:
Mmmm! say dere...hey! umm-hmm! thass right! hey you! you 
two ugly white folks...over heahhh!

As you know, de presence of carboniferous hard-core 
unemployables has gen'rally, in de historical past, 
guaranteed an evenin' of upliftin' frolic and 
cavortment...it'd be a shame fo y'all t'miss out on dis 
here one! got some nice chairs fo' ya, rights ovuh heahhh.

Harry & rhonda rise, cross to thing-fish, and sit in the 
chairs he offers. they are immediately chained to them by 
the mammies.

Harry:
Uhhh...beg pardon? what's going on here?

Rhonda:
Oh! they're touching me! harry! harry! harry! harry, do 
something! they're putting chains on me! i'll be stuck to 
the chair! oh! what'll i do? i'll miss intermission!

Harry:
They're only 'theater chains', rhonda! just some sort of...

Rhonda:
These are real goddam chains, harry, and they're not gonna 
come off with woolite!

Harry:
I don't mind the way they feel...they don't bother me, 
honey...relax! go with the flow...

Rhonda:
Harry, you are an over-educated shit-head!

Thing-fish:
Look here, folks...dis only fo yo own protexium! once we 
gets rollin' heah, things be happnin' all over de place dat
 could prove dangerous to persons not previously acquainted
 wit de san quentim mash- potatoes!

Rhonda:
I want the wind to come rushing down the plain! i want 
fairies on a string over the audience! i want real broadway
 entertainment! feathers! spot-lights! guilt! hours upon 
hours of guilt! about my mother! about my father! about 
brave women, suffering at the hands of infantile, 
insensitive, dominating men! and what do i get? a 
potato-headed jig-a-boo with catholic clothes on! 
incomprehensible duck lips! weak bladders draining through 
abnorminably large organs! jesus, harry! what the fuck is 
going on here?

Harry:
Simmer down! if you'll just roll with the punches...and 
don't rock the boat, i'm sure we'll have a lovely evening 
at the theater!

Thing-fish:
Thass right! we got fairies on a string fo yo ass jes' a 
little later! meanwhile, i b'lieves y'all requires some 
updatement on de co-log-nuh situatium! sister ob'dewlla 
'x'! express yo'seff!