Won Ton On

Not really harry's voice:
Ecuas-nzbe?

Thing-fish:
Whiff it, boy! whiff it good, now! mammies, step forward 'n
 try t'git on down wit dem broadway zombies! dis de closin'
 numbuh, now! moses! git yo' brown ass ovuh heah! leave de 
co-log-nuh alone fo' a minnit. whyn'tcha go on 'n cornhole 
ya' some evil prince! i b'lieve he done evolved to de point
 where he kin hannle it now!

See dat? uh-huh! look like he severely enjoyin' it awready!
 sound like he enjoyin' it, too! wuh- oh! i smells trubba! 
look like he got de eeyah- noosht! ain't no two ways about 
it.

The mammies dance tangos with the zombies, (eventually 
hurling them offstage), the evil prince corn-holes rhonda 
(who doesn't even notice as she waves her magic-wand 
fountain pen around for harry to follow), thing-fish 
snatches up the crab-grass baby and ob'dewlla (one in each 
hand), shaking them like maracas, while twirl-dancing 
around the yard, harry-as- a-boy and the artificial rhonda 
re-appear, chasing after the infant, quentin robert de 
nameland corn-holes brown moses. opal rides the bull while 
francesco gives her an enema. the nativity box rotates 
erratically, deli- vering dutch midgets who offer onions to
 the audience.

Thing-fish:
'fo y'all departs, i jes' wish to say in conclu- sium, as 
matters o' dis gravity gen'rally re- quire some type o' 
philosomical post-scription, dat what y'all have witnessed 
heah tonight were a true story - only de names o' de 
potatoes have been changed to protect de innocent.

Galoot co-log-nuh! don't buy it, peoples! dis have been a 
public service ernouncemint. wave good-night to de white 
folks, 'dewlla!

A conga-line is formed. they all exit through the audience,
 except for francesco, thing-fish & sister ob'dewlla 'x' 
(the crab-grass baby has been returned to harry-as-a-boy 
and artificial rhonda).

Rhonda:
This is symbolism, harry!

Harry:
...not the stuff that 'freckles' lets out!

Rhonda:
This is symbolism! really deep, intense, thought-provoking 
broadway symbolism. really modern, harry...

Harry:
Take your hand off that chain, honey!

Rhonda:
Fuck that briefcases...

Harry:
...not the briefcase...