42Two Minute Comedy

"Give us Two Minutes... We'll Give You Too"

A Series of Two Minute Comedy Sketches for short attention span theatre

Getting DisOrganized
A Monologue

Look, I hope you guys don’t mind.  The fact is I work for organized crime.  Now just because I got a New York accent don’t mean I’m a member of a Italian crime family.  I am not.  You don’t got to be in the Mafia to be in organized crime these days.  Truth is, all it takes is two guys working together to put in a fix, bump a guy off, burn down a building.  Two guys working together gets you under the RICO Act.  So, you can be in organized crime, legally, if you and the wife decide to put Uncle Harry down for the inheritance.  But that’s not the kinda organization I been workin for. 

See, what happened was I been workin as a specialist the last ten years or so.  A specialist does all kinds a dirty rotten stuff.  They do ABC hits with fancy drugs make the target look like a heart attack.  They do demolition work like blowin up cars, boats, taxi cabs.  There’s specialists that open safes, knock off alarm systems, buy and sell hot art… Not kiddin.  Worked with a guy did two hundred million a year in phony art trades.  God’s truth.  Anyway, in organized crime you can find a specialist to do just about any kind a job you need.  My first job?  A milspec behavior mod called A3D.  What’s that?  We use an aversive audio acoustic device to damage the target's body.  This job we set up a rig directly above the guy’s hotel room and radiate focused sound beams at him.  Result is guy can’t sleep, think, talk normal.  It fucks up the nervous system and causes unbearable headaches.  Check it out.  With organized crime we get the latest gadgets to hurt people. 

Now?  I’m what they call a “Framer.”  A Framer is a guy you use to make the target look bad.  Typical assignment for me is settin up a stupid business executive with a hooker.  You get the guy a little drunk, you sit a knockout chick down next to him… Wham, bang, boom!  They’re in the hotel room and I come out the closet with a twelve mega pixel camera.  Easy.  I call it a “put.”  Cause like in the stock market we “put” the frame on the target. 

There’s other kinds a puts too.  Like you plant stuff.  It’s called a “plant.”  You can plant a gun, a knife, an incriminating document… Plenty of stuff to plant.  A regular plant I do is put marked money on a guy just before he gets run in.  So, even if the charge he’s run in for don’t hold, the cops find the marks on him and they got a whole new rap to squeeze him with.  I put a dozen guys away with marked money plants.  I used to keep twenty five thirty grand hot bills in my office just to service that frame.  The thing you gotto understand about a Framer is there’s more work than you can do.  I hadda turn down jobs regular.  After a while of doin’ the executive frames I moved on to bigger fishes.  Corporate heads, politicians, diplomats, celebrities.  These kinda jobs paid more.  I could make fifty large just by settin up a public figure like a ball player.  Athletes are easy.  Most these guys hang out at strip clubs between games, right?  You wait til they get wasted, then bring in the ringer who “bumps” ‘em.  The ball player gets offended and says something.  My guy says something back, shoves the ball player.  Two minutes later player’s got three security guys dragging him out the club.  Of course I got five paparazzi hanging out there ready to spread the love around.  I got club owners send me Christmas bonus each year cause the money I can save em in contract negotiations.  It’s true.

Biggest job I ever did?  Political fix.  We get the Mayor of a town, won’t say which one.  We need to make him look bad.  So, we wait til he’s on vacation.  Down the Caribbean somewhere.  I got a crew down there at his hotel pulling strings.  Back at home we set a big friggin torch job in the guy’s old neighborhood.  We burn down a friggin church, a school and about thirty houses.  It’s a hellfire emergency disaster, right?  But down the Caribbean we filter the news.  We back-burner it and the same time my crew freezes the guy’s money.  Just temporary but it locks him out of action.  Now we got a politician that’s on vacation and don’t do nothin’ to help his constituents.  We feed pictures to the press of the Mayor lying on the beach and playing with his kids while the folks back home is lying in homeless shelters.   It was classic, I’m telling you.  Fucking classic!

But here’s the thing.  Ten years I been doin it right?  Ten years of frames and you start to feel…dirty.  Slimy.  Like the scum on a pool of puke.  You get to know that all you do in life is fuck other people.  You get older and take a look in the mirror and you hate what you see.  Cause what you see is emptiness.  Total emptiness.  When I started I figured hey, I gotto get mine ya know.  These guys I frame is scumbags so all I’m doin is speeding up the process.  Or helping people get revenge.   But after a few years I didn’t even care.  I just took an assignment because it paid me.  I didn’t care if the target was guilty or innocent or if he had a family or led a good decent life.  My boss says we’ve got a sting goin’ with such and such a guy we need money marks on him.  I’d say, okay give me the location and time and that’s it.  But after a while I felt ashamed.  And the more I felt ashamed the more I felt guilty.  Cause I knew I was settin up innocent guys a lot of the time.  Guys never did what I’d frame em for.  Guys who maybe pushed back too hard and pissed off some big shot, or company, and they come to me to take him out.  (pause) I used to be a Catholic.  When I was a kid my parents took me to church twice, three times a week.  Father Demo Square church we called it.  Two weeks ago I go to confession the first time in thirty years.  I swear.  I go into the confession booth and I forget what to do.  I don’t know what to do.   The priest asks me how long since my last confession.  I say, like thirty years Father.  He says, tell me your sins my son.  (pause) I say, how long we got Father?

The last job I did I hadda make a guy hit me.  Attack me.  I played a drunk at a Mets game.  Now the thing is I’m a Framer, not an actor.  My cousin Vick used to say Adam, you can’t act cold on a ice berg.  It’s true.  I don’t got the quickness of brains to make shit up on the spot.  But this last job I took cause I figured it’s easy and I can get a good pay day.  So, I fix a seat at Shea  right next to the target.  I pretend to be drunk and got me a little bottle of vodka.  Just so you know how obvious us Framers are, we exaggerate everything.  It’s the only way we know.  Like a regular guy bringing booze into the stadium would put it in a hip flask or a water bottle or soda can - but me?  I gotto do it obvious-like cause people is kinda stupid and so am I.  So anyhow, I pretend to be drunk and to know the guy.  At first real sorta friendly like.  Then like more obnoxious.  I admit I overplay everything cause I suck at acting.  But anyway, by the ninth inning I can’t get this guy to react in anger.  And I got four shills sitting around us ready to take pictures of the guy hauling off and hittin’ me.  So, finally I just throw myself on top the guy and hope he’s gonna react.  Well, he does.  And it’s what finally made me realize what a complete asshole I had become.  The guy pushes me away and says real loud - “Hey, asshole.  What fucking planet you from? You behave like a martian.”

So that’s what did it.  The last straw.  I realized that I had become a worthless soul with absolutely no redeeming value.  I realized that if there was a God that He could never love me because my life hated Him.  I realized that what I once thought was fair and good, was in fact criminal and evil.  I hated myself and everything about my life.  Two weeks ago I sat on the floor of my kitchen with a thirty eight revolver in my mouth.  I wanted to die.  Then a voice came to me inside my head.  It said “If you kill yourself I can never forgive you.  If you pray, I will take you in my arms.”  (pause) Truth is, I started to cry.  And then I put down the gun on a pile of unopened mail.  One envelope has a little picture on it.  The church at Father Demo Square.  That’s where I went.  (pause) So, my Priest says talking about my life is part of my recovery.  Telling the truth about the evil I done to others will help me heal.  That’s why I’m here tonight.  That’s why I’m grateful for you listening to me.  So… good night and God Bless.  And please, if you can, forgive my bad acting.