DEEP CLEANING. By GAVARRE BENJAMIN.

  

 

DEEP CLEANING

By GAVARRE BENJAMIN

 

Characters:

·       CHRISTINA GUPSI: The Patient. Dressed in severe black. Dramatic, elegant but frayed around the edges. She has lost her status, but not her arrogance nor her oratory skills.

·       DR. MONICA: The Psychologist. Sober, professional. She tries to maintain control of the session but finds herself bulldozed by Christina’s energy.

 

Setting:

Dr. Monica’s office. Minimalist, modern, cold. A chaise lounge and an armchair.

Props: Christina brings with her, inexplicably, a cleaning kit: a broom, a mop, a rag, and a spray bottle.

---

(The "Habanera" from Bizet’s Carmen plays. The music enters forcefully. CHRISTINA GUPSI is not seated. She is standing, holding a broom, sweeping the office with rhythmic, fatal, and passionate movements, synchronized with the music. She sweeps as if she were killing ghosts.)

 

(DR. MONICA watches her from her armchair, pen frozen in mid-air, fascinated and horrified at the same time.)

 

DR. MONICA: Christina, please. Try to focus. Tell me, what lies behind this blatant compulsion? What is it that you, truly, wish to clean?

CHRISTINA: (Without stopping, voice deep and tragic) Dust, Doctor, is the past... pulverized. If I don’t move it, it settles. And if it settles, it suffocates me. (She sweeps furiously toward the Doctor’s feet). You see dirt; I see the ashes of my empire.

DR. MONICA: (Lifting her feet to avoid the broom) That is a very poetic rationalization for Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. Please, sit down. Let’s talk about the loss.

(The Carmen music lowers in volume, remaining as an unsettling sonic bed. Christina drops the broom and produces a rag and spray bottle. She begins to polish a side table with circular, obsessive movements.)

CHRISTINA: Loss? (She laughs bitterly, a rehearsed laugh). Loss is vulgar, Monica. Anyone can lose their keys or their wallet. I didn't "lose." I was... dispossessed. It’s different. Imagine it: I was at the summit. The society pages waited for me to decide the season's color before printing their covers. And suddenly... the void. The silence of the telephone is far more deafening than applause.

DR. MONICA: (Trying to take notes) Uh-huh. You feel your identity depended exclusively on the external gaze.

CHRISTINA: (She stops, offended. Sprays the air as if it were perfume) Oh, please! Don’t psychoanalyze me with fortune cookie wisdom. My identity was solid as this oak... (She rubs the table vigorously) ...but envy is a very industrious termite. I remember the dinner parties, Doctor. Dinners served on silver and gold platters. And I presided over the table. Now... now I sweep, I clean, I polish... That’s how I stop hearing that little voice chasing me. (Dramatic pause) Do you see this stain? Almost no one can see it, but I can.

DR. MONICA: That little voice chasing you... what does it say? Tell me the precise words you "hear."

(The music swells. The intense chorus of Carmen ("L'amour! L'amour!"). Christina grabs the mop. She embraces it as if it were a lover. She dances a brief, tragic tango with it while mopping the center of the stage.)

CHRISTINA: (Mopping furiously) It calls me a "Loser." Me! The Christina who lived for power. I was the incarnation of power! (She twirls with the mop). And now... (She stops dancing, stares into the void, music cuts abruptly). I only see small people. Grey people. People who buy shoes from the discount bin and feed on off-brand tuna. I see their faces; they are all miserable, with their common, despicable expressions...

DR. MONICA: (Sighing) You are projecting your contempt for your current situation onto others. That is called wounded narcissism.

CHRISTINA: (Ignores her. Changes tone. She stands tall. Drops the mop. Looks toward the "future" with an almost mystical illumination on her face). But the Phoenix does not rise from the ashes to stay in the chicken coop, Monica.

DR. MONICA: (Interested) Good. Let’s talk about the future. What do you see there? A real job? Reconnecting with your family?

CHRISTINA: (With disdain) Family? No, please, let’s be serious. I see... (She gestures as if sculpting the air) ...Consolidation. Empowerment. I see myself, not in a cubicle, but on a podium. A woman who has descended into the hell of public transport and returned to tell the tale.

DR. MONICA: Are you going to write a book?

CHRISTINA: (Pulls out the rag again and starts cleaning the frame of the Doctor’s university diploma hanging on the wall) I am going to be a Guide. A Martyr of Lifestyle. I will teach the masses how to fall with grace. Because anyone can climb, Doctor; that’s just a matter of luck or sleeping with the right manager. But falling... (She turns to the Doctor, eyes shining) ...falling without messing up your hair, that is an art.

DR. MONICA: Falling with grace and rising with elegance...

CHRISTINA: (Straightens the diploma frame with exaggerated precision) That is who I am. I may be down, but my comeback will be the return of the Hero, the Power Woman. Imagine the headlines: "The Return of the Iron Lady." I won’t need money anymore. Money is vulgar. I will be envied and worshipped. People will say: "Did you see Christina Gupsi? They say she lost everything, but she walks as if she holds the deeds to the City."

DR. MONICA: (Checks her watch) We are out of time, Christina. And frankly, this dissociation worries me. You cannot pay rent with "grace" and "worship."

CHRISTINA: (Gathers her cleaning tools with dry, military movements. The Carmen music returns softly for the close). How little imagination science has, Monica. That is why you listen, and I speak. You analyze life; I interpret it.

(Christina heads to the door. She stops, turns, and looks at the spotless office.)

CHRISTINA: By the way. I’m not paying for today’s session.

DR. MONICA: (Stands up, annoyed) Excuse me?

CHRISTINA: (Points to the shiny floor and polished furniture) I just saved you a week's worth of maid service. Let’s call it even. That’s market economy, darling.

(Christina exits, chin up, humming the Habanera. Dr. Monica is left alone, looks at the spotless floor, then looks at her diploma on the wall, slightly crooked.)

DR. MONICA: (Takes a step, slips, stumbles, but manages not to fall completely) Oh my God... She left the floor slippery. I nearly killed myself... with absolutely no grace or elegance! Sweet Jesus!

(Blackout).

---

Limpieza Profunda Obra escrita por GAVARRE BENJAMIN

  

---

Limpieza Profunda

 

Obra escrita por GAVARRE BENJAMIN

 

Personajes:

·       CRISTINA GUPSI: La Paciente. Viste de negro riguroso, dramática, elegante pero desgastada. Ha perdido su estatus, pero no su arrogancia ni su capacidad oratoria.

·       DRA. MÓNICA: La Psicóloga. Sobria, profesional, intenta mantener el control de la sesión, pero se ve arrollada por la energía de Cristina.

Escenario:

El consultorio de la Dra. Mónica. Minimalista, moderno, frío. Hay un diván y un sillón.

Utilería: Cristina trae consigo, inexplicablemente, un kit de limpieza: una escoba, un trapeador, un paño y un spray limpiador.

---

(Suena la "Habanera" de la ópera Carmen de Bizet. La música entra con fuerza. CRISTINA GUPSI no está sentada. Está de pie, con una escoba, barriendo el consultorio con movimientos rítmicos, fatales y apasionados, sincronizados con la música. Barre como si estuviera matando fantasmas.)

(La DRA. MÓNICA la observa desde su sillón, con el bolígrafo congelado en el aire, fascinada y horrorizada a la vez.)

DRA. MÓNICA: Cristina, por favor. Trate de concentrarse. Dígame, qué hay detrás de esa compulsión tan evidente, qué es lo que usted, verdaderamente, desea limpiar.

CRISTINA: (Sin dejar de barrer, con voz profunda y trágica) El polvo, doctora, es el pasado pulverizado. Si no lo muevo, se asienta. Y si se asienta, me ahoga. (Barre con furia hacia los pies de la doctora). Usted ve mugre; yo veo las cenizas de mi imperio.

DRA. MÓNICA: (Levantando los pies para que no la barran) Eso es una racionalización muy poética para un trastorno obsesivo-compulsivo. Siéntese. Hablemos de la pérdida.

(La música de Carmen baja de volumen, quedando como un lecho sonoro inquietante. Cristina deja la escoba y saca un paño y un spray. Empieza a lustrar una mesa auxiliar con movimientos circulares y obsesivos).

CRISTINA: ¿La pérdida? (Ríe con amargura, una risa ensayada). La pérdida es vulgar, Mónica. Cualquiera pierde las llaves o la cartera. Yo no "perdí". Yo fui... despojada. Es diferente. Imagínelo: Yo estaba en la cima. Las revistas de sociales esperaban a que yo decidiera el color de la temporada para imprimir sus portadas. Y de pronto... el vacío. El silencio del teléfono es más ensordecedor que los aplausos.

DRA. MÓNICA: (Trata de anotar) Ajá. Siente que su identidad dependía exclusivamente de la mirada externa.

CRISTINA: (Se detiene, ofendida. Rocía spray al aire como si fuera perfume) ¡Por favor! Mi identidad era sólida como este roble... (Frota la mesa con fuerza) ...pero la envidia es una termita muy trabajadora. Recuerdo las cenas, doctora. Cenas en bandejas de oro y plata. Y yo presidía la mesa. Ahora... ahora barro, limpio, pulo… Así dejo de escuchar esa vocecita que me persigue. (Pausa dramática) ¿Ve esta mancha? Casi nadie puede verla, pero yo sí.

DRA. MÓNICA: Esa vocecita que la persigue qué le dice… Dígame con precisión las palabras que “Escucha”.

(Sube la música. La parte intensa del estribillo de Carmen ("L'amour! L'amour!"). Cristina toma el trapeador. Lo abraza como si fuera un amante. Baila con él un breve tango trágico mientras trapea el centro del escenario).

CRISTINA: (Trapeando con furia) Me dice Perdedora, a mí, a la Cristina que vivía por y para el poder. ¡Yo fui la encarnación del poder! (Da una vuelta con el trapeador). Y ahora… (Deja de bailar, mira al vacío, la música se detiene de golpe). Solo veo gente pequeña. Gente gris. Gente que compra zapatos en oferta y se alimenta con atún de soya. Veo sus caras, todos son unos miserables de gesto corriente, despreciable…

DRA. MÓNICA: (Suspirando) Está proyectando su desprecio por su situación actual hacia los demás. Eso se llama narcisismo herido.

CRISTINA: (La ignora. Cambia de tono. Se yergue. Suelta el trapeador. Mira hacia el "futuro" con una iluminación casi mística en el rostro). Pero el ave Fénix no renace del polvo para quedarse en el gallinero, Mónica.

DRA. MÓNICA: (Interesada) Bien. Hablemos del futuro. ¿Qué ve ahí? ¿Un trabajo real? ¿Reconectar con su familia?

CRISTINA: (Con desdén) ¿Familia? No, por favor, seamos serios. Veo... (Gesticula como si estuviera esculpiendo el aire) ...Consolidación. Empoderamiento. Me veo a mí misma, no en una oficina, sino en un estrado. Una mujer que ha bajado a los infiernos del transporte público y ha regresado para contarlo.

DRA. MÓNICA: ¿Va a escribir un libro?

CRISTINA: (Saca el paño de nuevo y empieza a limpiar el marco de un título universitario de la doctora colgado en la pared) Voy a ser una Guía. Una mártir del estilo de vida. Enseñaré a las masas a caer con gracia. Porque cualquiera puede subir, doctora, eso es cuestión de suerte o de acostarse con el gerente adecuado. Pero caer... (Se gira hacia la doctora, con ojos brillantes) ...caer sin despeinarse, eso es un arte.

DRA. MÓNICA: Caerse con gracia y levantarse con elegancia... 

CRISTINA: (Endereza el marco del título con exagerada precisión) Esa soy yo. Puedo estar abajo, pero mi regreso será el retorno del héroe, de la Mujer poderosa. Imagine los titulares: "El Retorno de la Dama de Hierro... ". Ya no necesitaré dinero. El dinero es vulgar. Seré envidiada y venerada. La gente dirá: "¿Viste a Cristina Gupsi? Dicen que perdió todo, pero camina como si tuviera las escrituras de la Ciudad".

DRA. MÓNICA: (Mira su reloj) Se nos acaba el tiempo, Cristina. Y sinceramente, me preocupa esta disociación. Usted no puede pagar la renta con "gracia" y "adoración".

CRISTINA: (Recoge sus utensilios de limpieza con movimientos secos y militares. La música de Carmen regresa suavemente para el cierre). Qué poca imaginación tiene la ciencia, Mónica. Por eso usted escucha y yo hablo. Usted analiza la vida; yo la interpreto.

(Cristina se dirige a la puerta. Se detiene, se gira y mira el consultorio impecable).

CRISTINA: Por cierto. No le voy a pagar la sesión de hoy.

DRA. MÓNICA: (Se levanta, molesta) ¿Disculpe?

CRISTINA: (Señala el piso brillante y los muebles lustrados) Le acabo de ahorrar el servicio de limpieza de toda la semana. Digamos que estamos a mano. Eso es economía de mercado, querida.

(Cristina sale con la barbilla en alto, tarareando la Habanera. La Dra. Mónica se queda sola, mira el piso impecable, luego mira su título en la pared, levemente chueco).

DRA. MÓNICA: (Da un traspié, pero no llega a caerse) Dios mío... Dejó el piso resbaloso. Casi me mato sin gracia y elegancia, ¡Santo Jesús!

(Apagón).

---

 

PUDDLES (The Nice Duck & Friends.) Children's theatre. By GAVARRE BENJAMIN.

 

PUDDLES (The Nice Duck & Friends)

or

 

THE DUCK WHO DIDN'T KNOW WHO HE WAS (OR DID HE?)

Children's theatre

By GAVARRE BENJAMIN

© BENJAMÍN GAVARRE SILVA

If you would like me to stage this text, please contact the author: gavarreunam@gmail.com

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CHARACTERS:

·       PUDDLES (The Nice Duck): A charismatic duck, a bit neurotic about his identity.

·       THE SNOBBY DUCK (Antagonist): Thinks he owns the lagoon. Speaks like an entitled rich kid, using corporate or bureaucratic slang nonsense.

·       THE ADVENTURER DUCK: Action hero type, wears a leather jacket and an eyepatch. Loyal helper but very exaggerated.

·       THE WISE DUCK (Female): An older female duck who appears out of nowhere interrupting scenes. She has constant linguistic confusion (comical sound-alike words).

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SCENE 1: THE ONION OF REALITY

 

(The stage is empty. Just one chair. PUDDLES enters. Looks at the audience, smiles, takes a deep breath.)

PUDDLES

Hi! I'm Puddles. I'm a nice duck. Look at my beak (touches it), look at my feathers... (shakes himself). I am real. I am here.

(Changes tone, gets serious)

Well, no. That’s a lie. I'm not a duck. Actually, I am Mr. [Actor's Real Name]. A respectable actor who pays taxes and has knee pain.

(Changes tone again, looks at the ceiling)

But wait... [Actor's Real Name] isn't real either. He is a character invented by a mysterious playwright named...

(Looks at the audience in panic)

And the worst part... Behind that actor guy, and the duck, there is a real flesh and bone person called... (The actor says their real actual name here)... Tatati tatata

(Grabs his head)

I'm like an onion! Duck, Actor, Tatati Tatata... Too many layers! I'm gonna faint!

(THE WISE DUCK enters crossing the stage. She carries a shopping bag and walks distractedly looking at the audience.)

WISE DUCK

Excuse me, young people... I'm looking for the box office. Have you bought your lockers? Your knockers? Your socks?

(She pauses, tongue-tied)

I mean... your tickets? I need to get in to see the prey... the clay... the play!

PUDDLES

Ma'am, the play already started. You are inside.

WISE DUCK

Oh! How efficient. Then I'll go to my heat... my feet... my seat. Excuse me.

(She exits the opposite side mumbling)

Darn rheumatism... magnetism... hypnotism...

PUDDLES

(Puzzled)

What a strange lady. Anyway, as I was saying... my GOAL in life is to fly away to the South Seas. Because it's cold here and my feet are freezing.

---

SCENE 2: THE MAGIC SPACE GAME

 

PUDDLES

But, where am I? This is a theatre. Which means, an empty space.

(Points to the floor)

Wooden floor. Boring. But the theatre has a trick: The Magic Word. If I say... "I AM IN THE JUNGLE!", you have to believe me.

(Closes eyes)

Jungle!

(Monkey sounds and roars made by himself).

See? Giant trees, vines... Ouch, a mosquito! (Slaps his own arm).

But ducks don't live in the jungle. Better... THE NORTH POLE!

(Hugs himself shivering)

Brrr... it's cold... Look, a polar bear eating a lemon popsicle.

(Shakes head)

No, too cold. Better... A LOVELY GARDEN!

(Relaxes. Points to nothingness)

There is a fountain. (Splashes imaginary water on his face). And there a little tree. As long as you imagine the fountain, the fountain exists!

(Sighs happily)

We have Space. Now we need Atmosphere.

(Shouts towards the technical booth or ceiling)

Master of lights! Give me romantic sunset lighting!

(The light changes, or he pretends it changes).

Adventure music!

(He hums epic music himself: Dun-dun-duuuun!).

---

SCENE 3: THE GOSSIP APPEARS (THE OPPONENT)

 

PUDDLES

Right, I have character, space, and atmosphere. Now I need SOMETHING TO HAPPEN. The gossip. The plot.

I want to go South, but for this to be fun, I need obstacles. You know, thunderstorms, bald eagles... Or even worse: an enemy.

(THE SNOBBY DUCK enters. Walks with nose in the air carrying a briefcase).

SNOBBY DUCK

Like, hello? Get off my runway, Puddles. You're totally blocking my vibe and throwing off the lagoon's feng shui.

PUDDLES

(To audience)

See? He is the Snobby Duck. If this were Little Red Riding Hood, he'd be the Wolf.

SNOBBY DUCK

Who are you talking to? You are so out. Look, you are not going to the South Seas. I played politics with the Goose Union and we canceled your flight visa. Nature is obsolete, darling. Do you have Form Z-400-Quack stamped by the Phantom Service Window?

(THE WISE DUCK enters interrupting, holding crumpled papers).

WISE DUCK

Hey guys, is this the line for the test?... the vest?... the pest?

(Looks at the Snobby Duck)

Sir, are you in charge of digestion... I mean congestion? No, management! I brought my berth certificate... I mean birth certificate.

SNOBBY DUCK

Ma'am, move it! I am in the middle of an extortion... I mean, a legal inspection. Go to window number 4!

WISE DUCK

Oh my, what an attitude. You need some camomile tea... or a hammer and a key... or a new knee.

(To the audience)

Nobody serves you well in this government. I'm going to the complaint department... the restraint department... the old window!

(She exits).

PUDDLES

See? Even the lady gets confused with your bureaucracy! Let's see, Snobby, do you know how to fill out line 45 section B of the form?

SNOBBY DUCK

(Nervous)

Umm... obviously. Section B is to... declare if you are a duck or a potential swan.

PUDDLES

Haha! Gotcha! Section B is for your feather type. Even you don't know how to fill it out! You are pure empty bureaucracy.

SNOBBY DUCK

Silence! I have the power and the briefcase. I'm going to my yacht club. Bye.

(Exits pushing Puddles).

---

SCENE 4: THE ADVENTURER (WHO SEEMS BAD BUT HELPS)

 

PUDDLES

(Comically crying)

Boo hoo! I'm gonna freeze! This is no longer an adventure, it's a Greek tragedy.

(Throws himself on the floor)

Oh, cruel fate!

(THE ADVENTURER DUCK enters. Dark glasses, leather jacket, eye patch. Tough attitude).

ADVENTURER DUCK

What's up, dude? Who’s making all that noise? You're scaring the fish.

PUDDLES

(Scared)

Yikes! The Adventurer Duck! Surely you came to turn me into soup!

ADVENTURER DUCK

Chill out, bro. I have a bad reputation, but I'm a cool guy. I just arrived from Pirate Duck Island.

PUDDLES

Really?

ADVENTURER DUCK

Totally! You don't know what I went through. I was surrounded by three hundred one-eyed hawks. I only had a toothpick and chewing gum. Bam! Bam! I did an aerial judo move on them, spun three times in the air, rescued the princess duck, and landed without messing up my hair.

PUDDLES

Wow! (To the audience) Look! He is my HELPER. He's the one who's gonna give me a hand.

(To the Adventurer Duck)

Hey, Snobby won't let me fly. He asks for impossible papers.

ADVENTURER DUCK

That guy is awful. But I'll help you. I know a shortcut through the Cactus Desert.

---

SCENE 5: CRAZY TIME (FUTURE AND PAST)

 

PUDDLES

The desert? But... I'm scared.

(THE WISE DUCK enters wearing sunglasses and fanning herself with a leaf).

WISE DUCK

Phew! It's hot in this desert... this dessert... this disconcert.

(Looks at the ducks)

I'm looking for some water. Do you know where there is a hose?... a rose?... a nose?

Ah, no! A palm tree! For the shade... the glade... the lemonade...

PUDDLES

Ma'am, we haven't reached the desert yet. We are in the theatre imagining it.

WISE DUCK

Oh yeah? No wonder there are no scorpions... Onions... minions. Well, I keep looking for my route... my boot... my loot!

(Exits walking fast).

PUDDLES

That lady appears everywhere. Well... (Gets mystical) My mind travels to the future... A vision!

(Dramatic red light)

I see myself... defeating the Snobby Duck... I am the King of the Lagoon!

SNOBBY DUCK

(Appears suddenly)

Hahahaha! Wake up, doll face! That is pure fantasy. I still have you grabbed by the neck. Keep dreaming!

(Disappears laughing).

PUDDLES

Oh, how horrible! Better go to the past... a MEMORY.

(Baby voice)

I remember when I was an egg... I tried to break the shell and BOOM! A squirrel confused me with a nut. What a difficult life!

ADVENTURER DUCK

Hey, tone down the drama, dude. Stop suffering the future and crying over the past. Get your act together in the HERE AND NOW!

PUDDLES

You're right. Let's face the Snobby Duck!

---

SCENE 6: BATTLE OF GENRES

 

(THE SNOBBY DUCK appears blocking the path).

SNOBBY DUCK

Stop right there. Nobody passes. This is a VIP zone.

PUDDLES

Let me pass! (To audience) How do we solve this? In what style?

ADVENTURER DUCK

Let's do it SOAP OPERA style!

(Puts hand on forehead, exaggerated)

Oh, Snobby! Why are you so cruel? Your heart is made of pumice stone!

SNOBBY DUCK

You wretched fowl! You will never defeat my bureaucracy!

PUDDLES

No, seems a bit weak. Better like an ACTION MOVIE!

(Does slow-motion karate moves)

Ya ka taka… Hi-ya hi-ya Hua-cha! Take my flying kick of justice! How do you like that, POPS?

SNOBBY DUCK

(Dodges slowly)

Your techniques are straight out of Duckburg, Puddles!

PUDDLES

What I do best: COMEDY! Let's see, Snobby... How do you intend to fly with that belly? You need two runways! When you step on the scale you need a crane!

SNOBBY DUCK

Hey! Well, your legs look like two drinking straws.

PUDDLES

They are duck legs, dummy...

SNOBBY DUCK

Get away, you bum! You are dirtying my Duck Armani suit!

PUDDLES

When your mom gave birth to you, she didn't lay an egg, she laid a Kinder Surprise... Surprise! It's empty!

SNOBBY DUCK

(Defeated, crying)

I'm telling my mommy! Arrrgggr… Arrrgggr…

(Runs away).

---

SCENE 7: THE OPEN ENDING (AND THE BONKERS ENDING)

 

PUDDLES

We did it! The path is free. Now, I'm ready to fly South.

But... wait. The theatre is magic because the AUDIENCE rules.

(THE WISE DUCK runs in, very agitated).

WISE DUCK

Stop! Wait! Don't close the curtain... the certain... the burton!

PUDDLES

Ma'am! We are already at the end. What are you looking for now?

WISE DUCK

I lost the thread... the bread... the head. No! I lost the ending.

How did the whole thing end? The story... the glory... the lorry?

Did the good guys win or the bad guys?

PUDDLES

We are voting. Let's see, audience. I give you options:

A) I go to the South Seas.

B) We all go to Italy to eat pizza.

(The kids shout. Let's assume Italy/Pizza wins).

PUDDLES

(Disappointed)

Pizza? Really? Hmm... I feel like the audience isn't being creative today.

(Looks at the Adventurer)

I'm vetoing their ending. I'm going to tell you what really happened. The "Director's Cut".

(Light change. Exaggerated romantic music).

PUDDLES

Actually... the Adventurer Duck and I looked into each other's eyes and realized we didn't want to travel... we wanted to love each other.

(The Adventurer approaches and holds his "wing" romantically).

ADVENTURER DUCK: You are the wind beneath my wings, bro.

PUDDLES

And the Snobby Duck... he had the most radical transformation.

(THE SNOBBY DUCK enters. Wears a headband, hippie clothes and smells a flower).

SNOBBY DUCK

Peace and love, brothers. I gave up my material possessions. I joined the sect of the "Ducks of Eternal Return" and now I'm going to explore outer space.

(Points to the sky)

Here comes my ride! It's a comet piloted by a billionaire duck who wants to colonize Mars. Let's go, Elon Duck!

WISE DUCK

Safe trip! Say hi to the Martians and bring me a fridge magnet!

(Puddles incites the audience to boo: "Boooo! Gross!").

PUDDLES

(Reacts to the boos, breaking the magic)

Oh, okay! Such temper! It was a joke! It was an "experimental phase"!

(To the audience)

You're right, that ending was awful! Forget the romance and the comet.

SNOBBY DUCK

(Takes off the hippie headband and recovers his posh posture)

Like, yeah, how embarrassing. I would never get on a rocket without business class.

PUDDLES

Back to the original plan. You win! We're going to Italy!

(Cheerful Italian tarantella music).

WISE DUCK

Italy? Perfect! I always wanted to see the Leaning Tower of Pizza... I mean Pisa.

Do they sell pepperoni pizza? Pony pizza? Baloney pizza?

PUDDLES

Pizza with whatever you want! Arrivederci, friends! Remember: it doesn't matter if you are a duck, an actor, or an onion... the important thing is to have fun.

ALL

(In unison)

QUACK!  ¡Cui Cui! ¡Cui Cui! ¡Cui Cui!

(CURTAIN - OR FINAL BLACKOUT)

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