I've done the following as a stand-up piece. Hipsters howl. Lame-o's stare preplexed. I deliver it slowly, methodically, with lots of eye-contact and a calming, serene, guiding voice. Except where I'm obviously yelling, of course. Enjoy.
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All right, I think everyone's a little tired. A little careworn. A little frayed. And we're looking at the juncture between Robert's thumb and forefinger and we're relaxing. Deep breath IN. Deep breath OUT. Good, good.
Notice where we carry our tension. In our jaws? In our spines? In our ding-dongs and pee-pees? Let that tension pass, like a state trooper on the highway. And IN. And OUT.
You whack away the cares of the day like golf balls from a sand trap. You fry and crackle your worries like moths in a bug zapper. Your mind is a bug zapper drenched in honey. GZZZ! GZZ-GZZZZ!
We're breathing. Robert's holding you. You're safe.
And SWOOOOOOOOOOSH! We're airborne, as though on the Macy's Thanksgiving parade Underdog balloon. Isn't that pleasurable? And Robert's wearing his stretchy purple unitard which arouses you, and you feel a freeing desire for his supple, knife-like body. He's a fatherly figure, a yogi.
You feel Robert's hand on your back and now it steals lower, lower, and lightly cups your left buttock and comes back up. You laugh. You want it there, don’t you? And Robert makes a deeper, more aggressive grab—you giggle, you think it's playful; he's a source, a guru, he's NOT hurting you, he's nourishing you, he's stimulating you.
You want to touch the stamen of Robert's healing flower. Go on. Touch it. AH! But when you attempt to grip and manipulate Robert's stamen, he deflects your clumsy efforts. You bad, bad child!
And now Robert's chasing you! He tackles and mounts you quickly but then runs away—you chase him, but he's too fast for you to catch! Look at him skip away through the purple prairie! Ahhh, he’s beautiful! That physique! What a fine specimen! His muscular back forms a perfect, rippling "V"!
And suddenly everyone in the room is revolving together on a giant inner tube in a pretty pond. What FUN! We laugh as we feel the water pulse into and out of every orifice. In and out. From me ... into you ... into him ... into her, fluids intermingling freely, healthily, cleansing and rejuvenating us in a hhhh-omeopathic way.
Oh! But what's that! Through the scrub weeds there! A DEER! And right behind the deer—a prodigiously genitalia'd naked hunter ... who's now CHASING THE DEER AROUND AND AROUND THE POND, AND—OH MY GOD!—THE HUNTER TACKLES THE DEER AND TEARS INTO ITS THROAT WITH HIS FANGS AND SCURRIES BACK INTO THE TREACHEROUS SCRUB WEEDS!
OH, YE NUDEST OF PREDATORS! DEFILER OF BEAUTY!!! COWARDLY, UNCLAD VILLAIN!!! NEMESIS! BAAAAAAIN!!!!
Ah, but what's that? A cooing and gurgling on the opposite shore! It's a BABY. Awwwww! It's YOU as a baby! Full of hopes and dreams and baby food!
But what's this? Why is baby-you crawling into the pond? You're too young to swim!
OH MY GOD, BABY-YOU IS DROWNING!!!! THAT WAS SO QUICK! THAT'S TWO CORPSES NOW FLOATING ON OPPOSITE SIDES OF THE FOUL POND! A MANGLED DEER CARCASS AND WATER-PUFFY, BLOATED BABY-YOU! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
And as you paddle to shore to dry yourself—crying, panting, drained and helpless on the spongy sand—Robert comforts you by reaching into your body to massage your organs, one by one. Now your spleen, now your pancreas, now your left kidney.
And you are healed, my child.
And we drift away from the pond with its bloody, twitching, just-dead deer and wee, lifeless, blue, bobbing baby-you. And when you wake in a few moments you'll be back in the company of the most visionary comic mind of the infant millennium, Robert Buscemi.
And 3-2-1 we're a-WAKE! [*SNAP!*]
