Video Game - Jason

On the writing

The prospect of writing an ode I found a little daunting.  Many of them are quite long, some have very specific rhythms.  All in all, it seemed this would make for hard work.  To ease this a little bit I used Keats, Ode to a Nightingale as my model, because he is a little freer with the rhythm.  Note of interest, before this writing, Keats was on my list of poets I greatly dislike.  Anyway, I have tried to imitate his style, although there are parts is is pretty far off, in this my Ode to Pac-Man.

OK, one more quick note.  The rhyme structure in this is ABAB CDECDE, so it helps get the sound down if you try to read it stringing them like this: AB-AB-CDE-CDE.  It is going to sound wrong, until you get the feel of that.  Sorry, now back to the poem.

Ode to Pac-Man

Toru Iwatani at Namco thinks
Sixteen colored thoughts in eight bit design.
From his shell white cup, he tea drinks
While his mind escapes Japan of ‘79.
O for the release of the one called Cutie Q,
So his head could unlock the brand new plot
of side to side ships or swinging through trees;
Unsure of what to do.
Only so much could be done with a dot
But drawing on parchment provided his ease.

O, for a clear direction! He was lost
in labyrinthine hopes and the sudden end.
Perhaps this nightmare was not the cost
but divine inspiration to which his will would bend.
Oh how his twisted thoughts became the electric lair
Where blue walls force choices of left and right
And then the mighty stage was given birth;
Creator became player.
Image upon image revealed a maze-bound fight
Where lighted treasure and dark escape gave mirth.

Fading dreams of serpentine halls seemed broken
And incomplete without some lurking creature.
The joy of conquest was what drew the token
So, Toru knew he would have to add this feature.
Each foe unique, some slower, some quicker
Protecting their treasure until the hero dies,
A single touch destroys and on they roam
But movement caused a flicker.
So goblins turn to colored haunts with rolling eyes;
Blinky, Pinky, Inky and Clyde, were home.

Pakku! Pakku! For I will so name thee,
Named not for strength, but sounds of slapping lips.
A hero with a flaw, not greed but gluttony
And his food would spend a lifetime on the hips.
Withdrawal that last line by the absence of leg
For the rendering must not take an Hour;
His completed form, a bright yellow puck
Just a mouth which will beg.
No maiden to save, just pellets of power
And fruit from no tree which to pluck.

Envision the gameplay for our shining hero
And how the specters give chase in the maze.
Player controlling, building points from zero
Clearing the pac dots while onlookers praise.
Choose up, no down, like a creature wild
Consuming the all until everything changes
And Clyde alters hue and then tries to leave,
A startled blue child.
With no new tool the eater’s diet arranges
For something of ether and pride to retrieve.

Fan bases endure for only a time
While waiting for shiny, new, hotness revealed.
Critics remarked it was simply sublime
To young player and old it appealed.
Success propelled the character into air
And free of normal constraint. To cereal
And toys, cartoons played morning and night
To live a life that was rare.
In my heart he remains ethereal,
Beyond expectations for a canary sprite.

So they gathered together in might hordes
To see who was the best of the best.
They stood before cabinets, eating dots they adored
So at the end one could beat on their chest.
Billy became first to a perfect game
In ‘99 with an American tie
While the other competitors fell away
The title was his to claim,
Toru was just a developer guy
But it was Pac-man who carried the day.

Forlorn! The feeling one gets when all is gone
And mazy meals fade to phantasmagoria.
When the next quarter can only elicit a yawn
as victory fails to bring euphoria.
Adieu! Adieu! As under winter shades
Which cause mankind to often wander south,
But Pakku sees cars and guns that can
Bring light to dim arcades.
What hope remains when limited to a mouth?
None! Until Bad Dudes becomes Ms. Pac-Man!

Video Game Justin

About the writing

I based the form of this week’s ode to a video game on Percy Bysshe Shelley’s Ode to the West Wind. Wikipedia Says it is written in iambic pentameter but the syllable count in Shelley’s first line is twelve instead of ten, so, Wikipedia is wrong and I was more free with the meter. It also has an interlocking rhyme structure within the sections, but unless you have pronunciation far different from mine, you will have difficulty rhyming “thou” with “low” or “where” with “hear.” I, however, knowing that you readers are memorizing these poems for recitations at dinner parties over cognac, have made rhymes that actually do rhyme. Not to say that I am a better poet than Mr. Shelley nor that this poem is superior to his, but I would understand if you were to think so. This poem, like the one it is based on, is written in five sections. I used each section to describe something different related to the game. I played heavily with alliteration (which is something I do not typically do,) and some internal rhymes. I also spent longer looking at punctuation than I normally do with a poem. Rhythm is intentionally choppy in places for effect. For those not knowing, Need for Speed is a series of racing video games of which I used imagery from more than one. The theme is (hopefully) obviously escapism.I like the juxtaposition of fine art form with the somewhat trivial subject matter. I really enjoyed using this form.

And, since I got so many comments about last week’s font discussion, I will tell you that I used Book Antiqua as the poetry just looked right in it.
(Editor's Note: Book Antiqua was not supported by this blog, so I could not reproduce it for your enjoyment.)

Ode to Need for Speed

I
The power pressed, I take my seat to drive;
To play the part real life will not permit.
I race to breath; I race to feel alive.

This day, like those before, has been a pit.
I need escape from mundane dreary gloom.
Black screen awakens now with image lit.

In driver’s seat (blue couch in living room,)
Uncoiling the controller’s cord with care,
Ready to be free and off to zoom.

And now the music bursts into the air;
Thumping bass to make the pulse to quick.
Options for the game on bright screen blare.

Control is mine to highlight and pick
Worlds at the beckoning of a click.

II
City streets or perilous mountain roads
(I make my choice of pixel painted scene ;)
A desert route where red rock form erodes.

Revving wrecks the rest of glade of green
Or breaks the still of alpine meadow hush.
Tires sliding snake through snow serene.

An engine echoes in the forest lush;
Rubber squeals on quiet country lane;
Fenders scrape untidy roadside brush.

I color scenes in twilight and with rain
(Selecting from a menu at my will ;)
Escaping from reality’s mundane.

In racing tracks demanding of my skill,
My racing mind will find a place of still

III
Driving cars my wealth will not allow,
Painted bright and styled to impress
Virtual fans who cheer me as I wow.

A hot red roadster careening curves caress;
A yellow F1 sticking to the banks;
All express the fullness of excess.

Spoilers over trunks with nitro tanks;
Stripes and decals over panel’s shine;
Styling wilder as I climb the ranks.

Reality says these cars cannot be mine,
(And some only exist inside the game)
Yet I thrill to hear the engines whine.

These chariots that bring me to faux fame,
Virtual trophies engraved with my faux name.

IV
Selections made, the race is set to start,
My chosen setting flashing on the screen,
My chariot’s cockpit quickens pounding heart.

The countdown - three, two, one - the light turns green.
Jamming thumb down hard the tires spin:
Full gas or full brake, nothing in between

Now pushing, tapping, weaving I begin
Overtaking, making certain not to crash;
For each inch fighting, grappling for each win.

Forward moving to the front I dash.
The race is mine if I can hold the lead;
First lap down, four more to win the sash.

I feel the tension of the day out bleed
As the need is met, the Need for Speed.

V
An obstacle comes now to halt my fun:
Policemen whom my driving does offend,
Intentions bent to end my reckless run,

Waiting up ahead to apprehend
(Radar revealing risks outside my sight ;)
If I cannot break through my race will end.

Daunting digital danger does excite.
Pushing hard I can’t afford a crash.
Leaning forward preparing for the fight.

Now I see blue and red lights flash
At roadblock there to make my racing done
With spike-strips laid out for my tires to slash.

But artificial cops can’t stop my fun;
Racing under the artificial sun

Letter - Jason

On the writing

I don’t exactly know why, but Shelly has been with me all week. I have held it together on the outside, but just below the surface I have been a bundle of emotions. To paraphrase Dr. Banner, “That’s my secret, I’m always sad.” It feels pathetic, but that is where I am. Anyway, what that means for the writing this week is the formality portion of the letter has slipped. I hope you will forgive me. Also, I am alive and well in this piece, not the image of who I want you to see, or who I want to be, or my best self, but me. I am sure most of you would have figured that out without being told, but I wanted you to know.

Little Spruce

Dear Little Spruce,

I know you can not possibly understand the reason for your pain, the wrongs that have been endured. I don’t have the guilt you probably think I should, If you even conceive of my existence. What I do have, though, is compassion. Love. Everything I have done is because I care for you so deeply.

You never imagined how I watched you as you grew surrounded by your family, swaying as the cool winds blew across the northern slope. It was almost as if you leaned into the laughs of children rising up from the small village below. Such joy. You were beautiful, so full of potential and strength. It was winter, just after the first dusting of snow. Early morning. You imagined the spring when your pine cones would bud as the edge of my saw made the first cut. I remember the sap weeping, uncontrolled, down the bark. When your confusion ended with the realization that spring would never come, it was my eyes that filled with tears.

To you I am certain my methods seem crude or even cruel, but you need to know that they are not. I can not deny that I cut you down, that I pulled you from your beautiful mountain top, away from your family, away from your village. I know I caused you to contemplate what you had done, why it would be you who was punished. Nothing. What you don’t see is the precision of every cut, even the time is chosen in the cool months to make for perfect aging. I cut you on the quarter for strength and into perfectly sized billets to be dried. This was never to punish you, but to craft you into something more, something it would be hard for you to grasp. It will be at least ten years before the next step is ready to begin.

Please, Little Spruce, don’t hate me. Let me try, as best as I can, to explain.

At this moment I would understand if you could only see me as the destroyer of families and the murderer of trees, but this is dwelling on just one hard moment. If you could step back you would see there is so much more. I am a sculptor and engineer, tool and varnish maker, musician and acoustician. I bring to life the new and restore the damaged. Yes, there is pain and loss in my work, but it is the only way. I too hate the saw, but it is not the craftsman’s fault.

I will use my rare talent on you to sculpt an instrument which is both hard and delicate. One that sings with mystery. You will be made in the model of ancient and priceless samples that have come before you. This will allow you to speak in your own voice, but with a timeless tone. Drying as you are, in the dark, you can’t see the concerts you will play or the way you will be sought after. As beautiful as you were as a tree, you were meant for so much more.

Long before this sad moment I prepared for you. I kept a set of specialized tools: knives and plane irons, chisels and gouges. I maintained their razor sharp edges. I would not use anything less than the best on you. I even carefully crafted the varnish which would be applied. I purified and bleached them in the sun. I cooked together and mixed the exact resins which were needed. While I slept at night, I dreamed of the perfect application to bring out all of your natural beauty. You needed to look as perfect as you would sound. Every element would make me proud to have my name upon you.

I imagine how the sounds caused by the bow on your strings will bounce around your body and fill the concert hall. Every hidden modification and improvement I will make within you is to bring your voice to life. Rich and with carrying power. Easy on the player’s ear. Enticing for the audience. See, Little Spruce, in my heart you are not a damaged tree, but my child. To me you are already the instrument you will become.

I know a tree is not a musician and not a violin maker. So, you long for your mountain. You blame me for your pain. You ask what you had done, why I could not take the oak or the pine. You even wonder why you could not have stayed just a little longer. Heard the child’s laugh one more time. I can not stay your grief.

What you need to know is you are not the first and will not be the last instrument I will craft. There may be a moment when you will step onto the stage and give your new voice alone, but that is not your greatest purpose. See that family that has passed before you, those that have too been crafted, wait for you on that stage. There is an orchestra filled with violins and cellos, violas and basses all of which I have crafted to sing together. They wait on that stage for you now. They cheered at your selection. They wait to be reunited with you. You see, Little Spruce, I cry at the pain you must endure, but I can not feel guilt because I know what you will become.

I tell you all of this not so you will understand. How could you? Especially now, so overcome by loss. I tell you all of this to bring you hope. Please, Little Spruce, trust me. It is ok to long for all that you no longer have, but have faith that this old craftsman loves you and wants the best for you.

With love from seed until stage,
The Instrument Maker

Letter - Justin

About the writing

The assignment this week was a result of an incompatibility between theme and style in the selection process. The result was that Jason fully selected the assignment. I like the idea, but if you think it’s stupid, remember, Jason picked it.

Assigned to write a formal letter to a non-human, I immediately thought of addressing common computer frustrations addressing the computer as an employee from its manager. By the way, I do know it’s possible to run ITunes on Linux, but it is a royal pain. Feel free not to comment technical suggestions. Needless to say, this is inspired by true events. However, when my computer is dragging, my response to it is neither formal nor polite.

For format I selected the block form of a formal letter and though I usually write in Calibri, Garamond, or for very special purposes Copperplate Gothic, in this case I thought the font should be Times New Roman it just seems appropriately business like.

Formal Letter to my Computer

Salt Lake City, Utah

February 18, 2016

Mr. Dell
Office Administrator and Research Assistant
J. S. Smith and Associates
127.0.0.1

Dear Mr. Dell

I am writing to you today to address some issues that I have been having with your time management and prioritization.  Firstly, let me say that in general I have been most happy with your performance. You have done wonderfully in helping Mr. ITunes coordinate media files without which my mental and emotional wellbeing would be in jeopardy. You have also been excellent in assisting the gathering of resources in order to answer general queries about almost anything, retaining notes on current projects, and accessing the most ridiculous videos YouTube has to offer. I am aware that you do not work alone in any of these endeavors, but you should know that I am also aware that you are the lynchpin in accomplishing these and much more.

My concern though was alerted when I asked you to open Word so that we could do a bit of writing and it took a good two minutes to accomplish this task. Other similarly simple tasks have also taken much more time than acceptable and, not wanting to alarm you with my concerns, I started looking into the problem myself. I hope you understand that my probes were out of concern for your health and for the stability of our working relationship and not with intention of digging into your personal life.
 
What I have found is that when I have booted you in order to work on a specific task (as is my prerogative being both your manager and caretaker) you have been discretely working on someone else’s agenda in the background, making you slow in responding to simple requests. While I have been waiting, it seems you are communicating with Microsoft Update using a massive amount of resources. Resources that should be used, at least primarily, to attend to my requests.

I know that self-improvement is very important to you and that Microsoft Update is essential in this function. I also know that Windows is what helps you keep everything working in harmony most of the time. However, I cannot allow the majority of your energy going to updating your operating system while I sit and wait for a Rhett and Link video to stop buffering. I was so upset when I found out that it was Mr. Microsoft stealing your focus that I considered switching you to Linux. But, whereas Office Libre is a reasonable substitute for Microsoft Office, there is no reasonable substitute for ITunes and Apple has not made a version for Ubuntu or CentOS 7. So we will be sticking with Windows for now, but with some changes in the arrangement.

Here is what I have now put in place: I have disabled automatic updates from Mr. Microsoft. I am sure this will be somewhat distressing to you, but, I assure you, it is for the best. I will designate time weekly for updates that I will oversee personally. I value your dedication to self-improvement and do not want, to discourage you from continuing to update your operating, but it must be done on my time table.  You need to remember that no matter how important Windows may be, I am the boss in this situation, not Mr. Microsoft, regardless of his differing thoughts on the matter. I have allowed Mr. McAfee to continue updating as he sees fit as he is usually manages to be unobtrusive and, in agreement with myself, is fully dedicated to your health and safety.

I hope you will find satisfaction in this new arrangement. I want to make sure you know that this is not a disciplinary letter. You have helped me find work, do work, catalogue family memories and prepare Sunday school lessons. You are a highly valued member of the team. I know I have shifted many of your previous day to day items to small portable devices, but there are some things that they will never be able to accomplish that you do wonderfully when your attention is not divided.

I look forward to continuing a rewarding relationship. If all goes well, we may resume consideration of your desire to upgrade to Windows 10, but I currently have some issues with Mr. Microsoft and I think we need to more fully examine the pros and cons of this change. As you are already documenting this letter, I will be sending it to the home address.

Sincerely,
J. S. Smith
Director

Fiasco - Jason

On the writing

This was a pretty fun, but challenging assignment this week.  The charge was to do a Dr. Seuss style story which resulted in a fiasco.  I started with the idea of a pet rescue which went completely wrong, but as the story unfolded it become something a bit different.  In order to appreciate this poem as I have, you might need to imagine the book.  This Satire of Green Eggs and Ham has Sam replaced with a very hairy, fire juggling talking dog named Dame.  The main character is one who insists he is not afraid of what might happen if you have a hairy fire juggling dog.  Just as the original, the plot in spots may be a little hard to follow (without pictures to guide you).  I hope you enjoy it anyway.

 Long Fur and Flame

I blame Dame
Dame I blame

That’s Dame I blame
That Dame I blame!
She has no fear
that Dame I blame

Do you fear
long fur and flame
I do not fear them,
Dame I blame.
I do not fear
Long fur and flame.

Would you fear them
Here or there?

I would not fear them
here or there.
I would not fear them
anywhere.
I do not fear
long fur and flame.
I do not fear them,
Dame I blame

Would you fear them
in a house?
Would you fear them
on a mouse?

I do not fear them
in a house.
I do not fear them
with a mouse.
I do not fear them
here or there.
I do not fear them
anywhere.
I do not fear long fur and flame.
I do not fear them, Dame I blame.

Would you keep them
in a box?
Would you grow them
on a fox?

Not in a box.
Not on a fox.
Not in a house.
Not on a mouse.
I would keep them here or there.
I would grow them anywhere.
I would keep long fur and flame.
I do not fear them, Dame I blame.

Would you? Could you?
in a car?
Keep them! Grow them!
Here they are.

I would not,
burn not,
in a car

You may fear them.
You will see.
You may fear them
in a tree?

I would not, could not in a tree.
Not in a car! You let me be.
I do not fear them in a box.
I do not fear them on a fox
I do not fear them in a house
I do not fear them on a mouse
I do not fear them here or there.
I do not fear them anywhere.
I do not fear long fur and flame.
I do not fear them, Dame I blame.

A blaze! A blaze!
A blaze! A blaze!
Could you, would you
cause a blaze?

Not a blaze! Not in a tree!
Not in a car! Dame! Let me be!
I would not, could not, in a box.
I could not, would not, on a fox.
I will not fear them on a mouse
I will not fear them in a house.
I will not fear them here or there.
I will not fear them anywhere.
I do not fear them, Dame I Blame.

Say!
With a spark?
Here with a spark!
Would you, could you, with a spark?

I would not, could not,
with a spark.

Would you, could you,
in the rain?

I would not, could not, in the rain.
Not with a spark. Not on a train,
Not in a car, Not in a tree.
I do not fear them, Dame, you see.
Not in a house. Not in a box.
Not on a mouse. Not on a fox.
I will not fear them here or there.
I do not fear them anywhere!

You do not fear
long fur and flame?

I do not
fear them,
Dame I Blame.

Could you, would you,
near a goat?

I would not,
could not.
near a goat!

Would you, could you,
by your boat?

I could not, would not, by my boat.
I will not, will not, near a goat.
I will not fear them in the rain.
I will not fear them on a train.
Not with a spark! Not near a tree!
Not in a car! You let me be!
I do not fear them in a box.
I do not fear them with a fox.
I will not fear them in a house.
I do not fear them on a mouse.
I do not fear them here or there.
I do not fear them ANYWHERE!

I do not fear
long fur
and flame.

I do not fear them,
Dame I Blame.

You do not fear them.
SO you say.
Mix them! Mix them!
And you may.
Mix them and you may I say.

Dame!
If you run carelessly,
You will burn them.
You will see.

No!
You mixed long fur and flame!
Don’t run! I fear them, Dame I Blame!
And you ran beneath my boat!
And then you set alight a goat...
And burn you did, through the rain.
And in the dark blew up a train.
And then a car. And then a tree.
They burned so quick, so disastrously!

So I see fire burning a box.
And I see fire immolating a fox.
And I see fire in my house.
And I see fire cook a mouse.
And I see fire here and there.
Look! I see fire EVERYWHERE!

I do so fear
long fur and flame!
Fiasco!
Fiasco!
Dame I Blame.

Fiasco - Justin

About the Writing

This was a lot of fun. For story inspiration I went with a Woody Allen short story about Count Dracula accidentally going out in midday because of an eclipse. For form inspiration, I hope you can see what I went with. The style was fun and I think it works with the idea of fiasco. The issue I see is Seuss manages to get fuller ideas into these silly poems, whether through added length or through illustrations. So it feels less fleshed out. Also, his work is all whimsy which seems like it should just happen by letting it. It does not. Whimsy is work, at least at my station in life. I hope I managed to get some in there. Looking at the overall project as a means of challenge and pushing to meet those challenges, I found this rewarding and probably worth trying again. It’s fun to mimic another person’s style, even if poorly.

The Count in the Cape

The sun did not shine
Hidden away by the moon
So they sat and they watched
The eclipse there that noon

The whole town watching
There was no need to work
All were at their homes
Watching this natural quirk

The baker and missus
Watched through their window
Not needing to bake
Or roll out the thin dough


Then something went bump!
And that bump made them jump
They Looked
They looked and they saw at their door a shape
They looked and they saw him, the count in the cape
And he said to them “why do you sit there agape?”

“I know it is late
And there’s no need for work
But you could surely do more
Then just sit there like jerks”

“There are many great things you can do in the night”
Said the count
“There are games for the dark”
Said the count in the cape
“Many good games
I can show them to you
You will like them
I’m certain you’ll like them you two.

The baker was flustered
Not sure what to say
“It is not yet night
It’s the middle of the day”

But the missus said “Count
What a strange thing to say
To arrive here at noon on
The full eclipse day.
To come here all dressed
Like you’re going to a ball
And pretend you know nothing
About it at all.”

“Have no fear” said the count
Said the count in the cape
“My mind is not gone
Tis all still ship-shape”
But looking with worry
At the ring round the moon
“Let’s play a game called
Hide in the closet of broom”

They were shocked then to see
This man run inside
Of their janitor’s closet
Intending to hide

“How strange” said the missus
“How strange” said the man
To have the land’s lord
Tucked away with the dustpan
He should not be there
In the back of their shop
He should not be there
All shut up with their mop

“Come out” said the baker
“You should be our guest
You hiding in the closet
Has my missus distressed”

“I’m fine” said the count
“I don’t mind the must
I’ll just stay here in quiet
Waiting for dusk
It seems I came early
That was my err
Just go on with your business
Pretend I’m not there”

“Get him out” said the wife
“Get him out of the closet
Whatever the reason
Whatever has caused it
We can’t go through the day
With him hiding in there
The count in the cape
This is really quite rare”

“My dear count” said the man
“You must come out, I insist
The day has come back
You have missed the eclipse
We can’t work here pretending
You’re not in there hiding
A broom closet is not where
You should be abiding”

He then grabbed the door
And opened it up in a flash
No Count in the Cape there
Just a pile of ash.

Trump - Justin

About the writing
The idea of a 5 minute play about Donald Trump was exciting. I thought I could pull some quotes and place them into a conversation and have comedy gold. The problem is people stopped laughing a while ago and while I can piece together some nice zingers there is a line where it just becomes mean or preachy. This was hard. In the end, the worst stuff that my character Trump says was said by the actual Trump. So if it remains mean it’s because my coauthor is a narcissistic douche bag that has a nearly constant stream of thought devoid verbal diarrhea flowing from his mouth which seems to only be further encouraged by his large group of followers who admire his honesty not realizing that it is really not a virtue if you are honestly just an ass. So, is it funny? That’s up to you. Is it a five minute play? Probably more of a 2 minute sketch. Maybe a swing and a miss, but that’s going to happen with these weekly writing assignments. I actually like it. It is nothing like what I had hoped for when it was assigned, but I think its ok.

INTERVIEW WITH TRUMP: a short play
Some people are saying that your brash shoot from the hip style might alienate voters; what do you think?
DT:​Alienate voters? Are you crazy? I could stand in the middle of 5th avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn't lose voters.
Some people might hear that as you calling your supporters dumb; like they would rather have a public murderer than a Washington insider.
DT:​No, I’m saying they’re so smart that they wouldn’t let a little thing like murder get in the way of them electing the greatest candidate in American history. Me. I the biggest thing they’ve ever seen.
Yes, I think lots of people think you are the biggest “thing” they’ve ever seen, but are you concerned that you might be pushing away some of the republican power brokers and jeopardizing future campaign contributions?
DT:​I don’t need anybody’s money. I’m using my own money. I’m not using the lobbyists. I’m not using donors. I don’t care. I’m really rich. That’s one of the great things about me is I’m really rich.
Om the other side of it, are you afraid that the working class might find you not relatable like they did Romney?
DT: You know why Romney was not relatable? He was too freakin’ nice; it was like having a freakin’ Osmond running for president. Remember when Dubya got caught on the mic calling that reporter an asshole? That’s what it takes, Romney wasn’t relatable because you couldn’t imagine him calling a reporter something even if they deserved it. I’m not afraid to call someone an asshole.
Or pig, dog, disgusting, you definitely don’t hold back even when what you say could be considered racist
DT:​What the hell do you mean by that? I am the least racist person there is. And I think most people that know me would tell you that. I am the least racist.
So you would hire an Hispanic as an office manager or an African-American as an accountant?
DT:​Black guys counting my money! I hate it. The only kind of people I want counting my money are short guys that wear yarmulkes every day.
You don’t think that’s racist that you don’t want “black guys” counting your money?
DT:​Always with the gotchas. Look, Donald Trump only hires the best in his organization and the Jews are best with money; it has nothing to do with being anti-black. I have a great relationship with the blacks. I’ve always had a great relationship with the blacks. But everybody knows the best accountants are Jews.
Right even Hitler knew the Jews were good with money. What about the accusation that you’re anti-women are you afraid you may have trouble getting the female vote?
DT:​I don’t have a problem getting women to like me; women love me. All of the women on The Apprentice flirted with me—consciously or unconsciously. Women love me, really I don’t have a problem with women. I mean how could someone with such a problem with women have been married three times? I think the only difference between me and the other candidates is that I'm more honest and my women are more beautiful. I love women; women love me. Is this the crap you wanted to interview me about? Women and race baiting? How about some issues?
Ok. A lot of your critics say you have no experience in foreign policy and we can’t afford to have someone learning on the job, how do you answer that?
DT:​What do these experienced guys get us? When was the last time anybody saw us beating, let’s say, China in a trade deal? They kill us. I beat China all the time. I’ll tell you what else, I would take care of immigration. I will build a great wall – and nobody builds walls better than me, believe me —and I'll build them very inexpensively. I will build a great, great wall on our southern border, and I will make Mexico pay for that wall. Mark my words.
You don’t think that just comes off as a lot of bravado saying you’ll make them pay for it?
DT:​No it’s not, I’m a deal maker. I’ll tell you what else, I’ll get the Latino vote. They know I’m right.
What about the Middle East? Do you have any idea what you would do with ISIS?
DT:​I do know what to do and I would know how to bring ISIS to the table or, beyond that, defeat ISIS very quickly. And I’m not gonna tell you what it is.
So we should just trust you?
DT:​It’s better for them to not know. They’ve already endorsed Hillary. They’re scared out of their minds that I’m gonna get in there and get ahold of them. They’re shaking. Trust me.
So you think you would be better than former Secretary of State Clinton in the foreign relations department?
DT: ​Not just her, everybody. And not just foreign policy, I would be better at everything. What you need to remember is one of the key problems today is that politics is such a disgrace, good people don’t go into government. All these establishment people are jokes. Good people do not go into politics.
Well, at least we can be comforted that one thing won’t change under a Trump administration.

Trump - Jason

On the writing:

This week before we ever picked a topic I already had the notion to do a 5 minutes play.  When Justin picked Trump I was pretty excited.  The idea of using this character as a character seemed ripe for the picking.  It would be fair to say my mind was racing with ideas.  The one I settled on was a dinner party with Presidents across the generations, to juxtapose this "candidate" against people who held the office.  Once that was settled on I decided that, as much as I was able, I would use these peoples own words, modify quotes to make a dialogue between them.  This had one major flaw.  Trump.  In using his own words I found him hard to make funny.  I could make him ridiculous and sometimes frightening, but not funny.  In a way, this is made worse by placing him in a room with men who are too polite to tell him he does not belong there.  All in all this made for very tough writing, which is why this is late, and I am afraid the result is not what I was hoping for.  I hope if you read it, you can find something amusing.

 

Presidential Dinner Party

Cast

Thomas Jefferson - Third President of the United States, Founding Father and Host

Abraham Lincoln - Sixteenth President of the United States, Victor of the Civil War and

Dwight D. Eisenhower - Thirty Fourth President of the United States, Supreme Commander of Allied Forces during WWII

Donald J. Trump - Candidate in 2016 Election, Businessman and Billionaire

Play

Jefferson - I have withdrawn myself from all political intermeddling, to indulge the evening of my life with what have been the passions of every portion of it, books, science, my farms, my family and friends. to these every hour of the day is now devoted.  I make but one exception, and it is this.  I have by some miracle been able to pluck, as a farmer, choice fruits, Presidents of the United States, from across time and place them, for one evening, for one grand meal, at my humble Monticello.

Lincoln - All honor to you, sir! For it was you in our time of great need, in the concrete pressure of a struggle for national independence, who had the coolness, forecast, and capacity to introduce into a merely revolutionary document an abstract truth, applicable to all men at all times, and so to embalm it there, that today, and in all coming days, it should be a rebuke and a stumbling block to the very harbingers of reappearing tyranny and oppression.  You have called us choice fruits, but I believe you sir, are the prize.

Eisenhower - As has been reported, Mr. Lincoln, you carry yourself with exceeding humility.  I was once told a story, that your friends criticized you severely for allowing a mere General to treat you quite poorly. And you said, "All I want out of General McClellan is a victory, and if to hold his horse will bring it, I will gladly hold his horse."  That is a man who understands both the importance of humility and victory.

Trump - Speaking of victory.  Let’s just say we are all here because America wants to see winning. We want to see win, win, win – constant winning.  During my four years of glory I once have a crippled woman, ugly, say to me, “Please, Mr. President, we're winning too much. We can't stand it anymore. Can't we have a loss?”  I looked in her mangled face and said, “No, we're going to keep winning, winning, winning... because we're going to make America great again.”

Jefferson - Um, can I offer you some Montepulciano. This is among my very favorite wines, with habit having rendered the light and high flavored wines a necessary of life with me.

Lincoln - I tremble to think about what you suggest, President Trump, for I have long thought that America will never be destroyed from the outside. If we falter and lose our freedoms, it will be because we destroyed ourselves.  So, how is it we came to destroy ourselves?

Trump - In a word, Mexicans and Muslims and other criminal types.  Consider it a continuation of your (to Eisenhower) Operation Wetback.  Great name.

Eisenhower - I think you misunderstand, that operation was about 1.3 million illegals, not immigrants.  The United States is born of many peoples. Our culture, our skills, our very aspirations have been shaped by immigrants and their sons and daughters.   Men of all nations and races and estates they have made us what we are.

Trump - Exactly! So, I opposed new people coming in.  All of them.  Shut the whole border down.  I wanted a wall.

Eisenhower -  Sir, I don’t think…

Lincoln - President Eisenhower, I am not sure you should be so greatly distressed.  Picking fights with Mexico has been a presidential pastime, even in my own time.  At least it seems he took only defensive action.

Trump - Now the Arabs, the Muslim problem.  I bombed those suckers.  Bombed the hell out of their oil fields.

(a bit of uncomfortable silence)

Eisenhower - President Trump, civilization, including American civilization, owes to the Islamic world some of its most important tools and achievements. From fundamental discoveries in medicine to the highest planes of astronomy, the Muslim genius has added much to the culture of all peoples. That genius has been a wellspring of science, commerce and the arts, and has provided for all of us many lessons in courage and in hospitality.

Trump - Look! Many, many, even most Muslims are wonderful people, but there is a Muslim problem.  Look what’s happening. Look what happened right here in my city with the World Trade Center and lots of other places.  It wasn’t people from Sweden who blew up the World trade Center.

Jefferson - I am alarmed here with the apprehensions of war and sincerely anxious that it could have been avoided, but not at the expense either of our faith or honor.  Would you not agree that neither Pagan nor Muslims nor Jew ought to be forced to war by the Commonwealth because of his religion?

Lincoln - To think we will be lost to bloodlust seems nearly the same as being overthrown.

Trump - I didn’t lose.  I don’t like losers.

Eisenhower - How far you can go without destroying from within what you are trying to defend from without?

Jefferson - Peace and friendship with all mankind is our wisest policy, and I wish we had the courage to pursue it.  The temper and folly of my enemies left me no choice.

Lincoln - I too have always found that mercy bears richer fruit than strict justice

Trump - Mercy doesn’t work.  It didn’t work for any of you.

Lincoln - I was unprepared to give up the Union for a peace which, so achieved, could not be of much duration.

Eisenhower - I hate war as only a soldier who has lived it can, only as one who has seen its brutality, its futility, its stupidity.  War settles nothing.

Trump - I have been successful because when somebody challenges me, I fight back.  I am brutal.  Tough.

Jefferson - Perhaps this adversarial demeanor has worked thus far, but it appears these sages of letters are advocates for a change in your position.

Trump - Why would I change?  I’ve got the hottest brand in the world.

Lincoln - I don’t think much of a man who is not wiser than he was yesterday.  I believe I have had my fill.  If you will excuse me. (exits)

Jefferson - (to himself) I am afraid this gathering might not have been as carefully executed as I had hoped.  Perhaps swapping Reagan for Trump was a bad idea.

Eisenhower - President Trump, consider this. In most communities it is illegal to cry 'fire' in a crowded assembly. Should it not be considered serious international misconduct to manufacture a general war scare in an effort to achieve local political aims?

Trump - I had to follow my gut.  Our military needed to be strengthened.  Bigger is better.

Eisenhower - Had the Russian moved ahead of us?  The Chinese?

Trump - Actually, We were number one by a long distance, but it wasn’t enough.  No one does military like I do.

Eisenhower - I can imagine.  I apologize, President Jefferson, but I too need to be excused (exits).

Trump - Well, I guess that just leaves the geniuses.  The two of us.

Jefferson - Would you care for more wine?

Trump - You have been nicer to me than with of those other two.  They were much nicer on paper than in person.

Jefferson - In truth, politeness is artificial good humor, it covers the natural want of it, and ends by rendering habitual a substitute nearly equivalent to the real virtue.

Trump - Well, thank you.

Jefferson - Perhaps we should turn to something my agreeable, like gardening or books.  Do you happen to have a favorite?

Trump - “The Art of the Deal”

Jefferson - It must be by a contemporary of yours.  I have never heard of it.

Trump - I wrote it, so you know it is one of the best.

Jefferson - (after long consideration).  I believe I am being called, please enjoy the meal in my absence. (exits)

Trump - (taste the food) I’ve had better.