Jack was sixteen. He disliked school immensely. In fact, he had spent most of the semester trying to get booted out of school. He particularly disliked one of his teachers, Ms Andrea Warple. Ms Warple was into theatre. She was SO dramatic. She had become obsessed with the stage from the moment she had played the part of the Cannibal Queen in the local repertory society’s annual production. She got a standing ovation. Now she was an expert, and SOOOOO dramatic.
“You see, students,” she enthused to her class, “you must be born into the theatre, you must breath drama, it must become a way of life. I can teach you how from personal experience.”
With that, she set an assignment for her students. Each must write a five minute play. Each must be a character in their own play.
“And I promise you. Each play will be staged. I shall direct them myself and turn them into masterpieces. I shall act in them personally if you make me the main character — to show you how it’s done.” Her sumptuous bosom heaved a sigh of satisfaction.
Jack wrote his play and handed it in. Here it is:
The curtain opens to the sun rising over a primeval forest. A Tyrannosaurus rex enters. A Pterodactyl flies by. A passing Triceratops comes up through the audience and on to the stage. A Brachiosaurus grazes in the corner.
Ms Andrea Warple enters.
Ms Warple: Help! Help! I was in the shower and a time warp occurred. I have been flung into this prehistoric primeval forest. Has anyone seen my towel? Has anyone seen my clothes?
Jack: (pointing) Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!