Frank and Jo in "Scalpels and Lung Tissue."

starring

FRANK and JO

featuring

A CHEERY RECEPTIONIST

A NURSE

and

VARIOUS VOICES

- - - - - - - -

Scene 1: Interior of a car in a hospital parking lot. FRANK and JO sit in the car, JO at the wheel. She turns off the ignition. The engine coughs and dies.

JO: We're way early. Want to just sit here for a while? It's a nice day.

FRANK: Yeah, nice for people who aren't about to have razor-sharp knives jammed into their lungs.

JO: Sweetie, it's a biopsy, not a murder. They just stick a tube down your throat--

FRANK: Tube. Down throat.

JO: They just take some pictures and a tiny tissue sample. You'll be knocked out through the whole thing. 

FRANK: Actually, I'm starting to see a great benefit of being totally unconscious.

JO: No pain?

FRANK: No. The great thing is that if I die unconscious on the table, I won't know about it. Sure, it'll probably suck for you, but me? I'll never know.

JO: You can't be sure of that; we don't really know how it works.

(Short pause.)

FRANK: Are you suggesting that Satan may have visiting privileges in this hospital?

- - - - - - - -

Scene 2: Hospital reception area. FRANK and JO stand before a desk, behind which the CHEERY RECEPTIONIST is typing at a computer. She stops typing and looks up.

RECEPTIONIST: You're all set, Mr. Mullen. You two can take a seat by the window, and someone will come get you.

FRANK: Yeah, so they can stick knives into my lungs, knives that are so sharp you could throw a Kleenex in the air and slice it into twelve pieces before it even--

JO: Sweetie...

RECEPTIONIST: O-o-o-kay. Well, it looks like a pleasant day out there. Somebody told me it's, like, in the fifties out there!

FRANK: Yeah, when we drove in, I saw Elvis standing on the corner.

(Short pause.)

FRANK: (Cont'd) The fifties?...Elvis?

- - - - - - - -

Scene 3: Prep room. FRANK lies on a gurney in a hospital gown. Various needles embedded in his flesh are securely taped to his limbs. JO stands at his side, holding his hand. Various people are occasionally seen passing the open door. 

JO: Are you comfy?

FRANK: As comfy as you can be when you're half-naked and strangers walking by can look up your dress.

NURSE enters.

NURSE: The anesthesiologist is waiting for you, and the doctor is on his way. 

FRANK: Yeah, to stick razor-sharp--

JO: It's time to go, Sweetie.

(NURSE starts pushing the gurney towards the door.)

NURSE: If you two have anything to say to each other, now's the time. 

(JO leans down and kisses FRANK.)

JO: I love you.

FRANK: Tell Charlene that even at the end, I never forgave her.

(NURSE looks at JO. JO rolls her eyes.)

- - - - - - - -

Scene 4: Dark, formless void. Vague shapes move about. Faint, indistinct female voices gradually become clear.

VOICE 1: Is he awake yet?

VOICE 2: I'll check. Sir, can you hear me?

FRANK: The night is like a lovely tune.

VOICE 2: Excuse me?

FRANK: Beware, My Foolish Heart.

VOICE 1: What's he saying?

VOICE 2: Not sure. Sir?

FRANK: How white, the ever-constant moon, take care, My Foolish Heart.

VOICE 2: Should we call the anesthesiologist?

FRANK: Her lips are much too close to mine.

(The curtain slowly falls.)

VOICE 2: You're sure?

FRANK: For this time it isn't fascination or a dream that will fade and fall apart.

VOICE 1: Don't worry, they get like this sometimes.

FRANK: It's love this time, it's love, My Fo-o-o-lish Hea-a-a-rt.

--- END ---

I, Olympian

I only got on base once; thereafter,
my team nickname was "H.P."
("Hit by Pitch.")

 As the world's greatest athletes gather in Tokyo for a few weeks of spirited competition, I address all those who, throughout my life, have mocked my athletic inabilities and limited physical prowess. 

To the Sea Cliff Elementary School kids, who always picked me last when forming kickball teams ("You take him; we took Nanette"); 

To Mr. Keller, the Little League coach, who kept me on the roster as "pinch-hitter," telling me to be ready to bat at at a moment's notice--and I'm still waiting for that moment;

To Boot Camp Company Commander Thomas Mikus, who punished me for my inability to do pushups by ordering me to do more pushups;

To my superiors and peers in the Navy, who, for 13 years, assigned me minimal scores at physical fitness tests, deriding me as a lazy SOB, who launched whispering campaigns accusing me of doing "girl" sit-ups;

Now Hear This:

Be it known that I, Frank Mullen III, am the product of a great athletic lineage. My grandfather, Frank Aloysius Mullen, competed on swimming and diving teams of the City College of New York and the New York Athletic Club. Early 20th-century sports editors of metropolitan newspapers tried to outdo each other in vividly glorifying the accomplishments of the Pride of New York Waters. 

The man who started it all, in whose
footsteps I humbly follow.

But New York could not contain him.

Frank Aloysius Mullen's physical prowess and competitive nature followed him into the Navy, wherein he dominated fleet athletic competitions to the point where--get ready now, because we're coming to the point of all this noise--they issued him orders to compete in the Olympics.

And, in 1920, it came to pass that Frank Aloysius Mullen represented the United States in the Summer Olympics in Antwerp, Belgium.

His heritage is my heritage, his blood, mine, pulsing through my veins with the same vigor as it did his. It is Olympic blood, the blood of a champion whose accomplishments were born in New York harbors and burnished in Belgian pools.

Hear me now, and heed me well: I am an Olympian. You insult me, you insult the spirit of the Olympics.

Have I made myself clear?

 

Frank and Jo in "Dick's."

Dick's

starring

Frank and Jo 

Scene: FRANK is sitting in the living room. JO enters, talking on the phone. 

JO: I love you too, Nicholas. Good luck on your new job. (She disconnects.) 

FRANK: What's up? 

JO: Our oldest grandchild has a summer job. 

FRANK: Where? 

JO: Dick's. 

FRANK: What's "Dick's?" 

JO: A sporting goods store. You've been there. 

FRANK: I've never been to Dick's. 

JO: Yes, you have. We went together. 

FRANK: Where is this Dick's you claim I have been to? 

JO: It's a chain; they're everywhere. 

FRANK: And which link in this chain of Dick's did we allegedly visit? 

JO: I'm not sure. The one in the Quad Cities, or maybe when we were in Denver. 

FRANK: I have absolutely no knowledge of any of these Dick's, and, further, I categorically deny having been inside either of these Dick's. 

JO: I was looking for a Cardinals baseball cap. You were stomping around the store, complaining. It's a big place, with camping stuff, and hunting stuff. How can you possibly not remember this? 

FRANK: I will now speak as plainly as I possibly can: I. Don't. Know. Jack. About. Dick's. 

(FRANK slides of his chair and collapses on the floor in a fit of laughter. Finally, he manages to drag himself to his knees.) 

JO: So, is this going to wind up on the internet? 

Curtain  

I Become Seriously Anthologized

Serious, serious, serious.

MWC press announced today that it has chosen my essay, Cancel Culture: A Pandiary, for inclusion in the anthology, These Interesting Times, scheduled for publication later this year.

This sounds pretty serious, and, in a way, it is. MWC Press, the publishing arm of the Midwest Writing Center, Rock Island, Ill., is a serious publisher. The call for submissions was a serious request for essays and poems about dealing with life during 2020. Serious, serious, serious. 

So, I took it seriously. The experience challenged me to write in a longer form than my typical fast-attack humor, and to refrain from treating text as, basically, connective tissue between punch lines 

So, my work will appear in an "anthology," a serious word if ever there was one. I can't wait to work it into my brag sheet. ("Frank's work has been anthologized in...)

Geez, that does sound serious.

COVID-19 Theater Presents Frank and Jo in "Stop Doing That"

COVID-19 Theater 

Presents

Stop Doing That

A Play in One Short Scene

by 

Frank Mullen III

Starring the Author and His Wife as Themselves

Setting: Dining room.

Time: Evening, Day 16 of quarantine.

Frank and Jo are sitting quietly at the table after having finished their meal.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Jo: Stop doing that.

Frank: Doing what?

Jo: That thing.

Frank: What thing?

Jo: That thing you're doing.

Frank: I'm not doing anything.

Jo: I hear you doing something.

Frank: So, it's a sound?

Jo: Over and over.

Frank: All I'm doing over and over is talking. Because you keep telling me to stop doing something and I have to explain that I'm not doing anything. Except talking.

Jo: No, it's not your talking

Frank: Breathing? You want me to stop breathing?

Jo: No, it's like scratching.

Frank: Is it this?

Jo: That's it. What are you doing?

Frank: Kinda scratching the leg of my jeans with my fingernail.

Jo: So, that's what you've been doing?

Frank: I guess.

Jo: Stop doing that.

Frank: Scratching the leg of my jeans with my fingernail isn't doing anything.

Jo: Obviously, it is.

Frank: No. Scratching the leg of my jeans with my fingernail is what I do when I'm not doing anything. Like right now.

Jo: Well, please stop doing that thing you do when you're not doing anything.

Frank: Jesus. Crap.

Jo: Stop doing that.

- - - - - - - - Curtain - - - - - - - -