A Play in Three Acts, by Janice Erlbaum
A man and a woman are in an office.
MAN: You've been kind of bitchy around the office lately, and by "lately" I mean "always since I met you." Do you need to get laid?
WOMAN: No, what I need is to stab your piggy eyes out with a pair of sharp scissors. Why don't you go back into your office and jerk off to Asian girls in bondage while totally mismanaging and squandering millions of dollars, as usual?
MAN: You're so fucking fired, you frigid cunt.
WOMAN: And I will be suing your balding, low-sperm-count-having, Asian-bondage-jerking ass right about...(looks at watch)...now.
Woman stands alone on a stage.
WOMAN: This is a story about forgiveness. This is a story about cruelty. This is a story about stories that start "this is a story." This is one of those stories. This story will not so much have a moral as it will leave you will an ineffable sense of futility, which is what you really want from a story. Futility. Accept it. ACCEPT IT! AAAAACCCCCCEEEEPPPPPTTTT IIIIIITTTTTT! Nope, still nothing. See, futile. This is a story about rage, and humiliation, and the humiliation of being in a rage. This is the love-hate story of rubber and glue, because when you hate, then a thousand hates are hated back at you, or something, and then you hate ten thousand hatey hates, and it's still futile, because there's no winning except giving up and that's not winning, that's giving up.
Man sits in front of a computer in his boxer shorts.
MAN: Uggghh...oooohh...you know, I wish I had acted differently so many times in my life. But since I can't go back and change my past actions, maybe I can make some kind of karmic amends. Maybe I can change my life for the better, and be a better human being. And I could start by acknowledging some of the things I said and did in my past, things I said and did out of fear and spite and hatred of women. Maybe I could...
Flaming asteroid bursts through wall, hits Man in testicles.
MAN: AAAAAUUUUUUGGGGGHHHH! TOOOOO LAAAAAAAAATE!