Mr. Swinebottom Presents: The Author, A Librarian and A Tale of Fright (Humor)

The curtain rustles and Mr. Swinebottom sticks his head out through a parting, appearing quite abruptly. For a moment, he appears to be a floating head, his rounded spectacles flashing against the stage lighting eerily. He gathers himself and walks through the parting, dusting off the invisible lint on his pressed pants and tail coat.

“Ladies and gentleman, I know we’re currently in the middle of “The Tale of the Terrible Traffic”, but for your viewing pleasure tonight, we’ll be adding a special vignette to this evening’s intermission. With us backstage is the saint–or as you know, the author’s spouse. He will be debuting with us tonight. So please, gather your wits, or what you have left of them, sit back and prepare to be…entertained…”

An orchestra underneath the stage erupts into a fanfare of trumpeting and cymbals. Mr. Swinebottom jumps and runs to his stool for safety, startled by the sudden appearance of live music. He glares at the blog writer and flicks on his reading lamp curtly, mumbling about dirty tricks and a lack of respect for artists. He adjusts his spectacles tightly and readies his script.

“Our story begins on one cold, November evening…”

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Reginald Swinebottom Presents: The Author & The Terrible Tale of Traffic (Act I) (Humor)

Audience is seated and conversation is humming. The lights dim and Mr. Swinebottom walks on stage eagerly, holding his script. He is greeted with loud, vigorous applause and whistles. He smiles and pauses mid-stage for a moment, basking in the glow of the flattery. He catches himself and ducks behind the podium, arranging his script. Taking out his glasses, he unfolds them and perches them precisely on the edge of his nose. Clearing his throat, he clicks on his reading light and begins speaking.

“Good evening, ladies and gentleman, and welcome to another Reginald Swinebottom presents. I am your narrator, Mr. Swinebottom himself. Let’s begin tonight’s story, shall we? It all takes place, one late afternoon, on a most trying commute home from work…”

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