The Library Sitters: Some Just So Stories

The Library Sitters                  Cameron Michael-Quinn Thompson

 

Clammin These Hams till All the Time Everytime Yay!

A very good play

Characters:

Cahootz- Clam clad cowgirl villain and leader of the Library Sitters. Wears clam related things and a cowboy hat.

Snackedge- Quippy snack clad villain girl. Wears a big coat full of snacks. She's cool.

Narraterror:  A spooky looking man who is this play's narrator

Snake Arms: A bald man with dead snakes for arms. Not important. Who cares?

PlumRoth, the Undying Whisper: An unimaginable quasi-dimensional Horror terror demon head with tentacles and many eyeballs (or so some perceive) that floats in the corner of the room for the entire play doing nothing. (Poorly designed costume. Pool noodles for tentacles and a bunch of googly eyes everywhere on a giant monster head.)

 

Setting: The library. A room with an oval table covered in various meats. (the meating room) (Fake rubber meat.)

*Enter Narraterror, (a well dressed man with one arm wearing a skeleton's mask bought from Michael's in a blackened room) a single red light points in on him.

The Narraterror: Ahem...  The scene is set. The lights are dim. There is an oval table in the middle of the room covered with meat. Most of it is cooked. Sitting at the table are the 3 other members of the famous villain team, THE LIBRARY SITTERS. Every day they come to the library and rent the meating room, a place where meat is stored and smoked and also where people meet. It smells of beef jerky and various other meats. There is a red light beaming upon a spooky man in front of the stage. That man is me. Hello, I am the NARRATERROR. I will be your most terrifying host this evening. (somewhat sinister laugh)

Cahootz: (Sitting at the end of the table. annoyed) What are you doing, ya stumb? Sit down, we have VERY important business to attend to.

*The room brightens to showcase the rest of the room. Wow, what a room.

Narraterror: The lights suddenly shine upon the table. Cahootz, the clam clad cowgirl, leader of the Library Sitters has so rudely interrupted the frightening narrator. I haven't set the whole background and setting yet. I was just about to go into spooky lengths about the history of this here library.... Ahem... It was first founded by-

Cahootz: NOPE. This is dumb you're not doing this. Also... Ahem...(Smugly) Short plays like this don't require lengthy exposition.

Narraterror: (Whining) But you said we could change our names and themes again. I want to be The Narraterror.(Now excited) It's great. I'll just be a spooky man who narrates everything...

Cahootz: I have a whole list of things to do during the meeting, Trialster. We're not up to name changes yet, ya goof. We're still changing our team name. New Team Name, it's gotta be great and not suck. Something like... The Collaboration of... uh... (looking at a chair) Chairs... Yeah, perfect. That's it.

*The corpulent blemish on reality known as PlumRoth, Reality's Blemish floating in the corner of the room, shuffles and stirs a bit.

PlumRoth:  Rorg GlorB BURTMILURGligog

Narraterror: (to audience) Suggested Plumroth the Squelching Phantom, very kindly. Oh yes that would be a good name. Ha. His tentacles sway back and forth. ... Oh... I should probably mention, Plumroth is a spooky monster thing that just stands in the corner usually. No one wants to ever mention or look at him, but he's always there, always lingering in the night terrors of every day sleeper.

Snackedge: (Eating some beef jerky. Reclining on chair, acting all cool) The Library Sitters is a great name. It defines exactly what we do. You just don't like it cuz you didn't come up with it (pointing at Cahootz). Also you're bad at picking names, and at everything. (Takes Little Debbie's Zebra cake out of her pocket and begins to eat it.)

Narraterror: The Nerraterror frowns and sits back down at the table, knowing this play is mostly going to be just Cahootz and Snackedge arguing. They're secretly just best friends but also they hate each other or whatever.

Cahootz: (Sighs) Ok. First of all, (pointing to Narraterror) stop Narrating. You're hardly a character. And Second of all, (Pointing At Snackedge) I'm awesome at making names. I came up with Cahootz and that name fits me perfectly.  Your just (trying to come up with a good insult) .... Not good... at anything... You smell like some sort of garbage soup.

Snackedge: (Now eating some garbage soup) The name Cahootz makes none of the sense. You should change it back to Clamity Jane, that way people at least know you're clam related and why you're wearing a cowboy hat.

Cahootz: (Angry at the name Clamity Jane) Hah, NO. Bad name. Where's the mystery, the greatness? I'm in cahootz with clams and crime, and therefore...(She shrugs then smirks) I have the coolest name. What's Snackedge even supposed to mean?  It's Dumb. Lame. No good for stupid food dumbs.

Narraterror: Snackedge takes some famous dillop bread (just regular looking bread) out of her large trench coat pocket and begins to make a sandwich with the various meats slopped across the table... Ahem... Also, Cahootz, (Talking to Cahootz) She's got a pretty cool name. She likes snacks and she's edgy or whatever. Right Snackedge?... She shrugs nonchalantly while eating her cool sandwich.

Snackedge: (her mouth still full of sandwich) Actually (ruffling to pick up a  red glazed, candy-coated sword with preztelized hilt from behind her chair) this cool ass sword is the Snackedge, I just also received the title as I found this bad boy during one of my many perilous adventures fighting vanillapedes and snackubuses.

Nerraterror: woah, really!? Where'd you find it?

Snackedge: I was in an ancient sugar cube temple hidden deep in the rock candy mountains when---

Cahootz: (cutting off Snackedge) What!? No! Fact check, snack pack! You didn't win that sword fighting any vanillerpedes and you weren't in no candy cube mountains, you were in your dumb, smelly, tiny garbage apartment buying it on e bay for twenty bugs from a guy who has way too many made up swords.

Nerraterror:  Snackedge glares at Cahootz menacingly, cold and calculating. She's determining whether to rip this mollusk lover a new one or to save her blows for later. Cahootz stares back, deciding if she should just eat her dumb sword once and for all even if she doesn't like sweets. Snackedge hates the fact that Cahootz calls all snacks and deserts "sweets." The staring match ensues.

Snackedge:  (turning to nerraterror) the whole narrator thing's working actually. But  I thought you liked being Trialster. Though the only cool thing about you was mostly your great bird sidekick.

Narraterror: The Narraterror sighs forlornly. Good old Mist the Falcon left me. And by left, I mean the Dinosaur Lawyer stole him, and now they're best pals. He was my only true friend. Also I don't even know what trials are really.  But with being the narrator I can force myself into being a real character ha. Now I have to have a lot of dialogue.

Cahootz: Pssshh. All you do is just sit and say dumb things that don't matter. Unlike me, who does everything in the coolest way. (Takes a clam out of her pocket.) Clams are the coolest. The coolest snack.(she says braggingly) Better than all your sweets, Snackedgy. But yeah fine, I suppose we can change names now if people want.

Snackedge: (Sits and eats in the coolest possible way.) All YOU do is sit and say dumb things that don't matter, Jane. And clams aren't even a snack, more of a leisurely meal. Clams are kinda cool though. They have a foot that can attach to anything, and have this rasping tongue called a Radula. Clam facts are rad, but you're not. Also I'm sticking to my name.

Cahootz: (Befuddled) ...Well... Snacks don't even taste good... and snacks are things that only trash birds like. That's bad...and so's your name. It feels so cromblin and it super sucks a lot. Ha! Clams rule! (feeling confident in her great comeback)

Snake Arms: (Mumbling) Uh, hey... um I have a ...name you all could call me... it's actually my real name I was born with...

Narraterror: Snake Arms the bald man with dead snakes for arms mumbled softly. He's been just sitting here this whole time not doing anything. He's also not really a character.

Plumroth: Blarknorghulimulb NOrtolginord Blork

Cahootz: Ugh, is Plumroth still saying weird monster things?

Nerraterror: Plumroth the Unbending Way says he would now like to be called Plomruth if that's ok with everyone. He likes either name, but he wants to try this one out for a while.

Snackedge:  (Eating an ice cream novelty bar) Sure, that name fits him well. Great job, buddy. (gives thumbs up to the monster in the corner while not looking in his corner.)

Snake Arms: No... but remember? ... uh last time I changed my name to Snakeage....because that's my real name

Narraterror: Snackedge stopped eating whatever food she was eating and stared angrily at Snake Arms. Uh.. What food was she eating? Oh they're clams. Wrapped in maple-glazed hams.

Cahootz: (Feeling triumphant) Ha see? Clams are great snacks. I win I guess. Also that name's too close to Snackedge there, Snakey.

Snackedge:  (mad) Nope can't have it. Change it!

Narraterror: Snackedge grabbed a steak from the table and threw it at Snake Arm's dead snake arm. The meat made a moist slopping sound once it hit the floor. Then the dead snake arm fell off. Then his other snake arm fell off. Heh I'm getting good at narrating.

Snake Arms: (staring at his arms which are now on the floor) My arms... My arms fell (sounds of hope in his tone). HAHaaaaa... I didn't even like snakes... but now I can change my name right? I could...maybe..Stick some branches in my arm stumps.. and..and call myself Tricky Tree, Yeah... That's my new name! (Excited to the point of madness) It's me! I'm the Tricky Treeeeeee! HahAAAHAHAHAHAhAAAAAA!

Narraterror: But little did Snake Arms know, Plomruth was very terrified of dead snakes on the floor. The demon screamed a thousand haunted horror screams ripping a tear in the cosmos. (Various colored bright lights flash upon the stage. And a recording of a silly scream or maybe of a cat meowing plays repeatedly) Then the dead snakes and Snake Arms stopped existing in this or any universe (Or in this case, the actor who plays Snake Arms takes the fake rubber snakes and leaves the stage).... Everyone stopped caring about Snake Arms and no one else was phased by the horror screams. Well, that worked out rather well heh.

Cahootz:  (Reading what's next on the to do list, ignoring what happened) Ok, great. What's next?.... Oh our next heist! What's that gonna be? Oh, we could steal some more rocks from the rock store!

Plomruth: (contemplatively) GloRkBlarg Nargolidolk BlorFletckniGork

Narraterror: Plomruth suggested that we go to a restaurant. He would like some pizza.

Snackedge: Oh! We could go to Prup Prup's Fine Dining and eat there. It's fine I guess.

Cahootz: (Sighs) How come we never go to the Crust Station? They serve clams on their pizza and their crust is on point!

Snackedge: you literally suggest that place every single time, it's awful. Their crust is not on point, it's cardboard and so are you for liking it.

Cahootz: (Outraged) WHAT!? No way. Lame. (Suddenly she gets an idea) Aha! I'll just order clams anyway at Prup Prup's! That'll show them not to mess with the AWESOME LIBRARY SITTERS!

Snackedge: (Smugly) Told ya the name works.

Cahootz: (Annoyed) Dan it all, it does work. Whatever, this is dumb, let's eat some food.

Narraterror:  The room fades into dim light. And then a bright red light beams upon the spooky, yet alluring narrator man. And so, the Library Sitters end their very productive meeting in the Meating Room and go to PrupPrup's Fine Dining Place.  The food was fine. Oh and before I forget we have an open seat at the table of the Library Sitters. If you'd like to join our infamous team, please fax the library with a list of your favorite types of birds and how many crimes you have, or would like  to have committed, thank you...uh so how does this end? Just close the curtains or whatever? (curtain's close too swiftly) Ok great.



                                    The End. The play thing's done now. You did it.

 

A Fine Time to Dine

Ah, the sweet smells of fresh baked pretzel orbs and softly sizzled hams. The hustle and bustle of servers weaving through a labyrinthine maze of hungry customers in wobbly chairs. The artistic collage of tandem bicycles, portraits of horses, and dusty taxidermy pangolins hanging loosely on the crusty walls.  This is what you get when you dine at the fine dining experience of Prup Prup's Fine Dining, folks. The food here is fine.

The five villains that make up the illustrious group of The Library Sitters, notorious for nothing in particular, sit in a sticky, crowded booth gawking blinkless at the television from across the room after having witnessed a rather theatrical play version of the meeting they just had at the public library. This was meant as a commercial, a way to hire in fresh meat, so to speak. An eldritch man with one arm, dressed in a fine suit and dawning a cardboard skull mask looks nervously at each of his cohorts, ripping the paper ring around his silverware as he awaits a response. He clears his throat before speaking. "Before the lot says anything, might I add that it was quite a feat to write, direct, and produce this masterful work not to mention hiring actors that look exactly like us and airing it on television in matter of minutes after deciding we wanted to dine at this fine establishment. I did it for us, our team. We need more publicity if we're going to make a name for ourselves, yeah? I pushed our plot and conflict forward. This is a good step toward our future, I dare say."

            Nerraterror turns to Cahootz, uncharacteristically silent, as she tips her cowboy hat, over her eyes so to remain speechless, pondering her next thoughts. Her hat had a sloppily stiched patch of a clam on it in case anyone wanted to know. Snackedge next to her picks at a basket of cheesy pretzel orbs in the middle of the almost circular table, seemingly unwavered. It wobbles unsteadily each time she reaches for the next orb. "I don't think it's any big deal," she says coolly between bites of soft fried dough spheres. "I liked the part where PlumRoth made Snake Arms not exist anymore."

A sort of low gut-churning buzzing surrounds PlumRoth, The Shadow Over Cincinatti, be it the hum of heavy electricity or a praying mantis gnawing on a cicada while it still chirps its tune. In the corner, he burbled a language not known to this world.

"Oh, sorry you're right," The Nerraterror apologized.  "We agreed we'd all call him PlomRuth, remember guys? didn't anyone just see that play?"

A bald stumpy man with tree branches for arms perks up. "Um, I for one didn't like being exploded out of existence, because that never happened. Plomroth  screamed at my ears and they bled a whole bunch and also sizzled a bit then I blacked out and woke up in a park and some ducks looked at me maybe because I smelled like ham. " He mumbled. Everyone agreed that he should shut up.

"and also my new name is Tricky Tree because of these new sticks I found at the park. Because actually I didn't like having snakes for arms. They were mean and I thought they were lizards at first but I was wrong, oops. But these new babies are the real, for real deal!" Snake Arms wobbled his new stick arms. No one cared. Snackedge threw a pretzeled orb at him. Before it rolled onto the floor, PlumRoth, Now in Squiggle Vision, caught it with a greasy tendril and assimilated it into a nutritional ooze.

A server trotted to the table with her wooden peg leg. It plunged into one of the holes sprinkled about the restaurant's floors, but she quickly pulled her leg out in a nonchalant manner. Her hair was a brownish medium bob. She had some freckles but not many, a nose piercing, and wore glasses. One arm bore a cartoonish tattoo of a salamander. The other arm bore a white falcon. There were many other tats but those were the most mentionable. Her nametag read Sklerra and she is an important character. But hers is a tale to tell for another time. After giving everyone water and tossing straws into each glass with perfect accuracy, she began to take food orders. Nerraterror may have had a crush on her.

            Cahootz had yet to say any retort. Was she thinking about the fine tortes Prup Prup's had to offer? Does she even like desserts? That's more of snackedge's deal. She hadn't even noticed this server yet. She sat in the clumpy booth, arms crossed in a spaced daze, staring into a bowl of gloppy buffalo curd beer cheese. No one knew what she was truly thinking. Who's to say? Only one being can listen to the inner thought waves of minds and that was PlumRoth the Mind Grazer whose gaze was already intent on mind listening in on Cahootz.  

Perhaps her silence had to do with this commercial for HER group of evildoers. Perhaps she was not ready to be broadcast in this light. Or even to be a leader of anything? Would anyone take them/ her as a serious threat to the city? What would the other guilds of villains think, like the Conundrum Society? She hoped they liked it, but who's to say? Or what if the Office of Nosh and the Snack Commissioner had been flipping through public access and noted that they had been illegally using the Meating Room at the Library?  There could be a whole bunch of who-done-its or whatsle-whosits watching that play.

But maybe they should be watching that play. Now everyone (or at least a limited amount of everyone) will know the name of the up and coming Library Sitters. Nearly almost a lot of people will now know they are absurd, unpredictable, and up to no good. The world could, no WILL, be Cahoots' oyster!

 These are some of the thoughts that PlomRuth, What Haunts your Hat, thinks could be going on in Cahoots' mind. PlumRoth, the Cosmic Fuckabout, may have been fibbing about being a mind grazer. Who's to say, really? Suddenly, Cahoots came out of her trance, slamming both fists to the table.

 "Where are my Sizzlesticks!?" She cried with an overexxagerated amount of energy. But it was too late. Sklerra the server had already gone.

"Um, we asked you Cahootz but you were just looking at that bowl of cheese so intently that we ordered without you." Stumbled Snake Arms.

"What!?" she gasped astoundingly. "And you didn't even order the clams?"

Snackedge reached for the basket of zesty flavor dusted pretzel roundies, which had seemed to be refilled at some point. "You missed out, dummy. What, did that play get under your skin or somethin'?"

"Psshh, what? Of course not!" Cahootz psshhed. Then glanced at each of her cohorts, this team that she had assembled. "Now that Nerraterror did his dumb show, and now the ENTIRE town is going to see it, we just have to step up our game. We're going to show this town that we are the bee's knees, elbows, and ankle knobs! We're gonna add a grain of salt to injury by rocking the boat and stealing its thunder, leaving no rock unchucked! We'll be the talk of the town, and and we're gonna start with this sure-footed excuse for a fine joint that probably doesn't even sell clams!"

She flicked her nose surreptitiously, as if proud and inspired. Nerraterror pumped his one fist that he still has as if in celebrating that he had finally done something right. Snake Arms nodded, wobbling his stick arms. He had nowhere else to go and hopefully he could be helpful in any way. PlumRoth, The Color you Wish you Couldn't See, garbled a slurry of sloppy smacks and noxious fumes from one of its toothy maws. This unnatural bruise on reality, this collective nightmare of every ant, this bespoiled feast, this thing what time hates was a sucker for some good ol' fashioned ruckus.

 Cahootz looked to Snackedge, whose coolness and shrug-off attitude she secretly admired. Snackedge stared back. This was a gutsy new turn for Clamity Jane. She had been become increasingly more bored of the Office of Nosh's original assignment to inform them on any snack related crimes the clam-clad cowgirl had been scheming. Snackedge had honestly grown un caring of not only her undercover duties reporting directly under the snack commissioner himself, but almost everything else in general. This step toward actual possible villainy made her excited for once in a real long while. (and that's all called "snackposition", folks! (it's like exposition but mainly revolving around snacks.)) Snackedge shrugged as if an afterthought. Cahootz scoffed as if to say "fine, whatever, you're not that cool."

Cahootz leaned in closer towards the table, nodding for everyone else to do the same. She was about to begin detailing her most daring, over the top scheme she had ever come up with.

"Will this be better our last scheme, the Door Knob Switcheroo?" Nerraterror asked.

"Of course it will, that gig was for greasy babies!" She retorted. "This scheme wins the cake, we just need some sort of grand standing distraction."

Snake Arms was getting more excited at the chance to prove himself, but also a little antsy. In fact the two branches propped in his arm nubs had been itching all day. He looked toward the edge of his shoulder to examine the source of this bothersome itch. AH! ANTS! One by one a thousand tiny black ants had crawled out the speckled holes from inside the branches, zig zagging every which way. Snake Arms jumped and shrieked in terror as the waves of insects marched on his skin. Just as he did so, his arm jutted into one of the many eyes of PlumRoth, From Heaven's Void.

Nerraterror stood up in startlement. "Ants! PlomRuth's one true weakness!" He exclaimed.

The slimy beast writhed and wriggled in pain and fear (or what it had imagined those to be) as the army of ants crawled along its indescribable surface of sinewy skin, gnawing at every slime source they could spot. These ants were rebels. Sick of living in fear of The Gang Green Banquet, they finally stood up to their oppressor of forever.

The patrons of Prup Prup's Fine Dining Grill noticed the cosmic screeching of this... grotesque, moldy blob in the corner of the restaurant. People began to panic, which is the obvious response. This was the moment Cahootz had been waiting for. It was her time to shine, No, The Library Sitter's time to shine!

Cahootz jumped decisively onto the table. Pointing to Snackedge, she shouted "Hey, SnackDumb! Go to the kitchen and grab as many tortes and desserts and sizzlesticks as ya can!" Snackedge nodded, she understood. She weaved her way through the panic of people towards Prup prup's back of the house.

Cahootz pointed to Nerraterror. "Hey, dumb idiot! Make yourself useful and pilfer whatever stupid trinkets your one arm can hold. Especially that!" She shouted, gesturing toward the stuffed pangolin next to him.

"What about you?" he said as he began snatching random bobbles from the walls.

Cahootz picked up her trusty messenger bag she always carries with her. With an insane grin and crazy glimmer in her eyes, she pointed one thumb to herself, yelling, "The World is my Oyster, BABY!!" she opened her bag, motioning towards the screaming cacophony of PlumRoth, The Screaming Cacophony. "Dinner is Served, ya Big Gross!" With one great, decisive chuck, a bunch of oysters, clams, scallops, muscles, and even a few baby shrimps flew into PlumRoth's gaping mouth.  

 PlumRoth, The Squelching Belch, burped a wave of reality bending mumbo jumbo through this fine situation of Prup Prup's Fine Dining. In a matter of seconds Every piece of wood that hadn't been fastened down had been replaced by clams. Clams. Well, not just clams. A variety of seafood. Muscles, scallops, crabs, shrimpies, lobsters, crabcakes, shrimp po boys, clam chowder, (just slopped on the floor) you name it. Snake Arms' stick arms were now whole live lobsters. Sklerra the server's wooden leg was now a crab leg. She rolled her eyes, sighing heavily.

 The bellowing shrieks had died down. The ants were gone. Clams were everywhere. PlumRoth, What tumors dream of,  was embarrassed. In the commotion of the team reassembling and some stragglers baffled by this event, it  teleported out of Prup Prup's, retiring to its lovely home in New Hampshire.

Cahoots, a triumphant smile glued to her face climbed up the seafood pile that was once their table.  The Library Sitters had claimed victory. "Welp, we did it. we caused a ruckus, spooked some folks, I'd reckon that ain't half bad." she said gleefully, basking in the team's handiwork. Snackedge had been noshing on a stolen torte as she strode back from the kitchen, bags of Prup Prup's fine food in tow.

"wow, clams." She said dryly. "that was the big master plan? Clams?"

"Of Course it was, ya bozo!"

Nerraterror popped up holding several pilfered wall ornaments such  the pangolin, a picture of one fine horse with a ham in its saddle, a giant spoon, and other such dillydads. "It probably couldn't have gone any better actually, now everyone will know we mean business." Snake Arms with his two large lobster arms dangling at his sides was about to mumble a rant about the ants but before anyone could throw anything at him, sirens from a distance began to grow closer.

 "ah it's the fuzz, we better scram!" Cahoots shouted.  And so the Library Sitters scrammed away from the clam piles that was once a rather fine establishment. They would later reconvene back at their library to discuss this, that, and other such tobbles.

It's over The End I'm proud of you Great Job

 

PlumRoth's Day Off

PlumRoth, Distilled Unhope, wants to bake an apple pie. But all of his apples had gone bad. His neighbors, The Wormohs, live in them now. What is The Terror Under Anchorage to do? Go shopping, of course!

The Sinkhole that Stared Back chose to go to Plump's Market because the Target down the road is on fire forever. Plump's doesn't have the best deals on apples and pie crust and lemon zest and cinnamon dust. But it's not on fire. Plump's will have to do.

Crushed Dreams was disappointed by the greeter when he phased through the doors. No eye contact, no polite nod and/or curtsy or little pun filled joke. Just a robotic, monotone "welcome to Plump's." Where has common human courtesy gone these days?

Plump's was a maze. After zig zagging through every aisle at least twice, the Slime that Never Fades found the apples. Two pudgy children licking oversized, colorful lollipops passed him chanting his demonic cult words. Sloppers ignored them. The apples were more important. He squeezed a few to see if they were ripe enough. They would suffice.

PlumRoth, Voiced by Tim Roth, was tempted by a king size Snickers bar In the checkout lane. He fought this temptation of sweet, crunchy, peanut, chocolatey goodness. He was watching his sugar intake. PlumRoth left Plump's feeling confident and determined to make this exquisite pie. Plump's caught on fire forever. The pie was decent.

 

The End. The story's done. Have a great night

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