While Rusty’s on Summer Break,
We present a repost
Of our most popular pieces.
Which believe me
Weren’t too damn popular
In the first place.
But here it is!
One of Rusty’s scripts
From a live reading.
If you call Rusty Pliers live.
Complete with stage directions
And down to the last word.
Proving perhaps he isn’t
Such a lazy no-good one-eyed drunken bastard
As he’s made out to be.
And have a safe summer!
Hugs from Rusty Pliers.
[Adjusts mic, speaks to audience]
I’m the Writer Rusty Pliers.
[Reads from script]
Uh. Gee, I hope I can read this.
I spilled some salsa and guacamole on it while I was rehearsing this afternoon…
[Lift patch and look?]
Spilled a margarita on it, too… somewhere…
Then they asked me to put on my pants
and leave the aquarium!
So I didn’t get a lot of rehearsing done.
I hope you enjoy it.
[Relax… Deep breath… Be Rusty]
Tonight’s story is entitled…
and Rusty Pliers”
“How about proposing a toast, Rusty?” asked our host.
“Sure,” I answered. “I’d be delighted.”
I stood and raised my glass.
“May you be in heaven,” I said, winking at the hostess, “half an hour before the devil knows you’re dead!”
The dinner guests tittered at my remark.
A remark I’d learned in Ireland, by the way, where they’ve had a preoccupation with the devil for centuries.
They asked me to propose another toast and we tittered a little over that one too.
Then another toast.
Anyway, after the party I was heading home on my Ducati 900 motorcycle when instead of going around this corner like I usually do… I went straight ahead… flying through the air like Evel Knievel …
Until I smashed into a bridge abutment and was killed instantly.
I awoke in hell standing before the devil.
He was seated behind an ornate desk made from human bones.
“Hello, Rusty,” he said agreeably. “Welcome to hell.”
[Reflective, to audience]
Funny, but he didn’t look anything like I expected he would. He looked kinda like Leonardo DiCaprio.
Not the hairy revenant Leonardo…
… but the well-dressed Leonardo from the golden globes.
“Smoke?” he asked, gesturing to a cigarette box.
“Am I?” I answered looking around to pat myself out where I might still be burning from my crash and fall into hell.
Otherwise, for a dead guy, I didn’t feel too bad.
“I mean tobacco,” said the devil with a smile.
“Sure,” I said, taking one. “Can’t hurt me now, can it?”
“Hell… no!” he agreed with a laugh. He had nice teeth, proving what I’ve long suspected… that hell is full of dentists.
“How about a drink to go with your smoke?” he asked and like magic a gin and tonic appeared in my hand.
“Yes please!” I answered and thought to myself that maybe hell wasn’t going to be too bad, after all.
“Excuse me for asking,” I said, sipping my drink. “I’ve made that corner a thousand times. Why not tonight?”
“It’s just like they told you in Sunday school, Rusty,” he answered. “Everyone’s days are numbered…
…And everyone will be judged.”
“I don’t remember Sunday school too well,” I said, meaning I didn’t remember ever going to Sunday school… but I didn’t mention that.
The devil just looked at me and smiled.
“Enjoying your smoke?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered. “It’s been awhile. I quit in 2010.”
“I know,” he said. “And what for? You died in a motorcycle crash! Hahaha!”
“Yeah,” I answered a little peevishly. “Funny.”
“C’mon, Rusty!” laughed the devil. “You’ve been on the highway to hell since you were twelve-years-old! I always figured you for a guy who could take a joke.”
He laughed again and in spite of myself I began to laugh a little, too.
After all, what does it matter how we die?
It’s how we live that counts!
“Well,” I asked. “Now what?”
“You choose your hell,” he answered.
“Choose my own hell?”
“Yes,” said the devil proudly. “Your own personal hell. One of hell’s finest achievements. Cuts down on complaints and saves a buttload of red tape.”
“Careful what you wish for, eh?” I said.
“Exactly!” answered the devil. “Or as we like to say around here… Hakuna Matata!”
You have to say this for the devil, I thought, he really seemed to enjoy his work.
“Here,” he said, indicating a blank sheet of paper before him on the desk. “Sit down and write me a 500 word essay on what your hell should be.”
“Awww!” I whined. “An essay?”
“Better get started,” he advised. “You’ve only got an hour. There’s some liquor in the cabinet. Help yourself.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Will my spelling …?”
“Don’t worry about the damned spelling, Rusty!”
“Write something from your heart…"
… or better yet… from your soul.”
“My soul?” I asked.
“From the soul of Rusty Pliers!” he laughed.
“No cheating!” he added and whoosh!
He was gone.
So I made another drink and sat down at the devil’s desk to write an essay “from my soul” about what my personal hell should be.
Naturally, before I could write it, I had to think it.
That proved kinda difficult, distracted as I was by my recent smoldering death and wondering whose bones made up the desk where I was sitting.
Which skull was Hitler’s, I wondered?
Was that Jack the Ripper?
Where was Walt Disney?
[Pause for laughter?]
I sipped my drink and had another cigarette, awaiting inspiration… but as happens sometimes it never arrived… so I left the writing materials on the desk and got up to pace the room.
I don’t know about you, but sometimes I think better on my feet.
As I paced I began to dream of a heavenly hell… a Hades-of-a-Thousand-Delights where all the wonderful sins and vices bathed me in a beautiful blue flame of exquisite pleasure…
I didn’t notice behind me as the pencil stood up and began writing upon the paper… unassisted.
“Eeeewww, what smells?” said a beautiful brunette who appeared from nowhere.
“That’s the sulphur,” I said, suddenly realizing.
When I first arrived I’d smelled it, too, but now I hardly noticed it.
It’s funny what you can get used to, isn’t it?
She was gorgeous, so I smiled and added smoothly, “Haven’t we met before, someplace?”
“In your dreams, perhaps?” she teased.
She was being very seductive.
Then it struck me.
She was Lust.
Funny, but Lust looked exactly like I figured she would…
And it was nothing like Leonardo DiCaprio!
“I’m lonely, Rusty,” she purred as she stepped closer. “Will you be my friend in this strange, smelly place?”
“Yes,” I whispered and reached out… “I’ll smell your friendly place…”
[Pause for laughter?]
We embraced passionately… and that’s when I noticed…
Where usually there would be a pleasurable sensation of growing manly hardness…
Now was nothing…
My penis was gone!
I reached into my pants and felt around…
… It was as smooth as a Ken doll down there!
Then to make matters worse while I was groping around searching for my manhood the beautiful brunette turned into my ex-wife!
Not the nice ex-wife either, but the nasty one I battled with all the time.
[Pause, then slowly]
Behind her stood the devil, smiling, watching…
[Pause, then hotly]
“So!” shrieked my ex. “In hell five minutes and you’re already boozing around and chasing women!”
I tried to speak but was unable, as if my voice box were paralyzed… or gone to hell with my frank and beans!
“You’ve been drinking again!” she hissed. “Don’t bother to deny it!”
The drink I held vanished from my hand…
“And smoking!” she spat. “I can smell it on your breath!”
Poof! Up in smoke went the smoke I smoked!
Hmmmm, I thought…
No smoking… no drinking… no genitals…
I was beginning to get a little worried!
“I told Lucifer all about you!” shrieked my ex-wife, gesturing behind her where the devil stood smiling.
“I said that bum Rusty Pliers cannot resist a pretty girl or a shot of booze and all he ever thinks about is his stupid penis!”
There must be some mistake, I thought as she kept shrieking and shrieking.
This wasn’t the hell I’d imagined!
I looked around for the devil, hoping for some explanation… but he was nowhere to be seen.
Then I noticed the paper on the desk.
It seemed to glow and beckon…
I reached out and picked it up.
This is what it read…
I hope a few centuries of spiritual torment at the hands of your ex-wife will help you to Unfuck Yourself a little bit.
Heaven knows, Rusty, you need it.
In the meantime, I’ll be on vacation in Hawaii, where I have a condo overlooking a volcano.
I like to throw virgins in there.
When I can find one.
Ha! Ha! That was a joke to ease your pain.
Which I hope is enormous.
Good luck in hell!
I’m the Writer Rusty Pliers!
If you enjoyed my story please look for
me on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, etc.
If you didn’t enjoy my story…
…then I don’t suppose you’ll bother.
I’m the Writer Rusty Pliers!