| robertwilliams.org |
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| V a c u u m, S o n o f V o i d() | ||||
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Hello. My name is Mr. Joseph Churlish. Call me Agent Provocateur to the stars. And I'm here today to introduce you to the next HOTTEST thing. |
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You may think this is an empty box---a blank space, nix, nothing, nada even. You may even ask yourself what right has an empty box to be on the Internet, let alone call itself art? |
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Some of you may question the meaning of this space. Philosophical, pointy-headed stuff and all that. Some of you will find all this meaningless and surf to some other r e a l l y interesting site. But for those who stuck around this long, I'll not waste any more of your time.
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It is my pleasure to introduce to you the new replacement for Thursday evenings and the latest---and still greatest---way to procrastinate.... Ladies and gentlemen, let me present to you.... The VOID! |
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Uhhh.... Ladies and Gentlemen, once again.... The VOID! |
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| Damn! I'm sorry. You just can't trust those voids. You can never tell if they're there. They're always out to lunch, if you know what I mean. Can't trust them to be on time or anything. They're good for nothing. Scum. Trash. | |
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We are not trash. We're just mostly misunderstood, that's all. |
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So you decided to put in an appearance after all. What's your excuse for keeping me and everyone else waiting? No, let me guess. You just returned from nowhere, right? You weren't really doing anything, right? I suppose this big introduction to the e-world---this big break---means nothing to you? You want to be a n'er-do-well all your life?
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I'm sorry I'm late. I really do appreciate your efforts. I will amount to something. I come from a long line of nothing. The family's all gone now. Left with no forwarding address. It's tough being---me. Few people'll talk to a vacuum; other people think they're talking to themselves. I'm sorry, man. |
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W e l l .... That's okay. As your agent I got you this nice spot on this nice Internet site. Global exposure and all that. Reaches to the ends of the earth. So Void, show us your stuff. |
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Stuff? What stuff? And the name's 'Vacuum.' Void() is my father. |
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You mean you got no shtick!? No act? I gave up a power lunch with some big-money producer types! You no-account, you-good-for...! You told me you had a knock-'em-dead-'til-they-howl routine. Snappy patter, topical humor, et cetera, et cetera. |
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That's right. Snappy patter, pithy sayings, witty repartee. I give the philosophically minded in the audience something to think about. As a matter of fact, I'm quite controversial, don't ya know? People always trying to disprove my existence, and all that. Not bad, eh? |
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Philosophers! Intellectuals! I'm talking mega-bucks! E-commerce! National TV. International TV. Movie deals. Recording contracts. |
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I do believe the controversy is eluding you, Mr. Churlish. |
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Controversy? What'll we do? Sue those who say you don't exist on the grounds of vile and vicious slander? On the grounds of irreparable harm to your earning potential? For psychic distress? Take your case to the U.S. Supreme Court? |
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As the man once said, "Cogito, ergo sum." We got an air-tight case. We could round up a dozen or so who would attest to my presence. Besides, I give great talk show. David Letterman would have a ball with something that's everywhere and nowhere. |
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Hmmmm.... I'm still not convinced. Why do you need an agent anyway? |
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As you've no doubt noticed, I've no appendages. Quite a hassle dialing and making appointments. In addition, some people are less inclined to believe in my presence. They won't even talk with me. Called 'realists' I believe. |
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So you need someone to open doors for you? |
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So to speak. |
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YOU GOT SOME NERVE! You got me out here in the middle of nowhere, dragging along media coverage and you got nothing to show me except intellectual controversy. Well, philosophy don't pay no bills. Won't keep me warm in the winter. You know something, Void? You make me sick. I must meet a hundred like you every week! |
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What? |
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Let me finish! I quit! There---I'm finished. FIND YOURSELF ANOTHER AGENT! Good-bye. Opps! |
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You dropped your sunglasses. Why are you wearing sunglasses? |
| I know damn well I dropped my sunglasses. And what would you know about cool? U h h h. . . . Can you see them? I can't see a bloody thing in here. Too dark. Why do you keep it so dark? | |
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I never noticed. Comes with the territory, I guess. Light, dark. Dark, light. Everywhere, nowhere. Almost too Manichaean to stand, don't ya think? They're to your left. Yeh, that's it. Stretch a bit further. A bit more.... There! |
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Thanks. But it's still adios. Don't bother getting up. I'll see myself out. Owww! Who put that there? |
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Hey! Wait a minute, Mr. Churlish. WE CAN WORK SOMETHING OUT! What do you want? Trumpet? Sax? Soft shoe? Zola? Shakespeare? Comedy? |
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I do great stand-up. Mime? Impersonation? I can do a great routine as a presidential candidate. |
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Lion taming? |
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Mr. Churlish? |
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Damn! Back to that job as a stage prop. Crystal-Leigh is sure gonna be mad. |
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| © 1999 Robert Williams | ||||