UnScripts:Winnegan's Fake

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Winnegan's Fake is a play written anonymously in 2004 (though not by Anonymous), written several years after a far more approachable, and famous text, by James Joyce called Finnegan's Wake. The original script of the play follows the trials of a neglected character in Joyce's book (if it can be called a book) called Winnegan, who intends to find Finnegan, and kill him, as Finnegan is the fake to which the title refers to.

Winnegan's Fake has a slightly easier plotline to follow than Finnegan's Wake. However, due to budget constraints at the playhouse where Winnegan's was to be performed, the character of Winnegan was edited out of the script, as the role of Winnegan would have demanded a high-profile actor like Olivier (who was dead by this point anyway), which the playhouse at the time could not afford (that's amateur dramatists for you!). This damaged the plays' reputation severely, and the person who edited Winnegan's lines, which were said to be "as good as the Bard's best" was condemned. It was heavily reedited into a comedy (not a Shakespearian one, which would be an oxymoron anyway) of sorts.

Here follows what was left of the script. The RSC are conducting a worldwide search for the author of the text.

Scene One

A family home. Two men are sat next to each other on a couch. One is decidedly older than the other.

Man 1: I once performed coitus interruptus on your woman, I'll have you know!

Man 2: So you shagged my mum then? I must say, I am quite bewildered why you didn't pay her the compliment of giving her your load.

Man 1: What, so she could give birth to another rat-bag like you!

Man 2: Easy now, Dad.

Man 1: I'm sorry, my son.

Man 2: For christ's sake, I don't wanna know what you and mum get up to in the bedroom.

Man 1: Don't blaspheme boy! But its usually nothing but decorating these days, nothing sordid.

Man 2: I dunno, that wallpaper you put up was pretty base. I mean, that's your problem sometimes Dad, you take things too literally.

Man 1: How do you mean?

Man 2: Well, you covered the room in nothing but A4 sheets of paper. You thought it would save money!

Man 1: Never mind, that's being fixed. Your sister is colouring in the sheets of paper with her colouring set. Anyway, when would you like a turn at pimping mother out then? You're next on my list, now that Bill Clinton has turned down the chance.

Man 2: I don't want anything to do with it. I lost my Oedipal complex years ago. I can't believe you pimp out your own loving wife.

Man 1: Never mind, that's being fixed. Your sister is colouring in the sheets of paper with her colouring set.

Man 1: It's a family tradition son, that my great-great grandfather began.

Man 2: Well, it ends with me dad, I'm afraid. I don't want to do it; isn't there some kind of taboo about it anyway?

Man 1: The only Taboo I know of is a liqueur that silly girls tend to drink.

Man 2: Anyway, why aren't I more disgusted by the sheer fact that I am actually discussing sex with own parents?!

Man 1: Well, we're Swedish aren't we?

Man 2: No.

Man 1: Well that's what we should do; be open with each other. And why are you wearing clothes in the house? Don't you know its a taboo to do that!

Man 2: I don't like your repressive nudity - I want to break free from the clutches of your flesh-bearing, skin-showing shamelessness. I want to wear clothes in the house Dad!

Man 1: Not in my house please. I do not see why you wish to suffer the smothering effect of clothes. Clothes are a delusion, and they're plain immoral. I never know what's going to come up next with you.

Man 2: Well, with my clothes on, you never will be able to!

Man 1 and Man 2 laugh blokeishly at this rather silly pun

Man 1: Well if you don't want to pimp your mother out, I'll pimp my ride instead.

Man 2: Do it, anything's better than pimping mum out - but you'd be better served by buying a new car to be honest.

Man 1: Maybe you are right son...Nice socks by the way. Did your mum knit them?

Man 2: No, nan did.

Man 1: Ah yes, grandma. She'll have just finished being on the game for the day.

Man 2: I can't believe grandad still has her working on the game.

Man 1: She rather enjoys it as she gets more satisfying sexual encounters from random strangers than she ever got from grandad. She's a experienced one too: Legend has it that the famous Reverend Spooner once asked her to 'Duck my Sick!'.

Man 2: Alright, I've had enough family business talk for today; I'm going out to meet my friends.

Man 1: Go out and don't get drunk with your friends, and don't take drugs or have illicit sexual encounters with complete wenches; see if I care about your wanton morality!

Man 2: I won't. Errrr...I mean I will...not! Whatever!

Man 2, who we can safely call 'The Son' by this point, leaves the house, passing a piano player who is playing some Mozartian flourishes with aplomb.

The Son: By the way Dad, why do we have a foreign guy in our house sat playing piano?

The Father: Well, I got so used to hearing him play in a brothel I used to frequent, so that when I got my own house I offered him a lifetime job here.

The Son: He's pretty good. Anyway, g'bye Dad.

The Son leaves, slamming the door behind him as all teenagers do

The Father (sotto voce): Pssst, holy Spirit, you can come out now! Holy Spirit?

The Holy Spirit, as a ghost emerges

The Father: Ah-ha, Holy Spirit, there you are!

The Holy Spirit: Now then, now then.

The Father: What you been up to then?

The Holy Spirit: Well this morning I scared a couple of kids who were playing frisbee on the park, haunted another three houses, drove a woman to schizophrenia, and I gave some advice on method-acting to Nicole Kidman about a supernatural film she's appearing in.

The Father: How far away is schizophrenia from here?

The H.S.: Very droll. 'Ow is the Son? I don't really like it when he's around now, that's why I hide. E's too pugnacious.

The Father: He's started wearing clothes...

The H.S.: I heard that rumour, is it true he's getting into clothes?

The Father: Yes, I'm afraid so Holy.

The H.S: You do 'im no good when you go getting all preachy on him, I 'eard you before.

Why would you want to put food on the table? You put it in your mouth!

The Father: Since when did you start speaking in a Yorkshire accent Holy Spirit?

The H.S.: The 'ouses I 'aunted were in Rother'am. I quite like it, it suits me don't you think?

The Father: It suits you as much as heavy metal suits a Harrow scholar! Anyway, aren't I supposed to be the father in this trinity - aren't I supposed to be the one putting food on the table and shaping the son in my image?

The H.S.: Well yeah, but technically, as we're all part of the trinity, neither of us is older than the other. Mind you, spending a couple of minutes with Nicole Kidman has added a few years on I reckon - what a boring bitch she is!! And why would you want to put food on the table? You put it in your mouth!

The Father: So you're saying I should treat him like a brother rather than as a son.

The H.S: Yeah, I s'pose.

The Father: Maybe Muhammad can help us out. Come over here, Muhammad, what do you think of all this?

The piano player carries on playing Mozart's 3rd piano sonata obliviously


Muhammad, quit playing your Mozart and come over here.

The Holy Spirit: Err, the father - there's something you should know about Muhammad.

The Father: He's deaf?


The Holy Spirit: Uhh, yeah. Kind of.

The Father: Then why does he play the piano so damn well - and why did he understand me when I wanted to hire him...

The Holy Spirit: Well you see, Muhammad used t'believe in a thing called Christianity til about 2 years ago. His name was Garth Rickley, but he changed it to Muhammad Al-Akbar, quite a similar type of name really. Funny thing is, ever since he converted to Islam two years ago, he's stopped been able t'hear what we say to him, and think about it: 'The Son' has never spoken to him either!

The Father: That is true - so all Muslims are deaf then?

The Holy Spirit: Well, I don't think so, because they all seem to speak to each other normally like we do. Perhaps they're just really good at ignoring us. Methinks it's a trait of the religion...

The Father: It's bizarre isn't it? I could strip naked right in front of him and parade my unshielded body around the piano and he wouldn't notice.

The H.S: Er, father, you're naked already. And you are right, he wouldn't notice. He doesn't notice anything that y'do anymore.

The Father: But that's just plain boring - it also means I can't tell him to stop playing the piano when I want some sleep.

The H.S: Oh, he'll stop alright. In fact, I've been watching 'im, and for some reason 'e always stops five times a day, gets down on his knees, and turns to face in a certain direction - always the same direction.

The Father: How long does go into this strange stance for?

The H.S: Oh, about five minutes at a time.

The Father: Oh great - so I'm going to get 25 minutes of sleep a day - that's not even a powernap. Tell me Spirit, was it a trait he had when he was Garth?

The H.S: No. But he would go to this place once a week and play sum really boring tunes on a massive organ for people to sing along to, but 'e always said 'e went there just to keep his 'and in.

The Father: Ah, I know where you mean - a church!

The H.S: That's right - the place we've got lifetime free-entry too, VIP access.

The Father: Haven't been in ages. The VIP rooms are in terrible upkeep, and the female priests are ugly too - in fact, hardly any one goes these days do they?

The H.S: Still quite a few, but not so many, no. Anyway, I'm getting tired of all this theological debate.

The Father: You started it.

The H.S: Err, technically we all did really - The Father, The Son, and the Holy Spirit. Joint responsibility.

The Father: Well, that makes me feel better about pimping my wife out if you get a third of the responsibility for it.

Hmmmm...it reminds me of a position I've seen in the Kamasutra that!

The H.S: Well, when we agreed that I got to 'ave divine authority, that left you with either the job of creating everything, or getting all the bitches. And you chose the latter, so there ye go. And I think the Son is doing a good job, creating the World and all that - I didn't think he would have a prayer in that situation, but he is a people-person. He's turning into a bit of a workaholic though.

The Father: Why do you never hang around with 'The Son'?

The H.S: It's cos he smells - yesterday someone prayed to him to stop giant dung beetles destroying their tribe in Africa, so he went and disposed of the dung beetles on a landfill site. When he got back, he stunk the house out. You were out with your good lady at the time. And tomorrow he's off to help out a God-fearing family who are pig-farmers - he seems to like the smelly places.

Hey look! Muhammad's getting down in that weird position of his - you'd best go and get some sleep while you can 'The Father'.

The Father: It reminds me of a position I've seen in the Kamasutra that!

The H.S: You and your filthy mind eh?


End of Scene One

Scene Two

The Father and The Son are sat with an androgynous-looking character, who appears to have many arms. They are all sat in the manner of a Buddha in the park, whilst parents watch their kids playing on the playpark, unbeknownst to them that three of the greatest cosmic forces are in their presence. Then again, one parent isn't even aware of the fact that her child seems to be accepting 'sweeties' from an old, swarthy looking chap.

The Father: Shiva, there's a chap over there who's clearly a paedophile giving sweets to kids - destroy him will you in the name of all that's holy and so on.

Shiva: Very well, but I've only got two pairs of hands. I don't usually take orders from the Godhead.

Shiva points at the old man who simply disappears. The kid is bewildered that his human-sweet factory has ceased to be.

Shiva: Right chaps, its on with business. I'm afraid I've got some very bad news. Brahman got in touch with me on Friday and he says he's scheduling the destruction of the world next week on Wednesday, and he wants me to do it. He says I'll get a pay rise if I do it also. You know what this means for you two guys...

The Father: That's right; no more pimping. No more parties. We'll have to find somewhere else to go. What are the women like on Jupiter Shiva?

Shiva: Non-existent.

The Father: Non-existent eh? I like a challenge. I don't suppose you wouldn't care anyway would you, being a woman and all that...

Shiva: Actually I prefer to destroy the people I love - so I don't get too attached to them

Shiva: No, I'm actually a man; it was falsely written by some quack that Krishna made me have a sex change when I had an affair but it is total pigswill.

The Father: With four arms I bet it makes your sexual experiences far more enjoyable - much more to grope with eh?

The Son: (somewhat demurely) Really dad!?

Shiva: Actually I prefer to destroy the people I love - so I don't get too attached to them, and they don't get too attached to me. Its the only thing I'm any good at really.

The Father: That reminds me Shiva, we ought to go paintballing again sometime, maybe on Mars, cos you never know what the weather's going to be like there.

The Son: Can we not stray off topic? Shiva's got more important things to be telling us.

The Father: I don't think you appreciate how seriously we take the paintballing - what with you been a pacifist and all that. Shiva's top of the league, that's how he came to have nickname of 'The Destroyer', and Buddha's bottom 'cos he just sits there and takes it, but I'm struggling to find any damn form recently.

Shiva: That is because you are always chatting Aphrodite up. Anyway. What should I do? I can destroy Planet Earth, which I really don't want to do, as there's some things worth saving on Planet Earth, and I don't really need a payrise.

The Father: And there's some killer paintballing parks too.

The Son: I'd like to kill you in a paintballing park if you keep going on about it.

The Father: YOU'RE ON!

Shiva: ENOUGH! If your behaviour continues along those lines I will eliminate the Solar System, as its well within my grasp. Destroying the Earth would be like swatting a fly in comparison.

The Son: Hey look! Here comes the Holy Spirit in our general direction...

Holding a pint of ale, the Holy Spirit trots across the park, spilling some of his pint on a child playing on a seesaw. He increases his pace as he approaches the three cosmic forces

The H.S: 'Ey up! Ah sithi' in t'park.

Shiva: What?!

The Son: He said, 'Hello, I see you're in the park'.

Shiva: Yes, thanks for pointing out the obvious Holy Spirit.

The H.S: I'll slap thee-daft Shiva if thi's not careful.

Shiva: I've got four arms which will easily deter your silly slaps! Incidentally, can you move over a bit Holy Spirit, you are blocking the sunlight with your apparent mass.

The H.S: Well, as Einstein said, light tends to be attracted to heavy bodies...

Shiva: Why are you so late Holy Spirit?

The H.S: My butler, Richard, woke me up rather late...

The Father: You have a butler called Richard? Well I guess it is not the first time a dick has woke up you up in the morning!

Shiva: Touché that man! OK, so, are we agreed then that I'll not bother destroying Planet Earth then?

The H.S: You've no need to worry Shiva anyway, the humans are doing their best to destroy it at the minute, what with global warming.

The Son: Good point Spirit.

Shiva: Right, what are we going to do now then?

The Son: Can I go on the slide in the play park?

The H.S: Well, while you're doing that I'm gonna go and eye up some o'them yummy-mummies o'er there. (Disgustingly licks his lips) Oh yesssshhh.

Shiva: I'll head around to the fathers later on. I might tune up that piano for Muhammad too. Not that he'll notice anyway. By the way fellas, keep this meeting *hush* *hush*, because if Brahma finds out I've been talking to members of a rival trinity, he'll boot me out!

The Father: Can't you just destroy him? Anyway! Valhalla are putting on a grand bash tonight, I might head to that. Had a bit of a to-do with their bouncers last time though. Thor laid the smackdown on me!

The Son: Whatever - just don't use Odin's cane as a dancing pole this time!


To be Continued..

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