By Lee Moyer

No Shame Theatre 11/23/01

(434) 297-4137

They’re out there, they are.

They’re what’s diff’rent

They’re what’s new on the face of the earth.

I never much wanted to admit it, but that Darwin feller, he had it right all along. He had it right the whole time.

They’re what follows us right enough… But if you ask me, they’re followin’ too damn close, and that’s… that’s right dangerous…

I remember a time when there was good ole White boys playing basketball- playin’ baseball. They was what it meant to be Americans.

I use to play a bit myself, back in the day. I was 6 foot 2 then, if you can believe it- 17 years old and 6 foot 2. They called me "Long" and I could take that ball long, I could take it out of near any park- before them bats was all corked and fields was all tiny. Hell, before all the darkies and Nips took it over. Before all that money was sent away to wog families pumpin’ out babies and just hopin’ fer the next slugger. It was a game you played cause you loved it.

Well, I reckon that’s progress for you.

Now it ain’t my sort a progress, don’t get me wrong now.

…But bad as that is, that ain’t what I mean. No Sir.

It ain’t what I’m a tellin’ you.

I only bring it up by way of what you might call… contrast.

I was mighty tall, mighty tall. Why, I was the tallest boy in my whole town, probably in the whole damn county. I was 21 before I saw anyone bigger, and he was a giant. Suffered some kind a damn disease, some condition.

Word was his Momma didn’t even know who his daddy was…

I think he was pretty glad to die when he did - even so young as that. He knew he was a freak, an abomination before the eyes of our Lord.

His big ole heart just gave out one day. The bigger they are, the harder they fall scripture tells us... The coroner said his heart was the size of God-damn cantaloupe. Can you imagine? A cantaloupe?

Hell, I thought I was a freak for a time too, when I grew up so fast, shootin’ past all my older brothers like I was a weed…

But the ladies all liked me fine, and I had my pick of all the little beauties.

My Victoria was a gift from Heaven, God rest her soul. She was the prettiest, curviest, ripest woman you ever saw. Men would fall around her like leaves, just waitin’ for a chance to dance. She was an angel, and I was lucky to have her for my own. …And our kids — well, they grew up strong and proud and pretty. And none of ‘em topped out over 5 foot 6.

My kids were good kids. Beautiful kids. …American kids.

And now they’re all grown up, moved away to the big city. Our youngest- Angela, she was only 9 when her momma died. And now that she’s grown up, Angela is the spittin’ image. And she’s gone off to be in the pictures like her momma never did. Not with me and the kids hangin’ on her…

But now, now I worry about them freaks. I really do.

I remember we used to have a set. A regular TV set that brought in pictures from round the world. And I’d go out to the picture shows from time to time. I loved those pictures. Made me believe I was there, they did. There with Gene Autry in the old west, there with the Little Tramp, there with that fine Mae West.

"Why yes you Mae!" we used to laugh. Lillian Gish, America’s sweetheart. Hell, Alan Ladd weren’t no taller than my chestbone, but he made some fine pictures.

But now Angela — most beautiful girl in the whole damn state - Face of an angel and a voice…

Oh, that voice that makes grown men weep.

Angela can’t work. She can’t find work. And why?

Freaks.

I can’t look at the TV or go to a picture show no more.

It’s the Freaks. They’re everywhere.

I dunno where they come from, but come they do. Little girls taller than I ever was. 12 years old, 6 foot 4 and modelin’ panties and posin’ in their birthday outfits. These girls is like green saplings with titties. These freaks, there ain’t one ounce of beauty on those brittle bones.

Maybe they "wear clothes well" I’ve heard that said.

Well, who cares? If they "wear clothes well"? They’re freaks.

No one wants a woman who "wears clothes well" if there’s nothin’ hold onto. You know what I’m sayin’?

Horseface "Pretty Woman" Julie Roberts and that pointy stick Streep woman. All them Freak news folk and Freak movie folk. Them Freak Sports gals. Freak Fitness trainers. Those damned women CEOs and all those Freak trophy wives.

They’re like the damn aliens that all the retards at the Diner go on about. Big dark eyes, pale skin and thinner than tea. But them aliens - they ain’t the new world order - it’s these Freaks that are!

The aliens ain’t got the silicon.

Imagine puttin’ silicon in a perfectly good bosom!

That’s like puttin’ 2 lumps a coal in yer Bourbon!

What kind of new world is this???

It’s a world a freaks, and all my prayers can’t change it back.

Poor Angela… My poor beautiful Angela…

[long beat]

I sometimes think it’d been better if Angela took after me.