An oxymoron in one act
[Curtain rises. Two improbably named Iraqi gentlemen with British accents are seated at a plain oak table in an abandoned factory. They are drinking tea, and dressed in tweed. Distant gunfire can be heard off stage.]
Dudley: Excuse me, Nigel. Would you be a dear, and pass me an RPG.
Nigel: Of course, good Sir. One shaped charge or two?
Dudley: Two, thank you.
Nigel: You’re quite welcome, Dudley. Beautiful day don’t you think?
Dudley: Indeed, a wonderful day for sectarian violence. [Inspecting the sight on the RPG.]
Nigel: Pardon me, Sir… [Removing his monocle and sliding it into his breast pocket] did you say ‘sectarian violence’?
Dudley: Quite right, old chap. It’s going to be a fantastic row!
Nigel: My heavens. How very uncouth.
Dudley: Oh, come off it, Nigel. You know as well as I that this is a ‘civil’ war. We’re not going around killing people willy-nilly, like the Americans. Animals, they are.
Nigel: Yes, animals.
Nigel: Quite right, Dudley. This whole occupation has been rather boorish, to say the least. The Yanks simply have no regard for the proper etiquette of warfare. There are certain rules, you know.
Dudley: You don’t need to tell me, dear sir. I nearly died from embarrassment over what they did in Fallujah – embarrassment, and horrible burns, but mostly embarrassment. The whole thing has been a bloody mess.
[A huge explosion is heard off stage. Dust and debris rain down on the actors.]
Dudley: See, this is exactly what I’m getting at. I just had this suit dry cleaned. Are they going to pay the bill? Not bloody likely!
Nigel: Some people. [Brushing the debris of his jacket sleeve.]
[Off stage, the sound of gunfire grows more intense.]
Nigel: What’s that mate? You’re going to have to speak up!
Dudley: I said indeed!