SETTING: An empty auditorium in North Carolina. A rally is about to
 be held for the NATIONAL FIREARM ASSOCIATION, a pro-firearm lobby.
 Colorful pendants hang all around the hall, espousing a citizen's God-given
 right to protect their family and possessions by shooting people.

 On stage rehearsing a speech is CHUCK, a 70-something actor who has life-like
 hair and is considered an American icon. He is known the world over for
 portraying brave (and well-armed) men of action in films such as "Planet of
 The Gifted Monkeys," "The Omicron Man," "Soiling Greens" and the religious
 blockbuster, "The Tan Commando." In the latter CHUCK plays Moses, a pumped-up
 servant of God who fights bad pharaohs and sandal-wearing gangsters with a big
 stick (guns have yet to be invented). He is now the President of the NFA.

 CHUCK is wearing reading glasses and reciting his speech with great, booming
 sincerity. An old musket leans on the podium to his right.

 On the front row and coaching (or directing, if you will) is WAYNE, a
 conservatively-dressed businessman in his 50s who is the Communications
 Director of the NFA. While CHUCK is the President of the organization, WAYNE
 is the group's most outspoken spokesman and it is he who really calls the
 shots. He has a copy of CHUCK'S script in his hand, and is wearing a shoulder
 holster with a GLOCK handgun strapped tightly to his plump, sweating frame.

 The only other person in the hall is DR. LANA, a radio talk show host who
 dispenses advice how to despise people. She is standing to WAYNE'S left, and
 also has a copy of CHUCK'S speech which she rifles through maniacally.

 DR. LANA: (to WAYNE)
 Why the hell didn't you put my line about your gun being your life partner in
 here? You said you would, asshole.

 WAYNE:
 We'll discuss it later. (to CHUCK) Please continue, Mr. President.

 CHUCK:
 (reading from script) So in closing, brothers and sisters, let me assure you
 this organization will always be your friend, your defender, and your shelter
 in a storm of liberal communist propaganda. We will be there whenever Big
 Brother tries to plug your barrel with difficult paperwork, lock up your
 trigger with some imported Chinese pistol boot, or wee on your ammunition with
 the urine of yellow journalism.

 (PAUSES FOR EXPECTED APPLAUSE)

 And to members of the current administration and that commie tree-hugger
 who presumes to take the reins of power, I have a warning: If you think you're
 taking guns away from decent, law-abiding citizens, I say to you . . .Oh no you don't!

 (PAUSE)

 CHUCK:
 Well, what do you think? I think it was damned impressive, if I do say so
 myself. You know, back when I played Moses, I used to drown kittens right
 before coming to the set just to put me in the mood to kick Pharaoh's ass.
 Hell, I don't even have to do that anymore. Oh, I still like to kill the odd
 small animal, but I-

 WAYNE:
 I think it needs something.

 DR. LANA:
 Goddamn right it needs something. It's as limp a finish as I've ever seen and
 believe me I've seen plenty. Chuck, you're pushing a rope uphill. You suck.

 WAYNE:
 Try the gun.

 CHUCK:
 The what?

 WAYNE:
 The gun.
 The musket.
 The long tube-thingy leaning on the podium.

 CHUCK: (touching the musket)
 What, you mean this?

 WAYNE:
 That's right. It's called a musket. It's an antique gun. It's what pioneers
 used to use to shoot Indians, who were the hippies of the American West.

 CHUCK:
 I know what a musket is, sir. I played a musket in summer stock, back when you
 were just a round in your dad's chamber.

 CHUCK picks the musket up and handles it awkwardly. He holds it up as if to
 shoot at the audience, and knocks his reading glasses askew in the process.
 While correcting this he knocks a glass of water off the podium with the
 barrel of the gun, and it shatters on the floor right in front of DR. LANA.

 DR. LANA:
 Jesus! What the hell are you doing, you moron?

 CHUCK tries to extricate himself from the gun,
 which is caught in the strap of his reading glasses.

 CHUCK: (grumpily)
 It's Moses, thank you Madame. They wouldn't let me play Jesus
 because I refused to dress like a flower child.

 WAYNE:
 Look, why don't you just hold the gun to the side, like a cane?

 DR. LANA:
 The blind leading the blind.

 WAYNE: (watching CHUCK lean on the musket)
 Good. Try that last line again.

 CHUCK:
 Last line? Ummmm. . . I seem to have misplaced my script during the fracas
 with the musket. . .

 DR. LANA: (to WAYNE)
 Maybe if he stuck that musket up his ass he'd remember where he put his script.

 WAYNE: (to DR. LANA)
 Quiet!

 CHUCK:
 I seem to remember something about commies taking my gun at the end, there.

 WAYNE:
 The line was, "Oh no you don't."

 CHUCK: (remembering)
 Oh yes.

 (CHUCK pauses, gathering himself in)

 CHUCK:
 Oh no you don't. How was that?

 WAYNE:
 I like it, but it still needs something. We need to work on your annunciation.

 CHUCK:
 My ammunition?

 DR. LANA: (to no one in particular)
 It's like talking to a sock puppet.

 WAYNE: (ignoring DR. LANA)
 Never mind. Let's try it again, only this time hold the musket over your head
 like you were a rebel.

 CHUCK lofts the gun above his head, and he seems to gain strength from the
 gesture. He focuses on the back of the auditorium, and after a pause, blurts
 out the following:

 CHUCK:
 Oh, don't you know?

 DR. LANA:
 I don't frigging believe this guy.

 WAYNE: (getting impatient)
 Look. The line is "Oh know you don't." And try to grasp some of that gusto,
 and the rebel spirit, from some of your movies, you know? You're an American
 hero, for Chrissakes! Remember? You're a Champion on a noble quest. A man who
 will lead his people. A warrior who will fight the forces of tyranny!

 CHUCK: (excited)
 You're right! I am those things! I created these roles because I AM those roles!

 WAYNE:
 Now your talking! Now, give me that last line like the hero you are!

 CHUCK: (lofting the musket)
 GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME, YOU DAMNED DIRTY APE!

 DR. LANA:
 What the hell was that?

 WAYNE: (to himself)
 I think this is going to take a while.
 

 CURTAIN