That’s the thing about death, isn’t it? It’s the admin. The voicemail you have to delete. The jumper you can’t throw away because it still smells of their neck. The freezer full of frozen rodents you’re too much of a coward to bury.
This piece captures the play’s essential loneliness, its scab-picking humor, and the raw address to the audience as both confessor and voyeur. fleabag play script
Cracker
Anyway. The guinea pig. I finally took it to the park at 2 a.m. Dug a hole with a spatula. Said a few words. “You were small. You were furry. You didn’t deserve my incompetence.” Then I went home and masturbated to a video of a man building a log cabin. Don’t ask. That’s the thing about death, isn’t it
Oh right. You paid for a ticket.