Illustration by Sarah Layton
A country road. A tree.
Estragon, sitting on a low mound, is trying to milk his willy. He pulls at it with both hands, panting.
He gives up, exhausted, rests, tries again.
ESTRAGON: (giving up again). Nothing to be done. Its pointless.
VLADIMIR: I’m beginning to come round to that opinion. (pulls down his own pants to check his pecker) Just sort of shrivels off to nothing doesn’t it.
Estragon: Just a little hole.
Vladimir: Yours is bleeding.
Estragon: (slumping) Well fuck. Stick a fork in me, I’m done.
Silence. He begins to weep. Blood leaks from his red-raw dickhole.
Estragon: (through tears) Will I ever cum?
Vladimir: He said you’d cum.
Vladimir: The guy…
Estragon: Sounds like a metaphor for god to me. Like Godot. God… Ohhhh…
Vladimir: Well its definitely bloody not.
Estragon: Bloody sounds like…
Estragon: That’s not your line. That’s the stage direction.
Estragon: What does it matter!
Vladimir: Maybe you’ll cum tomorrow?
Estragon: That’s what you said yesterday.
Silence. A pattern emerges.
Vladimir: Did you see that? A pattern emerged.
Estragon: What about?
Vladimir: When you said maybe you’ll cum tomorrow and I said that’s what you said yesterday at the moment that I said yesterday a pattern emerged.
Both look for a pattern.
Estragon: I don’t see it.
Vladimir: Me neither.
Vladimir: Stage direction!
Estragon: What will we do!
Vladimir: What we always do!
Estragon: What anyone would do!
They slump into a spooning position in front of the tree and do what anyone would do. Vladimir, from big spoon, slaps his flaccid cock against Estragon’s fleshy butt cheek until it engorges with blood and existentialism. When it is as hard as life on Manus Island he slides it softly into the welcoming pooper.
Vladimir: That simile was a cruel non-sequitur: I’m torn.
Estragon: So am I.
Silence. Vladimir goes limp. He withdraws his bloody little buddy out from under Estragon’s ass-crack cracked assunder.
Vladimir: It’s too hard!
Estragon: It’s too soft!
Vladimir. That’s the whole point.
Estragon: There isn’t any point.
Vladimir: There isn’t any empathy.
Estragon: They are just people.
Estragon: I’m hungry.
Vladimir: Do you have a carrot?
Estragon: Is that all there is?
Vladimir: I might have some turnips.
Estragon: Give me a carrot.
Vladimir gives Estragon a carrot. He stands, bends over opening up his blood encrusted anus to the audience and slides the carrot inside. It makes a sucking sound.
Estragon: Turn it!
Vladimir: A turnip?
Vladimir takes out a turnip and shoves it hard into Estragon’s clacker. Both vegetables disappear. Estragon screams.
Estragon: I said turn it!
Vladimir: Did you?
Estragon: I think so. Get it out.
Vladimir whips out his cock.
Estragon: No! My arse!
Vladimir tries to mount him once again.
Estragon: Use your hands!
Vladimir: Make up your mind.
Estragon: I wouldn’t mind a hand.
Silence. Estragon screams “Ohhhhhh Godoootttttttttt!” Both vegetables canon from his butthole. Blood and faeces spray meaninglessly across the stage. Vladimir stands stunned, covered head to toe in shit. Silence. Estragon falls to the ground, weeping.
Estragon: I’ll never cum now!
Vladimir: Come now…
Estragon: I can’t cum now. I can’t cum ever.
Vladimir: Shall we go then? Is it worthwhile now?
Estragon: No, it isn’t worthwhile now.
Estragon: Wasn’t a blind guy and another guy on a leash meant to show up? Should we wait for them?
Vladimir: No. We’re Waiting For Godot.
Estragon: How do you know?
Vladimir: It’s the title.
Estragon: I really like you Vladimir, I’ve never told you this because of the obvious structural and ideological limitations of this play, but I feel like I should let you know. You are a really genuine dude, and I enjoy hanging out with you. You always read my columns in Farrago, and that makes me feel really validated as a writer and as a person. Maybe if we admit to each other that we are good mates brought together by hardship, and that between us we can get through all of this shit, then we can quit this Sisyphean nightmare. Instead of sleeping in a ditch tonight I could sleep at your place, and in exchange I’ll get a cask of goon and we can sing a few Pogues songs together next to a fire we light in a garbage can, and actually listen to each other and communicate properly, and then never come back here again. This Godot guy seems like a bit of a dick anyway. It might be a totally meaningless existence, I know, but if you and I shared it together then I think maybe….
Vladimir: Shall we go then?
Estragon: Yes Let’s go.
They do not move.