What a great show this week! Today, we’re looking at divorce law as we travel through the great state of Wisconsin. This week, we’ll be putting on regular shows about one of those power couples you all know and love, and no, we’re not talking about Kim and Kanye. Read on to check out the story for our latest sketch..
James Islington, a local Milwaukee divorce attorney, files his papers and sighs. Off-stage, muffled shouting can be heard, and it’s definitely getting closer. He stands and goes to the door. “I should know better than to schedule these types on Mondays,” he mutters before opening it.
“Mr. Islington?” Frankenstein’s monster, played by Tom Bree on stilts, frowns at the lawyer.
“I—Yes, that would be me. Who—”
“We’re here about our appointment.” His bride, just as tall, nudges him in, and the two men stumble back into the room. She follows with her arms crossed over a stylish white gown. “I can’t take it anymore.”
“Oh, you can’t!” He scoffs at her, turning away.
“Ah, Mr. and Mrs.—”
“Monster. Frankenstein S. Monster. Your secretary said you were free, and frankly, I don’t think we can wait much longer anyway.”
The lawyer sits uneasily, motioning to the chairs. The towering couple ignores the gesture. “Well, what can I help you two with?”
To his displeasure, they both begin speaking at once.
“The spark is gone!”
“He thinks I should cover up my stitches better, like some social media model.”
“She refuses to see eye-to-eye with my family.”
The Bride frowned at him. “Oh please, Victor is a hack, and you know it.”
Frankenstein gasps, turning with a wounded look. “How dare you speak that way about my father!”
She rolls her eyes. “He’s my father, too, idiot, if you want to call him that. And, I hardly think stitching together whatever you happen to find lying around the graveyard can be called parenting.’”
Frankenstein’s monster points at his bride. “See? She’s always like this! She just refuses to listen to reason.”
James puts his hands up, trying to placate the eight-foot-tall monster leaning over his desk. “So, you two are having some . . . marital disputes? And, you no longer wish to work things out?”
“That’s right.” The bride sniffs, haughtily. “I’d say I was seeking alimony, but every time anyone mentions doing anything useful, he groans and shambles around. Very unprofessional.”
Before Frankenstein can speak, James puts up a hand. “Alright, alright, I understand. Let me get the paperwork, and I’ll get you two ready to file soon enough. It’s kind of funny, though, I never expected a pair like you two to settle in Milwaukee.”
“We’re here for the culture.”
“Of course.” He shuffled some papers around, then chuckled to himself. “And, you know, here I thought the books says you two were made for each other. Literally.”
The two paused, glaring, as though they can’t believe he’d say such a thing. Then, they both approached his desk.
“What do you think this is, some kind of arranged marriage?”
“My wife is her own woman!”
The shouting continues as he puts his hands up, as if to protect himself from the shouting. The shouting then fades with the lights.
In the darkness, a nasally voice speaks. “Mr. Islington?”
The lights come up as James sits up, alone and bleary-eyed. His hair is a mess, and a page is stuck to his face.
“Yes, yes, what?”
“Your next clients are here. Did you fall asleep at your desk again?”
He pauses for a long, long moment. “No, but tell them to reschedule. I’ve had a little . . . shock, today. I think I need to lie down.”