UNCLE MORT'S RESTING PLACE: THORN DRYADS

This is a true recounting of the vision that comes to each Thriving Thorn Dryad upon reaching the True Death. It is the gift of Uncle Mort, within whose purview lies all manner of communication with the dead.

(All is blackness, except for large words in Thorn Dryad script. They say "This is an encore presentation of Uncle Mort's Resting Place." This fades away, and a set appears. At the far left we see Mr. Gobbo, who died in Uncle Mort's goblin episode. Behind him are a couch and desk, currently empty. To the right of that is a stage and at the far right is a band, consisting of various dead souls. The band is playing the familiar upbeat strains of "Uncle Mort's Theme." The bandleader is oddly attired and seems to have come from a different reality.)

GOBBO: It's Uncle Mort's Resting Place! Tonight, Uncle Mort's guests are Danny Thomas! John Wilkes Booth! The Three Stooges! And special guest the god Acanthus! With Jerry Garcia and the Resting Place Orchestra, and me, I'm Mr. Gobbo. And now, it's UNCLE MORT!!!
(Uncle Mort comes on stage to applause. The music comes to a climax and ends.)
MORT: Thank you and welcome to the show. You know, I just flew in from the Silver City, but since I'm a Celestial Spirit my arms aren't tired at all. (A rimshot.) We've got some great guests tonight, but first I want you all to give a hand to our bandleader, Jerry Garcia. (Applause) Hey, Jerry! Are you grateful now? (Jerry laughs in a forced way.) So Jerry, what do you think of those advancing ice packs? (Jerry shrugs as if to say "Nobody gave me a line to say here.") Yeah. With all that ice coming down, it sure is cold.
GOBBO: How cold is it?
MORT: It's so cold, that I saw Byron and Yultan huddling together for warmth. (Rimshot. Uproarious laughter.) Well, we've got a great show coming up, right after this. (Music comes up. Fade to commercial.)

COMMERCIAL

(The scene is a typical middle-class Thriving Thorn Dryad home, with a typical family. Mom is reading, Dad's making himself a sandwich, and the kids are playing. We hear a voice from nowhere in particular.)
NARRATOR: Has this ever happened to you?
(Two demons instantaneously pop in, giggling hideously. Fire erupts from their hands, burning Mom and Dad to ashes. For a moment our attention is riveted on the children, who look pathetic. Then the demons incinerate them too, laughing even more. They pop out, leaving the remains to smolder.)
NARRATOR: Stop the demon onslaught before it obliterates all you hold dear. Pray to the god of your choice to donate mana to the Demon Slayer fund.
(The scene fades out and is replaced with the inscription "The Demon Slayer Fund.)
NARRATOR: The Demon Slayer Fund, because the alternative is really disgusting.

BACK TO THE SHOW

(The commercial fades out. We see the set again. Uncle Mort is now seated behind the desk. Seated on the couch are Danny Thomas, who is nearest Uncle Mort and is taking a drink of water, and Mr. Gobbo. There is laughter, as if the audience has just heard a joke. Uncle Mort looks straight at us.)
MORT: Welcome back. We're here with Danny Thomas, who's been entertaining us with a really great story. It's too bad he didn't realized we'd cut away for commercial.
(Danny does a spit take, drenching Mr. Gobbo.)
MORT: I'm sorry, but we're really pressed for time, so let's bring out our next guest, actor John Wilkes Booth.
(Booth enters from backstage, shakes hands with everyone, and takes the seat vacated by Danny Thomas as he and Mr. Gobbo shift farther down the couch.)
MORT: So John, what have you been up to lately?
BOOTH: Not much. Just suffering in eternal damnation.
MORT: Great! Well, as a matter of fact, we do have a scene from your most recent project.
(The set fades and we the assassination of Lincoln at Ford's Theater. Then we're back at the set. There are boos from the audience.)
BOOTH: Hey! I didn't think I was killing some kind of saint. All my friends thought he was the most evil man in American history. (Danny Thomas does another spit take, again spraying Mr. Gobbo.) Look at what he did to the South! Even the abolitionists suspected he was a hypocrite. But he gets the credit for freeing the slaves and now he's the martyr and I'm the bad guy. Gee whiz! One little error in judgment and my career is over for good. They forgave Travolta for "Moment by Moment" - why not me? (He sobs.)
MORT: Tough break John, but that's show biz. And now, it's time to bring out our extra-special guest. All you Thriving Thorn Dryads out there, it's time to "Meet Your Maker"!

AN INTERVIEW: MEET YOUR MAKER

(Suddenly life seems more lush. The set appears greener than before. We experience a sense of fruitfulness, but mixed with a desire to just sit back and vegetate. From backstage comes Acathus in all his glory. He sits next to Uncle Mort as the others move down. They are too awestruck to attempt to shake his hand.)
MORT: Welcome to "Meet Your Maker", Acanthus, Lord of Thorns, Wilderlands, and Hidden Places. It's an honor to have you here, and I know all the souls of dead Thorn Dryads are really excited to experience the glory of your divine presence.
ACANTHUS: Uncle Mort, you are as fond of prating as any other flesh creature. But I turn my leaves to you.
MORT: How exactly did the idea of creating Thriving Thorn Dryads come to you and your fellow gods.
ACANTHUS: The wisdom of Serapis has led him to place me for aeons in his library of books, those once and future written. Though I have no love for ink splashed upon the crushed carcasses of my kin, such is my penance.... I found among those many works of possibility a description of the Thorn Dryads, which seemed a good thing to me.
MORT: Of all the gods in the Thorn Dryad pantheon, there's no doubt that you're the thorniest. So I think you're the logical one to ask, what is the True Meaning of Life, for Thriving Thorn Dryads? Surely there's more to it than just making wind sounds and avoiding herbalists who want to turn your leaves into sleeping potions.
ACANTHUS: There is the dream of the divine garden, in that waking death of winter. There is war against the flesh creatures. And there are the equinoxes, when at the height of ceremony they almost understand how to reach that garden of heaven....
MORT: You know, the Afterlife still seems underpopulated to me. After all, the rule for any good party is the more, the merrier! So, I was wondering if you had any plans to help us in that regard. Any good rampages on horizon?
ACANTHUS: I will give only the words of Serapis: "As you loved the earthly gardens / so you will fear the earthly wilds."
MORT: Any ambitions for Greater godhood? I mean, I'm sure we all have tons of respect Serapis, but we've got to wonder whether you're realizing your full potential as his, excuse me, minion.
ACANTHUS: It is the wisdom of Serapis that leads him to teach, though often it leads him to be a dullard. But there is one in heaven who has taught me to dream of greater possibilities, and to her I owe a debt greater than a lesser plant to the sun of Luminos.
MORT: Finally, is there anything in particular you'd like to say to our dead friends? Any special things you'd like them to do while waiting to be recalled for war?
ACANTHUS: The deepest root needs not the sharpest thorn. (Pause). Ye gods, I'm starting to talk like Serapis. Arrrrrrgh!
MORT: Thank you, Acanthas Thornlord. It's been fascinating talking with you. I know all the dead Thorn Dryads will be much more at ease with their place in the Scheme of Things, based on what you've told us. So long, and happy sentineling!
(Acanthus vanishes, leaving only a trace of moss on the end of the couch where he was sitting.)

SIGN-OFF

MORT: Wow! It seems that we're already out of time.
(Danny Thomas performs one more spit take. This time, Mr. Gobbo sees it coming and ducks out of the way. He does manage to bang his head against the camera used for close-ups.)
MORT: Careful there, Mr. Gobbo. Those cameras are expensive! My apologies to the Three Stooges. We'll have the six of them back as soon as we possibly can. Tomorrow night is our special pre- Grammy show, and my guests will be Kurt Cobain, Falco, and St. Hildegarde of Bingen. Good night!
(Uncle Mort and his guests make chit-chat to each other as the scene fades away.)