Hey!
Ah!
Well, if you've got nothing to say...
Oh, God! Oh, God, what time is it?
3:00 a.m. This is hopeless.
Oh. Good, you're still up.
I'm always up. I haven't been able to sleep for weeks.
They say turkey helps, but I took two and nothing.
Why are you awake?
More nightmares about Mom and you and me.
I kept trying to talk, but I couldn't get any words out.
Uh-huh. Was your mouth sewn shut, or you didn't even have one?
I didn't even have one! How do you know so much?
There's a reason this place is called Dreamland.
Something about this castle makes dreams more powerful.
You can't escape your dreams,
but you can stop a nightmare if you work through the issues causing it.
Wow. I wish you were this wise all the time when you were awake.
I'm just going out for some fresh air. I couldn't sleep.
See, I've been having these weird dreams where my mouth--
Cool.
Closed? But I have feelings to suppress.
Huh?
Okay, okay, the political situation in Dreamland
has really gotten me confused.
First, everyone in the kingdom got turned to stone.
Then we all got de-stoned.
Ever since then, I've been trying to get stoned again.
- Ah!
This is hot!
It's supposed to be hot.
Hot, bitter beer?
It's coffee. It's a new drink, kind of like tea, but stronger and worse.
Will it make me forget my troubles?
No, but it'll stunt your growth.
I'm 23, but I still get to order off the kids' menu.
Now tell Miri all about your problems.
You look really familiar, Miri.
I have another job working for people
who never notice me 'cause they're so self-absorbed.
We were talking about you?
But it was all a trick! My mom had only married my dad to have me.
She betrayed both of us,
and I still feel so bad because she's my mom, you know?
And my dad, I mean, he can barely...
You see, this is why most people only have one or two.
...admit she existed. But me, I mean, I just keep having these nightmares--
Because you're bottling up your feelings, dig?
What else can I do?
Express them. What do you do for fun?
-I-- -Besides get drunk.
I... No, I did that because I was drunk.
Oh! I... No, I did that to get drunk. I am open to your suggestions.
Well, there's art, music, wearing weird clothes you make yourself.
-This is Judy, by the way. -'Sup?
Basically, anything that lets you work through feelings and heal.
You know, creativity.
Creativity?
Look around you. All of these people are expressing themselves.
This is all really impressive, but I don't have any talent, so...
-Do you have hands? -Yeah.
-Can you hold a pen? -Yeah.
-Then you're a writer.
And I already got a head start with the drinking.
So, what are we writing?
It's something personal. I suppose you can stay and watch, though.
Here I go.
"When I was young, I overheard a conversation between my father and--"
-Um... No. -What?
No, nothing. I was gonna say something,
but then I was like, "You know what? I don't think it's fixable,"
so maybe just go ahead.
What's wrong with it?
Nothing's wrong with it, really, other than just being bad. But go on.
Ugh! Stop talking!
Are you sure that's the right word?
I think you're conflating "confusing" with "conflating." It's confusing, but--
-I don't like that part, either. -Ah!
Wait! We're your biggest fans! Quit shoving! Come on!
I can help you! You ever heard of a writer's demon?
-Hmm. -I can also help!
Ow!
Come on, there's nothing to criticize out here. Although, this door is hideous.
So, writers have demons?
Yeah, most of 'em have dozens.
And the demons help with writing?
Sure. We also cause depression, self-doubt, insomnia,
suicide and drug addiction. The writer's life.
Uh, I don't know.
Eh, you're no writer, anyway.
Nobody gives an elf's ass what you got to say about your trite little life.
Up yours! Yes, I am!
Eh? Eh?
Okay, you can stay.
That's a good start, but if you want to be a real writer,
you're going to need to procrastinate a lot more.
Wow. You gotta read this guy's story. It's a lot like yours but better.
You know what would really get those ideas flowing? A nice, long nap.
Oh. Yeah, good idea.
No!
A little more suffering for your art and you'll be good to go.
"Dismayed, the elf's nose crinkled noiselessly,
glinting in the sunset, purple as a stubbed toe."
What's purple? The nose or the sunset?
I don't know anymore!
And who cares how his nose reacted? I hate this.
Have you considered writing erotic fairy tale fan fiction?
All this writing, I just want to say what happened.
So write a play.
You mean like a one-woman show?
God, no! I'm trying to help your career, not hurt it.
Go nuts! You've been working so hard, you deserve that sixth cinnamon roll.
Mmm. Now, this scene...
This scene in particular is tough.
You see, I'm not sure how we...
Oh! Dad!
When you proposed to Mom...
Why are they ripping out all the tulips?
I'm putting in an archery range.
I wanted a form of exercise that was mostly standing still.
Sounds great.
Okay, so one time you told me how you proposed to Mom. Was it--
I don't remember.
I didn't even ask the question yet.
What's past is past. And I'm not interested in reliving it.
But Dagmar was part of your life, I mean, both our lives, for almost 20 years.
We can't just pretend that never happened.
I'm king! I can do whatever I want!
Like hide in the toolshed until I go away?
Maybe.
I don't need anybody's help. I lived this story.
It's a part of me and I am going to make it real.
You wound me, wife. Your heart is as if gripped by ice.
I am gripped by purpose higher than thy petty, worldly concerns.
"Thou art but one fallen horseman
in a grand battle waged far beyond your understanding."
"To fall in battle is merely one death.
To fall in true love's betrayal is a hundred score."
"Exit stage right, and scene."
Bravo! A heartbreaking work of average-to-moderate genius.
A dramatic tour de force, it was.
I've never been permitted to sit down for this long.
Meh. I was really hoping for more of a medical thriller.
Terrific work. First-rate.
-Want to celebrate with a little suicide? -No!
Just doin' my job.
So, where does your script go now? Rubbish bin, outhouse?
Well, I think it should be performed onstage.
It's quite brilliant, but what do I know?
Not much, really.
Princess Tiabeanie?
Hi. I wanted to ask if I could submit my play--
No.
-Can I make an appointment to-- -No.
-I'd just like to see if I'd be able to-- -No.
-Can I please just come into the theater? -No.
Why is it that everyone else in the whole world
can just march right in that door except me?
-Oh. You didn't know? -Didn't know what?
Women aren't allowed to work in theater!
I know you must be disappointed, Bean, but what did you expect?
Like war and beauty-contest judging, theater is the noble work of men.
That's ridiculous. There's no reason women can't do theater.
It's a slippery slope. What's next, male cows?
You know, I, myself, have been known to tread the boards.
Oh! Real boards?
In my days at Twinkletown University, I was the toast of the annual follies.
My fans, stunned by my talent,
showered me with homemade bricks and fresh, ripe tomatoes.
Ah. Bygone days. The most glorious time of my life.
Ah!
Hello. I understand women are prohibited from working in the theater.
Yep.
-How about pigs? -Come on in.
I must warn you, I am smeared in my own manure.
I said, come on in.
You got them to put on my play? Oh, my gosh, thank you!
Ew.
Though, there is one small condition. They think it's my play.
What? What do you mean, "your play"?
Well, I couldn't very well tell them it was written by a woman.
The credit may go to me, but the payment is all yours.
You're paying me with me? I don't need money.
I wrote the play so I could come to terms with my family and my past.
I poured my heart and soul into it. You can't put a price on that.
It's an insult to even suggest it. I'll just be taking this, thanks.
Fortunately, I got them to give me something far more valuable than cash.
The starring role.
Whoa, you're starring as me? My character's the star of the play.
I had to make a few adjustments.
Sad.
-Bean? -What?
I have a question. Don't throw me out the window.
That's not a question.
Don't throw me out the window? Also, I have a second question.
I could go down to the theater and be your little spy.
That's not a question, either.
I think someone tiny's going out the window.
-I hate you guys!
I can't read, but I like them new shapes and squiggles.
I don't like the pointy ones.
All right, let's rehearse. Act one, scene two, Zog and Dagmar,
written and directed by Wymond Petty.
Wait, you're taking credit?
If you're not happy,
they're casting for Pork Chop Number Two at the butcher shop.
Pork Chop Number Two? I'm no common cutlet, I'm a leading ham!
Then, action.
The poets ne'er wrote of pleasures so sublime.
My glorious kingdom, a feast for my eyes.
My glorious bride, a brunch for my soul.
For my soul.
Cue Dagmar!
Get a doctor, now!
Hmm. I've seen this before. Death.
The finest actor of his generation, struck down at his first rehearsal.
I think maybe it was the lead makeup.
That's what you always say.
Now take off his clothes and throw his corpse in the alley.
Don't forget the wig.
Woe is me. Who shall be my Dagmar now?
Wow. I didn't see that coming.
Driver, stop! Stop, I say!
What kind of smut is this?
It better be religious smut.
Worse. It's secular smut. And look it! Their noses are touching.
What?
Looks like a harmless grope-fest.
Nothing about this story is harmless.
If the king hears about it, his fury will know no bounds.
Is it such a terrible thing to allow these fools to openly ridicule the Crown?
The difficulty lies in discerning between
what is right for the king and what is right for the kingdom.
It's the very foundation of our secret society.
That and sex bingo every Tuesday night in the basement.
This play could be just the thing we've been looking for.
Well, I'm not telling him directly.
I've already been punched five times today.
I'll send a messenger he can kill and then we'll both tell him.
Utterly scandalous! Well, it can't even be called theater.
Nothing but made-up hoo-hah
to distract peasants from their miserable lives.
But that's what religion is for!
What it is, is treason.
They make a laughingstock of the royal family, the kingdom,
and most important, you, Your Majesty.
Me? They're mocking me? What did I ever do?
Aside from the yelling and the stabbing
and the slapping and the gouging and the name-calling?
Absolutely nothing, sire.
I want to see it, with my own eyes.
Where do I see it?
The theater, 8:00 p.m. tonight.
The theater? All right. But I'm bringing my bow.
Good shot, sire. Right in the spleen.
"A command performance"?
Yes, your next and presumably final show will be attended by the king.
He will render judgment as to whether this production is treasonous
and then pronounce sentence.
Okay, so no big deal.
What's the sentence for treason?
Couple of light slaps on the bum-bum?
'Cause I don't think I can handle that.
Ah.
I told them, no more tulips!
Ever!
You're gone. Erased from here.
You never happened.
Sire?
It's showtime.
All right, let me just get my opera glasses.
Let's go.
This is so frustrating.
I've got to be the only writer in the world
who has to sit around helplessly while idiots ruin all my hard work.
Then why are we here? You could be around the corner at my bar.
Because I love this drink. This bitter, bitter drink.
All right, people, it's that time again. Amateur night.
Please give a tepid Jittery welcome to a newcomer.
We call her Freckles behind her back. My new friend, Bean.
What? No way.
Do it. Do it. Do it.
All right, shut up!
Do it.
Well? Let's go, already!
Hey, look, there's my house!
A play, starring who?
- What the hell is that?
'Tis I, your royal king!
Oh, my God, it's a pig!
Hello. Hi. Um...
I hate Dreamland.
I hate the overflowing plague pits.
I hate how when it's the end of the night and you're completely drunk
and you've gotta stagger home, it's uphill all the way.
But you know what I don't hate? Most of you.
I believe, deep down, underneath all that dirt and sweat and grease and mud
and whatever is all over you, sir, that you guys are kind and decent.
You just do misguided things,
like abandoning your babies in the Enchanted Forest.
They're not gonna survive.
Or like betting on elf versus squirrel wrestling, like, to the death.
Is that what we really want to watch?
Guys, the squirrel always wins.
Do you know how much money I've lost just thinking that I'm gonna witness
the first time that an elf beats a squirrel?
It's never gonna happen, but we watch it again and again.
It's not a fair fight. And you know what else is not fair?
The fact that I'm up here on this dinky little stage talking to you,
but I can't go across the street to perform the play that I wrote.
It's going on right now, in front of an adoring, sophisticated audience.
You suck!
All right, settle down, now. You've had your fun.
I'm asking you very gently for a little decorum in the theater.
-Please. I beg you.
Show us your teats!
So that's the way you want it?
Then that's the way you're going to get it.
Here we go.
Good. Now, where was I?
My love, I beseech thee...
Hey, you're on in 30 seconds.
But he's barely made up. You can still see green skin everywhere.
Like a tree in bloom, my love now sprouts anew.
Dagmar is pregnant.
Lo, I am ripe with our blissful union. Witness, my king.
Aw, come on. Dagmar never wore lipstick like that.
I pray this be a daughter as fair as thou.
We shall call her Tiabeanie and she shall make a fine princess.
Or maybe she'll make a nice pie, instead.
Hey, wait a minute. That pig with a crown is supposed to be me?
And for an encore, you're all getting your heads chopped off!
My dad told me there's a reason they call it Dreamland,
and for once, he was right.
Because whenever I fall asleep, it's nightmares about my evil mom.
It turns out Oona was the cool one.
You never appreciate your lizard stepmom
until she becomes a sexy pirate, am I right?
Remember you all got turned to stone?
Yeah, Oona did it.
No, that was Dagmar.
Yeah, Dagmar said Oona did it.
Dagmar was a liar.
My whole life, I just wanted her to be there,
but it turns out the best mothering I ever got
was from a fat guy with a red mustache.
She's whining about her dad.
My dad was right. You can't escape your dreams.
But when I fall asleep tonight, whatever happens, I'm gonna fight back.
What are you doing here, Dad?
You know, Bean, you're pretty good with words up there on the thing.
Dad, that doesn't mean much, but it means a lot.
You know, this puts me in a good mood.
I'm thinking maybe I'll call off the execution.
What? I thought we were gonna have a happy ending tonight. Oh, man.
Hmm?
Wait, don't chop!
The king has changed his mind!
Oh, well, no harm done.
Cheer up, Elmo! We have vindication
from no less an authority than the king himself.
Our show shall go on.
Oh, boy.
Ugh. Dad, don't you hate it that it's uphill all the way home?
Yeah.
Wow. That guy has it lucky.