Hard Times
Hard Times
By
Jeremiah Liend
Copyright Jeremiah Liend 2026
Out Of The Hat 2026 produced by Bemidji Community Theater
Location: Saloon
Object: Pig Baby
First Line: The stench of 2026 washed over me as I looked up at the glowing embers blotting out the stars.
Actors: 2 Female, 2 Male
Interior Ruth’s Hard Times Saloon, Salt Lake City, Utah, evening, 1876.
(Ruth is behind the bar serving drinks to the bar’s only patrons, Bart and Clementine. Everyone is wearing distressed clothing in a parody of the wild west. Everyone has a copy of Bart’s latest lousy book in the form of several script-looking piles of roughed up paper. Bart tosses back a drink before taking a deep breath and reading this last passage.)
Bart. “The stench of 2026 washed over me as I looked up at the glowing embers blotting out the stars. All I could think about were all of those lives ended and children incinerated and how we somehow managed to normalize it all into our daily lives. Like rats in a failing wheel. Until the heat death of the universe at last consumed us all.” (Pause) The End. Ta dah!
Ruth. OK, Bart. Well, first thing, you’re cut off. Ya’ll done.
(Ruth takes his remaining drinks.)
Ruth. Second thing is, you ain’t never gonna make it work, as a writer. You need to come to Jesus and admit defeat. Ain’t no one no how gonna read your… what you call it?
Clementine. “Science Fiction”.
Ruth. Science fiction, Bart? Ain’t no one round these parts knows how to read, let alone read something they ain’t gonna understand. You ever read that series about the monkey getting into all sorts of trouble? THAT is something people want to read, Bart. That monkey gets caught eating a mess of pies and then gets a belly ache over it? That’s storytelling people can grasp.
Clementine. Y’all ever read that Don Quixote?
Bart. Shoot, ladies. I ain’t never gonna make it in this awful literature scene, am I? I came out to unsettled Utah with a pen and a dream. What can I do, Ruth? Clementine!? I’m looking for feedback around these parts!? I ain’t above criticism, if’n yer not too mean about it… Constructive criticism?
Ruth. You got ta find your audience, hon. Who you writin all these nonsense words for?
Clementine. Sure ain’t someone who likes to read.
Bart. Now, that sounds a might mean there. It’s a real open piece, you know? Put a lot of myself all up in this mess of words. But how come ya’ll detest it so?
Ruth. We ain’t tryin ta be mean, Bart. We just don’t want you wasting your time and all this fine paper over these nonsense stories of yours. Why not go into paper sales?
Clementine. Or rustlin?
Bart. Now, Clementine, rustlin round these parts is a hangin crime. That’s how the law got my pa, rustlin. Now I done thing I ain’t proud of, sure, but this career in creative writin seems like a might more valuable use of my time on this here earth. If’n I can just figure how ta put these nonsense words in the right order like?
Clementine. But Bart, you go on and read that Don Quixote?
Bart. NO… no. No, Clementine, I ain’t read no Don Quixote. Why?
Clementine. It’s real long and real borin and reading this mess of crazy made me think of it.
Bart. Yeah? Well. Mayhap I’ll have chance to read it some day.
Clementine. Lost my copy when the whorehouse burned down.
Ruth. Clementine! Please!
Clementine. What’s that?
Ruth. We do not use that word, in Hard Times Saloon. This here is a proper establishment.
Clementine. Lost my copy when the bordello burned down?
Ruth. See now, that’s a right proper word.
Bart. Fine word play there, Clementine.
Clementine. I appreciate the positive feedback, folks. It’s been a long hard road.
Ruth. We sure know you’ve fell on hard times, after all those wars and fires and what not.
Clementine. But I don’t let it get me down.
Bart. You’re a fine woman, Clementine, and I always admire your opinion.
Clementine. Shut up and buy me a drink, Bart. You owe me.
Bart. I’m down to my last bit and it’s all yours, my darling Clementine.
Ruth. Well, you’s cut off but she ain’t, so I’ll pour it out.
(Ruth and Clementine share a drink and think briefly about literature.)
Ruth. It ain’t that your nonsense words ain’t purty, Bart. It’s that their nonsense. Ain’t one idea being used to build anything on top of anything else.
Clementine. Ruth gets it. It’s like a gull durn cake out in the rain. Ain’t nothing structurin the frostin and it’s all just a lump of weird.
Bart. So you think I needs more structure?
Ruth. I reckon it could’t hurt nothin. All this paper you ever get yer hands on a mess of note cards?
Bart. Oh, I don’t think I want to spend all that on note cards… I’m gonna have to sell my gold teeth to afford rent next month.
Ruth. Oh Bart. I’ll take those teeth out fer ya.
Bart. Kind of you to offer Ruth, but I’s got a man comin’.
(Enter Dr. Quaddle. He is an ostentatiously dressed European who speaks flawless English. He has two carpet bags, one in each hand. He sets them down and proceeds.)
Quaddle. Good evening, good people, allow me to introduce myself, as I am traveling without entourage. My name is Quentin Percivald Quaddle. That’s of the Dutch Quaddles not to be confused with the Von Quaddles of Austria and Austrio-Hungary. I hold many titles and certifications but I am traveling now under the credentials of my medical degree in dentistry science. In addition to my DDS I am also an MD, MLS, and BA. That is Bad Ass, for those who know.
Bart. Right on time.
Quaddle. Ah! I presume you are my pending client, as I am responding to a written request I now forthwith accept. I will remove those gold teeth of yours, for a mere 1/10th of the total gold as well as all surrounding teeth. I have a contract here that I encourage you to review before signing. You are Bart Bartholemew Bartholemew?
Bart. Yes.
Quaddle. BBB. Bad Bart. Bart the Bastard. Burnt Bacon Bart. Bart Bartz. Bart the Bear.
Bart. The very same. Those are but some of my assorted AKAs.
Quaddle. Amazing. And as I understand from your request you are a regional author of some import?
(The ladies laugh.)
Quaddle. Ah! Comedy!
Bart. I may have overstated my impact on the regional literature community. This is a somewhat recent revelation.
Quaddle. No matter! I only read when it makes me money. Let’s take a look in that awful mouth of yours, shall we? Oh! My MANNers!!
(Quaddle performs an expansive bow.)
Quaddle. Would either of you fine ladies enjoy a complementary oral exam?
Ruth. You are one weird dude.
Quaddle. Praise from Caesar!
Clementine. How much gold is a tooth worth, mister?
Quaddle. Doctor.
Clementine. I ain’t seen your credentials, mister.
Quaddle. Allow ME!
(Quaddle produces from one of his bags a series of official looking documents and badges.)
Clementine. This all seems in order.
Quaddle. Madame!
(Quaddle packs his stuff away.)
Quaddle. Who is the proprietor of this establishment?
Ruth. That would be me.
Quaddle. Excellent. With your permission, I would like to practice some basic dentistry on your premises. According to regional law I am required to buy at least two drinks which I request now. I will be tipping 25%.
Ruth. I am familiar with regional law!
(Ruth pours out two drinks for Quaddle, who quickly downs both.)
Quaddle. If I can’t interest you ladies in a free oral exam, would either of you be interested in a pig in a poke?
Bart. A what now!?
Ruth. You got a pig in your carpet bag?
Quaddle. A sweet little suckling pig. A pig baby. For your dining pleasure.
Ruth. How long that pig been in that carpet bag?
Quaddle. Long enough.
Clementine. How much for the baby pig?
Quaddle. One dollar!
Ruth. Seems like a lot for a little ham.
Quaddle. Oh, it’s sweet ham. Baby pig ham.
Clementine. If I buy the baby pig, will you free it?
Quaddle. Oh no. You must eat the pig baby.
Clementine. You sick fiend.
Quaddle. I am a dentist, madam! I have seen the worst of this doomed universe. The festering orifice of the everyman. The rot, the cavity, the decay!!! No one brushes their teeth these days, let alone flosses!? People barely wipe their butts after pooping!? Everyone is running around everywhere with poopy buttholes!? No one uses deodorant!? That’s not even a thing!? Everyone smells like diseased horse vagina and wet dirt. I was trained in Heidelberg you raggedy peasants!? I don’t like doing these jobs! I do it as a SERVICE! A service I tell you! I could be making a dozen deutschmarks a day in Salzburg!? Yet here I am, in the armpit of the world, helping the unwashed masses recoup their dental expenses. Do you know how many drugs I have to do, not to hate every minute of every day of my miserable life!? JEEZ. Jeez o Pete. Sorry. It’s been one of those years, you know?
Ruth. It’s January!?
(Quaddle begins to quietly weep.)
Bart. Oh, come on now, I don’t want a crying dentist…
Clementine. Oh, let him cry, Bart. I like to see him hurt.
Bart. You’re a cruel woman, Clementine, but fair.
Ruth. Yer gonna have to cry outside, ain’t no crying in this here establishment.
Quaddle. What!? What do you MEAN!? A person should be able to cry wherever they need to!?
Ruth. We can’t have people traumatizing the other patrons, now you get on out.
Quaddle. No no, I’ll be cool. Just give me a moment to collect my poops.
Bart. Please don’t do nothing with poops before pullin my teeth?
Quaddle. No, sweet Bart, I mean metaphorical poops. Everypoops.
Ruth. You done bought your drinks so you get one hour for dentistin, but you best move fast, I spect the audience be itchin for a climax.
Bart. The hell you mean, Ruth?
Ruth. Just breakin that old fourth wall a tetch before the crisis.
Bart. What crisis?
(Quaddle pulls out a Pig Baby and a pair of pliers.)
Quaddle. Hold my pig baby, this will hurt immensely.
(Quaddle performs comedy dentistry on Bart [ideally to the sounds of Khachaturian’s Sabre Dance] pulling out chicklets and “accidentally” losing them into the audience and down his shirt and into his own mouth all as Bart screams bloody murder. At long last, exhausted of all teeth and covered head to toe in mouth blood, Quaddle finally puts on some gloves.)
Quaddle. Well, Bart, I’ve got good news and bad news.
Bart. What’s the good news?
Quaddle. You had a whole bunch of poorly cared for teeth that I just pulled out.
Bart. And the bad news?
Quaddle. I just lost all of them all over the place. I think one is in Ruth’s hair? I know I swallowed one. At least one. I’ve been a dentist for 14 years and never swallowed someone else's teeth before.
Bart. What about the gold!?
Quaddle. That gold is all gone now, Bart. You’re going to have to live on the street.
(Quaddle packs up all of his things before turning to Bart.)
Quaddle. I’m going to need that pig baby back.
(Bart reluctantly returns his emotional support pig. Quaddle packs it back in his carpet bag. He turns to make a grand exit.)
Quaddle. It’s been an experience, Utah, but now I must return to Minnesota and continue my weird stuff there. I’m sorry about the teeth and the crying. I so wish things had turned out differently. I hope that you all take the best of care moving forward. Bart, don’t eat anything more solid than broth for… well, forever. Broth it is. Auf Wiedersehen!
Bart. Stop!
(Quaddle pauses.)
Bart. You done broke the terms of our agreement and I’ll be taking payment for your breach.
Quaddle. No, I am walking away empty handed, not indebted to you.
Bart. You put that pig on down now.
Quaddle. No. It is my sweet suckling baby pig. I’m going to eat it tonight. Face first.
Bart. You sick, demented, fiendish cad! Have you no honor!?
Quaddle. Honor is just horny that got confused.
Bart. What?
Quaddle. What?
Bart. BABY PIG DOWN, Quaddle, or we take it outside.
(For a moment in seems like there will be a fight, but then Quaddle thinks better of it and removes the pig before tossing it to Clementine.)
Quaddle. I give the baby pig to her, but not because you say so. You eat that pig now, you pretty lady.
Clementine. I ain’t never gonna eat this sweet suckling swine.
Quaddle. Never is a long long time. Until we meet again, Bad Bart Baby Butt.
(Exit Quaddle)
Bart. Ah, Ruth. What am I gonna do? I’m toothless, homeless, and talentless.
Ruth. Ah, Bart. Don’t you fret so. I’ll buy your dumb book.
Bart. Aw, Ruth, ya mean it!?
Ruth. Yeah, I mean it.
Clementine. Aw, Ruth. You’re an angel from above.
Ruth. Sheesh you.
Bart. Ruth, it would be a real honor, if you would tell me how to restructure my narrative…
Ruth. But?
Bart. But, I’m in a great deal of pain, just now.
Ruth. Sure, Bart. That was a whole mess of teeth you done spit out.
Bart. Like one of them nightmares.
Ruth. I ain’t never had one of them tooth fallin out nightmares.
Bart. Well. Lucky you.
Clementine. Look at us. Surviving these hard times.
(Ruth pours all three of them a drink.)
Ruth. To fiction of all flavors, to followin dreams, to baby pigs, adult teeth, and lifelong friends!
(All friends toast and drink.)
Clementine. Let’s call him Structure!
(Delighted squeal. Blackout. Fin.)
Props List:
Bart’s manuscript/book copies — several piles of distressed/roughed-up paper, enough for Bart, Ruth, and Clementine (can actually be scripts).
Baby pig prop — preferably cute enough that the audience immediately cares; must fit in Quaddle’s carpet bag and be throwable/catchable safely.
2 carpet bags for Quaddle.
Saloon glasses/cups — at least 4, preferably extras for repeated pours and the final toast.
Bottle(s) of stage liquor for Ruth’s bar business and repeated drinks.
Quaddle’s contract/paperwork for Bart’s tooth-extraction agreement.
Quaddle’s credentials — several ridiculous official-looking diplomas, licenses, badges, certificates, etc., ideally enough for the reveal to become a visual gag.
Large comedy pliers for the dentistry sequence.
Chiclets / fake teeth — quite a few, because Quaddle intentionally/accidentally loses them into his clothes and possibly the audience. I’d have at least 20–30.
Stage blood — enough to make Bart/Quaddle look spectacularly mangled without creating a cleanup nightmare.
Disposable gloves for Quaddle’s delayed glove gag; these need to be readily accessible so he can put them on only after the procedure.
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