Selling the Brothel

An Old West whorehouse.  MISS MINDY is sitting at a table downstairs having a drink with MR. PAUL.  SHERIFF STEVENS enters.

SHERIFF:  Howdy Mindy.

MINDY:  Howdy Sheriff.

SHERIFF:  Who’s that man you’re with?

MINDY:  This here’s Mr. Paul.  Mr. Paul, this is Sheriff Stevens.

MR. PAUL:  Howdy Sheriff, nice to meet you.

SHERIFF:  You too.

(They shake hands.)

MINDY:  Mr. Paul here is thinking of buying the whorehouse from me.

SHERIFF:  Why does he wanna do that?

MR. PAUL:  Well, I—

SHERIFF:  Sorry, Mr. Paul, but I don’t know you from a hole in a goat’s ass.  I was talking to my friend and occasional lover, Miss Mindy.

MISS MINDY:  Oh, don’t be mean to him just because he’s a stranger, Sheriff.  By the way, how’s the wife?

SHERIFF:  She’s fine.  Turns out the clap you gave me didn’t transfer over to her.

MISS MINDY:  Well, that sure is lucky.

SHERIFF:  Real lucky, I’d say.

MISS MINDY:  Mr. Paul here is thinking of turning the brothel into an ice cream shoppe.

SHERIFF:  Now why would he wanna go and do something like that for?

MR. PAUL:  Well, people around here sure do like ice cream, Sheriff.

SHERIFF:  How in the name of Teddy Roosevelt's titty do you know what people around here like?

MR. PAUL:  I've done studies.

SHERIFF:  What?

MISS MINDY:  It's true.  He went to all the farms in the area, and people told him they love ice cream.

MR. PAUL:  Well, eighty-two percent of people anyway.

SHERIFF:  Why didn’t you come to my house and ask me?

MR. PAUL:  I did, Sheriff, but nobody answered the door.  I think you were out working, and I thought I heard your wife coughing and crying roundabout where I suspect your bedroom is.

SHERIFF:  That must be the syphilis taking hold.

MISS MINDY:  I thought you said she was fine?

SHERIFF:  I didn’t say that.  I said she didn’t have the clap, but the poor woman is riddled with syphilis.

MISS MINDY:  Oh, that’s too bad.  She’s probably gonna die.

SHERIFF:  I suspect so.  Funny I don’t have it though.

MISS MINDY:  The Lord is mysterious.

SHERIFF:  He is, indeed.  But about more important matters, there is no way you’re taking this lovely whorehouse and turning it into a filthy ice cream shoppe.

MR. PAUL:  It’s what the people want, Sheriff.

SHERIFF:  What people?  Ain’t I people?

MISS MINDY:  Sure you are.

SHERIFF:  And I don’t want it.  So there you go.

MISS MINDY:  But lots of other people do.

SHERIFF:  But that ain’t fair.  Some of those people probably don’t even use the whorehouse.  Some of them might not even know that we HAVE a whorehouse.  Like Father Taylor—what did he vote for?

MR. PAUL:  Well, he said gluttony is a sin, so he had trouble promoting ice cream—

SHERIFF:  Good man.

MR. PAUL:  --But then he said this place is Gomorrah itself, and he said a little gluttony never hurt anybody.

SHERIFF:  That son-of-a—

MISS MINDY:  Man of god, Sheriff.  Don’t forget that.

SHERIFF:  I bet the women all voted for ice cream, didn’t they?

MR. PAUL:  No, actually, some of them want the whorehouse to stay open so they can keep getting rid of their husbands a few nights a week.

SHERIFF:  You see that?  This place is a service to the community!  Ice cream ain’t gonna do that.

MR. PAUL:  People can eat ice cream as a community, Sheriff.  I’m planning on putting lots of nice long tables in here that people can sit on and—

SHERIFF:  And what about blowjobs?

MR. PAUL:  Well, I would prefer it if they do that in the privacy of their own—

SHERIFF:  I mean, while you’re supplying the community with ice cream, where the hell are we going to get our blowjobs from?  The next nearest whorehouse is twenty miles from here.

MISS MINDY:  Actually, they shut that down and turned it into a post office.

SHERIFF:  A post office?  What the hell are you supposed to do with a post office?

MR. PAUL:  Get your mail?

MISS MINDY:  Send your mail out?

SHERIFF:  This whole country is going to hell.  Hell in a handbasket, I’m telling you.  If I can’t get my sexual satisfaction here, where the hell am I supposed to get it?  From the woman I’m gonna marry after my wife dies?  Chances are, she’s going to be as frigid as the one sick in bed is.

MR. PAUL:  So why don’t you marry someone who isn’t?

SHERIFF:  Mr. Paul, are you married?

MR. PAUL:  No, sir.  I’m only married to my business.

SHERIFF:  Well, that sounds pretty twisted to me.  You like fucking ice cream, do you?

MR. PAUL:  No!

MISS MINDY:  It’s just an expression, Sheriff.

SHERIFF:  I don’t care what it is.  The point is, you ain’t married to no woman.  Because if you were, you would know that you don’t go marrying women who please you in bed, because chances are, they’ve got the devil’s fingers up wrapped around their tongue, and if you spend more than a night with them here or there, that tongue’s gonna go right up your bunghole and plant a seed of sin in your heart.  Women like that are the plague of plagues, the vilest creatures on earth.  No offense, Mindy.

MISS MINDY:  None taken, Sheriff.

SHERIFF:  Have I made my point?

MISS MINDY:  You have, but the trouble is, I’m still gonna sell, and there’s not much you can do about it.  I need the money.

SHERIFF:  What are you talking about?  You’re the richest woman in town.  Hell, you’re the richest anything in town.

MISS MINDY:  That was before I invested in that new ball tickler I’ve been using.  The company folded last week.

SHERIFF:  What was wrong with the ball tickler?

MISS MINDY:  Turns out they made them with poison oak.

SHERIFF:  Is that why I’ve been scratching like a dog with crotch crickets?

MISS MINDY:  Probably.

MR. PAUL:  I’m gonna have to give this place a good scrubbing before I move in.

SHERIFF:  I don’t like this one bit.

MISS MINDY:  No, cleaning up is a good idea, Sheriff.  Room Number Four Smells like something died in it.

SHERIFF:  I was just in Room Number Four last week and I didn’t—Oh, was that guy dead?  I thought maybe he was just into watching.

MR. PAUL:  Tell you what, Sheriff.  How about we compromise?  Ice cream on the bottom floor, and whores up top?

(A beat.)

SHERIFF:  Could you get some ice cream and then bring it upstairs to enjoy while the girl does her whoring on you?

MR. PAUL:  Sure, why not?

SHERIFF:  Well then, I suppose that’d be fine.  Just make sure you bribe me twice a week like Miss Mindy’s been doing.

MR. PAUL:  Sure thing.

SHERIFF:  I guess you can’t stop progress.

MISS MINDY:  No Sheriff.  You sure can’t.

The End