(the scene opens in a fine morning near Eden. Cain and Abel, of Biblical fame, are here. Abel seems to be trying to dig up a rock.
Cain: Well, I'm supposed to kill you pretty soon.
Abel: I know, I know! I've read the script already. But I'm still trying to pry this rock loose. Go play with someone else instead of hanging around making me nervous.
Cain: That's a bit difficult. We're the only human beings in a 50km radius.
Abel: What of the McEnroes? They're only a kilometre away.
Cain: They're not humans --- they're bloody neanderthals!
Abel: You didn't voice any speciesist remarks when you took their sister out to that movie last week.
Cain: Er... it was a good movie, and I couldn't go alone!
Abel: Admittedly so --- great theme song: "Flintsands, meet the Flintsands..."
Cain: Feel sorry for those guys, living without modern stone age appliances like the ones we have today. I mean, can you imagine trying to knock someone out with a grain of sand!
Abel: Oooh, that would be hard. They'd probably fall asleep waiting to be knocked out.
Cain: Yeah. Say, haven't you got that stone out yet?
Abel: Patience man! Good stones don't just fall out of the sky you know.
Cain: What of those flashy things which did just that last year? Unlikely French Omelettes, I called them.
Abel: Your inimitable inability to compose decent names amazes me. And in any case, they were probably some Nobody Allows Stupid Acronyms balloons.
Cain: And the little green men which stepped out were just a couple of experimental androids, right?
Abel: No, they were a couple of dwarf scientists feeling a bit sick after being at a height of more than ten metres for more than two seconds.
Cain: That makes perfect sense. I obviously don't have to knock any into you.
Abel: Patience, man! Didn't they teach you anything in school?
Cain: Under Professor Einstein? That guy doesn't know if he's coming or going!
Abel: Certainly his hair never did. I hear that his last class bought him a comb.
Cain: And what did he do with it?
Abel: He began explaining all its defects to them, and set them to devise a more efficient comb as an assignment.
Cain: Hmmm. I believe that. I also believe you only have a couple of minutes left according to my watch.
Abel: You love that timepiece too much. Just because it goes tick-tock-tick-tock and is made by a bunch of mountain goats who eat dried milk with holes.
Cain: It's better than that horrible cheap thing of yours that's made by a bunch of raw-fish-eaters who like to watch human hippos bump each other to the floor.
Abel: Getting countryist now, are we?
Cain: Go to hell.
Abel: Not yet. They're still getting the place ready --- a shortage of brimstone with the strike in Cyprus, I think. So dead souls are still being sent to heaven.
Cain: Why don't I just shoot you? Waiting for you to get that never-to-be-bloody stone out will take the rest of Genesis!
Abel: Because, my favourite poor-excuse-for-a-famous-historical-figure brother, that same book says you're supposed to strike me down. And there are some historical difficulties with the discovery of gunpowder anyway.
Cain: True. How blooming inconvenient. What am I supposed to kill you for anyway?
Abel: Something about sacrifices, I hear.
Cain: But sacrifices are uncivilised! Barbaric! Archaic! Plus they contribute to global warming.
Abel: I'd say you're more upset at the sight of all those potential burgers converted to ashes every time you place a lamb on the altar.
Cain: Easy for you to say, all you burn is a couple of cans of vegetable soup.
Abel: Not quite. Three cans.
Cain: Pedant. I see you've got the rock now at any rate. And a good one too!
Abel: Yes, rather! Nice shape like the full moon too. Can you think of any use for it?
Cain: Perhaps we could draw a map of the moon on it?
Abel: Naw, mom's already done it. We'd be reinventing the wheel.
Cain: What's a wheel?
Abel: Beats me.
Cain: If you insist. Where would you like me to beat you with this stone? I don't want to cause you more pain than necessary.
Abel: How awfully considerate of you, dear brother. I think just behind the medulla oblangata should do.
Cain: Medicalla Obtusangata... right. (he raises the stone)
Abel: Before you strike, what are you going to do with my body?
Cain: Leave it where it is, so your blood can (don't ask me how) cry out from the ground in the next episode of this ungripping drama.
Abel: I want to be buried!
Cain: I'm sure your corpse won't give a shit.
Abel: No, but my bowels might.
Cain: Can you fart when you're dead?
Abel: I don't suppose I'll ever find out.
Cain: We're off the topic again. Let me get this straight, you want me to bury you so that no poor, hungry, overworked hyaena can mistake you for a deli.
Abel: Absolutely! How can my blood cry out from the indestines from some scoundrel of a scavenger? That's not what the book says anyhow.
Cain: Gotta complain to the SPCA about this. Hey, look up there! It's a bird! It's a plane! No, it's definitely a bird. Hey, the colour of your face has changed! There's a white stripe on it... mixed with spots and various shades of black and yellow... would you like me to compose an Ode to Birdshit?
(Epilogue: The newer versions of Genesis now read "Abel struck Cain down in the fields")
Dinosurendran @ 1997