(Three elderly men, liver spots and all, are seated around a circular table. General nursing home hubbub goes on around them.)
MILFORD: So who do you think’s going to win the Wisconsin primary? I don’t care just as long as he repeals everything that Muslim communist has done in the last four years.
SHLOMO: Back in the old country, I would trudge nine miles to a voting booth, only to have the muzzle of a gun shoved in my back. There was no freedom in that horri-
WALT: Where’s Wisconsin? Hahahaha.
MILFORD: Oh look, another visitor. Eighty two years old and I can’t even finish a crossword puzzle.
(An elementary student enters the door and stands next to the table.)
SIDHARTH: Hello, I’m Sidharth. I’m in the third grade and I’m here to sing songs for you!
WALT: My cashier at PriceChopper is named Nikhil. Do you know him?
MILFORD: Of course, Obama sends more handouts. He probably thinks we’re too old and infirm to afford our own singers, but I’ll show the liberal I’m fiscally independent!
SHLOMO: In the old country, there were no singing handouts. If we wanted music, we sold potatoes at the market to buy the sheet music. That’s the kind of message we need to send to good little boys like Snidgarth.
SIDHARTH: Sidharth.
SHLOMO: What?
SIDHARTH: You said Snidgarth. I am Sidharth.
SHLOMO: Spidlarth, begin your singing!
SIDHARTH (singing): My country ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty…
WALT (yelping): I can’t get no satisfaction… I love Mick Jagger!
MILFORD: Walt! Stop yelling. This little ethnic child is going to pay for our Medicare someday.
SIDHARTH(walking away): I can’t take this anymore! Milford – you’re really bigoted. Walt – you can’t hold a conversation, and Shlomo – you’re from Passaic!
The Lighter Side of the Moon 
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