Scene: A suburban kitchen table. A family of five sits eating, discussing the day’s events. Mother has been speaking about a book she’s currently reading
Mother: I don’t know about this book. It’s bugging me on a fundamental level.
Father: How do you mean?
M: Well, it’s the whole Chekov’s gun on the mantlepiece. Only in this book, the guy has this really tiny gun, and he’s spent months learning the intricacies of it, and how to hide it from the bad guy he’s going to use it on, all that. Then one day he accidentally flushes it down the toilet.
Kid 1: Seriously?
Kid 2: Mommy, you said a toilet word at the table!
Kid 3: Toilet! Hahahahahahahahaha!
F: Man, that does sound pretty pointless.
K1: (diagramming a bathroom on the kitchen table with his finger) I don’t understand. How can he have flushed the gun down the toilet? Did he maybe put it on the counter right on the edge here (pointing) and then bumped it when he reached for the toilet paper and didn’t notice? Could you explain it again?
K3: Toilet paper! Hahahahahahahahahaha!
M: Daddy, you’re the writer, explain about the gun.
F: (with a puzzled look on his face) Um, sure. The guy dropped his tiny gun in the toilet. I don’t know what else there is to say. Maybe he just didn’t want to put his hand in there.
K2: Because of the poop!
M: No potty words at the table.
K2: You started it!
K3: Poop! HAHAHAHAHHAAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAAHAAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!!!!!!
Later that night, in a suburban bedroom.
F: You know, that book does sound pretty bad.
M: I know. It’s really irritating the way the author builds up characters only to have them die.
F: And that thing with the tiny gun. It seems so ridiculous.
M: Um, the gun was a metaphor.
(Fade, as M laughs on and on).