Scene: The Garden of Eden
Eve is wandering near the forbidden tree, admiring its beauty. Mrs. Malaprop, coiled around a low branch, prepares to make her big move.
Mrs. Malaprop (hissing melodiously):
Ah, dearest Lady Eve, a word to the wise from this humble septum!
Eve (confused):
Septum? Aren’t you a serpent?
Mrs. Malaprop:
Indeed, indeed! A septic serpent at your service. Now, lend me your audiogram, for I have a suggestion that will certainly benedict your essence.
Eve:
Alright… what is it?
Mrs. Malaprop:
This luscious pomegranate—nay, this paradisal cantaloupe—holds the key to your dermatological ascent!
Eve:
Dermatological ascent? You mean it’s good for my skin?
Mrs. Malaprop (nodding fervently):
Precisely! A single bite, and you shall achieve omnivorance.
Eve:
Omnivorance? I’ll eat… everything?
Mrs. Malaprop:
No, no, no! Not eatery omnipresence, my dear—encyclopedia omnipotence! You’ll become as sagacious as the very creator who gardened this Edenic melon patch.
Eve (doubtful):
You mean I’ll gain wisdom?
Mrs. Malaprop:
Wisdom! And perhaps a smattering of superciliousness. Why, you’ll know the differendums between good and evil without consulting a medium rare.
Eve (suspicious):
I don’t know… God said not to eat it.
Mrs. Malaprop (sputtering):
Oh, botheration! That’s just a biblically-proportioned prevarication! Would the almighty truly deprive you of gastronomical enlightenment? One petite nibble, and you’ll transcend from mere mortification to illumination!
Eve (narrowing her eyes):
I think you’re saying that eating the fruit will make me more like God… but honestly, I can’t tell with all your twisting of words.
Mrs. Malaprop:
Oh, piffle! My lexicographical squabbles are but a minor irruption in the grand cosmotology of your destiny. Do it, dear child, and partake of this fructose ambivalence!
Eve hesitates, then shakes her head, walking away.
Eve:
I think I’ll pass. I’m not sure I trust advice from a "septum."
Mrs. Malaprop (frustrated):
Oh, what a catastrophic millipede! My persuasive elocution has gone to potluck again!
The serpent slinks off in defeat, muttering to herself as the first temptation in history fizzles out thanks to a flood of malapropisms.
