(Author's Note: As FictionPress won't allow me to indent with tabs, lines that originally were said by the character to continue the meter of the previous speaker - a tactic common in plays written in iambic pentameter or the like - have been prefaced with "(in meter)")

Act I, Scene IV. (Guest Room, Castle Fortinbras)

(Horatio is showing the room to Gary)

HORATIO.
Here is your bed. You can sleep here. Here is your dresser. It is for you to put clothes.

GARY.
Watchoo talkin' 'bout, Horatio?

HORATIO.
Amazing. You still don't understand me even when I speak of the simplest things.
Well, here is a safe. It is safe for keeping valu'bles. Have you any?
(Gary is silent)
Any money or gold at all? I'm sure you have some.

GARY. (in meter) Watchoo talkin' 'bout?

HORATIO.
Very well. But I shall leave you now – good bye. Dinner will be served at half-past six. (exits)

NARRATOR.
Gary Coleman had only been a guest in Castle Fortinbras for several hours, and already, his suspicions had mounted as quickly as I had mounted his mom-

GARY. (in meter) Watchoo talkin' 'bout?!

NARRATOR.
In the last three hours, his hosts had asked about his money no less than five times. For someone as unsuccessful as Gary, money was tight, and he guarded what little he had with his small, rat-like hands and his beady black eyes. Years of alcohol abuse had damaged his reasoning skills beyond repair, yet even Gary had a feeling that something was still rotten in the state of Denmark – in the figurative sense, as the literal sense was obviously true, given that the majority of Elsinore's royalty had died several years back. But anyway, already, he was regretting taking his vacation here. He had spent the last five years saving up annually-allotted vacation days so that he could finally take a nice, two-week vacation. Being a mall security guard was tough, and damn it, he needed a break.
Few people understood Gary Coleman. That is to say, no-one does. Most don't even want to. He's half the height of a normal person, and frequently has outbursts of anger. Plus, he smells like old fish. Because of this, he has few friends. Usually, the only time he'll talk to anyone is when they ask him to say his catchphrase-

GARY. (in meter) Watchoo talkin' 'bout?

NARRATOR. (in meter) And God forbid they ask him for his autograph. After years of this limited social contact, Gary snapped. The desire to talk to people – to make them like him – overwhelmed the Coleman. Since then, the only thing he says is-

GARY. (in meter) Watchoo talkin' bout?

NARRATOR.
It hasn't helped people like him. While before, they were uncomfortable to look at him, and his smell offended them, now they feel anger when they try to talk to him. Unfortunately, Gary had jumped over the brink of no return, and couldn't stop himself from uttering in his high, man-child voice that makes so many people cringe, the now-loathéd words-

GARY. (in meter) Watchoo talkin' 'bout?

NARRATOR.
That is Gary Coleman. Not just an underdeveloped, short-tempered, forgotten child actor who found no success in his adult life, ultimately resigning all attempts at a decent career, and settling to monitor security cameras in the dark back room of a mall while slowly succumbing to insanity, but also a tormented individual, a man who tried too hard, and as usual, failed.

GARY. (in meter) Watchoo talkin' 'bout?!

NARRATOR.
End scene.