My god did I ever just read the most fucked-up (and great) play.
It's called One Flea Spare and it's by Naomi Wallace and it's awesome. It's a lot like Adam Rapp's Faster, actually, which I raved about here.
There are four other Wallace plays in the anthology I have and I can't wait to read the rest. This woman knows what she is talking about and she is not kidding around.
The play starts with the following:
The blood of a fish. Is on my sleeve. Because. The fish. The fish were burning in the channels. Whole schools of them on fire. And the ships sailing and their hulls plowing the dead up out of the water. And the war had begun.
See what I mean?