Reflections In The Men’s Room Mirror During The Intermission Of A Truly Terrible Off-Broadway Parody Musical
Fifteen minutes to change everything
Maybe if I keep washing my hands this show will get better. Must… kill… impurities. Wring, rinse, repeat. Wring, rinse, repeat.
Jesus, Mother of God, how long was that first act? Five hours? Six? I missed a birthday back there.
Do I even like theater?
Seriously, you show up on a cold Thursday night to support the arts in New York City. Take one for the team. And this happens. I’m the victim of a drive-by entertaining.
Why won’t you let me love you?
I’m no expert, I’ve never written a play, but this much I do know: the audience is supposed to care what happens in the second act. There shouldn’t be a serious debate between seeing how it all turns out versus scream-sprinting for the exits.
I wonder if it’s possible to recast all the leads during intermission? You just mass shitcan everyone except the actress with the dark hair, she’s good. Keep your chin up, slugger, better roles are on their way. I’m thinking “Encanto.” I’m hearing “We Don’t Talk About Bruno.”
