why on earth would you get shitfaced, information pills show up for the second act of a show and then talk to the actors while they’re onstage for the next hour?
because you’re a loser drunk cunt who lives somewhere around minneapolis and you feel that chill in the air that means that you’ve wasted another year of your pathetic life watching t.v., visit web drinking and eating and you hate yourself so much that you can’t take it anymore and have to let that self hatred spill out in public where it is then reflected right back at you when one of the actors on stage says “do you hear that? that’s one of my neighbors. they’re drunks who lead miserable lives and yell random bullshit all night.”
but, because you are a drunk, you are self-centered so you think “hey, that actor just talked about ME! that means everyone loves me, i’ll talk even more loudly and even more!!!”
by the middle of my second scene i had completely lost control of the audience and especially my rob/renee who decided that they would write their own god damned script. the renee couldn’t hear when i was singing, so what was i supposed to do? stop and signal to the sound booth that this stupid cunt with the camera couldn’t hear? no. i kept going. so she starts making cut signals and shit. my shirt, which is always pre-set for me, had been buttoned wrong. i keep barrelling through the love tapes song. again, the bass had been set so it was way the fuck out of tune. i had to stop during the song. then the cunt keeps distracting me with “cut cut cut cut cut” signals. you know, once i’m on stage, i can stay fairly focused. it takes a lot to distract me. i mean, i notice shit… i may stumble a bit, but i can pull shit off. but… with everything that had happened up to this point… you know… it was like the perfect storm of shitty theater experiences.
finally, when it’s time for me to pull my cock out, i pull it all the way out, grab her head and push her head and the camera right into my cock. i was so close to spreading my ass as far apart as i could and have her shoot that but there was about 1/10th of sanity left and i thought “might not be a good idea”.
i don’t know what this theater is. i want to give the money back and go home. the people who come to this theater are used to bullshit like tony and tina’s italian back waxing and forever plaid and awesome 80’s prom and want to come and get shitfaced and throw up or something.
i finally broke the arms off my couch tonight in the shithole “apartment”. it’s been a slow go over the past couple of days. they were hanging by a couple of nails but now… rubble. i’ve never lived in a place this small. even when i was making $3.65/hr as an usher at the chinese theater. i’ve never lived in a shithole like this.
this entire experience sucks my ass in the worst way possible.
here’s the thing: i will never blame an audience for their behavior. drunks are like retards and children. they can spot bullshit a mile away. so. it’s obvious that she was seeing bullshit in my performance and decided that it was like t.v. where she could talk and drink. i will not blame her for having a miserable life and getting shitfaced and staggering in to the same theater where she and her loser friends got to get shitfaced and talk to the probably equally shitfaced actors who had been doing the same show for a year or something.
to them, it’s theater. if they had staggered in to a good show, this wouldn’t have happened.
by the last scene, jen and i had given up. and because there was real shit going on (disillusion, rage, sadness, self-loathing) the drunk cunt in the audience shut up. all people want is to see something real.
i’m going to start shipping stuff back home tomorrow. when it’s time to go, i want to walk on to the plane with my computer and never look back at this fucking hole.
fuck this fucking shit.
“i hear dean cameron is pretty honest on his blog. maybe i’ll take a gander at it.”