I may be lousy at romance, I may not be able to keep a hamster alive, but my pal Clammy sticks by me. It’s because She’s always right, and I am infinitely quotable!! So during that horribly pedestrian performance of The Furtive Masturbator, I stood up, and read this to my best friend:
I wish i had an evil twin/ Running Around doing people in
I wish i had a very bad / And evil twin to do my will
To cull and conquer, cut and kill/ Just like I would if I weren’t good
And if I knew where to begin
Down and down he’d go/ How low no one would know
Sometimes the good life wears thin
I wish i had an evil twin
My evil twin would lie and steal/ And he would stink of sex appeal
All men would writhe /Beneath his scythe
He’d send the pretty ones to me/ And they would think that I was he
I’d hurt them and I’d go scot free/ I’d get no blame and feel no shame
Cause evil’s not my cup of tea
Down and down he’d go/ How low, i would not need to know
All my life there should have been
An evil twin.
Who knew that Stephin Merritt’s work is such a Bonerkiller?
Friday night’s Boston Common “theater in the park” production of The Furtive Masturbator brought new meaning to the term “ham fisted.” The audience barely noticed as the protagonist, played by a previously unknown Latin actor, entered from stage right. The audience went so far as to continue conversation loudly even after the performance began, but this is understandable owing to the abysmal lighting conditions which failed to illuminate the action.
The acting was clumsy at best, the actor beset by a lumbering physicality that somehow managed to remain wooden. The costuming can only be described as bland and unappealing, shades of beige doing little to flatter the complexion. The audience failed to engage with the subject matter in the least, prefering to natter away incessantly. The actor responded with increasingly breathy vocalizations which demonstrated his total lack of skill in projection, becoming plaintive and insistent.
Finally, completely frustrated by the audience’s utter disregard for his craft, the actor left his position and stormed off into the wings. Audience members examined their fingernails and applied more lip gloss.
That’s right folks, when Lambchop and I clear a room, we really clear a room. First we dispatched tourists trying to read the giant monument where we were perched with a snarling “what are you looking at?” Then it turned out that even a needy pervert is no match for our withering self-involvement. Of course we do owe a debt to Stephin Merritt for writing the lyrics that Lambchop loudly recited to ruin our intrepid friend’s special moment.
On the way home, a woman projectile vomited on the train. Attempted auto-bukkake and actual vomitola all in one night? The universe arranges itself expressly for my amusement!