Weird-ass dream. (lumy, ansketil, you'll love thisone.)
Star Wars: The Musical.
Yes. Dear gods. And who was I playing?
Palpatine. Because I was the only one who could do the voice. Which is scary, you know, because I'm female-ish.
No, I didn't dance.
I did beat an Imperial Guard over the head with my cane, though. And I did sing.
The problem was, we were putting on the performance- with all the amazing costumes, special effects, elaborate sets, and a full orchestra- without having done a single rehearsal. We also had no stage managers, prop masters, or lighting crew.
Sad thing was, the script was good. Creative, intelligent, and ever-so-slightly slashy. Nonetheless, people started to walk out.
I walked onstage and said, in my own voice, "I don't blame you. The director should be fed to a saarlac. We can't even find the director!" I still don't know who the director was supposed to be.
So the audience left. I wiped off my makeup and headed to the lobby, where there was a circus going on- literally- and Barack Obama was dressed up as Spiderman and breakdancing.
"What the fuck is this!?" I yelled. Nobody heard me, so I went to a coffee house and ordered some chicken soup. A friend of mine was there, and he'd ordered hot and sour soup. He hated it, so we switched soups. Then I followed him out to the canal (because we were suddenly in London), and smoked a cigarette.
About the time my mother showed up, the dream ended. Thank the gods.
I have one question.
DOUBLEYEW TEE EFF!!?
Yes. Dear gods. And who was I playing?
Palpatine. Because I was the only one who could do the voice. Which is scary, you know, because I'm female-ish.
No, I didn't dance.
I did beat an Imperial Guard over the head with my cane, though. And I did sing.
The problem was, we were putting on the performance- with all the amazing costumes, special effects, elaborate sets, and a full orchestra- without having done a single rehearsal. We also had no stage managers, prop masters, or lighting crew.
Sad thing was, the script was good. Creative, intelligent, and ever-so-slightly slashy. Nonetheless, people started to walk out.
I walked onstage and said, in my own voice, "I don't blame you. The director should be fed to a saarlac. We can't even find the director!" I still don't know who the director was supposed to be.
So the audience left. I wiped off my makeup and headed to the lobby, where there was a circus going on- literally- and Barack Obama was dressed up as Spiderman and breakdancing.
"What the fuck is this!?" I yelled. Nobody heard me, so I went to a coffee house and ordered some chicken soup. A friend of mine was there, and he'd ordered hot and sour soup. He hated it, so we switched soups. Then I followed him out to the canal (because we were suddenly in London), and smoked a cigarette.
About the time my mother showed up, the dream ended. Thank the gods.
I have one question.
DOUBLEYEW TEE EFF!!?