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Before We Begin

Ladies and gentlemen, a few announcements prior to this evening's performance:

Dame Margot Von Gehr regrets that she will not sing in full voice as she has a slight cold. She begs your indulgence.

For this performance, the role of Lady Alabaster will be played by understudy Louise Hamm, and screw you for groaning because she should have been cast as Alabaster in the first place instead of that slut Reena, but whatever. She begs your indulgence.

In the role of El Gato, Balls Out! TV star Tyler Kross plans to "act his ass off" despite a lack of any theatrical training and a gnarly hangover. He begs your indulgence.

Ensemble member Stacy Russell (Dr. Rosalind Franklin/ Whore), plagued with anxiety over a pivotal birthday, regrets her overzealous use of facial fillers (as evidenced by her painfully taut forehead and grossly inflated lips), and fears her rendering of the classic “Alas, He Lost His Lassie in Tallahassee!” may be unintelligible. She begs your indulgence.

Ensemble member Ryan Pratt (Centaur/ Bishop/Man with No Pants) is profoundly depressed after a visit from his Successful College Roommate. He begs your indulgence.

If tonight's cues are sluggish, Stage Manager Rachel Kern wants it known that her beloved epileptic poodle, Elvis, had a seizure this morning, which her roommate thought was a Santeria curse and thus forged a counter spell involving turmeric, white candles, and pigeon excrement. The resulting fire destroyed Ms. Kern’s poodle along with her Shabby Chic Lido Sofa, for which she paid retail. She begs your indulgence.

Director Nigel Baines regrettably will miss tonight's performance as he's in police custody on suspicion of stalking Broadway darling Idina Menzel, which is absurd since demand for his artistic genius keeps him far too bloody busy to stalk anyone and, if he were to stalk, it would not be the dishwater dull Dina, whose off stage antics consist of shuffling 'round her many windowed apartment, wearing that tatty zebra striped schmata and swilling Scrumpy straight from the bottle. He begs your indulgence.

Playwright Silas Bergman will be skipping tonight's performance altogether. Why bother? After ten years of staged readings, director's workshops, dramaturgical input, and a myriad of other "developmental" opportunities (opportunities that were not only unpaid but, in fact, required Bergman's financial contribution), he can't remember the play he set out to write - but he can guaranDAMNtee you that this wasn't it. In hindsight, he should have gone to medical school (point for you, Mother) and while, in theory, he still could, it's doubtful his salary as the World's Oldest Barista would even cover the application fee. Bergman would certainly beg your indulgence if he still had a f*ck left to give, which he does not.

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