CITY ON FIRE! RATS IN THE STREETS!
Day 4 of the Stagehands Union Strike. The roads are lined with bloody Concierge corpses from every hotel in New York City, pummelled to death by angered tourists who've learned that they will not be seeing Mamma Mia this week after all. And with battered mothers, beaten severely by the teenage daughters they've flown in all the way from Jersey to see Wicked. I am sorry for your loss, Girls. I sit here, feeling very much like the Anne Frank of Broadway, watching the Nazi Invasion. Only instead of a food shortage, I am denied the nourishment of commercial musical theatre. Anne Frank had it so easy.
These are indeed trying times for us all. I am encouraging people to take refuge in my apartment, as I have been preparing for such a theatrical disaster by stocking up on bottled water, warm blankets, and thousands of Broadway cast recordings. You might even find a couple of leftover chorus boys in there. In all seriousness though, I am devastated by this nonsense, and I pray that it is resolved posthaste. It's taking an enormous toll not only on New York's tourism and economy, but on charitable organizations like Broadway Cares, which depend heavily on eight shows a week. Not to mention all of my actor friends who are not receiving paychecks while the strike is in effect. Seriously, I rely on those people to buy me drinks.
All that said, I am taking a cue from Local One, and until such time as my lengthy list of demands (to be drawn up at a later date, once I've seen the Winter Catalogue from Armani Exchange) are met and I am finally recognized as the asset to this community that we all know I've been, I am pulling The Blahg down! Yes! In fact I'm painting up my picket sign at this very moment. (Is "bitch-slap" hyphenated?) I didn't want it to come to this, but if this is how we're gonna do it, let's go ahead and do it. MAX??!?!? PULL THE PLUG!...