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This Week In Weird Twitter, Volume 113

By: Rich Cromwell
10 min read

When you go to a play, you get what you deserve.

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Rich Cromwell
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Alice sat down in the theatre just before the house lights dimmed. She was wearing her finest velour track suit and hat, which offered a layer of camouflage even greater than that provided by the darkened room. The mango she’d smuggled in to serve as a first-act snack somewhat reduced her level of incognito, as did the litter of kittens she’d stowed underneath the seat. Nevertheless, the other theatre-goers pretended not to notice.

The curtain rose on a solitary figure sitting at a desk stage left. He was picking at a typewriter with one finger. No one bothered to time him and see how many words per minute he could crank out. They knew it was not an impressive amount.

The actor, one Reginald T. Snozzberry, was quite the hit on the local circuit, which consisted of the small town’s theatre company and a restaurant specializing in fried chicken that occasionally offered dinner shows. Alice was rapt as he began the performance of “Repo Man 2,” a straight to regional playhouses production.

Snozzberry, in the lead role of Otto, now an aging man left only with fading memories of intergalactic travel in a Chevy Malibu, stood up and read what he’d typed: “E-I-E-I-O.” And with that opening salvo, the play was off and running.

Well, it was almost off and running, there was still the memory of that other guy he’d encountered while tooling around the cosmos, thinking about plates of shrimp.


The kittens mewled from beneath the chair, but Alice had words for them.


She wasn’t expecting this reply.


The audience member to Alice’s right reached down to pet the anthropomorphic kitten.


The cat replied.


Meanwhile, on stage, the larger ensemble had gathered. They were having a TV party, for old time’s sake, except for this one character who had loftier plans.


One of the punks dove off the couch and smashed a coffee table. He seemed incredulous.


Alice became keenly aware that this sequel didn’t have much relation to the original, which may be why it didn’t even make it to DVD.


That’s when a woman in the front row, flanked by a horde of haunted dolls, rushed the stage to proclaim her undying love for Reginald and propose an outing for the two of them.


This wasn’t her first attempt, but she was mostly harmless. Reginald was nevertheless bored by her tenacity.


He continued with his performance.


The gent who’d smashed the coffee table took a slug from a bottle with a white label with “Wine” written in black lettering.


Otto’s girlfriend Leila also had something to say.


While another guest of the TV party was compelled to apologize.


While yet another partyer marveled at all the tenderness on display in the room.


Alice was curious what these characters were adding to the performance.


That’s when Captain Table Smash got the plot rolling.


Others were on board with whatever was about to happen, so long as it wasn’t too productive.


Some were slightly more practical, if still on board.


A newcomer arrived. Otto inquired as to her day job.


The curtains closed as the crew prepared for the second act. They rose to reveal the cast had moved from the house to a riverbank somewhere.


[Note: The character throwing the ham has a specific motivation. Make sure the actor portraying him accurately captures it.]


[Second note: The author who wrote this didn’t know how to write instructions for a play, just make the best of it.]


Meanwhile, another cult classic rebooted as a play was taking place at the fried chicken place. Dennis Hopper was directing, but he’d sort of forgotten the protagonist’s raison d’être.


Back onstage at “Repo Man 2,” the action continued and even alluded to the first scene. Alice thought it a miracle.


One of the feds from the first movie appeared on stage. Leila thought he looked familiar.


He attempted to respond, but Leila cut him off.


The kittens roused, a surprising turn in the action awakening their primal instincts. Alas, it was not to be, for the prey had become the predators.


The kittens retreated. It was not to be their day, but they would abide, wait, and watch. An opening would present itself eventually.


Leila began to grow tired of reliving the glory days of repossessing cars loaded with alien remains. Otto was suspicious of her attempts to change the subject and why no one else by the river had received the same treat.


[Flashback to the ham at the bottom of the river.]


[Double flashback: To the baby karate warrior.]


SCENE.


From the darkness, a heretofore unheard-from narrator makes one statement.


[Act Three: The curtains open to reveal a stage standing on the stage. A man in tights is doing karate and singing incoherently.]


Backstage, the director wondered why exactly she’d chosen that script.


She decided to call an audible.


She was having a better time than Hopper, who’d been chased away from his own dinner theatre production, and from the restaurant he’d try to go afterward since he didn’t get to eat any fried chicken.


Reginald began to wonder why he’d trusted his sterling reputation with such a motley crew.


As such, he made plans to skip the closing night after-party.


[Cutaway to dream sequence.]


Otto explained that the cast was trying to undo the damage done.


Alice moved around in her seat. Every item on her checklist for a solid community theatre production had been checked off, except for the one that said simply “high quality.” She had no delusions, though. For even though she too loved Reginald and considered herself his number one fan, she had no plans to interrupt his performance.

The play ended with the cast loading themselves clown-style into the Malibu. The trunk no longer glowing green, their only plans were to head over to bingo night at the VFW. As they sped off, a song came on the radio. That’s when Alice forgot her previous restraint and leapt onto the roof of the car, disturbing what until then had been a pleasant fake drive for Otto.

He didn’t mind so much, for he’d decided that opening night would also be closing night, though the thud on the roof distracted him from his jam and made him want to cut the performance short. So he did, motioning to the crew member to drop the curtain before his stunning closing monologue.


[SCENE]

Richard Cromwell is a writer and senior contributor at The Federalist. He lives in Northwest Arkansas with his wife, three daughters, and two crazy dogs. Co-host of the podcast Coffee & Cochon, you can find him on Facebook and Twitter, though you should probably avoid using social media.

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