Vague Insanty 092

And so at last the curtain is drawn, the audience leaves, and somewhere beyond what I can see, a strange, disgusting gentleman surrounded by scantily clad whores writes a very negative, hurtful, and malicious review.

The review of my play, my part, my life.

Why do I get the tail end of reality, being blacklisted by major news papers and organizations, whilst the editor and reviewer play an incredibly kinky variation of Swedish Baby Oil Twister?

And so the sets are torn down, the midget actors take off their Ewok costumes and leave me in disappointment, and my visionary musical "Oh My God, The Burning Sensation, The Burning, OH DEAR LORD MAKE IT STOP!" is never again shown before a live audience.

And I sit there, forgotten, broken, alcoholic, Norwegian, alone, nursing the last of the whiskey I stole from a man passed out in the gutter.

And I sing a little song to myself, and forget my worries.

OH GOOD LORD - WHAT IS this burning sensation? And is there a cure?