Seeing as if I posted day to day life stuff in this blog it would be boring as hell, so I will only post my life in here when something interesting happens that more than just myself and friends thinks is interesting.

It is now technically Saturday, the last day of Blitz.

What is Blitz you ask? Blitz is a yearly event held by Madison’s own Mercury Players Theatre where they lock up 8 writers in the theatre and have them write a short script by morning. That morning directors come in and are assigned scripts, and actors come shortly after. They rehearse during the day and the shows go up in front of a live audience that night.

On Thursday night, my hetero-lifemate Sam and I got locked in. We proceeded to write the most blasphemous stuff we have ever thought up. The Pope, in drag, seducing and raping another man while yelling “Get ready for the REAL passion of the Christ!” The Pope, stabbing a man with a shiv hastily made from the crucifix that Moses used to knock up The Virgin Mary.

The next day, after I had some sleep and got my mind straightened out from the sleep deprivation of the night before I realized: “The crowd is going to lynch us after this play goes up!” Did I mention that this was “Pope Fabulous III?”

In actuality it was a happy ending. The crowd seemed to like, even love it. The play was broken up into little bits that went in between the other plays, and after awhile people would start laughing before one of the bits would even start. They wanted more. I couldn’t believe it, but I’m happy it worked out. We filmed the plays; we will be filming the second day’s plays tomorrow. I have been up all night filming this nights writers for a special featurette on the upcoming Blitz DVD that will get sold though the theatre. I am tired. I am not looking forward to editing the interview footage. Goodnight.

ADDENDUM: Check out this Capital Times review of Blitz. Sam and I get mentioned by name. Well now that I’ve finally made it I can retire and build tiny model ships inside bottles for the rest of my days.

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