Parody of CATS by Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber and Thomas Stearns Eliot
PROLOGUE: Well, since you’re back, that means you weren’t able to get out of the theatre before they locked the doors either. That means we had better crawl back to our seats before the lights go out, and we have to spend the rest of Act Two not able to razz the characters on stage.
All of the apologies probably require a double dose for what we done so far, and what we are about to do. However, this is a parody, so let’s just say that the people we apologized to before Act One are still covered. If you just joined us, we have only one thing to ask: “What are you thinking…?” Never mind… Forget that… We’ll worry about that later…
About this time is when Old D gets the pin… (remember the last part of Act One? For you nimnulls who just came in, Pouncival reminds Old D to get offstage with a 64 penny nail…) Some people believe he is meditating, but really, folks, he’s fallen asleep trying to figure out what the heck he’s doing out there on the tire. But then again, Old D has been sleeping in odd places for the past seven years. The Tribe just wants you to THINK he went to the Heavyside Layer. In reality, they shipped him off to the Old Farts Home for Waylaid Cats. He keeps wandering off, and the staff hasn’t bothered to search for him lately.
* Ahem * enough of Old D… We now continue on to the Second Act, which is titled: “Why Will the Summer Day Delay-When Will Time Flow Away.” Look - we aren’t making that one up! That really is the title of the Second Act! OK, don’t believe me… I’ll just go somewhere and sulk… Fine… Be that way… Who cares…I’ll be in the dumpster if anyone is looking for me.
And now, without further delays (and wishing we could find some…) the Really Useless Groupies, Ltd., proudly denies…
ACT TWO
Adonis puts back on his sound mufflers and raises his baton as the theatre guards push the cast back out on stage. He begins the Second Act with a downbeat, completely catching the Orchestra off-guard. They had been taking a break, and at least two-thirds of the orchestra were not there, which actually improved the sound. As the other members eased in, the lead-in to the first number grows steadily worsens.
MOMENTS OF HAPPINESS:
Moments of Forgetfulness By Dennis C. Callin (Rumblepurr)
Old Deuteronomy, somehow shows up on the street in a motorized wheelchair - powered by a 1967 425 cubic inch Ford Truck engine, dual carburetors, with 4 speed manual transmission, chrome 18” wheels rear and 15” front…
The Moments of Forgetfulness.
We had the road map, but missed the turnoff
And the approach to the railway restoring the Magna Carta
In a different form.
Beyond any senses,
That must be filled out in triplicate.
The past ex-president revived innuendos
Is not the expatriots of one wife only
But of many incriminations!
Not fermenting something
That is probably quite inedible…
Jemmina staggers to her feet and myopically looks at Old D, looks at her bottle of Rot Gut, and throws the bottle away. The audience hears the bottle break in the dumpster, followed by a flash and dull explosion…
Mooned right. Turn your tail and you moon right.
Let your hemorrhoids lead you
Shift to second, off you go!
If you find there, the speeding of a large diesel truck
Then a new lane will be free…
Jemmina falls over backward in a stupor. As Old D roars off, leaving the street with the smell of burned rubber, and unburned gasoline, the cast stands around asking each other what that senseless drivel meant - and no one has a clue. Meanwhile, Jellylorum comes on with Old Gus, constantly reminding the seedy old Tom to keep his paws to himself. He is dressed in an old moth-eaten dressing gown and bunny slippers. She physically sits him down in a rocking chair, and whacks his ear when he tries to feel her up…
GUS: THE THEATRE CAT: Reg: the Social Worker Prat By Tailkinker (TJC Senior Editor) and Dennis C. Callin (Rumblepurr)
Reg is the poor Social Worker Prat
His real name, as I should’ve told you, ain’t phat
Is really Reginald, but who cares, that is moot
That we usually call him “Old Coot.”
His clothes are all wrinkled and worn at the knees
Just like his face, and he belches and wheezes
Yet, he was once was the top social worker Prat
But no longer a hero to neglected child Prats.
For his career’s gone downhill so far and so fast
Since the height of his times in the olden days past
And whenever he joins his buddies so soon
They are all in the back of an old town saloon.
He’ll B.S. them all, if someone else pays,
With tales of his cases from his younger days
For he once was a great social worker Prat
And now all he sees is wrinkles and fat.
And he loves to tell stories and tales that are tall
Of his successes in the social work hall
But his greatest success, so he says to this day,
Was the case of the year - the Smith Family.
“There were seven children,” he’ll begin it so clean.
“Seven wonderful children. A boy aged 13.
Then a girl, age ten, and then twin boys at age eight.
Yet another boy, age six. Finally two girls real late.
One girl was four, and the other was two, I think.
And they all caused the death of their Father from drink.
Their mother, poor woman, worked herself to her death.
And she said, 'take them all,’ with her last gasping breath.
I had little choice but to split them all up fast
All of the kids, except the twins, who were placed last
To different foster homes, seems real easy to tell
I managed to do it, a social worker Hell.
But my greatest success, so I say to this day,
Was the case of the year - the Smith Family."
Then, if someone will pour him just a tad more,
He will claim to have helped to place poor Demi Moore!
If someone will give him a refill in a glass
He’ll even boast that he adopted Bruce Willis.
And I’ll roar out “These Prats, they really don’t know it.
All the trouble we went thru and all of the shit.
They never got drilled in all the carbon forms
And to fill out all sets, and to stay uniform.”
And he says as he scratches himself in rude places
“Well, the social work now I will throw in their faces.
These modern computers I will tell them as well
Has just made it worse and created a new Hell.
But will never surpass, so I say to this day,
That great case of the year - the Smith Family.”
“I once found a case, that no one would touch base
Until my manager threw it right in my face
And I think it did it, much better than most
And it curdled my blood, and made my job go toast.
And his name was Ron Prowler
He was a real pain… He was a real pain… He was a real pain…
Old Gus rips off his robes, unaware, as usual, that he forgot to put on the Ron Prowler costume underneath. Jellylorum stands desperately in front of him, which he takes as an invitation to perform various acts on her person. A group of Jellicles came out with a big blanket and drops Gus to the floor, thus saving Jellylorum from a fate worse than death… His son/cousin/whatever Asparagus Jr., comes out in the alternative Ron Prowler Costume. Cettie waited for her entrance dressed… Well, it says it all down below…
GROWLTIGER’S LAST STAND:
RON PROWLER’S GRANDSTAND By Tailkinker (TJC Senior Editor) and Dennis C. Callin (Rumblepurr)
Ron Prowler was a Bully Prat, who traveled on a bike
In fact he was the biggest prat that ever bullied tykes
From Fourth Street up to Seventh, he pursued his bully ways
Rejoicing in his title of 'The Terror of Safeways’
His tattoos and piercings were not aesthetical to please
His clothes were often baggy and his waistband round his knees.
One ear, it had an earring that would make a Marine blush
His hairdo looked like it was styled by a wacker named Bush.
The teens of the neighborhood round knew somewhat how he roves
At the park and playground, children run from him in droves
They would abandon bikes and balls, forgetting toys and play
When the rumor spread around that Ron Prowler's on his way!
Woe to the skinny boy who falls down upon his knees
Woe to the rich kid that is grabbed 'fore he and chauffeur flees
Woe to the girl whose beauty blooms and is much like a flower
And woe to one who tries to fight the bully Ron Prowler
But to Prats of the oddball kind his hatred was matchless
To oddball Prats his bullying ways were very relentless
The oddballs scurry fast away when he’s coming then
Because it was an oddball Prat who did steal his girlfriend…
Twas on one fine Spring day, when Ron Prowler was on the street
The sun shone brightly overhead, the birds did sing real sweet
A gentle breeze blew o’er the grassy meadow in a whirl
Where Ron Prowler had retreated safely from the real world.
Alone in the grassy meadow, Ron Prowler he did sit
Spreading a cloth upon the grass and a picnic basket
Creating just the right setting for his girlfriend Gwen Dolette,
The pure girl of his lusty dreams would arrive any minute.
The picnic set, and sitting there, cold beer drinks he, belches
Unaware of the oddball Prat, skulking in the bushes.
For when Gwen Dolette came in dressed, like she walked in off the street
Ron Prowler’s jaw dropped to the ground, her dress did upward creep.
And closer still and closer, the oddball Prat did spy
And to the couple, as they dined on chicken that was fried
Potato salad and coleslaw, they did place on their fork
And the couple drank some cheap red wine which did not go with pork.
Asparagus [Jr.] gets up, now totally bombed, begins imitating some very bad opera. Taken from nothing in particular, which is why the audience came prepared with rotten vegetables and some very bad eggs… Cettie promptly sat further away, and later decided she was getting hit anyway, so she joined in with the bad operatta.
In some tepid bathtub in state she lay au natural,
With bubble bath fumigated, she promptly regurgitated.
Spread on a chair, a moonlit negligee did lay.
See a potty velvet ring, hear a vile accordion.
We silly are in silence, the toilet is vile perfume.
While she cleans her navel with a cordless socket wrench.
When I as tipsy sotted, I dunk my head in water
While she poses naked and I take her picture! Ah ha!
Oh, slow are we, he is sleazy, his cologne does smell real badly
And we can’t stand more of this sentimental claptrap.
In cellar trip and fall we
In cellar trip and fall we
In cellar trip and fall we.
At this time Mungojerrie comes out as Dingus, the Oddball Prat… His outfit consists of plaid baggy pants with polka-dotted suspenders, a white shortsleeve shirt with pocket protector and six different colored pens, horn-rimmed glasses with the tape on the bridge, and a beanie with a motor-driven propeller on top.
Then Dingus gleefully came out, when Ron real drunk did fall
Abandoning the bushes, he out to Gwen did call.
Abandoning Ron Prowler, she ran to this dear punk
And to him running she did squeal, I cannot stand him drunk!
Then Gwen Dolette she gave a squeak for Dingus copped a feel.
And they got in his fast Corvette, his tires he did peel.
Away from that meadow she fled, and she herself did fan
And on the boot of that fast car did bounce off a beer can.
And farther still the Corvette peeled, and Ronnie rued the sight
He watched the taillights disappear off into that dark night
And then they did escape with ease, to a hotel down in town
And so Ron Prowler later on, his sorrows he did drown.
And here Ron Prowler vowed revenge upon all oddball Prats,
Began the change from gentleman to scumbag bully rat
If you see an Oddball Prat round, away from him you flee
Because Ron Prowler will be there, to pound on him with glee.
The other Jellicles manage to get Gus dressed decently, and added a straight jacket in the process. They all stood waiting as Gus completes his number.
These modern computers I will tell them as well
Has just made it worse and created a new Hell.
But it will never surpass, so I will show my a…
The blanket is imposed again as Gus attempts to moon the audience. The orchestra continues to bleat and blatt out the rest of the tune as Gus is carried off in the blanket, cursing and swearing like the drunken Merchant seaman he once was…
Jemmina gets up out the dumpster when Quaxo bumps into it with his Taxi. As she does, she falls on the hood, and slides down and lands on her tail as Skimbleshanks come out in a grimy, oil-smeared, jumpsuit with the Badwrench Logo on the front, and his name… “BOB” on the namepatch. (Inside joke for all you Bill Cosby fans…) He opens the hood and turns his back on the audience. On his back is, “I charge by the hour” in large letters and Jemmina gets up to read the letters on the back belt: “rounded up from the first second...”
Bob Badwrench, the mechanic… the bane of cars everywhere…
SKIMBLESHANKS: THE RAILWAY CAT:
Bob Badwrench, the Mechanic By Dennis C. Callin (Rumblepurr)
There’s a crunching and a whine, and smoke belches out behind
When you’re ready to go to work.
Saying “Ratzlefratz” and cursing, the bottle you’ve been nursing
And the car pool guys think that you’re a jerk.
All the dealers are all waiting and really anticipating
And they see that you are perspiring
Saying “mechanics, we have got him, and now we’ll really charge him”
Your Warranty is expiring.
With your credit overdue, since 1992,
And the carpool guys are frantic to a man
That’s when he will appear and walk on in and sneer
He’s been busy with a faulty trans…
Then he gave one flash, and asked you to pay cash
And the meaning was crystal clear
It would take all week and your carpool squeaks “No, now we’ll have to take the van!”
Bob Badwrench, the Mechanic, the bane of cars everywhere…
You might say that by and large, it’s high he really does charge
He laughs at American Express
From the oil job to the brakes, he charges and he takes.
And he rounds all the times up, more or less.
Up the rack your car goes, just to examine the hose
And the tranney he purges and he drains.
His equipment out he rolls, and thinks it’s rather droll
And he’ll see if you really have the brains.
You could watch him without jerking just to see if he is working
And it’s certain you will never ever see.
That he’s sneaky and he’s quiet, and he really is a full riot
When Old Badwrench has his morning coffee.
You could razz the French with Bob Badwrench
He’s a bad smell that you can’t ignore.
So nothing will be right on your account tonight
When Bob your total will keep score.
Skimble goes under the car and just starts doing all sorts of things - some of which actually have something to do with the car.
It was really frightening when they went into the room
That had Customer Service on the door.
And the bookshelf is all full, of zines from 82
And not a prayer of fixing it until four.
And there’s every sort of prat, some are short and some are fat,
And a prat who will always have to sneeze.
And it’s always in your direction and he has this infection
And you’re downwind in his breeze…
And the manager looks in brightly and yells out impolitely,
“Does anyone in here have to pee? - costs a quarter!”
But a prat was right behind him, and was ready to remind him
That both rooms were really “out of order.”
When they crept into their just-repaired cars and pulled out the obscene bill
They’ll have to admit, it seems rather fit
To know that there’s no money in their wallet.
They will leave all of that to this gawd-awful prat
The prat they call the Mechanic!
Bob Badwrench, the Mechanic, the bane of cars everywhere…
And when you think it’s fixed, your car will shake and twitch
And a foul stench will make it sure you’ve learned
That perhaps you lost a point of your universal joint
Or the rings of your pistons are all burned.
And then you’ll really rue, your oilpan has a drool
On the floor of your carport or garage
And tire has a flat where he installed a patch
And a healthy car is just a quaint mirage.
If you could call the police cause you’re feeling rather fleeced
If there was something you could do in vain
This urge to rant and rage, or to really turn a page
To make Bob Badwrench writhe in pain.
And he gives you a toot, and a one-finger salute
Which says “I zinged you again.”
You’ll return without fail with your plugs in a pail
And your fanbelt is wrapped in your fan.
You’ll be down and spent, your very last pence
The prat they call the Mechanic.
Skimble closes the hood, and Quaxo backs up, causing Jemmina to fall back flat on the ground. Then, sirens sound all over the place, and the alarm goes off in a bank, a jewelry store, and several Shoppe locations. Alonzo wanders in, munching donuts again as cars come in with Jellicles wearing coats that have FBI and CIA and ATF and any number of three-letter acronyms on the back. Finally the street empties out, except for Deme and Bomba in their… um… outfits. Deme starts this blatantly perverted twaddle:
MACAVITY: THE MYSTERY CAT:
I.M.A. Sleeze: The Biz-ness Prat By Rio (The Scottish Queen)
I.M.A Sleeze, the Biz-ness prat. He wears a ten grand suit.
He crushes all his minions with his polished boot.
He’ll steal a partner’s franchise and claim that it was his
Cos now you’ve met I.M.A. Sleeze, the slimeball of the Biz.
I.M.A. Sleeze, I.M.A. Sleeze, there’s no one like I.M.A. Sleeze.
He doesn’t talk politely and he’s never once said 'Please’.
Controlling all the paychecks, he treats his crew like scum,
But all they really want to say is “Shove it up your…er…nose.”
When you hear the squeak of leather of his shoes upon the stair
The people cry “Oh bugger it! I.M.A. Sleeze is there!”
Now it’s Bomba’s turn - think Deme and touch the knob up a tad!
I.M.A. Sleeze looks like a stud, but looks don’t count for much.
He’ll treat you like a piece of dirt, Pollicle poop and such.
He doesn’t care for anyone, not even for his ma,
Affection wasted on his clothes and his Ferrari car! (Okay, that’s fair, but still…)
He’s always on the cell phone - it may be glued right to his head
And he talks of Biz-ness dominance, e’en when he is in bed.
I.M.A. Sleeze, I.M.A. Sleeze, there’s no one like I.M.A. Sleeze.
If there is an illegal deal, it’s the one that he will seize.
His life is solely for his job: C.V. - just be a prick
And when it comes to outside work, he’s thinking with his… er… nose.
He’s outwardly respectable, but then all slimeballs are.
But how could any normal man afford a sixty grand car?
And when the shares are falling, or the value’s through the roof,
Or when a merger’s vanished with no substantial proof
Or the labours all been laid-off, for no reason at all
You’re guaranteed I.M.A. Sleeze is he who did it all.
I might mention other suits, whose sneaky biz is widely known,
But that would be so stupid, to have their covers blown
Cos they’re nothing more than agents for the man up at the top,
Of all the filthy liars, the cream of the crop!
All the “ladies” of the cast comes out in versions of Deme’s… uh… costume, and join in…
I.M.A. Sleeze, I.M.A. Sleeze, there’s no one like I.M.A. Sleeze.
He’s the prat and more than that - a scumbag of the ninth degrees
You may meet him in the men’s room, or in a stall to sit.
For he’ll B.S. you good and then: I.A.M. Sleaze, I.A.M. Sleaze
I.A.M. Sleaze, I.A.M. Sleaze….
For he’ll B.S. you good and then he’ll make you feel like… er… soap!
Again, there is a rush of different “People” going about the stage - most of the Toms picking up on the various chicks and heading off in various directions. But the guards tell them to stay on the stage… Tugger goes down the line - looking at the Queens who shake their heads.
MR. MISTOFFELEES:
Mr. Histamine By Dennis C. Callin (Rumblepurr) and Altaica
Tugger goes to the front and flips most of the audience off. “I would have joined everyone but I didn’t want to mess my doo up,” he says as he runs a hand through his hair, and touches up his forehead curl. “There just are things the Tugger does not do, do…”
“When you’re sick, you ought to smack Mr. Histamine.
The original hallucinating Prat.
There cannot be any doubt about that!
Please listen to me and don’t cough!
All his diseases make him daffy as a bat!
There’s no such prat in all of Metropolis
He holds all the patent holistic medicines
For curing all sorts of surprising maladies
And creating all of sorts of medical legalities.”
The mediocre Pharmacists have something to burn
When this prat hands in his prescriptions in turn!
And they all say…
Oh, well, I never, was there ever,
A pain more bigger
Than sniffling, snuffling Mr. Histamine...
His medicine cabinet is full
From the bottom to the top shelf.
He panics at every slight breeze
And he always doctors himself.
He can pick any pill from a pack
He is equally good at teaspoons
He constantly taking his temperature daily
And he’s frequently sitting on ice.
He drinks from a bottle of cough syrup
And he buys a certain toothpaste
If he shops for Imodium A-D
Then he’ll think is merely good taste.
You have seen him one moment, he’s off at a run
To look in a mirror and examine his tongue!
And we’ll all say…
Oh, well, I never, was there ever,
A pain more bigger
Than sniffling, snuffling Mr. Histamine...
ACHOOO! (Mistoffelees comes in, sneezing into a handkerchief)
Oh, well, I never, was there ever,
A pain more bigger
Than sniffling, snuffling Mr. Histamine...
Oh, well, I never, was there ever,
A pain more bigger
Than sniffling, snuffling Mr. Histamine...
Oh, well, I never, was there ever,
A pain more bigger
Than sniffling, snuffling Mr. Histamine...
Well his manner is paranoid.
You would think there is nobody higher
He sometimes sleeps up on the roof
And then he sleeps down by the fire.
And he burns his clothes in the fire
Or leaves his clothes on the roof.
At least we’ve all heard, his speech is blurred
Cause his medicine’s eighty proof.
And he buys his tissues by the ton.
And his doctor expects a call
From him every hour on the hour
Or by cell phone when his car stalls.
And not long ago, this ridiculous prat
Made medical news by being a lab rat.
And we’ll all say…
Oh, well, I never, was there ever,
A pain more bigger
Than sniffling, snuffling Mr. Histamine...
Oh, well, I never, was there ever,
A pain more bigger
Than sniffling, snuffling Mr. Histamine...
And not long ago, this ridiculous prat
Made medical news by being a lab rat.
And we all say
Oh, well, I never, was there ever,
A pain more bugger
Than sniveling and whining Mr. Histamine...
Oh, well, I never, was there ever,
A pain more fragging
Than coughing and wheezing Mr. Histamine...
Oh, well, I never, was there ever,
A pain more bigger
Than sniffling, snuffling Mr. Histamine...
Oh, well, I never, was there ever,
A pain more bugger
Than sniveling and whining Mr. Histamine...
Oh, well, I never, was there ever,
A pain more fragging
Than coughing and wheezing Mr. Histamine...
Oh, well, I never, was there ever,
A pain more bigger
Than sniffling, snuffling Mr. Histamine...
Ladies and Gentlemen! I give you the paranoid, the hypocritical Mr. Histamine…
(AHHH - AHHH - ACHHHOOOOOOOO!)
Mr. Mistoffelees looks at the hanky and goes “Eeeww!” Everyone moves away from him as if he has cooties…
MEMORY:
Mummery - Take Two By Dennis C. Callin (Rumblepurr)
Munkustrap comes out as looks at the audience, shaking his head.
And now, Old Doddering Rummy, just before rounds
Through a hole in the fence he cut with wire snips
Announces that he will never be caught alive
Before he will come back and do this again!
Grizabella shows up again, and the cast realizes that the refrain part of the most fragged song in the musical is about to happen. This time, Pouncival is the first inside the booth. And he locks the door. Grizabella looks around and realizes her contract does not permit suicide! Adonis starts the downbeat and the kazoos begin the most monotonous set of notes known throughout musical history. Of course, Peter’s kazoo is still a half-step flat.
Mummery! Turn your face and you moon right.
Let this mummery warn you.
Open up. Let her rip!
If you find there some earplugs to lend me again
Get a new life and get a grip!
Mummery! All alone if I mooned right.
I must smell like an old goat
Rooms were cheap by the day.
I remember the time I knew this would come again
Let this mummery fade away.
Burned out prats who smoke their brains out
Stale cold coffee smells badly
The bottle is empty, and I’m really hungover
Another day of slumming.
Daylight. My eyes are just bloodshot.
I must think of a new line.
Or go postal again.
When the dawn comes, I’ll be a mummery too.
Will this song never end?
Grizabella sits on the curb while Jemmina leans up out of the dumpster again to slur the following verse:
Worn out shoes get wet in winter
Endless postal clerks whining.
Grizabella shakes her head and joins in, taking a swig from the paper sack Jemmina is drinking out of.
Like a semi whose brakes are failing
This mummery keeps going!
Beginning to wander now, Grizabella goes over and tries to figure what Old D is looking at. Jemmina tumbles back into the dumpster, and disappears again.
Shoot me. Come on, somebody shoot me!
Before I really dry heave.
And I fall to the floor.
If you’ll shoot me, I will not have to sing this again
Look! This song finally ends!!!!!
The audience gives the song a standing ovation… Or, they could have awakened simultaneously, and decided to slap themselves back awake. The cast gathers up Grizabella, who thinks this is a grand parade. She doesn’t notice that some of them carry items such as hemp rope tied into the 13 rotated knot noose, tar and feathers, torches and pitchforks, etc. As they carry her around, they chant this obnoxious and somewhat repetitive poppycock.
JOURNEY TO THE HEAVISIDE LAYER:
The Journey to the Curbside Tailor By Dennis C. Callin (Rumblepurr)
Up, up, up past the knee the hem goes
Up-up-up-up the pants crotch snugly fits you…
Up, up, up past your wrist the sleeve goes
Up-up-up-up the tight armpit of your coat
Up, up, up past your waist your belt goes
Up-up-up-up the back seam is not sewn right.
Up, up, up past the price he quoted
Up-up-up-up to the maximum dress size.
Up, Up, Up the number of bolts used
Up-up-up-up to the size of the big tents.
Up, up, up past the mismatched patterns
Up-up-up-up to the Mall’s cheaper clothes stores.
The cast finally decides Grizabella is just too much weight, so they stop and throw her unceremoniously into one of the bigger dumpsters. She makes a spectacular “Thump” and all sorts of garbage (heavy on the package Styrofoam worms) fly up! The cast all faces the audience and belches out the following flotsam…
The unabridged deformity of the unwashed civility
Round the dumpsters rang “Up Yours!”
Now, we have to hear the old fart…
Old Deuteronomy, looking like he might have a heart attack at any moment, stands on the old tyre (tire - labeled Firestone). He looks at the menacing looks of the cats and belches a C above the Bass Cleft staff…
AD-DRESSING OF CATS:
The Dressing of Prats By Dennis C. Callin (Rumblepurr)
You’ve heard of several kinds of Prats
And my opinion now is that
You should need no more rotgut gin
To understand where we have been.
You’ve learned enough that you should rue
For Prats are very much like you.
You’ve seen them all in cornball games
And learned all sorts of obscene names
Our habits and our habitats
So this is how you dress a Prat
So first you slip into a bog…
And hope that you will find a log…
(“This prattish song is a real dog…
And we bash it with a big log…”)
With Prats, some say one rule is true
Don’t shoot till you know who is who…
Myself I do not hold with that
I say that you should shoot a prat
But always keep in mind this mix
To reload always count to six.
You hide and sight upon that Prat
And dress him in and make him fat.
Before a Prat does stereo
He’ll eats a bunch of Oreos
Something to make him bust a seam
To tighten belts will make him scream.
And you might now and then supply
Some antacids to make him cry
Some bottled water spiked to taste
He’s sure to expand about the waist.
And so in time you’ll find your aim,
And blame old what’s-his-name!
A prat’s entitled to expect
This whole vile range of disrespect.
So this is diss and that’s a bat
And this is how you dress a Prat!
A prat’s entitled to expect
This whole vile range of disrespect.
So this is diss and that’s a bat
And this is how you dress a Prat!
(Old D hits a long note that sounds like the braying of a donkey that just found relief after a bout of constipation…)
The steel Save-A-Stage curtain falls, narrowly missing the forward rank of actors. The lights go out on stage, which invokes a line of cursing from the actors who now cannot find their way to the stage doors. The audience heaves the rest of their garbage at the stage anyway.
Finale
The cast refused to come back on stage as the All-Kitten Some-Phony Orchestra continued to play. The audience was informed over the PA system that a Claymore mine had been located near the orchestra pit (which is why the orchestra was spared the garbage thrown at the stage). In the mad stampede to the doors, the house cleared in a record 5 minutes 45.3 seconds.
Police condoned off the streets leading to and from the theatre to allow the cast bus to get out of town without being fire-bombed or heavily toilet-papered…
The next town on the tour promptly demolished the 15 million-dollar palatial opera house that was scheduled for the next performance. The cast hijacked the bus, and was last seen going into the Chunnel toward France. It was said that French gendarmes are waiting for them in riot gear and armed with anti-tank guns, rockets and armored vehicles.
Really Useless Groupies, Ltd., promptly canceled all performances of PEOPLES everywhere on the planet. Some cast members are considering going over to another blatantly perverse musical called the STARLESS ACCESS, where everyone dresses up as automobiles and lorries…
Andy Lou Webbie, the composer, has gone into hiding with Solomon Rushie, and Tremor Gnome, the director, checked into an undisclosed Mental Ward off the coast of Scotland. Gullible Wind, the choreographer, is now a member of the French Foreign Legion.
This has been a typically untrue story based totally upon the sniveling product of too many Diet Cokes, Mt. Dew and occasional cappuccino. Pizza at 1 o’clock in the morning (cold) did not help the making of this potentially mind-numbing parody, nor did the repetitious playing of the CATS CD to get perverted ideas of the songs… No other drugs were involved. Just lack of sleep and a poor diet will cause all sorts of hoo-doos and hobgoblins to scamper out of the woodwork… Mostly after the scraps of stale pizza crusts… They have to be quick with my ditz of a dachshund running around… She just loves pizza crusts… and an occasional hobgoblin… and anything else even remotely edible… and even a few things that are not…
The American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Actors (ASPCA) confirms that no actor or actress (or those who refuse to declare a gender preference) was physically hurt in this production. Mentally scarred, Emotionally crippled, and Psychologically destroyed maybe, and their careers totally flushed down the toilet (or loo or W.C.) likely, but they were not physically hurt… Since the Jellicles are fictional characters, they acted as the stunt people… How many of them are left now? (* This is just as bad as being a Security Officer on board the UCS Jellicle! You know your contract is in danger when wardrobe hands you that red uniform shirt! *)
Again, the authors of this unmitigated attack on a fine musical claim that none of this senseless usage of the English Language (or any other language contained herein) has been plagiarized from other authors… And even if we did, we wouldn’t fess up to it… (Besides. Do you really want to claim that YOU wrote some of this stuff???) We claim insanity as a defense anyway, so there! * The horrible sound of a bilabial fricative is heard throughout the offices of TJC. *
***** Adonis breaks his baton and throws the pieces at the orchestra - House lights on *****
