Ha. I hate getting hit by stray bits of food. I once sat in the front row of a play that had a small refrigerator right in front of where I was sitting. There was a lot of talk of food, and much opening and closing of the refrigerator, putting things in. As might have been predicted, the climax of the show involved stuff coming out of that refrigerator.
Dialogue that I've never forgotten from that play:
What's that smell in here?Do artichokes roll when they hit the pitched floor of a stage? Yes, so don't sit in the front row.
Artichokes.
Artichokes, huh? Smells like stale piss. Never was big on vegetables myself. I'm a steak man. "Meat and blood," that's my motto. Keeps your bones hard as ivory.
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When I was 14 and my brother 16, our parents took us to the tiny Folger Theater behind the Supreme Court to see "The Complete Works of Billy the Kid."
We sat in the front row center, 'rents in the back. In the second act, the male and female leads got naked in dim lights on a cot. In the next (fully lit) scene, she strutted around in his pants and suspenders and a big smile. And the language was right blue.
Walking back to the car, Mom said, "Stick with your mother, boys, and see the world."
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