The Corona Chronology: Day 14

During the opening night of “Chernobyl: The Musical!”, a bevy of conversations took place…


Jan, far left: “I had no idea what I was getting into when I joined this chorus line. I mean, a girl’s gotta make a living and all that, but this is ridiculous. How can anybody be taking this seriously? Somebody help me. There’s got to be a better life out there.”

Marty, middle left: “Jan, you got it all wrong. This is the perfect place to meet guys. All those hunks out in the audience are getting a preview of our Chanel Number 5, if you get my drift. We’re bound to score.”

Rizzo, middle right: “Score? Honey, this is Broadway. Most of those hunks are just waiting for us to get the hell out of here so they can bring on the male dancers. And we’re wearing gas masks while doing leg kicks. The two straight guys in the audience are not thinking about Chanel Number 5 right now.”

Frenchy, far right: “Hey, somebody stole the bow off my shoe! My career is in the toilet. I can’t believe I dropped out of beauty school for this. I should never have listened to Frankie Avalon, but I was dazzled by the all-white set and my wig was too tight.”

Danny, off stage: “I got chills, they’re multiplyin’… and this production is losing control.”

Sandy, likewise: “Tell me about it, stud.”

Principal McGee: “You go, Sandy. Be an athletic supporter!”

Producer: “Well, I’m thinking we won’t have reserved seats at the Tony Awards.”

Tony Award Selection Committee Member: “Oh, I don’t know. That one gas mask on the right has a bit of flair. Maybe you can nominate it for Featured Prop?”

Audience Member #1: “Why am I having Catholic School flashbacks?”

Audience Member #2: “No idea. Especially since you didn’t go to Catholic School.”

Audience Member #1: “But I have memories of repression and vengeful authority.”

Audience Member #2: “Because you grew up in Oklahoma.”

Usher: “If one more person shows up late and then bitches because we have to use a flashlight to find his seat, I’m gonna go full-tilt Leona Helmsley on his ass.”

Leona: “Good luck with that, considering I’m already six feet under. Somebody around here needs to update their pop-culture referencing or this blog is going to be in the plot next to me.”

Plot Next to Leona: “Hold up, Nasty Girl. This space has already been sub-let. That’s how we do things in this city.”

Concession Stand Worker #1: “Well, that’s it for the popcorn. My butter spigot is plugged-up again.”

Concession Stand Worker #2: “Honey, it sounds like you need to go to a free clinic.”

Ticket-taker: “I really like cucumber sandwiches.”

Bartender: “I love Broadway. People will pay twenty bucks for a watered-down screwdriver. Of course, that explains why America has the highest healthcare costs in the entire galaxy. People willingly pay outrageous amounts for things that shouldn’t cost that much.”

Cab driver out front: “My spidey sense tells me this musical is going ass-up in one night. I’d better double my fares while I can.”

Entertainment Critic for Fox News: “Once again, the liberals in New York City do another dancing tribute to socialism.”

Critic for the New York Times: “Nothing good has come out of Broadway since Disney organized a corporate takeover. God help us all.”

God: “Don’t look at me. I did the best that I could. By the way, where do I go to get my parking ticket validated?”

Parking Ticket Validator: “Do you really expect me to believe that you drive an actual car? Why would you need one?”

God: “It’s all about faith.”

Parking Ticket Validator: “No, it’s all about capitalism. This is America.”

Parking Ticket: “Could we save this discussion for another time? I really need to be time-stamped. I haven’t had sex in weeks.”

Lady Gaga: “I can help you with that. I support all forms of sexual identity. I wrote a song about it. Actually, all of my songs are about the freedom to get stamped as long as both partners mutually agree to the stamping.”

A satellite suddenly zooms overhead, high in the sky, collecting data and then downloading the digits to a certain blogger in Texas.

Certain Blogger, reviewing such: “Well, then. I think I’ve done enough damage for the night. Cleo, are you ready for bed?”

Cleo the Cat: “I’m a cat. When am I not ready for a nap?”

Certain blogger shuts down his laptop and eventually falls in the bed, where he assumes the fetal position and has flashbacks of Oklahoma, which should explain every whiff of madness you’ve ever read here at Bonnywood Manor.


Previously published as “Past Imperfect – #13”. Considerable changes made for this post. Considerable. Mea culpa.


25 replies »

  1. They are the Chernobyl clean-up crew? No? Aha! I know. They have been sent by a kind witch to do clean up duty after Ding Dong Donnie is kidnapped by the flying monkeys and dropped in Antarctica. After all, someone needs to clear out the noxious odours and stains.

    Liked by 3 people

  2. this is a wonderful bit of perfection right now.

    “I’m gonna go full-tilt Leona Helmsley on his ass.” – i’m going to use this as soon as the opportunity presents itself.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Wow — could there be a better picture of our first party once restrictions are lifted and the current protesters at our state capitals are buried?

    Sorry, was that too dark? Mea culpa.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Not dark at all. Those protestors repulse me, especially those who have the unmitigated gall to taunt and torment health care workers who are just doing their jobs. (Yes, it’s happening, in case you haven’t seen that angle.)

      But the After-Restriction Party? I’m there, even if I don’t want anyone to get within six feet…

      Liked by 1 person

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