My Apologies
I cancelled on my show at the last minute yesterday, as I was in truly terrible shape and couldn't utter 2 words without keeling over and hacking up an organ or three. For those of you that came to support, send me an e-mail (at youcantmakeitup at gmail dot com), describe the hosts outfit (to verify your attendance), and I'll try to do something special for you to apologize (send website links, etc.).
This is the apology letter I sent to the host minutes before showtime. I hope you all enjoy it:
Dear Fans and Lovers,
I really hope you are all having a fantastic time. I, on the other hand, am dying. Yes, it’s true. Maybe it’s because of the rabid dog that bit me a few weeks back, or perhaps the Polish woman who carefully removes hairs from my asshole one at a time made the wax a touch too "boiling". Alls I know is, I’m pretty sure this is the end. And as God is my witness, I refuse to spend my last few living days cavorting in Billysburg.
I do sincerely apologize for my absence tonight. I had been planning this performance for weeks, finding the just the right peacocks from which to pluck the plumage that made up 99 percent of my ahn-sombleh. I was going to test some pieces from my new one woman show called "Les Jizz-erables", about an orphan who gets reamed by three police officers and a loaf of French bread.
Alas, I have rabies. I went in for my first series of shots this Sunday. The doctor tried to guess my weight -- “150?” he queried. “Oh Doctor!” I shrieked, “You do amuse!” I am over six feet tall, with a large frame, and overweight. You would know all these things had I had the energy to come to Brooklyn tonight. An hour later, my lil’ doctore’ entered the room and told me to drop my pants. “Thank God I waxed!” my inner monologue came shooting out of my mouth. “But doctor, I thought I only needed two shots. You’re holding 5?” “Well because of your BODY SIZE I had to order more.” “My what?” “YOUR BODY SIZE.” I dropped my pants and laid down flat on my stomach. It is hard to look a man you despise in the eye as he sticks his needle into your hairless, infinite ass.
Oh, and I also have bronchitis! So I can’t even speak! I can only cough! And I would have infected everyone! With bronchitis! And rabies!
Please please forgive me and enjoy this wonderful show. Michael Cyril Creighton is the best man alive. The number one best. Sweet, handsome, cuddle-able. And smart. Super smart. Although I’m a bit concerned he is a Jew in hiding. Enjoy the show. I love you.
A Jew,
Michelle
This is the apology letter I sent to the host minutes before showtime. I hope you all enjoy it:
Dear Fans and Lovers,
I really hope you are all having a fantastic time. I, on the other hand, am dying. Yes, it’s true. Maybe it’s because of the rabid dog that bit me a few weeks back, or perhaps the Polish woman who carefully removes hairs from my asshole one at a time made the wax a touch too "boiling". Alls I know is, I’m pretty sure this is the end. And as God is my witness, I refuse to spend my last few living days cavorting in Billysburg.
I do sincerely apologize for my absence tonight. I had been planning this performance for weeks, finding the just the right peacocks from which to pluck the plumage that made up 99 percent of my ahn-sombleh. I was going to test some pieces from my new one woman show called "Les Jizz-erables", about an orphan who gets reamed by three police officers and a loaf of French bread.
Alas, I have rabies. I went in for my first series of shots this Sunday. The doctor tried to guess my weight -- “150?” he queried. “Oh Doctor!” I shrieked, “You do amuse!” I am over six feet tall, with a large frame, and overweight. You would know all these things had I had the energy to come to Brooklyn tonight. An hour later, my lil’ doctore’ entered the room and told me to drop my pants. “Thank God I waxed!” my inner monologue came shooting out of my mouth. “But doctor, I thought I only needed two shots. You’re holding 5?” “Well because of your BODY SIZE I had to order more.” “My what?” “YOUR BODY SIZE.” I dropped my pants and laid down flat on my stomach. It is hard to look a man you despise in the eye as he sticks his needle into your hairless, infinite ass.
Oh, and I also have bronchitis! So I can’t even speak! I can only cough! And I would have infected everyone! With bronchitis! And rabies!
Please please forgive me and enjoy this wonderful show. Michael Cyril Creighton is the best man alive. The number one best. Sweet, handsome, cuddle-able. And smart. Super smart. Although I’m a bit concerned he is a Jew in hiding. Enjoy the show. I love you.
A Jew,
Michelle
posted by Michelle Collins on
Thursday, October 06, 2005
