ALL NOVEL Fleabag & Struggler
All are aboard the Hair Train save for Her so last call for Her. Last Call for HER!
HER: It’s a bad, It’s a plain, It’s Jane. Just Jane and now, right now, I’m nowhere close to birthing my opening line but I’m now here and must open with a line so here’s a closing line: “Put steel on wrist and called it a night.” That’s the shot and tequila of it. Shot in gut, Knight’s dying. Dying but not yet dead, Knight can’t wait to be dead but can’t without dyeing Dad’s hair and as if that wasn’t deadly enough, Dad’s hair is in fact Dad’s Hare and not just any Hare but Hare named March which is mad and demanding its hair’s dye for The Tea Party be merde and Knight? Can’t do it. Peace’s all he’s known so yeah, it’s looking shitty. Then she arrives. Enter the shittiest expert on all things dyeing, is she the Knight’s savior? Alice, she’s a lice in stature who does not give a shit-stain about some dead seeking knight. She does not give a shit-stain about mankind either to be brutally honest and why should she? She’s unhuman. She is in sect. Alice of Wonderland Sect, she’s a lice blisteringly infatuated with ‘Flea in her bag’. Her sol (she has a son) is prim, proper, and prepared for the selling. All dear Devil-in-a-carriage beetle has to part with is dark comedy, post-punk, a bag to put Fleabag and Struggler in and a front row seat for a lice to witness what their addition will equal. What monstrous, erm, monster will be belched out? What incomprehensible genre will screech into theatrical life? Hip-hop comedy? Rhythm and blues cringe? Post-punk black? The latter will be divisive, controversial, a cyber solar afro atom punk in a bio atom garage thats street clock crust egg shaped kind of intriguing and last but definitely not least, post office public. That’s genius. Genius like Alberto Mielgo for he made me fall in love with death even without the robots and I love robots. Like loooooooove robots. Love ‘em like Arthur does the Round Table Knights. Except that one. The one that went square. Everyone knows the one. The one that Arthur’s her sucked off. Sucked him off in the hallway and that’s no lore but song. Fancy Clown’s the name and by the time all the Round Table Knights knew all the lyrics verbatim, the rest of Britannia was laughing-ish. Knights laugh-ish too but who laughs last and thus best? Is it Arthur Fleck or Bozo the Clown? Is it Joker or The Joker? Is it Victor Vaughn or Victor von
[Doom comes to the Garden]