Misadventure, thy name is Forky

There were witches in the audience tonight.

What else could they have been? No one talks about the pagan god Baal in such friendly terms.

"Christianity has long painted a grotesque picture of the Master."

"Yes, the great Master, may he live forever and ever."

"Few people know that he is a benevolent god. Bringer of life to the barren widows."

"Ay. We glorify the Master. The great Baal!"

And there I was, standing there in my nonsensical Druid robe, listening to this. All I could think was--I'm not kidding--"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live."

Once I realized my first instinct was to find a way to smite these members of the audience, I moved away from them as quickly as I could. Killing audience members probably wouldn't have been the best career move.

I didn't kill those witches, but I DID keep a close eye on them during the show. I noticed, with some satisfaction, that they grinned snaggle-toothed grins at all the really awful parts of the show. Figures. I mean, they're witches. They're into that kind of thing. I said a little prayer for them, asking God to somehow use our tale of the naked druid lesbians from Brooklyn to move their hearts to repentance.

I don't think my prayer was answered. In fact, I think I heard one of the angels guffaw, "HA! Fat chance!"

Can't blame a guy for trying. I mean, it was either that or kill them.

In other news, God finally realized he left his Snoopy Sno-Cone machine running over the weekend and turned the dang thing off.

Either I'm coming down with a terrible illness that may claim my life, or this City of broken dreams is NOT the allergy haven I initially thought it would be. My respiratory system the past few days has been on the absolute fritz. Walking around in this cold weather makes me double over in hacking fits that cause even the most calloused taxi drivers from the Bronx shed a tear of pity. What am I allergic to? Nothing grows here! Except for a tree in Brooklyn but that's it!

After our witchy show, I had my Sunday night dinner at Poo-Poo Thai and gorged myself on pad thai noodles and fried tofu. I headed down to one of the main audition sites for a late-night audition. Went in, did my cold reading, dazzled the bored casting people who probably won't even call me back (as usual), went out.

On my way back to the apartment, mere blocks from Crime Square, I heard a happy little sound.

PAP! PAP! PAP! PAP!

Then there were screams.

I turned around. Two blocks away, a bunch of people were running my direction. Two cars swerved onto the street and peeled out, heading straight up 8th in a high-speed chase. The Hungarian tourists next to me jumped into the nearest doorway. I laughed nervously and joined them for a moment. Police sirens soon rang in the air. I quickly ducked Port Authority where the heat was on so high I found myself unable to breathe, thanks to my allergies or consumption or whatever I have.

That's all I feel like saying for now.

Oh, and for the record, those shots of brandy I keep taking really are medicinla. Um. Medicinal.