As drag queens ran into the audience and mussed the hair of unsuspecting men, I began to seriously regret my decision to sit in the aisle seat.

I'm a pretty easy going, open-minded guy. (I laughed WITH Robin Williams in Mrs. Doubtfire, not at him.) But when a sequined pelvic thrust took out an 80-year-old's glasses two rows in front of me at the play last week, I panicked.

My girlfriend grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the seat. "You WILL watch the rest of this play," she hissed. "If anyone could use a little culture in his life, it's you!" But I could barely hear her over the blaring techno-music and the despairing wails of men discovering that these queens have more than just bump in their grind.

"This is culture?"

On the stage, a woman wearing a nightgown and a pig mask was strapped to a spinning, plywood wheel. As she spun upside down, faster and faster, dancing queens clad in pantyhose and go-go boots were busy squirting her with ketchup bottles filled with green and pink paint.

"Andy, seriously, try to relax. Drag queens can smell fear."

And she was right. I could see their manly nostrils flaring in the strobe light.

Going to a play with my girlfriend is never easy. While my girlfriend is picking up the subtle nuances of a monotone monologue, I'm trying to pick up the ballgame on my Walkman. She's artsy; I'm just plain fartsy.

This particular play was about a group of people who crash land on an island filled with mystery, awkward dialog, and cross dressers. "It's a lot like ABC's Lost," my girlfriend assured me, "only the play isn't nearly as confusing." At least she was being honest.

We seem to only attend plays that require powerful, mind-altering substances to comprehend. I prefer plays that are much easier to understand; a quarterback sneak on fourth and goal, for example, is a play anyone can appreciate.

Last year, she subjected me to a play called A Mouth Full Of Birds, which had nothing to do with birds and a lot to do with me gouging my own eyes out. Near as I could tell, the play was about a girl who stood on the stage and repeated, "Look at the hole in its stomach!" over and over, for roughly four hours. Eventually, the actress ripped off her mask to reveal Ashton Kutcher, yelling, "You've been Punk'd!" The audience surged forward, killed and ate him.

I've noticed a few tell-tale signs that indicate a play is going to really, really, really suck. Pay attention, and maybe you can avoid all the suffering I've had to endure. Or at the very least, you'll avoid a "Mouth Full Of Kutcher".

Five Ways To Spot A Bad Play, Before It's Too Late:

1. If a full-length play has no intermission, don't see that play. Skipping intermission is the theatre world's stop-loss program.
2. Do not see elementary school plays. Your child will forgive you when he or she has children, and you can wait that long.
3. Avoid musicals completely. The only good musical in the history of Broadway was Carrie: The Musical, based on Stephen King's horror story about a high school teen who fell for the old "bucket of pig's blood over the door" trick and killed everyone at her prom by using scary telekinetic powers. And even THAT musical sucked so bad they couldn't give the tickets away.
4. Do not see any play whose marquee proudly displays the name of a former sitcom actor. If Joey wasn't funny after Friends, then he sure won't be funny in A Streetcar Named Desire.
5. If you ask for help finding your seat, and the usher kind of sighs and tells you to just go ahead and sit wherever you want, it means nobody else is coming to this horrible play. Consider choosing a seat back at your home, in front of the television.

Sounds simple? You better believe it is! But why take my word for it?

My girlfriend has plans to take in some culture this weekend, so you can have my ticket to see for yourself. And don't worry, I'll be fine: TBS is planning a Mrs. Doubtfire marathon.

Copyright © 2006 Andy Murphy
Please do not remove the copyright from this work.

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