Trains and Things
Last night I was ASMing and overheard some of the dancers talking. Apparently, two things are certain, 1) they all look great in futuristic—80’s-inspired—street tough glitter spandex outfits and 2) the number one thing any dancer thinks about is their colon (second only to how their butts look - I suppose those are vaguely related). Chatter involving the “master cleanse” rumbled through the dressing area, then someone dropped the term “poop rope,” some sort of supplement that, within ten days, makes you crap a rope-like object. Last, but not least, someone told an old-wives tale about starving then baiting tapeworms out of peoples’ intestines. Yep, two things are certain…
Also. Fuck you, MTA. Seriously. Like. Come on! I refuse to take a train to a train to train that doesn’t exist, search in vain for another train that doesn’t exist until I take a train in the opposite direction of where I need to go just to get on a train I could’ve been on for an hour had I known of your cruel tricks in advance. Get it together, MTA!
GET, IT, TOGETHER.
