Dear Mr. Pipensmokit,
Thank you so much for coming to my fat daughter's and my fourth annual Halloween scarefest, Tales From Mom's Crypt IV: I Know What Tiff Ate Last Supper [Erik Piepenburg, November 3], now playing at Cornservatory at 4210 N. Lincoln, closing November 10.
After reading your review--well actually someone had to read it to me since I was still blind drunk--I was quite upset and needed to respond.
First of all, if our scripts seemed to have been commissioned for a suburban titty bar, it's only because they were. In fact our show has enjoyed successful runs at the Berwyn Bumgalow and most recently at Nancy Knocker's Hideaway. We are also thrilled to have just been extended--way extended--at the Cicero Crotch Hutt.
Also my large and unpretty daughter Tiff and I are a bit confused about your reference to the length of our show. You say the show was three hours long, but we have consistently clocked in at two hours and 40 minutes. Now maybe you can't accomplish anything in those unaccounted for 20 minutes, but meet me at Nancy's after the show and I'll give you 20 minutes of theatrical hubris you'll never forget--no matter how hard you try.
Fourthly and perhaps worst of all, you talk about our audience getting plastered (which I am right now) and expressing themselves freely by shouting out raunchy remarks as if it were a bad thing. Oh Mr. Piedpipenburger that hurts me deep down in crevices of my being that even I can't find. My point is, you can talk poorly about our show, you can call our acting bad and our humor "poo-poo," you can comment on my blow job techniques (and if you meet me at Nancy's I'll be sure to change your critical mind). But please don't ever, ever, ever, EVER make fun of our drunken, loud, nothing-else-to-do-on-a-Wednesday-night-in-Chicago audience. They've been around a lot longer than you, dear. Oh by the way, those noxious fumes wafting through the theater all night had nothing to do with the chain saw.
PS: If you think we had a "too-large cast," you shoulda seen the one on Tiff after the skiing/hot chocolate accident.