One Egg Shy

The musings of Chris. Writer, humanitarian, hero.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006


In case you're coming to my website via College Humor, here are some posts you should totally check out.

If Jesus had IM
My Mega Job Interview
Clippy the Paperclip

Monday, July 10, 2006

Dear Mr. Mayer

Dear John Mayer,
Listen. This has to stop.

It isn’t like you’re a bad guy. It isn’t that your music completely sucks. I actually kind of like your weird voice and think you seem like an amusing guy.

But please—for the love of all that is sacred— please stop having your music played in my restaurant.

I just can’t deal with it. I can’t deal with “Your Body is a Wonderland” every five minutes. Jesus Christ, John, I know my body is a FUCKING WONDERLAND.

I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.

When I first heard the song a bunch of years ago, I actually liked it. I knew the lyrics were cheesy and aimed at sleeping with girls. I knew the chord progression was predictable and that the song was made to appeal to the radio, but it still had a nice little groove to it.

But please John, enough. ENOUGH. I can’t listen to your songs 10 times a day. I just can’t. I need variety. I need flavor. I need something other than you crooning over and over again about the wonderment of my body.

It’s nice that you’ve noticed how I’ve been working out. I’m flattered. But it’s gotten to be embarrassing at the job. How can I wait on tables when you keep talking about how luxurious my body is?

So please John. Knock it off. For me, for everyone.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Class Act

I've been pretty busy lately with both my new job and trying to get up and running. Since I've recently been telling people about working at a dinner theater last year, I figured I'd post something I wrote last summer about it.

I am a professional actor. Before you think of such superstars as Brad Pitt, Mel Gibson, or Louie Anderson, you have to realize that I am performing in a dinner theater for tourists at the Jersey shore. I do two seatings a night of what is called the "Medieval Idol," a lame-ass parody of the equally bad "American Idol." I am Justin Ogre, an unscrupulous, ugly, smelly mess of jokes and bad singing that simultaneously repulses and entertains the masses. I'm getting paid to be an actor, and yet I'm getting totally disillusioned. So what the fuck is my problem?

Well, for starters, when most people think of actors they think of red carpets, sexy girlfriends, and millions of dollars. The only carpet that I deal with, however, is the one I have to freaking vacuum in between shows. The sexy girlfriends are the ones who watch the show with their collar-up, backwards hat boyfriends and disappear before I can awkwardly try to hit on them. The millions of dollars refer to what I wish I could pay to regain my dignity.

If you have never been to a dinner theater before, then you don't know that this sort of performance is very interactive. I go out into the audience and talk directly to the throngs of people, hoping that if I joke around enough that they will leave a decent tip. For some reason, however, people think that since I am a lowly actor that they have the right to poke, prod, and sometimes even punch me. I'm serious. Little kids actually punch me sometimes. I try to laugh it off while silently cursing their parents for ever having sex.

Another big problem is that I am about as close to a prostitute as possible without the dick breath. I pretend, over and over, to be enjoying something in order to ensure other people's pleasure. I wear makeup and dress in an uncomfortable costume to entice the masses. I'm good at faking it too. I am not your typical dock trash—I'm a high class whore. You have to wine and dine my ass before getting some snatch, but man, it's worth it.

The only good part about this travesty is that since I play an ogre, I can pretty much say whatever the fuck I want and people just laugh it off. I've told older people to hurry up and die already, parents to stop having children to save the world some torment, and older women to continue drinking and to meet me in the alleyway later for what I promise will be a quickie. Whenever people seem off put by this, I remind them that I am "Justin Ogre" and everything is forgiven. I can be a complete asshole and the crowd will laugh, applaud, and tip me for this boorish behaviour. This freedom has its drawback, however—sometimes after the show I'll want to insult an ugly shirt or rub some bald guy's head, forgetting that I can't act this way when outside of the show. Saying I'm "Justin Ogre" doesn't work when hitting on ladies outside of the theater, but on the bright side, I am developing a resistance to pepper spray.

I should feel lucky that I am not at the bottom of the acting food chain because, believe it or not, there are worse gigs than mine. The worst go as follows:

Renaissance Fair Performer
Sure, it would be cool to do the joust, but more likely you will be playing some blacksmith who has to speak with a ridiculous accent while offering repairs on shields. Totally lame.

Theme Park Mascot
Most of the time you don't even get to speak, you just have to walk around the park in the smelliest, hottest suit imaginable while taking pictures with snot-nosed brats who want to step on your oversized feet. You can't even pretend to hit on attractive girls, and as soon as your hand brushes against some hottie's ass, they are screaming rape.

Straight Guy in a Gay Porn
While I personally don't like "lesbian" scenes in movies (I'm in theatre, so I've met plenty of real lesbians and trust me, they are not weighing 105 pounds with stacked C cups), being rammed as a straight guy is far worse. When you've reached this point in your career, it's probably time to tear up your head shot before you get one. From a dude. On your face.

So at least I'm not doing these things. It could be worse, right?