Tickets Please

In silence (murmur broken) and darkness lit by green exit sign, the audience awaits…
The end of the world review.

INTRO DUCK SHIN
Ushers and usherettes offer goodie-bags and baguettes to the tailored suits and stupid hats; feathered nests of perfumed decadence coat the smell of moral rot and ignorant elitism.
Precious stoned Green Party vote Celebrity power-cuts and third world debt relief for those who would wipe their guilt on the hem of the reaper’s gown.
Outside in rags and ashes; putty faced and mascara-ed lashes questions and camera flashes; we jostle for position in the handout of dream scraps and crumbs of hope, shout in vain pleas for recognition.
Curtains raised to the ground with napalm orange agents their duties to perform – actor and actresses all cloak-and-dagger wise – a method of sorts.

PAR TWUN
A round of applause; a round of ammunition; around around round round carosel horses on legislative poles driven; three and half miles to the gallon; nought to sixty billion years in a second.
Put your hands together for the show; the charade; the shit-house blues.
Hand me up another beer, I didn’t come here for the sopranos.
Hand in hand with tomorrow’s world, praise the lord and pass my sword.
Hand-me-down Kalashnikov Crusade for those who would fight their way out of war.
A round of applause for the dancing pressmen; arse-licking good; chicken-legged legions for old MacDonald’s pharmaceutical nightmares.
Crescendo crescendo laughter and light.

INTER LEWD
You can watch me swing from this tattered rope or swing your watch hypnotised to cope.
You can read the critics or watch the news; paint your nails or turn the screws.

PAR TOO
Flip your coin, cast your vote – may as well cast a spell by rote.
Or read the leaves in the bottom of you overrunning cup for all the difference it makes.
Might as well whistle while the wind blows or murder the crows that descend on your patch of green concrete.
Might as well stare at your feet.
Raise your glasses, campaign, you patrons of saints; you prosecutors and defenders of freedom; rattle your programmes in elegant approval.
The critics will rave about the choir of lost integrity and gratuitous sex and violins fiddled by the orchestrated; wax lyric on burning issues doused in kerosene - the better lesson to learn.

FIN R. LEE (choreography by)
Not a dry eye in the house when the curtains descend – curtains for me and curtains for you. Bring up the house lights on the end of the world review.