The Green Ink Brigade, Part I

Dear Charity Show Directors,

Hello, my name is Brad, I play the part of Tree Number 1 and Guard Number 1 alongside the indomitable Geoff. We are usually drunk during practice. You may also remember me because it was I that suggested we take upwards of 500 dollars from the profit made on the Charity Show and use it to fund a booze-cruise cast party. I stand by my assertions that the two charities that we are donating to will not miss it: The UN Sack Lunch Program is already doubtless receiving millions in kickback from the Oil For Food scandal, and the World Guide Dog Foundation could at least take a 250 dollar hit since I remember reading some report somewhere that said all blind people are totally loaded. The choice, however, is up to you.

I am writing on behalf of myself as well as my co-star to ask of you, nay, plead with you, nay again, beg of you to please not assign us with any more responsibility. It has been made abundantly clear that the two of us are single-handedly running this entire charitable operation into the ground already. We clearly cannot be trusted at all. It took us five months to memorize a collective ten lines. When we attend practice we are running solely on coffee, peanuts, beer, and adrenaline. I’d like to call your attentions to a few cases of our ineptitude:

Exhibit A: We are always leaving on “bathroom breaks” to the nearest convenience store. I am not going to kid myself into thinking that we’ve fooled either of you. You are smart people. We are not. What could have tipped you off? Could it have been our girlish giggling? Perhaps it was that one time I loudly whispered to Geoff, “Hey, let’s get more beer,” before demurely asking for a fifteen minute toilet break.

Exhibit B: The fact that not once in five months have we ever been on time to practice. Not one time.

Exhibit C: The fact that, despite having practiced at the Kureha location four times now, we still cannot find the goddamn room.

Exhibit D: The fact that, up until last week, everyone in the entire production knew Geoff’s lines except Geoff.

I could go on and on, but no doubt you are aware of the complete spectacle we make of ourselves every Wednesday and Sunday. You have both shown yourselves to be paragons of patience. The real “charity” shown in this charity show is demonstrated weekly in the simple fact that you haven’t kicked both of us out on our asses.

In fact, far from being relegated to the waterboy and sweat-mopper positions, we seem to actually be acquiring more responsibility. Just last practice we learned that we would be memorizing an entire song, for instance. Now, we will do our very best here and we will succeed, no doubt, because doe-eyed orphans are counting on us and because that's the kind of men we are, but what we think you should rethink is assigning us to the rolls of Pixie #1 and Pixie #2 as well. Although there are no lines for the prancing pixies, there are a myriad of dance steps that are very hard for two goliaths like ourselves to memorize and perform.

Now, I don’t know many things for certain in this life, and my experience as a JET has taught me that I know even less than I once thought, but I do know this: If you make us try to memorize the pixie dance, it will be the death of the charity show. It might just also be the death of everyone involved as well. Even the orphans, somehow.

As time progresses and we get closer and closer to curtain call, you might be tempted to think we will change our foolish, fast-living ways; this would be a mistake. We are what we are: And what we are is one massive liability for this organization.

Thus far, damage has been minimized. Should you see it fit in your directorial ways to make us try this Pixie thing, or, heaven forbid, give us any more responsibility, well then, God help us all.

Respectfully yours,

Brad “Rosencrantz” Griffith
Geoff “Guildenstern” Davies