 |
I have a real problem with this guttersnipe (he lives in the sewers beneath a theatre, therefore, no description was ever more accurate, no sir). As Frankie might say. What a greaseball! What a Ham! But I say: how dare he! He gives underworlders a bad name. He's got no gumption. He makes a chandelier fall and suddenly he's such a horror. Well let me tel you Mr. Lloyd Webber. The moonlit warblings of "Think of Me" might tug at my heart strings like freshly polished taps but I will not have it. NO. Murder. THIS production needs some good honest MURDER. Whilst I am on the subject, when are you going to make a public apology for Les Miserables? I would except Hathaway having an accident.
|
