He woke up in the middle of a musical, on stage, in a serious stupor, and believe me, he was far from happy. Truth be told, his unhappiness was nothing compared to the members of the cast. As they danced past him, they glared daggers. If they didn’t have to sing “You’re A Grand Old Flag”, you can bet your sweet bananas that they’d be muttering words like dickhead and why are you ruining this? The actor wearing a derby with the old-timey barbershop quartet mustache dropped the ‘l’ in flag.
Maynard Hatfield, on a good day, was a full-fledged rube, and since this was a bad day, he was an obese clumsy oaf. On stage with all these rehearsed Broadway actors, he was a pimple on a boil bursting amidst synchronized jazz hands and tap dances.
Maynie, as he was known, had no choice but to exit. Stage left or stage right? His instinct told him stage center, which is why he will never direct a stage musical. He fell off the foot of the stage and into the orchestra pit. As he lay on his back, twitching with every bone of his body possibly crushed or broken, he gingerly lifted his pinkie finger and moaned, “You’re welcome.”
The next morning, the headline of a critic’s review read: “Fresh Adaptation Of Stale Musical Revue George M!”