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Oh, I’m Going to Get Killed Any Minute Now (Part 17)

Oh, I’m Going to Get Killed Any Minute Now (Part 17)

Thppgrg(Also Titled: The Ongoing Diary of Thppgrg, Goblin Minion)

As ever, readers who are new to the diary, please scroll down a bit to where you see the Thppgrg tag. Click on it. Yeah, that’s right. Otherwise, if you missed part sixteen, you can just click here. (Art by Chris McFann.)


Wow. Interesting rehearsal last night. First official read-through of the completed script, first night of blocking and costume-fitting, first formal test of the pyrotechnics—of which there are MANY—and the first major nervous breakdown of a cast member. I assumed that was some sort of a record, but Kevin the Sorcerer/Choreographer-Chuul assures me that’s not the case.

Not even close, in his estimation. He claims to have heard of an actor on a show having a complete freakout the night before the playwright was even BORN. He’s the expert, I guess—you can’t argue with a six-legged, amphibious evil choreographer who wears a Hawaiian shirt that loud and who also outranks me at work by so many levels.

Anyway, it looks like Chris the Maintenance-Yeti is going to be pulling a dual role in the show, since he’s also the understudy to Mighty Mike the Mighty Mite, who stormed off the set in angry tears yesterday when he was told he wasn’t “selling the ugly” enough to convincingly play the hunchbacked, falsetto-voiced Professor Poppa-Boppa-Banana, rival mad scientist to Dr. Horatio Ivoryvice.

That character was named by Jimbo and Princess Leafirellha, by the way, and I included it in the final script only under the most extreme of protests. By that point in the night, unfortunately, Dead-Neck McGee the stupid cleric ghost was getting a vote, because of his assistance with the whole “cromulence” thing, and he voted to keep the name purely out of spite.

He’s a jerk.

Point being, I’ve been asked to come up with some sort of way to explain why the mute, astigmatic yeti lab-assistant Nigel is never seen at the same time as the now-very-nearly-identical, villainous Professor Poppa-Boppa-Banana—and man, oh MAN, do I hate that name—as well as rewrite all of their scenes together. The duet they sing is going to be the most annoying part.

We’ll see what I come up with. I’m thinking I’ll probably just do something with time travel. It pretty much explains away any plot hole, I’ve found.

ALSO: we’re already over-budget. Way over. That’s bad, I guess. I mean, I don’t really care and it’s not really my problem . . . unless, of course, Stonnehyldd the Super-Smart Stone Golem decides—in her capacity as the director—to make it my problem, which she probably will, now that I consider it, so I guess I better start coming up with some type of solution.

It’s just really difficult to do so, because I am already quite a bit over my head on this one. In addition to all the other stuff I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be doing—like getting something ready for the company picnic, maybe? The kickball tournament? People keep talking about that like I’m in charge of it in some way—I’ve also been asked to rewrite the Act 2 light-cycle-chase into a giant kung-fu fight, because—allegedly—there are already too many chase scenes and not enough big dance numbers that use our wire-harnesses.

And for some reason, it just “has to have” an undersea theme. This is partially because the set-crew has already built a merman castle.

Bah. These people are philistines.

Oh, and as if my life wasn’t already annoyingly complicated enough, I’m now observably in the middle of what I believe to be a “love-octrangle,” although I haven’t officially sat down and tried to chart it on paper yet, technically. It may be a love-bicantellated septahedron, for all I know.

Long story short, it seems that General VanO’Shaughnessy Blah-blah-blah #3, my writing-partner/roommate con-man flesh-golem, has fallen desperately, head over heels in love with Stonnehyldd the Super-Smart Stone Golem, as has Kevin . . . but that she’s got a crush on Greg the vampire, as does Lissa, the werewolf girl who does make-up. He, meanwhile is smitten with Abliguritia Thundersmasher-Roth, and so am I, and so are at least three other people I can think of, and she’s got her eye on Jimbo, randomly, and I think he made a pass at a mannequin backstage. He’s only semi-sentient, after all.

It’s exhausting.

General VanO’Shaughnessy has offered to help me woo Abliguritia in exchange for me setting him up with my assistant manager. I’ll think it over.

Anyway: round two of rehearsals tonight.


Friday. FINALLY. Thanks be to all the various gods of the goblin pantheon, most especially the ones with a divine emphasis on explosions, stabbings, and alcohol. I can’t remember all of them at the moment, but I know there are at least eight of them.

In un-thanking-related news, Dark Lord Torkelheim is back; it seems a little sudden to me, but apparently it takes exactly two weeks of paid administrative leave for tension resulting from professionally diagnosed “edition-change-related super-villain anxiety” to go away.

It’s not good to have him back.

Especially since he has returned to doing that thing where he’s not paying me.

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