MEAT TAKES ITS TOLL

My stint as a horror-able actor is over. That's what they called us at Hollywood Death Cab --- "Horror-able Actors." Tortured. Last night was the last night.

Fuck yeah.

Remind me to never do this again. Many of my pals in the ESP program (http://no-biz.blogspot.com/2005/04/surge-and-purge.html) would come through the maze, and I would think -- dumb ass me. I would stare at the stupid door in front of my face, and think "time to go boo." Again. How many times did I push that door open and boo. Scare. Wait. Boo. A fucked song on a shitty juke-box. In that moment of repetition -- you can contemplate the utter lameness of your situation, humanity, etc. Now I know why those Ford workers would go shoot up people at McDonalds. Scare. Wait. Boo.

God knows I tried to vary it. I came up with a million different bits. All of these bits, however, will be lost like tears in rain. I really don't think I can do a Night of Meat Maze Scare Bits at the Coronet Theater. But they did make people laff, and scream. That was the best actually -- the scream to laff. Get them scared, then make them laff. Very satisfying. Something the serial killer doesn't get to enjoy. He makes them scream, but there's never the payoff of their laff. Only his maniacal one. I've often wondered does a serial killer laff that laff and then go -- "Geez, that was cliche."

My bits worked so well, I gave them to some of my extremely unfunny Maze workers and they got laffs with them. You know you have a good bit when the folks who think uttering an 80s SNL catchphrase is the height of humor, can get gravy from your bits. "I'm on the Toilet," became a catchphrase in the maze. All of us who hid behind doors, would have the jokers who would knock on them. You pop the door open and scream annoyed "I'm on the Toilet!" If they knocked again, I would say "I'm on Myspace, go away!" And if they did one more time -- "I'm on your Mama!" and then gyrate like I was putting my part inside their mamma's receptacle.

It was cool that my "I'm on the Toilet" spread around the maze. If I jumped out to scare people and they were non-plussed, I would then drop character and act as bored as them -- "We've got chips and salsa back here," I would say, motioning to my hiding place. "We're watching BET Countdown."

Ah yes, so many laffs, but do they transfer? Doubtful. You have to trust me -- I gave out mirth, I had applause breaks, I was sensational. Do my employers know this? Nah, I was just another miscreant in a bad fright-wig.

There was much merriment last night. Three times our maze was shut down. They have a button they can push -- they call it The Panic Button. We got lectures during training what to do when The Panic Button is pushed. "GET OUT OF THE MAZE IMMEDIATELY if the Panic Button is pushed." They gravity of their tones in this admonishment made sure that's what I did. I asked long-time Hollywood Death Cab employees about this and they confirmed. A Panic Button means a dude is most likely beating a Horror-able actor who scared him too much. A Panic Button means some gang members are beating each other. In our case, the Panic Button meant people were setting off our sprinkler system.

The Meat Maze had an elaborate set of sprinkers set up. The maze is built out of cheap plywood, and has tons of hastily wired electrical effects. Tinder for the flames. The sprinkler system is a necessary precaution to our meat maze. Three times last night, I would hear the Panic Button announcement (a syrupy-fakey announcr voice saying "Please exit the maze, we apologize for any inconvenience, and don't forget to have some of our world famous chili fries at Trader Ted's.") Three times when all my fellow Meat Maze miscreants gathered outside after the alarm -- I would see the results. Soaked Horror-able actors. The sprinkler had gone off in their area. Finally, because this was backing up the line so -- Management just told us to keep working if the sprinkler went off, and they disabled The Panic Button. "Come outside the maze and get us if anything significant happens," they said. Oh Jesus, the idea of not being able to push the Panic Button when 3 Paul Bunyon gang members came at me did my nerves no good.

Speaking of the gargantuian Paul Bunyons, I have noticed the fat do not scare. You can't scare a fat man. Nor, a fat woman. There were a lot of squat fat hogs walking through the maze. I don't know why a meat maze attracted the morbidly obese, but it did. The later it got -- the fatter it got. After 10PM it was exclusively big fat hogs, who took pride in not being scairt, and walked through with angry sullen faces, dreaming of Trader Ted's chili fries. My gay lover said the Fat are used to being mocked, so someone jumping in their face brings up childhood memories of torment. They are not afraid of being killed, because killers go for skinny blondes. I dunno, if I was a serial killer, wouldn't you want to go for the fatty? All that meat to carve? I sure did, after exhorting myself, putting energy forth, and having some 400 pound hog say "Hi!" back to me, in that aggressively fat non-plussed way. Fuck the fatties, I wished for my plastic cleaver to become sharpened steel, so I could see if a slaughter would awaken their fear.

There was also a contigent of hoplessly homosexual fellows working in the maze. Per usual, when faced with lisping, mincing, flouncing, sasheying fruits, I run as far as my fleet faggy feet can carry me. That old grade school instinct -- this other fellow's queerness will cast asperions on me. Meanwhile, these two on-fire kids gravitated toward each other, and would spend break time comparing their favorite musicals.



I pretended to care about the World Series, and watched from afar. One of the gay boys had to play a character in the maze called Meat Shit. He was a guy who ate too much of the meat products, and they had rigged up a machine to make him look like he was shitting out meat all night. Horrible, really, but the little girls love it. His partner in gayness was this other dude playing BuzzSaw, a character with a Buzz-Saw inbedded in his brain, which actually buzzed. They both spent a lot of time in make-up and tech, getting their various parts working, and no doubts there parts were working overtime once they got off. The one even rolled his eyes at me when I was watching the World Series, having no idea that my lover and I would soon be out-fouling him in the sexual pervision race. My lover kept saying to me all during the Maze -- "I love the Monster funk on you." Apparently, being in the maze, make-up, wig, madness -- my extremeties got extremely fragrent.

When it was done, we were told there would be a raffle for anyone who stayed the course. Many quit over the No Good Nights, because they hours sucked, and the breaks sucked, and it was shitty job. However, if you stayed all seven night -- there would be a raffle! You might win something!

I did not win anything, but my freedom.