I enjoy plugging my shows.

From Horse Trade's "Ha!" Series
And Save The Town Productions

A SAVE THE TOWN CHRISTMASTIME
One-Act Comedies about Comas, Killers, Lies, and Darkness
from Andres du Bouchet and Bob Powers

SNOWMAN
written and directed by Bob Powers
starring Jonny Fido, Erin Foley, Jamie Greenberg and Deb Rabbai

CTRL+ALT+DEL
written by Andres du Bouchet (pssst...that's me!)
directed by Michael Reisman (he's better at that sort of thing than I am)
starring Anthony DeVito, Bryan Olsen, Michael Reisman (double threat!) and Rusty Ward

December 10, 11, 16-19 @ 8pm
at the RED ROOM THEATER
85 East 4th St., between 2nd and 3rd Aves.
Tickets are 10 bucks for both plays, 7 bucks for students

Anyhoo, this is the great one-act Bob debuted earlier this year at one of our midnight shows, and I'm sticking with the recent murderous romp that did so well at our shows in November. Please support the arts! And also, see our plays.

another love letter to a woman I haven't met yet

My Dearest Woman I Haven't Met Yet,

I am puzzled. Late these many intervening nights, I have stalked the shadow-latticed halls of my keep, my brow furrowed in deep concentration. With each echoing step of my tap shoes (ask not!) down the arched marble corridors of the wing designated for late-night sorrowful prowling, I’ve conjured up a different theory as to why you have not yet answered my flawlessly written invitation to lustful entwinement with yours most truly. Is it because we have not yet met, and therefore, you have not yet had an opportunity to read my note? I smirk as I write this, for it sounds (I mean reads haha!) so simple. PLEASE do not let the fact that we have not yet met dissuade you from beginning your pre-coitus rituals of stretching and shaving. I myself, throughout the course of typing this latest e-come-hither, have been taking frequent breaks in order to strengthen my lovethighs by squatting a taxidermized wildebeast with the aid of my three mute-yet-nimble miniature sherpas. Ah yes, the mute-yet-nimble miniature sherpas are affable and easy to please. Just ask my Pez deliveryman! On second thought, ASK NOT! If a member of SherpaCare happens to come across this, please be assured that I have, of late, given each of my MYNMS their own drawer in the armoire, replete with L.L. Bean cedar-filled small dog cushionettes! I’VE SAID I MEAN WRITTEN TOO MUCH HA! Now then. I have also begun a shaving ritual, which, at the risk of sounding hyperbolic, is simply the best shaving ritual that anyone in the history of everything has ever tried ever. I cannot divulge the specifics, other than to say that it involves several candles, a bowl of icewater, an aboriginal bolo, a handful of Brazil nuts, and an Amazonian Flying Squirrel. As an aside, I should mention that the MYNMS and the AFS have begun their own Sunday afternoon D-Day reenactments. Delightful! Each time I complete this ritual, my face is so smooth as to be, for all intents and purposes, frictionless. Were you to, in your moistful excitement, thrust forward groinally with too much force across my eager triumvirate of lips and tongue, you might find yourself suddenly airborne, sailing out through my open arched bedroom window and into the lily pond below! At least you’d have a nice moonlight swim, despite the disappointment of your lick-awaiting bits. A very tiny person (smaller even than a MYNMS) would need cleats to walk on my face. A baby’s bottom would feel like an emery board compared to my mu-less face. Mu is the Greek letter used to denote “friction” in physics, my love. Shhh. Shhh hush and shhh I say. Mwah. Coo and caress and mwah, I say. Nibble. Now then, I believe I have laid my soul to you even barer than before. My Love Who I Haven’t Met Yet. Please, come to me. I await, candles and squirrel at the ready. Please allow me three to four hours to shave, otherwise, we shall have to rely purely on crotch-to-crotch related shenanigans. Which shall be thunderous nonetheless.

In full knowledge of my resistlessness,
Yours yet to be loved,
Andres

P.S. Boner twice!

a love letter to a woman I haven't met yet

My Dearest Woman I Haven't Met Yet,

I do not think that any words exist which are sufficient to convey the enormity of the conflagration which you have set ablaze within my immensity, but I shall attempt to wrangle but a few that I imagine may hope to possibly hint at the maelstrom surging within my heart: "love", "awesome", "touch", and "harness".

There. Do you see now what you have done to me? Oh Woman I Haven't Met Yet, consent to be the object of my emulsions, subject yourself to my infinite thrusts and occasional swizzle-type gyrations! Brace yourself for my huskiness!

But lest you think my enthusiasm is solely of a physical nature, allow me to also mention that that thing you said yester-eve about that particular book or film still has me enthralled.

Now succumb to my oral gymnastics!

As I sit here typing my very soul to you, I cannot help but think that I have not yet adequately expressed my intentions. That upon reading this you may still be confused as to how I wish our relationship to progress. Then be confused no more: I am talking about SEX IN THE NUDE.

To be sure, the nude me as varied greatly in its appeal throughout the course of my life. There have been times, yes, when the nude me was a chiseled demi-God, as if hewn from pale marble and sculpted by a Marvel comics artist. Also, sadly, there have been times when the nude me resembled a sickly, gelatinous creature from the ocean depths, quivering folds upon quivering folds upon quivering nubbins and sacs. Today, I am pleased to say, I am somewhere in between, and swiftly moving towards the former.

Join me on this journey! Subscribe to my frictions now, my love, and delight with wonderment as my nude me transforms before your very thighs! Week after week, month after sweaty, neighbor-waking month.

I do not see how you can resist this entreaty. I have read and then re-read this letter to myself, and do not see how it can fail to entice you. Satisfied in the wooing properties of this missive, I prepare to hit "send", and eagerly await your eager wetness.

In the nude, of course.

All my love,
Andres

P.S. Boner.

"Mr. du Bouchet, please provide proof that you are a total GEEK."

Very well:

THEODEN
Arise, Riders of Theoden! Spear shall be shaken! Shield shall be splintered! A sword day, a red day, ere the sun rises! Ride! Ride! Ride now! Ride to ruin, and the world's ending! Death!

THE ROHIRRIM
Death!

THEODEN
Death!

THE ROHIRRIM
Death!

THEODEN
Death!

THE ROHIRRIM
Death!

THEODEN
Forth Eorlingas!

If you need further proof, you can contact me at 20sidedguy@gygax.net

my new haircut is bad-ass

Damn. I look good. Who knew I had such an awesome skull? I didn't. But now I do, and so do you, Mr. Mirror. Except to you, my skull is reverse-awesome. But awesome nonetheless. Ah yes, the sense of exhilaration when I realized that I had found THE haircut I would be sticking with for the rest of my life. Nice. So simple. So friggin' bad-ass. Here's the recipe for my bad-ass haircut:

1. Set clippers on #2.
2. Buzz my whole head.
3. Stand back and whistle at the bad-ass results.

Seriously. Feel my head. Feel that texture? In the past, you might have been compelled to call that texture "astro-turfy" or "brushy" or "short hairy", but now you will know what to call it: bad-ass.

How bad-ass is my new haircut? Well, no one has tried to mug me since I've gotten it. I attribute this directly to my haircut, and choose to ignore the fact that I am 6'1" and 230 pounds, and walk with a menacing lurch that can only be described as "sort of crazy-looking". I also choose to ignore the fact that no one has ever tried to mug me. Not even when I had long hair and an earring in college, and carried around a sign that said My Giant Wallet Full Of Cash And Pot Dares You To Mug Me.

This haircut makes me want to get trapped in a building full of Euro-trash terrorists led by Alan Rickman. Why? So that I can kill them one by one. I bet I could, with this haircut.

This haircut makes me want to shoot Vincent D'Onofrio's character from Full Metal Jacket in the mouth before he does it himself.

This haircut makes me want to slowly sink into molten lead while Edward Furlong weeps.

This haircut makes me want to HANDLE THE TRUTH.

I am so bad-ass. I have typed all of this with my fists. The keyboard is almost

"You wouldn't want to hurt the BABY, would you?!"

Our scene takes place on the street just outside Clive Roiy-Devereaux's famous jewelry boutique: "Vaganza". The midnight hush has just been shattered by the piercing blare of a burglar alarm. Amidst the tinkling of broken glass and the distant call of police sirens, an ominous cackle echoes down the empty streets of the Fineries District...

THE STEALER
Yes! I've done it again! Despite my repeated public assurances to the contrary, I have...stolen!

The Stealer, a man in a burgandy jumpsuit with a large dollar sign on the chest, swings his bag of loot over his shoulder and prepares to dash away when...

YOU WOULDN'T WANT TO HURT THE BABY MAN
Stop right there, The Stealer!

A man in a tight, royal blue body suit wearing BOTH a front and back-mounted Baby Bjorn-style baby carrier (with a sleeping baby in each) steps into the street, blocking The Stealer's path.

THE STEALER
You Wouldn't Want To Hurt The Baby Man, you think you can stop ME? Step aside, or face my wrath!

YOU WOULDN'T WANT TO HURT THE BABY MAN
I shall not step aside, The Stealer. This is where your journey ends! The journey that began with stealing, that is!

(author's note - I should point out that in real life, which is where this scene takes place, superheroes and villains are not very good at banter)

THE STEALER
Then prepare to face maximum destroyment!

The Stealer advances on You Wouldn't Want To Hurt The Baby Man, wielding a crowbar.

YOU WOULDN'T WANT TO HURT THE BABY MAN
Whoah, whoah, whoah. Hold up a second. You wouldn't want to hurt the baby, would you?

The Stealer pauses in his tracks, clearly conflicted. You Wouldn't Want To Hurt The Baby Man gives an "awwww" face and gestures to the peacefully sleeping baby girl harnessed to his chest. She is wearing a pink jumper with little yellow giraffes on it. Then, he slowly turns in place to reveal what he's wearing on his back - a peacefully sleeping baby boy in a powder-blue jumper with little green turtles on it.

THE STEALER
Oh come on.

The Stealer feints to his left and then tries to sprint right, but You Wouldn't Want To Hurt The Baby Man is too quick - he sidesteps and blocks his path anew:

YOU WOULDN'T WANT TO HURT THE BABY MAN
Aw, look at the baby.

THE STEALER
Bah!

The Stealer feints to his right, does a stutter step and then tries to dash left. Again, You Wouldn't Want To Hurt The Baby Man is too quick and blocks his way:

YOU WOULDN'T WANT TO HURT THE BABY MAN
The baaaaaaby.

THE STEALER
You...you're such an asshole.

YOU WOULDN'T WANT TO HURT THE BABY MAN
Really, The Stealer? Who's the asshole, the man who just robbed a jewelry store, or the man trying to stop him? While wearing two peacefully sleeping babies?

THE STEALER
You...you ask that question as if the answer is obvious, but I mean c'mon. What if I were REALLY evil. You'd be putting those babies in grave danger. You're..I mean I think you're more of an asshole. Sorry.

YOU WOULDN'T WANT TO HURT THE BABY MAN
Really?

THE STEALER
Yeah.

YOU WOULDN'T WANT TO HURT THE BABY MAN
Um...relinquish your loot, The Stealer! You'll never get past me to freedom! Because I'm relying on your reluctance to hurt these innocent babies!

TO BE CONTINUED...

Chocolate But Deadly

Hi there. Andres du Bouchet here, comin' at ya straight from the set of my new film, Chocolate But Deadly. Right now we're setting up for a chase scene, so I thought I'd take a few minutes to answer any questions you might have about the film. Fire away! In the comments. I'll respond to each one with exciting information about Chocolate But Deadly!

Snuggly? Oh yes. Wuggly? You betcha.

Hello. I am currently single. However, in preparation for perhaps meeting "that special someone" at some point in the near or distant future, I have begun compiling a list of pet names. When Ms. Right does come along, she will be thrilled to know that I will have, at my disposal, the following snuggly (and also wuggly in some cases) lovemonickers. I have also provided a sample passage for contextual purposes:

1. PROFESSOR WIGGLEBOTTOM (This pet name pre-supposes that Ms. Right will have a nice bottom. I am quite optimistic that this will be the case. Quite.)

"Professor Wigglebottom, how can you expect me to listen to your theories of bottom-wiggling when all you are wearing is that bath towel? And now you're not even wearing that! Oh, Professor Wigglebottom, we shall be late for the seminar, and at this rate, we'll both be walking funny!"

2. SQUIRRELMUFFIN

"Curse the heavens! To be so enticed by one who imbues the cuteness and nut-handling capabilities of a squirrel, and yet also is firm, moist and dusted with powdered sugar? You enrage my senses, squirrelmuffin! Enrage them to the point of me wanting to kiss you! Like, a lot!"

3. SCRUMPTUOUS

"Hey scrumptuous, pass the Arts section."

4. SEXUALICA BONERTASTER (this is my default funny made-up name that I've used a zillion times in various pieces - I will probably use it with Ms. Right as well, much to her consternation)

"We meet again, Ms. Bonertaster. This time, you won't be so lucky. En garde!" (I guess I'm imagining some sort of James Bond-type scenario)

5. POOPEDY-DOO YUMMY GIRL

"Yez, whooze my widdle poopedy-doo yummy girl? Whooze iz zat one? Yummy yum OW, ow! Okay, I'll stop. Jesus, my ribs."

6. LISA BONET

"What? Why do you think it's so weird that I insist on calling you Lisa Bonet? Fine then, I'M the freak. Right! Wait, Lisa Bonet, come back!"

7. FAIRIE PLUM PRINCESS OF BABE-A-LICIOUS LAND

Eh. I could go on, but I won't. In the spirit of this prolific yet half-assed (or even quarter-assed) year, I will not attempt to do much else with this post, other than bemoan the fact that last night's drunken hook-up did nothing to alleviate the howling loneliness inside me.

I'm a superdy-poopers holding hands and snuggle wuggle man (with special surprise turbo naughtiness), not a drunken hook-up man. Who wants to go to the Museum of Natural History and smooch beneath the giant plastic whale? WHO?!?!

zoinks!

I pulled the script of my little one-act play from the blog because...well the first show went awesome, basically, so now I want people to come see it instead of reading it here. I'll re-post it at the end of December, after we do our second run. Anyhow, please come see it! Here's the info. I know, I've been doing more plugging than writing lately...

Save The Town Productions Presents:

MURDER AND MEN WHO SUCK AT IT: A pair of one-act Plays about Family, Incompetence, Hacksaws, and Kittycats from Andres du Bouchet and Bob Powers

BELLYBUTTON
written by Bob Powers
directed by Chris Kula
starring Mike Birch, Allison Castillo & Deb Rabbai

CTRL+ALT+DEL
written & directed by Andres du Bouchet
starring Anthony DeVito, Bryan Olsen, Michael Reisman & Rusty Ward

Fridays, November 12th and 19th @ 10:30pm at the Kraine Theater - 85 East 4th Street (btwn 2nd and 3rd Aves)
Tickets are $10 for both plays - $7 for students

a cold dim optimism

I'm a groaning oak table 'neath a kettle, bowl and stack of books
spills and notches, grooves marked
three decades of meals, hunched scribble
fog half-thoughts and the occasional giggle to myself
drafty gloom and an inch of dust settles in for the time being
unoccupied all Autumn unused
waiting for a mouse to skitter through the dank
waiting for the hush of sliding slippers and a shivering bathrobe
waiting for the stove to light
and this burden rearranged
at least a little

THANK YOU! This has been another sucky poem comparing my mental state to a kitchen table. I'll be writing a new poem in which I compare some aspect of myself to a piece of furniture every day from now until tomorrow! Oh wait. So I guess this was it. Fart off then.

A: We're all going to die.

Q: How many "51% Of The Popular Votes" does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

I stuck my left pinky into a ten dollar pencil sharpener that was accidentally manufactured to be a little too big to accomodate actual pencils...

...but unfortunately just big enough to accomodate my left pinky today. Etc. The Prince of Tides.

I saw 'Nose-Monster vs. Gravel Face' this afternoon.

A cult classic. Terrible dialogue, cheesy special effects, and the longest fight between men in rubber suits posing as monsters in film history. This was the first time a film ever made me wish that a hideous, gravel-faced monster would destroy a creature entirely made of nose. Alright, the second time. The first time? The Prince of Tides.

I saw 'The Incredibles' yesterday.

Not only was it visually stunning and funny, I have to say it had the best action sequences I've seen in quite some time. This is the first time a movie made me wish I could run at super speeds. Okay, the second time. The first time? The Prince of Tides.

My favorite sexual position?

Taking a woman from behind while making out with a midget (preferably female) that is standing on her lower back as a parrot on the midget's shoulder perfectly mimics my soothing voice saying "there is no midget on your back."

This sensation of constantly being on the verge of tears...

...what's that all about, anyway? Oh well, I'll just assume it's a positive thing.

I saw 'Ray' the other day.

It was an alright film, but what made the experience truly great was Jamie Foxx's performance as Ray Charles (guaranteed Oscar nom) and the constant presence of Ray Charles' amazing music throughout the film. This is the first time a movie made me wish I was blind. Well...second time. The first time? The Prince of Tides.

Save The Town Productions is back!

Save The Town Productions presents...

MURDER AND MEN WHO SUCK AT IT: A pair of one-act plays about Family, Incompetence, Hacksaws, and Kittycats

from Andres du Bouchet and Bob Powers

BELLYBUTTON
written by Bob Powers
directed by Chris Kula
starring Mike Birch, Allison Castillo & Deb Rabbai

CTRL+ALT+DEL
written & directed by Andres du Bouchet
starring Anthony DeVito, Bryan Olsen, Michael Reisman & Rusty Ward

Fridays, November 12th and 19th @ 10:30pm at the Kraine Theater
85 East 4th Street (btwn 2nd and 3rd Aves)
Tickets are $10 for both plays - $7 for students

Nothing to see here.

du Bouchet's brain is currently in one of its "white noise" phases, people. Move along.