Cast Blog: John Stillwaggon (Cheney)

John rehearsing with Erik (Dubya) feeling the pressure of the oval office.
Hey, I’m John (a.k.a. Dick), a subpar rap lyricist/slam poet (for 12 years), decent actor (13) and political activist (6), and much better teacher (15). So I’ve never blogged before, but this should be exciting! This production has already been exhilarating for me on so many levels: the artistic quality of the piece, the growing friendships among cast members, and the unique opportunity for cosmic catharsis after the political and social onslaught of the past eight years. I’ll probably talk about how the different spheres of my life and experience find unique fulfillment in this production (although, as my new friends in the cast know, I’m given to stream-of-consciousness sometimes, so I apologize in advance hehehe). I’ll also take a look at the particular challenges of playing our esteemed Vice President, a man who I will miss every day after he leaves office…but I’ll keep shooting hehehehe.

You Don’t Know Dick - Entry #1

BURNIN’ BUSH

“It is the only way,” said Moses.

Why whine I and pine I

with the heathens in tie-dye

and deny that my sole salvation

from the occupation of Wendy’s fry guy

is to heed the creed of our pentagonal Sainai?

So Moses knelt before the burning Bush and said:

“Master, what you will.

My life has an empty space you must fill.

This session of oppression

Has caused tension I cannot even mention to those of my section,

Living without hope of ascension,

But perhaps attention, or the spoils of wenchin’ and thirst-quenchin’

Promised by a life spent trenchin’.

Mad respect, my prefect,

But you do not know the calls and

Stalls and

Brawls and

Balls

It took me for me to stand in your halls and call you by name.

For my name does not contain the same fame:

Moses Johnson is no oil-don’s-son-turned-political-Charles-Bronson.

My patience is wearing thin

Because even after growing up as good girls and boys

We find ourselves toys

Of a government who gives us no voice.

Don’t gimme that bullshit about school choice:

Such coy can only annoy us hoi polloi,

As one school is cleft,

Left bereft of much intellectual heft,

And due to the brain drain remains

As empty as the horse given to Sparta by Troy:

Filled only with venom

For those who chose khaki over denim,

And though we wish we coulda been ‘em

We wanted to pen ‘em asentiment saying

“YOU UNCLE TOM MOTHERFUCKER!

How can you continue in another venue

While we bust our sinew

And not so much as turn around

And say

‘But for the grace of God, I woulda been you!’

You confederate inconsiderate obliterate!”

This I would have written

Were I not illiterate.

Such is the nature of your Old Deal

A playing field so one-sided

It keeps the peeps on the dung heaps divided

So that they may never be sufficiently united

To do what Leon and V. I. did.

Since revolution is not a possible solution,

And since I lack elocution

Or a piece of paper from an institution

How may I make a contribution

And receive absolution

For the mortal sin of being poor?”

The Bush looked up from the flame in which he was ensconced

And offered one response:

War.

Til next time,

Dick ; )