It was auditions for “Pizzazz! Highlights of way-way-off-Broadway plays from the past.” The front rows with the usual crowd, old-timers, a big bunch ready for a show. The director, Sam, sat at a small table at the foot of the stage, the side of his face lit by the pale, lonely glow of a laptop.
The first man to audition was dressed as an overweight cat from Catnip—he purred far too much.
Sam took a long, weary sip of his coffee and then pointed a dramatic, theatrical finger. “Alright, you, cat! Center stage!” he commanded. He clicked his mouse button, and the grand, swelling sound of a man’s deep bass voice just mumbling unrecognizable words filled the theater.
The actor cleared his throat and began to read from his script. “I watched his thumb slowly trace the length of the thick voluptuous golden cake, his trembling knuckles white with the desperate need to finally breach its surface and succumb to the sweet, creamy filling within. A shlorping sound.”
Sam spit his coffee back into his mug. He slammed the mouse, and the mumbling died with a sad little squawk. “CUT!” he yelled. “What the blimey!? What are you reading? That’s not Pizzazz!”
The man looked up, completely unfazed, holding up a piece of paper. He was realizing something. “It is a Psych 101 thesis by Lisa, Sam’s wife,” he announced. “She got an A!”
It was then I remembered seeing Sam earlier, handing out pages from his folder without paying attention. He’d given them all the wrong papers.
Sam didn’t miss a beat, the next actor, Sally, a woman dressed as a flea from Picklemania, took the stage. Sam just pointed. “Fine! You! Go!” He clicked the mouse. The mumbling swelled once more.
Sally read from her own paper with a sultry flair. “Forbidden, the primal urges strong, cravings and desire, it was his endless need for that golden, cream-filled sponge cake that could not be silenced!”
“CUT!” Sam screamed again, storming over to her and snatching the paper. “What is this?”
Giggling, she’s in on it, “It’s a continuation of your wife’s thesis. It’s very powerful, Sam.”
The next two actors—a rocker from Tales of Heebie Jeebies and a mime from Invisible Minds Know—did the same thing, each telling another piece of the thesis.
All eyes are on Sam, giggling, realizing he’s the person in the thesis. Then, from the back row, a man’s voice, “It’s okay, let it out, Sam!”
Sam didn’t move. He just stared into the middle distance for a long moment. Then, very slowly, he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a single, cellophane-wrapped Hostess Twinkie, unwrapped it with the realization of a freed man … he took a long, joyous bite.
Floyd Kelly 
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