*Disclaimer: Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals. This is a work of parody. In order to maintain their anonymity, in some instances, I have changed the names of individuals and places and I may have changed some identifying characteristics and details. Moreover, I really don't want to receive another Cease And Desist, so please, calm your tits, don't be a butthole, and enjoy. This is solely for entertainment purposes and only my mom and 6 other people read this blog. You're fine.
A lot of people know me because I was in an adequately well known troupe of performers called The Chicken Nuggetz. At our height we performed for tens of people. The troupe had been around for years as they rotated women in and out. I was just one of the replacement members. At the helm was one Ursula Von Twat. Similarly to the Disney character, she was a fishy contemptible narcissist. Unlike the Disney character, she lacked charisma, talent, and the ability to sing on pitch. After gaining a bump of fame for her and the group's appearance on the widely popular television show "USA Has Mediocre Flair", there was no stopping Ursula. Power coursed through her scaley veins and she had to have more. It didn't take long for me to realize, if Von Twat was steering this ship, it was bound to sink.
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Since The Chicken Nuggetz began, everyone in the troupe was forced to publicly denounce their birth given names and resume a savory nick name. Throughout the years, members would be recognized as "Drumstick", "Taters N' Gravy", "BBQ Brisket", "Pork Rind", "Honey Baked Ham", "Chili Con Carne", "Bacon Bits", "Coconut Curry", and how could we forget "Beef Stew". You've never seen true passion until you gaze upon Beef Stew jazz squaring. Her jazz squares were infamous. Undoubtedly, the jazziest of all the squares.
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I ended up working mostly with Honey Baked Ham, Bacon Bits, and a dull teenager aptly named Arkansas. I liked Honey Baked Ham, I felt a strong connection towards Bacon Bits, and I had zero tolerance for Arkansas. Have you ever had a co-worker that did none of the work, just showed up, but barely ever on time, and never got fired? That was Arkansas. She ruffled every one of my professional feathers. Her only saving grace was that she was easy on the eyes and if given the melody to sing, she could, three out of five times, sing on key. If you were in The Chicken Nuggetz, that was considered something of substance.
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Over time, Von Twat's tentacles wrapped around my spine and began to suffocate my soul. Her M.O. was collecting the strengths and gifts of others in order to enhance her own fortune. Much like BBQ Brisket and Pork Rind before, Von Twat saw a talent in me. The ability and willingness to lead, create, work hard, and she also saw my flaws. The inability to stand up for myself, take credit, and not be taken advantage of. I was a good Minnesota-Nice girl, hard working to the bone and apologetic if someone stepped on my toe. I believed so strongly in the troupe. I thought The Chicken Nuggetz could really be something! I thought that this was my ticket to finally leave my stamp on the world! What if I put all my creative juices, chutzpah, and resources into making this troupe the next big thing? Maybe I could finally be successful like I had always dreamed! As Von Twat guided me, I thought, my god I CAN do this!
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So, I willingly sang for Ursula. I sang and sang and sang until their was nothing left. My voice belonged to her. And she would make that very clear in the time to come.
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I started noticing Von Twat's ability to verbally abuse and put down. She fed on others' weakness, insulting and attacking their achilles. And in turn, she would gain a superiority that only she built, but others were too psychologically damaged to tear down. Yes, like a cult leader, Ursula Von Twat would brainwash her congregation. A congregation that would blindly lift her up and ultimately despise her after drinking too much of the kool-aid.
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Von Twat's emotional swings ran the gamut from hysterical crying to homicidal laughter in less than a minute's span. Never knowing what to expect, we were shocked and secretly delighted that she had decided to raise livestock in the Himalayan Mountains. Von Twat passed her Chicken Nugget crown to me and from the Himalayans she carried the scepter and credit for the troupe, while I lead and did all of the work. With passionate naiveté, I agreed to this plan perhaps seeking freedom and the ability to create without her tentacles within reach.
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In Von Twat's absence, the troupe immediately gained confidence and momentum. We made original music that wasn't about eating savory foods, we ditched our fatty nicknames, we booked a national 4H State Fair tour, and we were even being scouted by a realty television series to follow our Head, Heart, Hands, and Health national campaign. We were beyond thrilled that our hard work was paying off. But although Von Twat was still receiving all the credit, she was not pleased with our current streak of success. She couldn't stand not being in the spotlight and taking her bow. She cursed the day she was in a freak accident riding on the hood of a Chevy jeep. On that fateful day, the poor Chevy just couldn't take the sheer force of Von Twat. As the emergency break failed, the Chevy careened off a cliff. While the Chevy was never seen again, Von Twat was able to grip six of her eight tentacles to a mossy rock. The other two tentacles were torn and disappeared with the Chevy. Von Twat was never to dance again. Hashtag Never Forget.
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I began to hypothesize that due to Von Twat's inability to succeed, she would make sure no one within her grasp would either. She was a Saboteur. I received messages via carrier pigeons from former troupe members, sponsors, bookers, and so on divulging in trade details and denouncing their favor towards the octopus. I found myself cleaning up Von Twat's trail of sludge. The troupe and I started to dissect this trail of sludge. The emotional abuse, the manipulation, the secrets, the sabotage, missing funds, questionable behavior, and overall poor reputation-not to mention the bitch was an octopus-made it clear that it was time for us to part ways. We just didn't know how.
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On the eve of our tour, I checked into my phone to post something on behalf of the troupe. And that's when I found out. Von Twat lost her shit and kicked us all out of our social media and web sites. Now, she would later say a gang of machete wielding toddlers stole her computer and changed all of the passwords. But we knew the truth. While I was out gearing up and planning every detail for our tour, Von Twat had called me, but I did not reply. I didn't have the time and honestly, I didn't want to make the time. She could have called Honey Baked Ham. She could have called Bacon Bits. She could have called Arkansas. But she didn't. She sabotaged. She pulled all of our sites on the eve of our tour. She thought we would cave. She thought we were weak. And we said, hells-to-the-no!
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We had had enough. It was time to rip the bandaid off. There was no way in hell we were canceling our tour. A tour WE booked. A tour I booked. So, we did the next best thing, spent the entire night making all new sites-facebook, twitter, instagram, a website-making labels to put on all of our postcards and CDs. And when I say we, I mean me. Our new name? The Nuggetz. Look, I know it wasn't the best, but we only had hours until our tour and we weren't given much of a choice. Our fresh start was forced, but we welcomed the challenge.
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Over the course of our tour, we received various forms of hateful messages, some would call cyber bullying. These messages did not only reach the troupe, they were sent to our mothers and best friends. Von Twat had enlisted two of her closest eels to penetrate our inboxes. The same eels she used to mock, insulting their looks and lack of friends. Ironically, these poor unfortunate souls were the ones defending Von Twat. Ursula Von Twat, the master manipulator.
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After months of having to block people on facebook and our phones, paying for attorneys to defend out rights as performers, and rebuilding a troupe from scratch, we prevailed. I prevailed. And I was so much stronger for it. The funny thing is, people were finally happy to work with us knowing the illusive Von Twat was not lurking in the shadows. As time flew by, we had a blast, but as they say-all good things must come to an end.
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Arkansas decided to follow her true calling. She left the group to become a full time make-up artist for Chante's Hag Race. A knock off realty show featuring the fishiest of queens in Atlantic City. Peace be with you Arkansas, we wish you nothing but the best.
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And this is when things got dicey. It wasn't the octopus, the eels, or the attorneys. Arkansas' absence would represent a shift in our story that would alter the troupe's foundation as we knew it. Being a trio left us flawed. Our weaknesses were brought to light. One less person to hide behind. We were exposed. And then, just when I thought we could make it over that hump, I found out I was pregnant.
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Denying our struggles, I vowed to make the best of this situation. We would finally change our name and leave any remnant of Chicken or Nuggetz or food behind, we would reestablish our commitment as performers, and just because I was pregnant didn't mean we couldn't do it! I would just need more help. But was the troupe willing to give me the help I needed to persevere?
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Bacon Bits wanted to. Honey Baked Ham tried to think about maybe wanting to. So, again, we started from scratch! This time we were going hard. No rules and no apologies-we were hard core revolutionaries. We were DUMPSTER FUNK. No one was going to fuck with us, man! I guess, except, you know, ourselves. It wasn't long until the funk began to fade and we all started questioning what our future would hold.
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Could we work as a team to make it to the top? Would I be able to rely on Honey Baked Ham and Bacon Bits to lift me up in my time of need? Or had we just had enough of always trying to make it work?
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So, here we stand on the precipice. Decisions to make, truths to acknowledge, and perhaps letting go of something that was never meant to be. After all, the need and passion to create should never feel like a chore. And if it does, perhaps it's time to move on. And moving on, quitting, giving up, or putting a period at the end of a sentence does not make one a failure. It simply means one has discovered what is truly important and worth the fight. And sometimes that discovery takes more courage than anything.
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Will DUMPSTER FUNK prevail?
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To be continued,