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I’m Fireworks And I Don’t Like Being Around You When You Make Out

I’ve been sobbing in my dressing room over this for hours. Look at me, I’m a professional god dammit and I’m a mess of ash in grass here. To feel your art, your performance, your livelihood isn’t enough for people to pay attention to feels like the ultimate failure. You see, I’m a natural performer. I command attention at my once-a-year production honoring veterans who tend to get PTSD from my performance. And I look out into the crowd, see all of the people wearing their newest Old Navy Americana T-shirts, who came for me–yes, me. And then when I see a twosome in the crowd, having their first romantic moment together in front of me, making out, I tend to be a bit of a diva. This is MY show!

When I was at Julliard, they prepared us fireworks for everything. They told us there were going to be distractions during our performances, so get used to it. Barking dogs, crying babies, a screaming middle-aged man who got hit by one of me. The good and bad. But one thing I’ve never been able to get past are these PEOPLE who make out during my performance. I’m not a Bon Jovi cover band. I’m a work of art. And these people…these people swapping spit while I boom my heart out there wouldn’t know art if it hit them in the shin after exploding into an array of gorgeous colors and sounds. No, I’m not getting any ideas! These people say they “saw fireworks” to describe their make out partner of choice, but I was there, no they did not! They didn’t look at me once. My eyes are up here, you know.

I mean, can’t you just video my performance on your phone to enjoy for later like a normal person? Everyone knows that firework show videos are great quality, worth it to film, and aren’t at all embarrassing to put up on your social media in a “4th of July ‘22” Facebook album with 50 pictures and videos of the same thing. Do a little bit of multi-tasking: be in the moment and enjoy my performance while simultaneously taping me, and then watch the footage back at home and do whatever freaky sex stuff you want. And I know people want to see me, even after I take my final bow. One time, I even came across a video on YouTube of my 2015 encore that got, no joke, 11 views. They’re begging for more.

Believe me, I’m not the only one who’s peeved about you playing tonsil hockey during my big break. I’m pretty close with the other cheap night entertainment options available and they’ve seen you horny animals go at it during their shows too. I felt awful hearing about how the movie theater feels about it. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with going on a date, paying $15 for a ticket to see a two and a half hour superhero movie. But the audacity, the nerve to try to lean over and kiss your date during the film, it’s unacceptable. You overpaid $30 for a popcorn and a box of Milk Duds, sit back, shut up and enjoy the show. I know you hooligans are pulling the same shenanigans at the drive-in theater too. How you sickos are doing it in the vehicle you eat fast food in is beyond me. Save your sloppy makeouts at least until after the credits roll or for me, the grand finale and someone asks “is it over?”

Not to worry though, I have plans for next year already to deter any horny teens from making out on my watch. I’m hiring armed security to handle the bad guys who dare to fall under the spell of love during my solo. Those armed security guards? Nuns with 12-inch rulers. If these ladies can stop students from getting too close during a slow-dance in a teen coming-of-age movie, they can do anything. I mean did you see Whoopi Goldberg in Sister Act? I want that holy lady on my side.

It seems like everyone forgot what the 4th of July is really all about. It’s not just hot dogs, wearing an Old Navy shirt with the American flag on it, or losing a finger. It’s celebrating the brave souls of America who escaped a monarchy and started their own instead, doing the same exact thing the British did for hundreds of years prior. It’s about watching me, the bright colors that pollute the sky and scare your dog. So get a room or wait 20 minutes you weirdos, and watch the real show.

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Emily Kapp & Daniel Stillman

Emily Kapp & Daniel Stillman

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Emily Kapp and Daniel Stillman are both Chicago-based humor writers. You can contact them at kappstillmansatire@gmail.com.