By Rachael Abrams
“It’s been a while since we’ve done this,” the guy says. “Hope you like it. This is a new one.” The girl, a tiny and frail-looking redhead, stood on stage about two feet away from him. She kneeled down and reached stage-right and grabbed her purse. She reached into the large bag and pulled out a cabbage, saran-wrapped and fresh from the grocery store. The boy ripped off his shirt, revealing a tight tank top that barely obscured either his long armpit hair or his breasts, which were engorged dramatically from his overweight nature. He knew what was happening and embraced it. This man is a genius, I thought. He gets that this is comedy.
The girl took the cabbage head and placed it, perfectly round, in her crotch. She remained standing while the boy leaned forward and seductively, then ferociously, ate the cabbage bite by bite. Light, sexy jazz music played in the background while he rolled around on his knees in ecstasy as large leaves fell all over his face and clothes, and he acted as any good slut would: he exchanged lettuce with his partner, spat it in her face, and worshiped that damn cabbage. The crowd went wild, including myself. That is the kind of performance art I want to see.
Rachael is a self-hating freelance writer that can bite through most things. She likes comedy writing, is an HBO enthusiast, and master of making inappropriate remarks seemingly on cue. She hates the heat and would probably live in an igloo if it were cold enough. You can find her on most social media, including her Twitter here.