My dearest Funner fans (and blog trolls),
I write to you from the depths of procrastination (as I’m sure you, too, have reached, if you see fit to read this). And, in the interest of transparency, I feel compelled to divulge that I’m also a few glasses of two-buck Chuck deep, on which I’ll pin any sentimentality.
In any case, I feel an urgent need to thank each and every one of you for a fantastic four years as a Funner. If I had the time, determination or lumbar strength to bequeath to you each a hug, it would be yours with all the gusto of Elton John on Boxing Day. Instead, take my deepest gratitude for letting myself and the rest of the LF crew hawk our mind jetsam as performance fodder for you, show after show. Throughout my four years donning this (ill-fitting) Liquid Fun shirt, you all showed up, without fail, to watch us cobble disjointed brain vomit into original comedy. As much as we Funners joke that we do improv for ourselves, I hope you all recognize the irreplaceable role you each play in the audience as so many barometers of where the funny lies. This train couldn’t go anywhere without you weirdos.
I couldn’t possibly be prouder or more desperately jealous to be leave Liquid Fun at such a crest. It swells my heart and nethers to imagine what heights (and terrible, despicable depths) the Funners will reach come September.
Sex with me is like sex with a long-winded passing-of-the-torch blog post,
Shawn “The Benevolent Dictator” Musgrave