Ted Ted Announces Broadway Musical Based on The Blair Witch Project

ollowing Tuesday's announcement by Elton John that he and Bernie Taupin would collaborate on a Broadway musical based on Anne Rice's Interview with a Vampire books, it was universally realized that a Broadway musical could be based on anything, no matter how stupid the idea. The notion, first proposed by the Broadway versions of Beauty & the Beast and The Lion King, inspired longtime commune reporter Ted Ted to announce Saturday he would create a musical based on the 1999 film The Blair Witch Project.

The Blair Witch Project, a documentary-style horror film featuring three Burkittsville, Maryland students' frightening encounter with a terrifying local legend, did not seem like an especially good musical show to Ted Ted, who was insistent on proving his point that people going to Broadway will sit through anything. Though not yet completed or started, the musical is in what Ted Ted describes as the "brainstorming" pre-production period, where he thinks of how to break up the movie into a two-act show and comes up with some dumb songs based on incidents in the movie.

Early work points to inclusion of a title song, sung by the Blair Witch character who does not appear in the original film, tentatively titled, "I'm the Blair Witch!" The song will be in the vein of the "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch" song from the good cartoon version of the Dr. Seuss How the Grinch Stole Christmas and not the pitiful Ron Howard/Jim Carrey movie version.

Also being considered for the Blair Witch Broadway play is a song for the scene where two of the young filmmakers are searching for their friend, which will probably be called simply, "Josh!" and be very much in the tradition of South Pacific or something really gay like that. Plans are also being developed for a long, sonorous ballad titled something like, "I'm So Scared" to be belted out by the lead female character.

The musical will probably not be very good, promised Ted Ted, but it will sell out instantly and run for a very long time on Broadway due to Ted Ted's plan to cast has-beens or one-hit musical wonders in the lead roles. Initially being considered for the three roles are Debbie Gibson, Jordan Knight, and Jesse Camp. Not being ruled out is the idea of inviting the three has-beens from the original film to reprise their roles in the Broadway show.

"The idea stems," explained Ted Ted, "from my deep, unrelenting contempt for Broadway and the shallow shells of human beings who put any trendy piece of garbage on the stage because idiots who think it makes them hip to be seen going to Broadway or who jump on big Broadway bandwagons will pay to see it. I utterly loathe and despise Broadway people, the lowest of the already-low grade of showbiz people."

Broadway people could not be reached for comment, given that Ted Ted did not bother to try.

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OH MY GOD SNOW

First off, my hearty congratulations for the commune's many recent successes. Sharp new look with the purple redesign—the new "Meet the Staff" page is excellent! And huge fans like us couldn't be happier with the return to a weekly schedule. Also, we're glad editor Red Bagel finally decided to come out of his bunker—with him on the job, Bush is much less likely to destroy the world. We're sure of it. As for Raoul Dunkin leaving… we're not quite sure how to respond to that. If he comes back, we hope he enjoys the respite from long days of office work. If he doesn't come back, fuck the dickwad.

All of you "reservists" who haven't made their way to a Shanesly, Vermont meeting of the cEC yet, you'll be happily surprised to hear we now have a membership of six, including myself and Sandy, who refuses to allow herself to be counted, but since she doesn't read the commune, it'll be our secret I am counting her. But you read right—six! We've tripled our old membership. Since our famous New York City anti-Bush protest/get-together, some of those who stumbled onto our little group decided to stay. Our cEC, Shanesly, Vermont chapter (the only chapter we know of to exist, actually) now included Raymond Highsmith, Vera Mortimer, Lucas Lemon Cain, and Homeless Gary, who doesn't remember his last name. He sleeps in the clubhouse. But six members—I can imagine all of you out there in readerdom are as impressed as I am. Pretty soon we'll have too many members to even list here! But not for a while yet, if that convinces any of you to join up with us.

Our next meeting is February 12, a couple days before Valentine's Day, a day I know I won't be doing anything for. My latest girlfriend, Emily, decided we should take some time apart when she moved to Seattle without telling me. Not that it's necessarily commune Enthusiasts Club business, but as a leader I have nothing to hide from my flock, so I'll come out with it all. She was a bit controlling, but we got along pretty well. She really liked me, despite the fact I haven't had a job in a long time (she said as much), but she couldn't deal with sharing me with the commune Enthusiasts Club. Or, as she called it, "you sitting in a tree house by yourself for hours with no hope of ever amounting to anything." Which is quite unfair—I told her the treehouse was a temporary solution since we lack a more enduring meeting place. We'll pull it together—not that she wanted to hear any of it. Another woman uprooting and leaving town rather than committing to a serious relationship with me.

Homeless Gary promises to "dress up" the meeting house a little before the next get-together, but so far has yet to do so. His living in the treehouse is causing a bit of conflict between my parents and I, in all honesty, but I feel it just wouldn't be right to turn out a fellow cEC member into the cold during his time of need. Besides, as I told my dad, Homeless Gary never comes into the house except for those occasions I invite him to read the latest edition of the commune—which he also promises he'll get around to doing soon enough. So I don't understand why my dad's so upset, Homeless Gary doesn't even come into the house to use the bathroom—but my dad's not happy about that either, so don't mention it to him. Another sore point.

I'm quite thrilled to have a flock to lead, at last. Sandy and I, though she doesn't know it yet, are going to begin planning the float for the local Easter parade, a float honoring the commune, even though it's well in advance of the time we need. Better prepared than caught with our pants down. Which reminds me—I will have to talk to Homeless Gary about dress etiquette before the Feb. 12 meeting. See you there!

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If there are three sure signs that you're getting butt-raped by lady luck, they're these: you're sick, you're stuck in a waiting room watching a Behind the Music special on someone under the age of ten, and you're listening to Aaron Neville.

This past week I found myself with the lady's strap-on broken off in my poop basket for sure, as I came down with some heinous malady and spent the better part of an hour in some doctor's waiting room before this mannish nurse-thing told me that they didn't accept my "Skipper's Choice: Long John Silver's Health Insurance Discount Card." Before I could lodge a protest, or even throw an elbow, I found myself being dumped out onto the sidewalk by a pair of orderlies the size of East German ballerinas. You can bet the double-mortgaged farm that I cursed the commune and their shitheel "benefits package" the whole way home.

According to the Physician's Desk Reference, I have the Polynesian Swine Flu. I blame that bastard Ramon Nootles. If anyone in this office has been getting up-close and personal with Polynesian swine, it's Nootles.

I've been coughing up some kind of incredibly nasty gelatinous mustard all day. So far I've been on the phone to UNICEF, the CDC and MAPO about this, but none of them have been able to help me. That third company actually makes machines that process taco shells, I'm not sure who I thought they were supposed to be.

What's up with this supposedly space-age society we're living in? We can put a man on the moon, and write a song about it, but we can't eradicate these germs? And what about the mosquitoes, and horse flies? What the hell good is the military if we're at he mercy of these vermin? I'm all for downsizing the military—if by that you mean shrinking the tanks and missiles down to miniature proportions to blow up viruses and box-elder bugs and whatnot. I can't be the first one who's thought of this.

I've drank so much cough syrup in the last two days that I went to work three times this morning before I realized that I was still laying naked in my bathtub at home, wrapped up in the shower curtain like a pig in a blanket. From there I started going through my medicine cabinet alphabetically, hoping to hit upon some miraculous flu-curing combination somewhere in that pharmacological potluck. No luck so far, but a word to the wise: those herpes pills may provide a powerful buzz, but you'll also grow a third eye in your asscrack. Sometimes it pays to read the small print.

One thing I've learned is that it's best to buy a shot glass specifically for NyQuil shots. That shitty little Dixie cup they give you is worthless, and trust me, your regular shots will taste like Martian ass from that day forward if you try to multi-task with one shot glass. You'll never that disturbing tang all the way out.

I feel like I'm sitting in my own head, looking out at a movie about desk accessories. Good God, that's creepy. I plan to spend this afternoon finding a way to mechanically suction out my sinuses, and also take a jack-handle to whoever's been piping in this Aaron Neville. Again, I suspect Nootles.

Sweet Lord, let me die. I think I just coughed up my own nuts. Bricks out.

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