This is the comedy improv troupe Improvability. I have a secret to confess.
You turn me on.
For the longest time I’ve wanted to get inside of you. I know I could show you a good time. I like to think that I’m young, sexy, hip, funny – all the things I know you love.
Sometimes, lying in bed, I think about you. I fantasize about slipping my long name right between those tightly creased folds. I imagine you as my knight in shining armor, picking me up with your thick pages and your legendary readership, pushing me to higher attendance.
I have always thought you were sexy. Well, sexy in a trashy kind of way. Like the disheveled girl in your econ class wearing booty shorts and a copious amount of eye shadow.
You know what? Let’s be honest Nexus, I’ll tell you straight up. I used to think you were a whore. I used to think you would be easy. I used to think I could just stroll by the Nexus office, give you a wink and twenty dollar bill and get right in your pants. I’ll admit it: I wanted some easy play.a
I’m horny and I thought you were a slut. I mean, you sure look like one. I saw you get with some pretty boring stories a few Friday’s ago: the bike path, the women’s lacrosse game, the 83rd revision of the Isla Vista Master Plan. I think I’m at least as sexy as them.
However, when I come around, you pretend to be interested, smiling, saying you’ll come to my show and you never do. Do you know what it’s like to get stood up by the Daily Nexus? It’s depressing!
At best you relegate me to the Artsweek page. The Artsweek page! I know you only stick articles about lame indie bands and multicultural performances on the old women’s center lawn on the Artsweek page. Are you trying to hide me from your friends? Just admit it. You are embarrassed to be seen with me. Did I get fat eating all those damn cheese stuffed zucchini’s at Carillo?
I took all that though. Now you’re just slapping me in the face. I saw you cover my pal I.V. Stand Up twice the other week without even mentioning me once! Why can’t you love me like you love him? I am completely student run and pull audiences the same size as their “national headliners” do – is that not enough?
It seems the only way to get in you is by letting your supposed “staff writer” Zach Phillips write a story about me. I want you, not his scraggly ass! I’m tired of him writing stories about me. If you’re going to have someone write on me, give me someone with journalistic integrity, not someone who makes up stories about having sex on a flaming couch!
I’m not waiting for you anymore. If you won’t come to me, I guess I’ll have to come to you. I want students to see my name in the dark bold print where worthy stories rarely dare to venture. I want everyone to know that I’m here every Friday at 8 p.m. in Embarcadero Hall!
Hah! Joke’s on you Nexus. Do you feel used? I bet you do. I finally did what you would never do for me, give my hilarious show the recognition it deserves… and I did it right under your nose!
But don’t blame me. This is your fault. You could have come to me. I gave you plenty of chances. I’m like every other girl, I want to be wooed. But if you don’t like me, like every other girl, I’ll trick you into sleeping with me when you’re drunk, then wake up early and steal your iPod.
So, Nexus, I thought I should let you and everyone else know, I don’t want you anymore. You aren’t as great as I thought you were. Oh and by the way, you aren’t as hot as you were freshman year.
I guess that’s it. And now that I’ve finally fucked you, from now on, Nexus, go fuck yourself.