The demise of the Woodfin Theater Shack caused a move of Chihuahua H.Q. to a newer, even less-disclosed location.
We're hard at work rehearsing for the shows, four rehearsals a week. The new H.Q. is nice, well-appointed, has a working fridge and is carpeted in places, which is good because we all seem to be writing sketches where falling over is an integral part of the piece.
The only drawback is that it is open to the outside world, which is people driving by in their cars, and the people across the road. I would like to write a sit-com about the people who live across the road from Feral H.Q.
One of them likes to drink beer and water his garden shirtless at night. There's either a really skanky son or a really skanky daughter, or both who are dating each other. If there's a mother, she's locked in an upstairs room with a single window. There is a dog, but it appears to change every night. Dogsformer.
I hope they are dealing well with us singing songs about pedophilia or shouting "nipples" at late hours.