Rufus: Opera singing can’t be that hard. You just have to raise your voice to a great volume, and then wiggle your voice around like this: I AM SINGING PASSIONATELY ABOUT MY LOVE, MY LOVE, MY LOVE, MY LOOOOOOOVE!

A shoe flies through the open window and hits Rufus in the head.

Rufus, continued: I could really get into it. It has all the characteristics of something I would love: archaic structures, weird sets, gorgeous women–if not on stage, then in the audience trying not to fall asleep–, and fabulous but misunderstood art directors. Oh, and the downtrodden, unnoticed, hot, contralto understudy who sits backstage near the misunderstood art director, and, of course, Fate drives them together backstage where they meet in a broom closet during act two and then again in act four–because this opera is so long and they have such need for brooms in this particular opera. And, nine months later, the real hero of our story is born: young Ivan, who will grow to manhood looking like his mother but having the art of his father in his back pocket and it will be he and he alone who will slay the dragon–which, in our story, is Capitalism, of course.

Rufus picks up the shoe, walks to his window, looks out, aims, and lets the shoe fall. A moment later someone curse in the street below.

Rufus, singing: Amen, amen, AMEN, AMEN, AMEN!

The end.