On an exceptionally gloomy, Easter Erection wet weekend, at the butt end of a bedroom tax demo, SickBitchCrips gayfully retreat to the Duke of York’s Theatre to gawp at Rupert Everett in the role as the talented Oscar Wilde in The Judas Kiss. After interminable inching backwards and forwards, SickBitchCrips are finally comfortable in the wheelchair spaces, allocated at the opposite ends of a row. Sadly they are unable to catapult themselves out of their prams into normal seats and therefore have to pay the price by seeing less than fifty percent of the action. The bed scenes displaying fanny, jugs and drooping dicks are out of sight for patrons confined to wheelchairs and on reflection SickBitchCrips are delighted that they have been denied cock at Easter.
The ageing theatre was indisputably built without consideration for its invalid patrons as the sick didn’t venture out much in those days. At the end of the performance the actors take a bow and announce that one of their crew will be running in the London Marathon shortly. The cast ambush the exit rattling and thrusting buckets to raise money for sick and delicate children. SickBitchCrips make a frenzied departure, swerving through the herd of lesbians/thespians, exiting the theatre, avoiding begging bowls and clinging on to their hard earned drug money.
SickBitchCrips are elated that they have outmanoeuvred sick kiddy pity giving only to be accosted by Rob the helpful cripple. SickBitchCrips listen with elation as Rob regurgitates a long drawn out story about how his toes were blown off in a mishap during target practice in The Royal Signals. Rob refuses government hand-outs and accommodation and opts to kip in the gutter rather than skip on a plane to Dignitas to guzzle down a massive dose of healthy barbiturates. He bravely decided to become independent and took up flogging The Big Issue outside the Duke of York’s day in day out. SickBitchCrips aspire to disabled Rob’s life style choices and are stoically proud of themselves for refusing to purchase The Big Issue and indulging his war victim hero’s, lavish lifestyle.
SickBitchCrips exhaustedly promote engendered self-pity with their latest two or three million pound multiple grants funded project. They are grateful to their funders who include ACE, BNP, BP, GREAESE, and SHIPSHAPE. Pity Party exposes the necessity to Pity Party until the bitter end. The luxury venue is the fabulously appointed Wes-Sex through floor lift and although somewhat confined the space is an acoustically inferior location especially if one's friends are limited. The elevator experience brings new heights to the afflicted and serves as an intimate space accommodating an eclectic breed of hybrid sick bitches. The Pity Party depraves have spent months developing new, more individualized approaches to the moving body and choreographic possibilities. Pity Party is realised, danced and choreographed by SickBitchCrips, integrating special movement in and around the disabled lift. The song is composed and arranged by SickBitchCrips and the backing singers are a revised group of late sixties dyslexic duets who have spent a long time in rehearsal.
Click on the link to see 'Pity Party' before it is premiered in Leicester Square sometime soon.