GRRRRRRRREETINGS!

CHEERIO, my good co-eds! You may refer to me as Roy Randolph, and I am a world famous director and overall master of the thespian arts, which I should disclose on the off chance you've been dwelling under some sort of rock or boulder somewhere. I am particularly well-known for my award-winning 1994 production of Tennessee Williams' masterpiece Cat on a Hot Tin Roof on the exalted stage of the California University drama department. Of course this memorable production starred the inimitable Brenda Walsh as Maggie...excuse me, I mean Margaret. The lovely and colourful Ms. Walsh prefers to call Maggie the Cat by her given name, and if you could see how much more spectacularly inconsistent and cartoonish her Southern accent is in comparison to the certifiably insane and privacy-disrespecting Laura Kingman, you would certainly understand her rather unorthodox approach to her roles. Said approach involves visiting me late at night and telling me–as her character Margaret, of course–what a wonderful lover I am.

Sure, sure, I signed a contract with the hallowed academic institution known as California University assuring the administration that I would keep my cockney hands off the co-eds, but it's hardly against the rules if she's in character and I have assumed the role of Brick. That's called acting, for all you pitiful, insignificant little peons that cannot appreciate my brilliance at the fine and subtle art of the stage. Besides, it is not as though I need to employ my hands at all to receive certain favours from my aspiring leading ladies. Furthermore, by performing said favours, the astonishingly gifted Ms. Walsh can safely claim that she has still only ever technically slept with Dylan McKay and Stuart Carson, who I might add are both amateurish fools who know tosh about the demands a thespian might face.

Then again, these fellows should hardly feel bad since nobody else can fully honour my genius, either, except perhaps Brenda Walsh and my disturbingly Mel Brooks-ish stagehand. I've been told that in years of late, the talented Ms. Walsh has seated herself in my chair, and has tackled directing a production of Spring Awakening for West Beverly High. Keep striving, my little Minnesotan crumpet! Someday you'll be able to ascend to my level of directing drama club productions at university!

Therefore, I have agreed to inaugurate this pathetic little "blog," so that I might remind you all how resplendently superior my talent is. And, of course, so these depressingly unsuccessful other little "co-stars" of mine from my California University days might attempt to scratch out some sort of artistic meaning to their pathetic, insignificant little lives.

Stand by for more missives explaining to you all about my indisputable superiority, as well as a lot of tawdry efforts by the other riff-raff, people with pedestrian jobs such as dentists and chemists and cut-rate English scholars. And–Great Scott–even a collegiate athlete, and not even a footballer! I shudder to think of what you dear readers shall endure. Never fear, however. I shall return to relieve you of this literary drudgery with further tales of my smashing triumphs of the off-off-off-off-off-off Broadway university theatre circuit! It shall be grand! And until then, please endeavour to reacquaint yourself with the greatest theatrical production of all time!

Dramatically yours,

Roy Randolph