"The Best Friend Players."

“I think this play is going to go really well!”

“I agree,” says Lily, standing on stage behind the velvet curtain, which is about to open. The Pynchplum Theater is absolutely packed. “Way better than the last one. I think the Best Friend Players have some real potential as an experimental theater group!”

“For sure,” says Beth. The three girls are wcaring Victorian tea gowns, and they all look ravishing. “The way you rewrote that new English comedy, which I don’t remember the name of, as a brilliant metalesbonic commentary on neocolonial gender roles is so impressive!”

“Oh, it was already latent in the text. I just brushed it up a little bit and took out all the bawdy jokes, which are so obsolete in this day and age. And the best part is,” says Lily, as the curtains begin to part, “Meg and her stupid boyfriend Sitri have gone on holiday, so they aren’t around to prank us! I just know if they were here they’d find a way to turn the whole thing into a big stupid joke at our expense.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” says Kitty, fiddling with the bow in her hair. “This is a very serious, very important endeavor. The theater critic from the New York Times will be there, plus lots of other journalists, and of course all the most important people we know. So it’s good that we don’t have to worry about Sitri and his dumb sense of humor. But, look, the show’s starting! Places, everyone!”

The three girls rush towards their marks, under three bright spotlights at the front of the stage, which is decorated to look like a nineteenth-century drawing room. The curtain fully parts, to reveal hundreds of expectant faces, all looking up at the girls. Lily takes a deep breath.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she says, loudly. “We three are the Duchesses Beth, Lily, and Kitty, and we’re very important. But there’s someone missing today who’s even more important. That’s right. Our best friend.”

“That’s right, bitches! I’m back!”

With a horrible ripping sound, invisible ropes tear the tea gowns right off the three best friends’ bodies, leaving them on stage in nothing but white lacy stockings, high heels and corsets that don’t cover their breasts. Beth, Lily and Kitty squeal in horror, blushing bright red, throwing their hands across their tits and bushes as Meg cartwheels onto stage behind them, dressed in a French maid’s outfit. The room bursts into laughter and applause.

“Welcome to The Working-Class Witch Takes America, everyone! On with the show!”