Dim the house lights. Raise the tragically undersized velvet curtain. Strike up the strings for something far too long and in no way requested.
Because Sir Reginald(Beloved of Himself, Master of the Misdirected Monologue, Keeper of the Glittering Truth) has arrived.
[Scene: Courtroom Cabaret Night — the wrong venue for the wrong speech at the wrong time. Bunny has already sighed twice. That’s two too many.]
Sir Reginald (sweeping onto the stage in a cloud of smug and powdered self-importance):
“My lords, my ladies, and my unclassifieds of the Court: Tonight, I bring forth not merely performance, but Testimony.”
(He pauses. Dramatically. The kind of pause that says, “Oh yes, I practiced this in the mirror.”)
“I was born under a velvet moon—
Swaddled in metaphor,
Raised on allegory,
And suckled at the perfumed bosom of poetic justice.”
Bunny (hissing from the back, half a grape in one paw):
“That’s not how any of that works.”
Sir Reginald (ignoring him with grand, tragic flair):
“My crimes?
Too fabulous for common ink.
Too glittering for the archives.
My only sin—
To love the stage
Too much.”
Jack of Knives (quietly, to Emma):
“I will genuinely stab him if he starts quoting himself again.”
Princess Emma (eating popcorn with unsettling calm):
“No, let him finish. I’m learning what not to do.”
Sir Reginald (reaching crescendo, arms outstretched like he’s crucifying his reputation for the sake of art):
“And so, if I be guilty of overindulgence,
Of wordplay, of warbling vowels and egregious interpretive hand movements—
Then so be it!
But know this:
I performed…
For you.”
(Silence. Deafening. Bunny drops his grape.)
Bunny (clapping once, slowly):
“Oh bravo. Truly. A masterclass in inflated mediocrity. You didn’t perform for us, darling. You performed at us. And you owe us all time, dignity, and a refund on our collective will to live.”
Sir Reginald (wilting, slightly, but still posing):
“You wound me, Rabbit.”
Bunny (brandishing a new pen):
“That was the goal.”
_______________
Bunny’s Official Review:
“The Cabaret Incident”
Filed: Court Record #408.b—Under Duress
By: Bunny, Unwilling Attendee
Let the record show that I was dragged to this event.
Physically, emotionally, spiritually.
Dragged.
The Queen said “It might be good for morale.”
Velin said “It will be a performance.”
Emma said “I think he’s gonna cry.”
Jack brought a knife.
I brought a notebook and a mild hope that Sir Reginald might, for once, show restraint. (He did not. The opening monologue alone was longer than the Queen’s formal severance decree. Which—unlike this performance—meant something.)
Let’s begin.
Set Design:
A stage too small for his ego.
Lighting that dimmed in shame.
A rug that has seen too much and whispered, “not again…”
Wardrobe:
A crushed velvet suit in “Tragic Plum.”
A ruffle that doubled as a cry for help.
Lip gloss that caught the spotlight better than his punchlines.
Performance Highlights:
Declaring himself “swaddled in metaphor.”
Citing “perfumed bosoms” within 15 seconds.
Misquoting the Queen, twice, and calling it an homage.
At one point, he addressed the chandelier directly. It flickered. Whether from despair or voltage stress is unclear.
Jack unsheathed his knife exactly once.
Emma slow-clapped ironically the entire time and said "Oh look. A man with a paragraph."
Velin was noted writing something down during the third act. Witnesses confirm it was not the script.
It was, and I quote,
“an inventory of time I’ll never get back.”
Final Notes:
This performance was less “cabaret” and more “catastrophe with jazz hands.”
If I had a third hand, I’d slap him with it.
⭐️ Rating: 1/5 stars.
(The one star is for the moment when the curtain caught on his sleeve and he panicked like a Victorian ghost.)
Next week’s program:
“How to Accept Silence as a Gift: A Seminar for Reginald.”
Mandatory.
No monologues permitted.
Filed by Bunny. Blog sealed with a sigh and a blackout stamp.
Queen’s Sidebar Commentary
Filed under: Royal Observations of Predictable Male Theatre
Stamped: Emotionally Expensive. Non-Refundable.
Let it be known:
Any and all performances, monologues, dissertations, unsolicited speeches, ill-advised soliloquies, and multi-scroll-message mansplaining—requested or otherwise—will absolutely be weaponized in Kingdom lore.
Yes, Reginald.
Even that one.
Especially that one.
You may think you were just “expressing yourself,”
or “presenting context,”
or “simply offering your side.”
To which I say:
Thank you for the material.
We’ll add it to the archive.
And by archive, I mean the arsenal.
The Court has a long memory, a sharp pen, and zero hesitation to repackage your monologue as an educational exhibit titled:
“Why We Burn Things.”
So please. By all means. Proceed. Speak your truth.
We’ll turn it into a pamphlet. And throw it dramatically into the fireplace.
Tagline: No notes. Just noise.