When I wanted to become an actor, I remember being told that soap opera acting was pretty much the dregs of the community. But I don’t totally get why. Who wouldn’t want to have to pretend to be a normal human being in absurd situations, like finding out your mom was actually a velociraptor or opening your bedroom door to find your girlfriend has amnesia and thinks she’s married to a zombie? That’s pretty much Shakespearean, if Shakespeare were a room full of drunk monkeys with typewriters missing the “E” key.

I bet that Emmanuelle Chriqui is a big fan of the Women’s Experience Theater and learned a lot for it and blah blah menstruation. But there’s no f’ing way that having Emmanuelle Chriqui at a benefit for a theatre for women is going to be a good thing. You know what would encourage me to act? Seeing a bunch of fat, untalented people at the same audition because then I’d be like, “Wow, I’m really good, I should keep doing this.” But if you bring this chick to the theatre, suddenly my stock fell like, well, like every stock on Earth lately.

Having Emanuelle Chriqui show up at your theatre is basically equivalent to having a Ferrari show up at your soapbox derby. Yeah, it’s nice for the Ferrari to show up, but these other women pretty much look like crapty refrigerator boxes (and also probably smell just like a refrigerator box, a fragrance of homeless men’s urine and whiskey).