“Machaut, My Lifestyle Brand” - Live, Whores of Babylon lyrics

COLSON (matter-of-factly). “I dedicate this next one to the human beings who work at The University of Chicago Magazine. Your lives mattered less to the cosmos than any of ours. We all do what you do for loved ones. Some of us just do more. I’ll add: You weren’t even born that long ago. Yet you should have known more every step of the way.”

A foghorn of resentment’s despair fills the bookstore.

COLSON. “I hate The University of Chicago Magazine.”

Tears stain COLSON’s face. You can tell he genuinely hates these people—these humans who haven’t even taken anyone hostage or killed anyone, that he knows of. In an Apocalyptic situation, they wouldn’t stop for you if you begged. They’re not good: Y?

They’re not trustworthy.

Maybe I’m wrong though, who the f*ck knows. It’s on their conscience, not mine. It’s not like my Judgments can’t be overruled by God. That’s shared power.

COLSON. “The University of Chicago Magazine unfollowed me on X.”

The audience collectively groans and rolls their eyes.

At me.

COLSON. “f*ck you. This is worse than when Kendall Jenner unfollowed Justin Bieber.”

More boos.

The audience can’t take this pettiness.

COLSON. “f*ck you clown-hypocrites.”
A foghorn goes off. That’s my cue to start the song.

COLSON. “I don’t even want to sing this song anymore.”

More boos.

VOICE. “Why is the Second Coming so petty!”

COLSON. “I HATE YOU.”

Feedback after I smash the microphone into the floor. See/ Not a person, like The University of Chicago Magazine did?

COLSON. “f*ck THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO MAGAZINE.”

More boos.

VOICE. “You’re TOO PETTY.”

The entire mood of the venue has changed.

COLSON. “I SAID f*ck YOU AND f*ck THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO.”

The audience is ready to riot.

Against me—for my pettiness.
COLSON. “f*ck UCHICAGO. THEY GAVE US THE BOMB.”

Boos rise through the venue—again, at me for some reason.

VOICE. “I’m donating money to them on PayPal right now, Colson!”

COLSON. “f*ck YOU. AND f*ck UCHICAGO—THEY HOST THE DOOMSDAY CLOCK.”

VOICE. “They’ll survive End Times!”

COLSON. “f*ck UCHICAGO.”

VOICE. “Your pettiness makes me want to apply to the University of Chicago to out-petty you!”

COLSON. “f*ck UCHICAGO. THEY’RE NOT PRESTIGIOUS.”

VOICE. “Meghan Markle’s a Northwestern grad!”

It’s animal.

The entire venue has corrupted into a circus.

COLSON. “f*ck UCHICAGO. f*ck UCHICAGO. f*ck UCHICAGO.”

Then I surprise everyone.
Reaching into a trap door on-stage, I pull out a University of Chicago hoodie—gray with maroon lettering—and hold it up.