You don’t act anywhere near normal when you’re high on this stuff.”
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I don’t owe it to you to hang out or even have this conversation, really.” You seem to think I owe something to you because we used to be friends or whatever. “Listen, we’re gonna hash this out right here and now. He rolled his eyes with exasperation… and then smirked as he thought of all the possibilities of how he would deal with them. The warlock sighed with relief at the peace and quiet of the finally empty table… but only for a minute, as they were soon replaced by yet another gaggle of nearly-identical theatre gays, even louder and more annoying than the first. He may never have heard of a musical anymore, or even have the ability to comprehend what one was, but at least he was still playing his part in the circle of life. The warlock snapped his fingers and Luke no longer had a name, just a lion on the African savannah, only the simplest thoughts of hunting and feeding on prey, and mating with and breeding his pride of lionesses, filling his feral, animalistic mind. It would destroy his slick tough-guy image if it ever got out, but he was hopelessly devoted to him, he’s the one that he wants, and oh, those summer nights… The warlock snapped his fingers and Andy was Axel, a leather-jacketed, hot-rod-riding teen stud, king of the greaser gang and terror of the rest of his 1950s suburban high school… as long as no one found out that he was secretly queer, and even worse, secret lovers with the school quarterback, the ultimate square. Would he be the hero of some lucky girl’s story… or the villain? A very nice prince, yes - but nice is different than good. The warlock snapped his fingers and Fred was Philippe, a prince in medieval France, handsome and charming - if not sincere, dashing and roguish, arrogant and impetuous, smoldering with agonizing lust for princesses and peasant women alike as his former homosexuality was forgotten. He may not have much book learnin’, but at least he knew that out here on the range every mornin’ was beautiful.
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The warlock snapped his fingers, and Ben was Buck, a cowboy on the Oklahoma range in 1900, taking full advantage of the freedom of the open range to constantly fuck and be fucked by his fellow hot cowboys, without inhibition or fear of judgement, and whenever another cowboy gives him that seductive look he just cain’t say no. “The Lion King,” said Luke, “I love animals.” “Grease,” said Andy, “I love a love story.” “Into the Woods,” said Fred, “I love a fairy tale ending.”
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“Oklahoma,” said Ben, “I love a classic.” They all grinned and leapt at the chance to answer, all of them having responses at the ready for just such an opportunity. Working out a devious plan, he walked over to them and interrupted them to ask each of them what their favorite musical was.
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But when they started breaking out into song, he’d finally had enough. A double date of theater gays: could there be anything more annoying? thought the warlock to himself as he tried in vain to enjoy his meal in peace at the table next to them, and tune out their yammering about who should have won what Tony and which cast recordings are best.