Luke Ski: And now coming to the stage, the
person who has travelled the farthest to be
here of anybody of the fans of the 
MarsCon Dementia Track, it's Angela Brett!
So, yours is a cappella, correct?
Angela Brett: Uh… there's a backing track.
Luke: Oh, there… oh, okay. Excuse me.
Sound tech offstage: I got it!
Luke: Are you ready, Angela?
Angela: Yep
If there’s one thing that’s lauded in
the internet age,
It’s if I want to be applauded I don’t
need to go on stage.
I could write shit in my bedroom, gathering
tweets and shares and likes,
but despite it I still head to gatherings
known as open mics
Because duck it, our creations need a community,
and luck is preparation meeting opportunity,
so when Luke Ski or "Weird Al" Yankovic come
to town
and every good opening act mysteriously comes
down
with a synthetic disease to which I have immunity,
I'll be ready to please, dropping rhymes with impunity.
[FART SOUNDS]
‘Cause I’m a Master of Rhyme;
I’ve got a Masters degree,
and my thesis was a rhyming dictionary,
so I'll be rapping my rants
and you’ll be clapping your hands
and flapping your panties
that you happily planned
to throw at fabulous bands
and I’ll be nabbing their fans
while they are crapping their pants.
[LONG, MEANDERING FART SOUND]
In real life I’m a hacker and I’m super
science-knowledge-y:
linguistics and mathematics and some microbiology,
but I admit that in the latter I have lax methodology,
and for that I say no matter; I present my apology.
if your bladder had a splatter, don’t be mad; I tried urology
[SOUNDS OF URINATION]
So back to the point: my plan is all about
practice.
The knack to seem much better than any surviving
opening act is.
And that may sound unfettered and conniving,
but the fact is
they lack my well-honed stagecraft and immunoglobulin
factors.
[FART SOUND WITH FALL-RISE PITCH PATTERN]
because I’m
perfecting my art
and projecting my heart
while collecting the hard-earned
affection that’s marred
by those correctly called 'artists'
rejecting my protective injection,
electing collective infection, ejecting a shart.
[SHORT SHARP SHART SOUND]
And maybe I’m a chump who’s not much better
than you
but I’ll be number one while you’re going
number two.
[LONG, MEANDERING FART SOUND]
I digress; I’m an open mic nerd; I require
us
to weary of hearing Free Bird, Miley Cyrus
When merely a chord or a word can rewire us
and everyone’s here to be heard and inspire
us
then I'll engineer a deferred norovirus.
[ELECTRICITY SOUNDS]
[ELECTRIC FART SOUNDS]
So now you understand why I’m facing my
fears.
I’m bracing to be panned while embracing
my peers,
so I’ve no stage fright when the big stars
are here.
There’ll be no cage fight; the choice will
be clear,
because I write each night, I can guarantee
ya
that my shite’s not trite, or second tier,
and the light's so bright I can barely see ya
and I’ll be the only artist without diarrhoea.
[LONG, LOUD FART SOUND]
God, it stinks in here!
[TOILET FLUSH]
Luke: Angela Brett, everybody! Thank you so much!
