"Richard? RICHARD!" Your Child is Missing at THE LOST BOYS Which Sucks But is Objectively Hilarious

by Jennifer Haining. @itsraininghaining.

NEW YORK, NY  —  Tonight’s the night! You and your irresponsibly young son have the hottest ticket in town - The Lost Boys on Broadway! But while you’re gearing up for curtain, saddled with your on-theme but lazily named “Bloody Mary” house cocktail, you look to your left and notice your little is nowhere to be found, mama!

“Honestly I didn’t know we let six-year olds come to this,” House Manager Leroy Laroux notes as he struggles to relay the emergency message into his walkie talkie through the plastic fangs that are apparently a mandatory part of the uniform here. “Seems like a terrible mother who prioritizes her drink order over keeping an eye on her child, but hey, I’m just a 63-year old victim of the Male Loneliness Epidemic and thus have been unable to rear any legitimate spawn of my own.”

Lead actor Eloise McDougal, shouting down from the rafters because her fly wire malfunctioning during fight call is the second reason the show is starting late tonight, is going to check the rafters for ya while she’s up there.

“So are we talking like a Pringles can or a paint bucket kinda size,” she inquires from on high while she does kind of a slow, consistent, repeated flip and the stage hands struggle to pull her down. “Or if we’re talking like a lip gloss tin feels like you could go without?” she judgily screeches as you realize she thinks you're seeking a “lost lid.”

You decide to go down and check the bathrooms again, passing several cosplaying teens who seem to have seen Interview With The Vampire and thought “close enough.”

The bell tolls and the lights of the theater dim. It turns out the world does not revolve around your perfect little mommy’s boy, and maybe you needed that lesson today.

But good news! You just remembered you don’t even have a kid, nor are you at The Lost Boys. You actually did a bunch of ayahuasca by yourself in your studio apartment whose back closet you AirBNB out cuz you can’t afford food.

You shake your fist to the sky and yell “Mamdani!” cuz this "foreigner is running NYC into the ground." Yikes. You’re one of those. Apologize to Mayor Mamdaddy right now, sober up in a nice cold shower, and take some responsibility for yourself.