“Guh, and another one...” Jack McFarland grumbled under his breath, staring at the production on the stage. In truth, Jack liked ballet, but he preferred the men in the ballet over the women for obvious reasons. In fact, the absolute best thing was the Trocks. Even though Jack had rather low opinions of drag queens, those queens could dance. And really, nothing showed off the package like the ruffles of panties on a tutu.
Though, in Jack's personal opinion -which was notably rather shallow and closed- white tights, a muscular bottom and all of that accented by a properly fit dance belt was much nicer. Much much nicer. “Get the trampy trampy tramp tramp tramp off the stage and put some real dancers back on... God.”
It was all muttered under his breath. Maybe loud enough for those near him to hear, but not much beyond that. “It's called Don Quixote, not Dawn Quixote, for a reason.”
This was... annoying. Trite little tarts in their pointe shoes, prancing around and claiming the spotlight for themselves when really that was the last thing they deserved. Jack had been backstage, he knew what those vipers were like. Vipettes really. Vile, bitchy creatures, ballerinas were. When he got home, he'd have to knock on his new favorite neighbor (or rather, the only neighbor he knew), Spike, and share this misgiving. Certainly someone with such a haughty accent would understand Jack's plight.