Robert Dubac’s newest Off-Broadway hit, THE BOOK OF MORON, has been described as one of the most “Hilarious” “Intelligent” and “Scorching” satirical attacks on idiocracy since Mark Twain. (And “idiocracy” isn’t even a word. How dumb is that?)
The New York Times raves, “Riding shotgun with intelligence and absurdity, THE BOOK OF MORON crashes head first into the barriers of sex, race, religion, politics and the media. It may be offensive to some but there’s laughter for all!”
Having been brainwashed by a culture that worships Kardashians over character, delusion over truth and selfies over self-effacement; Dubac finds himself stuck in a coma of stupidity. (His IQ has dropped to Q) In order to wake up he has to ask himself the big question. Who am I? What do I believe? What’s the point? Okay, that’s three questions but, suffice to say, he has no answers. Just voices. Inner voices who come to life with precision and wit. One by one they pull him into a bizarre metaphysical universe of comical critical thought in search of the bigger picture.
It’s a head trip on a banana peel.
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