Miracle Max: Delusions of Grandeur was a comedic magic show I created and performed in the London Fringe Festival in June 2013.
Trailer:
https://vimeo.com/manage/videos/73132316
Full show:
Month: November 2025
Edward:
I’d like to welcome the newest member to our literary society, Merilee Watkins.
[Polite applause from the group.]
Merilee:
Thanks. It really means a lot for me to be here. When my husband and I moved here from Toronto, I was afraid I’d lose all of the intellectual pursuits I love so much. I was so happy to find out there was a literary discussion group here.
Edward:
We’re always glad to have new members – even from Toronto.
[Polite intellectual chuckles from the group.]
Edward:
Let’s get started, shall we? Our selection for this week was the “Collected Works of Edward Ferguson, Volume III.”
Merilee:
Um, I know this is my first night here, but I have to admit I didn’t understand this week’s selection. It was just a bunch of handwritten notes and drawings thrown in a three-ring binder. It wasn’t really a book at all.
Edward:
And what does this tell you about the author? Anyone?
Others:
Oooh, ooh, pick me!
Edward:
Sarah?
Others:
Groan.
Sarah:
It tells us that your all-encompassing genius is easily misunderstood by those who lack your obviously superior intellect. Right, Mr. Ferguson?
Edward:
Very good, Sarah. I am often misunderstood.
Merilee:
I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you wrote this. Do you usually discuss the writing of people within the group?
Paul:
No, that would be crazy. We just discuss Mr. Ferguson’s writings.
Edward:
Shall we continue? I’d like to direct everyone’s attention to the passage entitled, “I’m much more smarter then God (and taller, too)”. Now in this passage, I –
Merilee:
Um, I don’t mean to interrupt, but I was wondering what the picture at the top of the page was.
Edward:
That’s not a picture, that’s oatmeal. I wrote this particular passage when I was eight. For the sake of our newcomer, can anyone tell me what the significance of the oatmeal is?
Others:
Ooh, ooh!
Edward:
James?
Others:
Groan.
James:
That you were trying to construct a new fossil fuel entirely out of oats.
Edward:
No, that was when I was twelve. Sarah?
Sarah:
The oatmeal represents the mindless mush of everyone else’s brain when compared to your mighty intellect?
Edward:
Good answer. Cookie.
[He tosses her a cookie. She catches it in her mouth and wags her tail. Well, if she had a tail, she’d be wagging it.]
Edward:
Now, onto the passage itself.
Merilee:
I actually liked parts of this one. There were certain traits reminiscent of Melville’s man raging against nature in that –
Edward:
Excuse me. What does this Melville nobody have to do with the subject at hand – that being me? Anyone?
Others:
Oooh, ooh!
[Edward points to Paul.]
Paul:
Nothing?
Edward:
Right, nothing. Let’s keep this discussion focused purely on me, shall we? Now, who wants to rub my feet?
Others:
Ooh, ooh, pick me!
Edward:
James.
Others:
Groan.
[James begins to massage Edward’s feet.]
Merilee:
This isn’t a literary discussion group. This is some kind of cult.
Edward:
I’m not asking you to bow down and worship me –
James:
That’s our Friday meeting.
Edward:
I’m just trying to share a part of myself with the group. Do you think that’s easy for me? Do you think it’s easy to take my most private thoughts and put them on display so people like you can put them down and ridicule them? Is this how you pay me back for my honesty and sharing?
Merilee:
I’m – I’m sorry. It must be a huge risk to share something like this with the group.
[Historian’s note: The following are excerpts taken from the rediscovered Houdini diaries, long thought lost to posterity. Apparently, they were only “misplaced to posterity” and recently turned up in the underwear drawer of a certain Miss Santanna, a telemarketer in Phoenix.]
March 17 – Escaped from a safe today. Even though I did it in record time, the crowd seemed restless. Must remember to mention this to my agent. Things are looking up on the home front. I finally found a credenza to match the drapes. Tried to knock the price down by offering to escape from a set of wrist shackles he had lying around, but he wouldn’t go for it. Still, life is good.
March 20 – Lunch with Morty today. The poor man has spent the last year locked in his flat, determined to write the world’s funniest musical. At the end, by sheer coincidence, he had managed to reproduce the complete works of Ezra Pound. He insisted on seeing it performed anyway, and kept insisting that it was funny, the actors just kept putting the emphasis on the wrong bits. Artists.
April 12 – My agent told me I had to freshen up my act, so I added a pony. People love ponies. I’ve given him a top hat and a tailcoat. I call him Lord Henbetty, and he stamps his hoof to count out how long it takes me to get out of the milk can.
April 19 – Dinner again with Morty, then drinks afterward. Morty always finds it funny when we are at the bar and he hides my keys. He laughs for hours.
April 23 – Had to get rid of the pony. He stole too much of the spotlight. On a brighter note, I won’t need to buy beef for quite some time.
May 3 – For a lark, I broke in to prison. Thought it was quite funny ’til the strip search. Guess they had the last laugh.
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?” the old man chortled joyously. “Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day!”
I dropped my gruesome trophy by the door as the old man calloohed and callay’d. He hugged me fiercely. He felt fragile in my arms. Long years had left him short of breath and shaky in flesh.
I remembered the day – ages ago – when he had taken me into his house. He was the storyteller. I was the outcast. He fed my spirit, and I cleaned his eaves. He asked for nothing. He gave me everything. He loved me when I did not love myself.
I thought of this and more as I beat him and stole his few possessions.