You know what that is: You wanna see "The Producers"? Fine. First you have to pay for "Seussical."

But "Jesus Christ Superstar"? That 1971 rock opera mediocrity? Talk about your burnt-out hippie squeeze.

Overture. Turn out the lights. Fill the bong with holy water.

One thing is for sure. This play has restored my faith, my belief that Andrew Lloyd Webber must be silenced. "Phantom," "Cats," "Evita." Jesus.

Let me stress: My disdain for "Jesus Christ Superstar" has absolutely nothing to do with theological discourse.

My problems have to do with paying 120 bucks for a bucket of cunningly calculated showbiz spittle. This is a plastic show with an annoying contemporary setting, overwrought synthetic music, and a bad ending. They cut the Resurrection!

What's with that? That's like not letting Baby Bear say somebody ate his porridge, too!

Making things worse, we were saddened to learn the regular Jesus would not be appearing during our performance. We got the understudy Jesus. You could tell. He opened with "If I Were a Carpenter" and his halo was a Davey and Goliath nightlight.

The cross had training nails.

Regular Jesus had blonde hair. Understudy Jesus wore dreadlocks. Hallelujah and I can dig it. An Affirmative Action Savior.

It seems that Regular Jesus, Sebastian Bach of the heavy metal rock group Skid Row, was fired from the production. A news report cited artistic differences. I guess there was a dispute over the way the Son of God wore his nipple clamps and "Youth Gone Wild" tat.

I must admit the show did have a calming effect. I dozed through the first half.

By The Last Supper, I sensed my devoutly Christian wife had had enough and was converting to Allah. Her chanting duel from the balcony to the Disciples was a clue, as was how she whipped my new sweater and rain slicker into a headscarf and vinyl jilbab.

I didn't interfere. I took up origami. The "Playbill" and popcorn made a snappy crown of thorns.

Afterwards, as is our practice, we bought show souvenirs, passing on the usual t-shirts and coffee mugs. Donna purchased a Walk-Under-Water Umbrella.

And I got a Jesus Christ Superstar Cemetery Vault. It's a time-share -- use it three days and I'm out.

But, all in all, it was a lovely evening in the theatre watching whores cash in on the Lord's word.

Unfortunately, our ticket stubs healed and we have to go back tonight.