(Got a fuzzy cellphone pic from Scot McKenzie, but can’t put it here for arcane technical reasons.)

Now, honestly, people: Of all the stuff at Fringe, you’re going to take exception to a bona fide box office hit that was old news in London three or four years ago? What is up with that?

I mean, not that I want you to go protest over at H Street, but last night I saw a show in which a guy has a poo in his briefcase.

OK, he mimes having a poo in his briefcase. But still.

More later.

UPDATE: Thursday a.m. – So I ambled by Studio to catch the ruckus before the 9 p.m. Fringe show I was planning to see last night. Protesters were still there. Very disciplined bunch. Odd outfits – blazers, with little red-fabric ceremonial wings attached.

Also banners — which you can see here, being rolled up and put away as God washes out the protest with a Noah-size thunderstorm.

And bagpipes. I was fascinated by the presence of the bagpipes. Apparently it’s not a good protest unless there are bagpipes.

Even before I got down there, theatregirl piped up in the comments, saying that the protest group was American Needs Fatima.

Sorta: Technically, it seems America Needs Fatima would seem to be the name of the protest campaign; the group behind it appears to be the American Society for the Defense of Tradition, Family and Property.

Which may or may not be a wack hard-right Catholic cult. But which certainly, according to its own Web site, runs summer Call to Chivalry camps where “teams of boys [are] pitted against each other in feats of prowess and heroism.”

Also, there seems to be an emphasis on something called “manly piety.” Which, you know, makes a boy like me go all squishy inside.

The American TFP, inevitably, is represented on YouTube, where you can watch an earlier Jerry Springer protest in Cincinnati.

And I must say, based on last night’s jaw-droppingly odd experience, that a good Hail Mary, chanted in a vigorous display of manly piety, makes a better protest refrain than “Hey, hey, ho, ho, [whatever it is] has got to go.”

Before I knew all this, however, I told Studio Theatre boss lady Joy Zinoman — who came over to my spot on the 14th Street sidewalk to share samples of the protesters’ charmingly homophobic leaflets, and to ponder the encoded antifeminism in the “Tradition/Family/Property” slogan on those big red banners — that I suspected she’d arranged the whole business for the sake of publicity.

She was not, it appeared from the expression on her face, particularly amused by this attempt at levity.