Tuesday, August 17, 2010

2 - The Tragedy of Bushius Caesar Act 1 Scene 1

    Enter Hastertus, Delayus and certain Commoners including a Carpenter and a Cobbler

Delayus:            Hence! Home, you idle creatures, get you home!
                         Think ye that Washington’s become a Rome
                         That on a labouring day ye labour not?
   [aside]            Oh, Lord, who wrote this effing crock of rot!

Will S.:   .          ‘Tis I. Carp not! Let's carpe our diem,
                         And do thou now such pesky questions stem.
                         For ere, forsooth, comes dark'ning end of day
                         Wilt thou see fine and clear where wends our play.

Delayus:            And thou, foul commoner, what is thy trade?

Carpenter:         Why, sir, a carpenter.

Hastertus:                                         Then to thy spade,
                         Saw, chisel, plane, whatever, hie thee hence
                         From welfare, and thus earn a poor man’s pence.

Writing:             Hey, Will, what gives that each two lines do rhyme,
Coach:              When not thus didst thou do in ancient time?

Will S.:              The doublet rhyme gives emphasis and stress
                         To imbecilities and senselessness.

Delayus:            But, to the point! And you, what trade are you?

Cobbler:            Why, sir, a cobbler, born and bred and true.

Hastertus:          A gobbler? Gobble me, thou naughty knave!

Delayus:           No, Denny, cobble with a C. A slave
                        Art thou to Freud forever with thy slips!

Hastertus:         Gadzooks! From C to G is but four blips.
                        But to the point, base knave, why art thou not
                        Within thy shop today?

Cobbler:                                               Have ye not wot?
Grammarian:    ‘Tis ‘witen’ in this past tense.

Will S.                                                       Shut thy gob!
                        He speaks the tongue of some illit’rate slob.
                        Or morrow, ere we carpe our diem,
                        Will dawn.

Cobbler:                            Wot? Witen? That today, ahem…
                        The Bushie Caesar doth return today
                        From great campaigns victorious far away
                        In nucular-free Eye-Irak, o’er world holds sway.

Vox populi:       Our pax is gone! Our pox is come! Oi vey!
                       The Bushie doth so ramble, stumble, yak
                       That black is white, quoth he, and white is black.
                       And now in triumph doth he dare parade,
                       As false as any triumph that he made
                       O’er blood of Gore, these three years hence withdrawn
                       From craven Court, unto his wiles a pawn.
                       Such blunderings do cause our heart to burn,
                       And with them even more for Gore to yearn.

                                 Alarums, excursions. Enter sponsor 2
Sponsor 2:      And now a word from our dear sponsor comes:
                      Thine heart doth burn, forsooth? Then just take Tumms.
                      Thou belch’st, thou eructate'st, thou burp’st too much?
                      Let Tumms sublime now oil thy gastric clutch.     

Will S.:           What is this interruption vile and foul,
                      That makes me want to go and move my bowel?   

Writing C:       O Will, thou art indeed in evil mood,
                      Thou snapp'st, thou bark'st, yet ads like these put food
                      Upon the table.

Will S.                                         Yes, my mood is vile
                      Sith thou hijacked my play and raped my style,
                      Thus conning me to turn my ancient verse
                      From gold to Bushie-isms, even worse.
                      Thus wouldst thou have me take my greatest plays
                      And massacres inflict ‘pon them in ways
                      To make them correspond to modern tales
                      With which they have much less than whales with Wales
                      In common. Thus wouldst thou I shoehorn in
                      The Caesar's play each ev'ry Bushie sin.
                      I cannot and I will not poison thus
                      My verses’ nectar with such toxic puss.

Writing C.:     Thou will’st, thou must’st; thou canst do it, I knowst.

Will S.           'I knowst?’ Base varlet, why, thy grammar’s toast.

Hastertus:       Stop bickering, you two, like man and wife.
                      For me this is the best role of my life.
                      Just let the play go on; I want to shine.

Delayus:         Me too, forsooth, my role's e'en yet more fine.
                      You two, like hissing pussies, interpose
                      Your petty quarrels. We will you depose.

Will S.            Shut up, you fools! I am the great decider;
                      I'll boot you out ere snide remarks get snider.
                      O writing coach, our actors now rebel;
                      I'm quitting, zounds, so let them go to hell.

Writing C.:      O Will, sweet Will, please stay, please stay the course;
                      In writing plays, thou'rt nature's greatest force.

Hastertus:      Yes, stay on, Billy; let me say my lines.

Delayus:         Me too. I need the cash to pay my fines.

Writing C.:      He doth, sweet Will; he's gone and done some wrong
                      And Abramoff now sings th' canary's song.

Delayus:         In all the realm there is no finer toff
                      Than mighty billionaire Jack Abramoff,
                      Who for my golfing trips abroad doth pay,
                      And I the green light give and say okay
                      To all his clients' gambling interests,
                      Thus swelling all th' casinos' treasure chests
                      Of Injuns, pale faces. I offset
                      The threat from gambling on the internet,
                      By blocking actions, bills within the House.
                      And he affords much ducats for my spouse
                      For no-show jobs, and for my noble daughter
                      Likewise more glinting ducats than he oughta,
                      That I should ban the web-based competition.
                      Did this in Tom Delayus seem ambition?

Will S.:           Stop! Stop! Thou jump'st ahead, foul bunch-backed spider,
                      The pages gummed together, thou leap'st wider
                      To scenes and acts ahead, nor is it thine
                      To parrot that  renowned iconic line.

Delayus:          Oops! So I did; my bubble-gum did glide
                       From mouth to play and glue the text inside
                       Unto act three scene two.                          

Will S.                                                   Enow! I quit!
                       O writing coach, I thank thee for thy wit,
                       In teaching me new slang like toff, putz, schmuck,
                       But I must go forthwith. I wish the luck.
                       Thou wouldst that I do take the Caesar’s gold
                       And turn it into dross, as if I’d sold
                       My soul unto the devil, say white’s black
                       And black is white, a bard no more; a hack!
                       How can a tale of woe, of noble grief
                       Be changed to talk of Bush? I would as lief
                       Return unto my grave, for e’er around
                       To turn, ere I had left that sodden ground.
                       How could I thus abuse, pervert my verse!

Writing C.:      Why, Hollywood each day doth do much worse
                      In bringing to the screen true facts from life
                      In which no fact, with falsities so rife,
                      No single fact, not even one, doth hew
                      To anything that’s even halfway true.
                      And when they take a book to represent
                      Upon the silver screen, not one event
                      Doth represent the book writer’s intent.
                      Gone with the wind, my friend? The wind gone went.

Will S.            Well, since I’ve left rotating in my grave
                      To come once more upon the stage, a slave
                      To chronicling the foibles, flams and flims
                      Of humankind, I will indulge thy whims,
                      Since I did rent thee t’ keep me up to date
                      On all that’s new, the slang, the utmost late
                      Of latest trends, pop culture, all I’ll need
                      For fanciful allusions in each screed.
                      But still the doubts beset my own sweet self
                      About true adaptation.

Writing C.:                                            From the shelf,
                      As I have told thee, Hollywood a book
                      Doth take to turn to film without a look
                      At what the substance says; so must thou now
                      Adapt Caesar anew without a bow
                      To the original. An Oscar too
                      Will be thy great reward the less it’s true.

Hastertus:        Please, please, O Billy, let's get on with th' play

Delayus:          Yes, please dear Bill, please let me have my say.

Will S.            These whoresons vile, I'll let them all proceed
                       But why the Tumms and sponsors do we need?

Writing C.:       If thou want’st backing for thy plays, my liege,
                       Then let the adman's message thee besiege!

Will S.             We need the ducats, yes, but choose a time
                        For ads that do not interrupt our prime.
                        Now on great Julie's world we ring the knell
                        And transform all into the Bushie hell.              

              Exeunt omnes in different directions singing America the Beautiful  

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