Sunday, September 12, 2010

5 - The Tragedy of Bushius Caesar Act 2 Scene 1

                               Enter Cheneyus in his orchard

Cheneyus:         What, Scoot’rus, ho! – I sleep not in this storm
                         My mind doth ponder wiles so multiform

Scooterus:         Called you, my lord?    

Cheneyus:                                         Indeed, I toss and turn,
                         My brain doth itch, my upper thighs do burn…
                                   Alarums, excursions. Enter sponsor 2

Sponsor 2:          With itches, scratch not! Monistat the beast
                          Will vanquish, o’ercoming vaginal yeast.
                          Please note, with all our pharmaceuticals
                          Our ads contain a few express sequels:
                          The side effects - said fast and under breath -
                          Madness include, Tourette’s, and even death.

                                               Exit sponsor 2

Cheneyus:           The itch is in the brain. Should I inhale
                          That Monistat to cure what doth me ail?
Vox populi:         There’s nought to staunch his mind’s noxious discharges
                          That more than fill ten New York garbage barges.

Will S.:               Methinks I’ve been kidnapped in my own play
                          By sponsors, actors' booboos; out ‘f my way!
                          When I did sign the contract but of late
                          You said it was but merely to update.

Writing C.            Sweet Will, dear Will, be patient, do forbear,
                           For ‘tis our way now; they are everywhere,
                           The running comment’ry pundits, the press;
                           The admen are our minutemen – a mess;
                           And industry and lobbyists buy Congress
                           And money trumps all else, I do confess,
                           E’en art.

Cheneyus:                          As I was saying, thus my brain,
                           O Scooterus, strives might’ly to explain
                           The scope of Rummie’s words and his intent:
                           Will he unfurl his schemes to full extent?
                                [A loud knock breaks through the thunder]

                           Who’s at the gate? Go see!
                                          Exit Scooterus
                                                                  Ah me!
                              Re-enter Scooterus with pile of papers in hand

Scooterus:                                                                ‘Tis she
                           Our very own Tempesta called, that we
                           Might see the latest polls and focus groups;
                           The ebb and flow of people’s views and
                                                          Gestures expansively

                                 He stoops to gather up the papers he’s just sent flying
                           They’re here, my lord.

Cheneyus:                                               Now let me see! ‘Tis clear
                           Unanimously they my person cheer:
                          ‘Chenie, thou sleep’st. Awake, and see thyself!
                          ‘Amidst this mess thou stay’st upon the shelf?
                          ‘Awake! Stand up! Speak out! Strike forth! Redress!’
                           And thus my person do they all address.
                                   [Another loud knock].  Exit Scooterus

                           Since Rummie first did whet my brain ‘gainst Caesar
                           I’ve struggled day and night with this brain-teaser,
                           To stay myself, or else to clip his wings
                           With action in the Congress? For his strings
                           No longer can I pull as was my wont,
                           For in his prideful mind a larger font
                           Sees he, no longer my obedient puppet
                           But more and more a headstrong uppity muppet.
                           He even dares to think he’s president,
                           Not just my White House dummy resident.
                                                Enter Scooterus

Scooterus:          Sir, ‘tis your brother Rummie at the door,           
                          Ashcroftus, too, and half a dozen more. 

                                   Enter the conspirators

Rummeus:          Good morrow, Chenie, do we trouble you?

Cheneyus:          You are as welcome as the morning dew.
                          What watchful cares do interpose themselves
                          Betwixt your eyes and night?

Rummeus:                                                    Betwixt ourselves
                          Let us now speak.
                                Cheneyus and Rummeus huddle

Ashcroftus:                                 At last the dawn doth dare
                          To break.

Nortona:                          Then I must chastely coif my hair
                          To look my best today.

Ashcroftus:                                        But sweet Tempesta,
                          Amore mio, you always look-a de best-a.

Nortona:             But why the funny accent, enamorato?

Ashcroftus:         A trick once taught me by Alfonse D’Amato
                          Who mocked Judge Ito with his China-speak.

                                                              [Ruckus in the wings]

Writing C.           Gadzooks! What’s happening, Will? No longer meek,
                          The characters do text forsake, and spoil,
                          Bedirty, sully, slime, befoul and soil
                          Thy words divine with drivel of their own.
                          Control them!

Will S.:                                    That I try, but overblown
                        With their own wind, forsooth, like Frankenstein
                        They blunder on a path that is not mine.
                        Now, Come on, boys! Boys? Gal?
                                Cheneyus and Rummeus un-scrum

Cheneyus:                                                            Then be it so
                        And I will follow thee as heel to toe.

Rummeus:        Good golly, is it not as toe to heel,
                        Or else we backward march, not on, I feel?
Cheneyus:        Whatever! Thou hast won me to thine ends.
                        Caesar must bleed for it. And, gentle friends,
                        Let’s kill him boldly…

Writing C.                                          ‘Sdeath,Will, stop the clock!
                        Hast thou forgot, thy good sense run amok?

Cheneyus:        Let’s carve him as a dish fit for the gods,
Writing C.         Will! FBI! Hush! Quiet!  Bodkins odds!

Cheneyus:        Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds.

Writing C.         Please, please, dear Will, thy quill is tapped. Gad! Zounds!
                        Remember? Gitmo! Death verboten! Please!

Will S.:             A-napping deep, upcatching on my zees,
                        Was I. Forgive me!

Writing C.                                     So, not kill, impeach!

Will S.:              Ay, that Will will, as fair as any peach.

Nortona:            Like my complexion, pure as peach and cream.

Ashcroftus:        Oh poor Tempesta, dream! Dream on! On dream!

Will S.:              Boys! Gal! No fighting! Get on with the play!
Rummeus:          O Chenie, do explain that sneaky way
                         Thou speakest from the corner of thy mouth.

Cheneyus:          Whenever I send matters going south
                          - Which, by the way, I’m doing all the time -
                          I droop my lip as though I’m spewing slime.
                          Thus doth the corner at the left decline.

Rummeus:          I love it, Chenie, suits you mighty fine.

Cheneyus:          Now hear how I’ll advance our sneaky plot
                          I’ll leak the lies, the ploys, the whole damn lot
                         That wagged our dog to war into Eye-rak,
                         How Caesar lied, misled, turned white to black,
                         The WMDs that all along
                         He knew existed not, the whole damn song
                         About Saddam’s Osama link – Chrissake! –
                         And all that phoney Niger yellowcake.
                         ‘Tis true I pushed for war and cheered it on,
                         But that was as a stalwart neocon.
                         Then Rovius urged, too, Saddam’s ejection
                         So as to win the forthcoming election,
                         But Junior had but one goal in his mind,
                         That his testosterone not lag behind, 
                         That it be proven loud and clear and strong
                         That he possess by far a mightier dong
                         Than does his Poppy. Bush one ne'er did get
                         To Baghdad, fearsome as a virgin; yet
                          Full thither did the son through deserts toil.
                                    Alarums, excursions. Enter sponsor 1

Sponsor 1:         Did I hear virgin? Use our virgin oil
                         From finest Halliburton olives.
                                                       Exit sponsor 1

Writing C.                                                           Zeus!
                         The ads leave to the admen, Will! The juice
                         Of olives ‘tis not, as ‘twas in thy day,
                         But oil that sends our cars upon their way.

Will S.:             And oils the wheels of government to boot
                        For no-bid contract monkeyshines afoot?

Cheneyus:         Go fuck yourself! How dare you, Will! My firm,
                         I mean my ex-firm’s virgin pure.

Will S.:                                                             That term
                         How durst you use to me! I am not Leahy!

Writing C.          Boys, boys! Enough now! Stop, I do beseech ye!
                         That Leahy fornication I did tell thee
                         To show thee, Will, the lengths to which our Cheney
                         Will go, the murky depths his foes to skewer
                         With rankest idioms straight from Rome's worst sewer,
                         As he did use within the Senate walls
                         That day against poor Leahy.

Cheneyus:                                                        Ouch! My balls!

Writing C.:          Will, stop! Kick him no more, Will! Will! Our play
                          Metastesises, zounds; in ev'ry way
                          Our actors full assume the temperament,
                          The heart, the life, the mind, the soul, the bent 
                          Of each persona they portray, a cast
                          No more but true life figures. And as fast
                          As they do change thou changest, taking part,
                          No more a playwright practicing thine art,
                          Protagonist now, thou art beating hard
                          The whoreson Cheney. Turn back, be the bard
                          Once more.

Cheneyus:                             Help, help! My nose! My heart! My scrotum!
                           My jewels!
Will S.:                                  Thy balls, thou'lt have no sack to tote 'em
                           Ere I have finished thee, thou reprobate.
                           How durst thou tell me t' auto-fornicate!

Writing C.:           Will, Will, as playwright reassume thy role,
                           And leave the stage, lest life-destroying toll
                           Our play doth suffer; let us now proceed
                           E'en if, beyond control, our cast not heed
                           Their lines, their roles.

Cheneyus:                                            Ow! Ouch!

Will S.:                                                                   I'll tear thy cod
                           From off thy bod, thou clay-brained whoreson sod.
                          Thou'lt have no cod for codpiece e'er to cover,
                          Thou knotty-pated mother-effing muvver.
                          You see, o coach, how well I've learned new slangs
                          That you did well apprise me from street gangs.

Writing C.:           Indeed you did, o noblest of the bards,
                           But please let Cheney be. The play's cue cards
                           Hand out once more, and let us now resume
                           Our Bushie play ere night doth day consume.  

Will S.:                OK, I cease. 

Cheneyus:           [Limping, groping his crotch] Thus, Rummie, will I leak
                          Impeachable offences grim and bleak.
                          And as my agent, noble Scooterus -
                          For never finer man from uterus
                          Of woman sprang than he – both far and wide
                          Will leak this hottest news as some aside
                          To hungry press sharks.

Rummeus:                                           Chenie, you’re the man!
                          To sink lower than thee no other can.

Vox populi:         The dirty rotten scoundrels, how I love
                          When, marry, twixt themselves they off the glove.    
                                                        [Clock strikes]

Cheneyus:           Peace, count the clock.

Rummeus:                                           The blessed clock hath stricken


Nortona:                     Time to part post haste.

                                                           Exit Nortona

Cheneyus:                                                   Our plot doth thicken.

Cheneyus:          The sufferance of our souls...

Rummeus:                                                       Arseholes?

Cheneyus:                                                                          I fear
                          You need a hearing aid.
                                                        Alarums, excursions. Enter sponsor 2

Spnosor 2:                                            For your deaf ear
                          Do use Resound! Hear clearer than a bell!
                                                        Exit sponsor 2

Rummeus:          Arseholes?

Cheneyus:                           You lost my train of thought.

Rummeus:                                                                       That’s swell!
                                      Exit Rummeus, tap dancing. Enter Lynna

Lynna:               O Cheneyus, my lord, you left our bed,
                         Now come, o sex god, come and lay your head
                         Divine and beauteous full upon our pillow,
                         More comely art thou than divine Apollo.

Cheneyus:         O Lynna, thou dost fire up my loins.
                         To bed, ‘struth, my libido now enjoins.
                            [Thunder. Lighting].

                              Cheneyus lifts up Lynna in his arms and trips over the threshold. 

No comments:

Post a Comment