Sunday, October 17, 2010

14 - The Tragedy of Bushius Caesar Act 4 Scene 3

                       Cheneyus and Rummeus within Powwow Tent
Rummeus:          That you have wronged me doth appear this way,
                          That from our side you strike out Tom DeLay.

Cheneyus:          You wronged yourself to write in his support
                          When he is bound apace for fed’ral court.
                          It matters not that he did crim’nal wrong
                          If it stays hidden, not in public song,
                          Bruited about, as now with Abramoff.
                          In fact for goodly covert crimes hats off!
                          I’m all for that; a good Republican
                          Knows better, ‘struth, than any other man
                          That crime’s no crime, forsooth, if it remains
                          Hush-hush, hid, dark, without public’ty’s stains.
                          Just let me tell you, Rummie, you yourself
                          (Not whispered soft by some fictitious elf)
                          Are much condemned to have an itching palm,
                          To sell and mart - you’re called the golden arm -
                          To underservers.

Rummeus:                                      I an itching palm?
                          How durst thou thus to scratch my itch!
                                  Alarums, excursions. Enter sponsor 2

Sponsor 2:                                                                     Use balm!                              
                         Rub not! Scratch not! Thy jock itch we can cure,
                         With Mycatin thy crural comfort’s sure.

                                          Fresh alarums, excursions

                         We equal opportunity fulfill
                         For itching feminines use Vagisil!
                         Cools instantly; stops burning, irritation;
                         Becalms at once with fast alleviation.
                                                   Exit sponsor 2

Rummeus:         The golden arm? Why, thou with Halliburton
                         For giant profit-gouging raised the curtain
                         In Eye-rak with no bids, and over-chargin’
                         One hundred-fold they multiplied their margin. 
                         On oil, too, you let them write the rules;
                         Ill-gotten gains fore’er till Hades cools
                         Will they now reap.

Cheneyus:                                          But that behind closed doors
                          I did, not on the House and Senate floors.
                          To take thy phrasing, ‘tis the known unknowns
                          O’er which our enemies would fain pick bones,
                          When known unknowns transform themselves to knowns;
                          Or rather unknown knowns leave undertones
                          ‘Pon which the hateful media megaphones
                          Can zero in. Likewise, the shown unshowns,
                          When shown unshowns transform themselves to showns,
                          Will overwhelm our plans with groans and moans
                          And thus constrain…

Rummeus:                                              Zounds, ‘sblood, I understood
                          My phrase once, but now cannot see the wood
                          For all the known unknown trees that you plant
                          To obfuscate my plain speaking’s clear chant.

Cheneyus:          The secrecy ‘tis, stupid, not the fact,
                          That, now no longer secret, harms our pact
                          That struck the foremost man of all this world.
                          Thus doomed by snares of Abramoff unfurled,                                      
                           Do not defend DeLay, that hot potato,
                           E’en if beloved by Institute named Cato.

Rummeus:           Don’t call me stupid. I will run you through.

Cheneyus:           Dost think, ‘cause I had better things to do
                          Than serve in army that you make me quake?

Rummeus:          At least I served in th’ navy, goodness sake,
                          If long ago.

Cheneyus:                           Thinkst thou’rt the better soldier?

Rummeus:           I never better said, but I am oldier.

Cheneyus:           But, Rummie, we cannot enlist DeLay.
                          Fine deeds, once covert, in the light of day
                          Lose fineness, alchemised to crime by leaks.                                                
                                   Alarums, excursions sennet,. Enter Caesar

Caesar:              Did I hear leaks? Leaker-in-Chief now speaks.
                          For who, think ye, did leak top secret sleaze
                          On non-existent WMDs?

Cheneyus:           He’s back! The Bushie Caesar lives again!
                          ‘Twas not illusion; ‘tis a real-time bane.

Rummeus:          It’s like that ghastly Kenny in South Park.

Cheneyus:          What’s that?

Rummeus:                         A TV show I watch, a lark,
                         Something in common with the troops to prate
                         In lieu of body armour sent too late
                         By me to Eye-rak. Then I smoked…

Cheneyus:                                                                Your point?
Rummeus:         To more relate to them I smoked a joint.

Cheneyus:         The Kenny point!

Rummeus:                                  Ah, yes! Each week they kill
                         Him off, each time they shout and yell at will
                        ‘Oh my God! They killed Kenny! You bastards!’
                         Yet ev'ry time he's there, upon the mastheads;
                         Each week he’s back, unscathed, tra-la, alive

Caesar:             O do go on some more! I love this jive

Cheneyus:         What shall we do?

Rummeus:                                     What shall we do?

Will S.:                                                                      Oi Vey!
                         Ay me, can I ne’er e’er sweep him away?
                         Yet in this scene I did give him a post,
                         To come back later, not now, as a ghost.
                         Will no one rid me of this meddlesome priest?

Writing C.          O dear, you’ve slipped a gear in this fine feast
                         Of verse, for Bushie is no priest; a knave
                         Is he, a bungler and a dolt most grave;
                         But you have leap-frogged from the days of yore
                         To Becket film of 1964.
                         But do not take this meddling fool so hard,
                         I have that anti-Bushie plan, O Bard:
                         Cry ‘Havoc!’ Yet again let slip my hounds.
                         O Grammar-meister! Move your arse now! Zounds!
                         You too, Wordsmithy, move now!
                                       Ruckus, screams, shouts. Exit Caesar, limping

Cheneyus:                                                              He is gone.
                         Our Kenny’s crossed another Rubicon.

Rummeus:         Could it have been, or did it just so seem?
                                         Alarums, excursions, sennet,. Enter Caesar

Caesar:             Our nation now finds hope, where wings take dream…

Cheneyus:         O Gawd! I recognize that misspeak there.

Rummeus:         Me too! Good golly! Golly! What a scare!

Will S.:              Our play’s hijacker’s back, turning to farce
                         Our finest verses. Coach, go kick his arse!

Caesar:             Indeed I'm back to swagger, smirk and boast.
                         You thought, O Will, to downgrade me to ghost?
                         Poor Willy! There is nought that I can't fix.
                         I crossed the Rubicon, now 'cross the Styx
                         I sail triumphant.

Will S.:                                        Writing coach, avaunt!
                         Grammarian! Wordsmith! repay the taunt!
                                 Ruckus, screams, shouts. Exit Caesar, limping

Cheneyus:          These inauspicious come-backs by the Bush,
                         McCainus too now on his way, do push
                         Us that in our relation’s wid’ning tear
                         The shredding rents and breaches we repair
                                        Alarums, excursions. Enter sponsor 1

Sponsor 1:        Repairs? And rents? And tears? Oil fires? All
                        We do. For us no order is too tall,
                        At Halliburton’s KBR offshoot,
                        With no-bid contracts we pull in the loot.
                                                              Exit sponsor 1

Cheneyus:          But Rummie, please, let’s drop DeLay the Hammer.

Rummeus:          So be it, then! Let’s put him in the slammer!

Cheneyus:          There is a slide in the affairs of men…

Will S.:              O who! O what! O how! O why! O when!
                         One noble quote I give him, one alone,
                         And yet he mangles it, turns gold to stone.
                         A single line to Brutus Chenie thus,
                         And twisty-cornered mouth turns it to puss.
                         So noxious is the Bushie tongue’s bird flu
                         That it infects the whole damned effing crew,
                         No more! No more! I quit! I quit! I quit!

Writing C.         O do not quit me! I will deal with it.

                                            [Ruckus, screams, shouts]

Cheneyus:         Ouch! Ooh! My ear! He stuck me with a pen.
                        What? Oh! …a tide in the affairs of men
                        Which taken at the flood leads on to fortune…

Rummeus:         ‘Tis late. Let us retire, I thee importune.

Cheneyus:          O, Scooterus!
                                                    Enter Scooterus in hair curlers

                                                My gown.
                                                                  Exit Scooterus
                                                                Rummie, good night
                          And good repose!

Rummeus:                                       May ne’er again such fight
                          Come ‘twixt our souls.
Cheneyus:                                            Arseholes? 

Rummeus:                                                            You stole my schtick!
                          Act two scene one I cracked that, Chenie Dick!                                                   

                                               Enter Scooterus with gown and blow up doll
                          Now with our souls let’s swear the faith to keep.       
                          Good golly! Ouch!
                                                  Exit Rummeus, stumbling over his toga hem

Cheneyus:                                        O Scoot, thou seemst asleep.
                          Poor knave, I blame thee not; thou art o’erwatched
                          E’er since old Caesar’s leaks thou went’st and botched.
                          Where’s thy guitar?

Scooterus:                                       I left it in the aisle.

Cheneyus:          Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile
                          And touch thy instrument a strain or two?
                                           Scooterus plays rockaby baby

                          Thus I the Eye-rak bungle do eschew
                          With song and dance to soothe…

                          Scooterus falls asleep. Enter the ghost of Caesar
                                                                         Ha, who comes here,
                          That mak'st my blood cold and my hair to rear?
                          Speak to me what thou art?

Ghost:                                                          Thy evil axis

Will S.:               Ay me! Beyond oi vey is axis, schmaxis!

Cheneyus:          Ay me! ‘tis Rummie’s Kenny Bushie Caesar

Will S.:              E’en as a ghost he flubs. Cancel his visa!

Ghost:               A ghost? I thought ‘a goat’ as in that book
                         I read on 9/11 when that crook
                         Osama tried Pet Goat to interrupt
                         With sneak attack so vile and abrupt.
                         I did not let him, though; kept reading on
                         And on… and on… and on… and on… and on,
                         Until by time Katrina’s cyclone blew
                         I had at last made it to chapter two.
                         Not even then would I brook interruption
                         And kept on reading through all that destruction.
                         I love so My Pet Goat!

Will S.:                                                 I cannot take
                         A moment more this charlatan, this fake.

Cheneyus:         The Kenny Bushie Caesar doth reprise
                         His never-ending comeback-kid surprise.

Will S.:             Axis ’tis not, you schmuck! ‘Tis spirist written
                        Full clear. Coach hit him, leave him sorely smitten!
                                           [scuffle, sound of blows, screams]

Ghost:              Ooh! Ow! My knackers! Ouch! Alright! I cede.
                        Do cease already! Th’ written text I heed.
                        Thy evil spirit, Chenie.

Cheneyus:                                             Why com’st nigh?

Ghost:              To tell thee thou shalt see me at Popeye.

Will S.:             Popeye? You dunderheaded fool!                       
                                                             Breaks down in sobs
                                                                            Boo hoo!
                        This is the most unkindest cut. Et tu,
                         Most brutish ghost! ‘Tis Philippi I wrote,
                         Where doth McCainus sink Cheneyus’ boat.

                           The ghost throws off his bed sheet and exposes himself 
 Caesar:             I fooled you once, I fooled you twice; 'tis me
                         The Bushie Caesar, flesh and blood, tee hee.
                          What ghost indeed could ever take my name
                          Usurp my powers! 'Tis on thee the shame.
                          O fool me once and 'tis on thee...

Will S.:                                                                   Coach! Coach!
                          Come fast, post haste, with all thy tools approach!
                          Advance, o Grammar-meister! Charge, Wordsmith!
                          With all your members beat him to a pith!                                             
                               Ruckus, screams, shouts. Exit Caesar on all fours, dragging bed sheet and baying

Cheneyus:         Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest.
                         Ill spirit…
                                    Alarums, excursions. Enter sponsor 2 with dancing troupe

Sponsor 2:                      Pesky spots? Zits! Look your best
                         With Clearasil’s most bestest vanishing cream.

Will S.:              The admen, too, mock me!

Cheneyus:                                               My wings take dream,
                         To use a Bushie phrase. I’ll rule supreme.
                                   He turns to sponsor’s dancing troupe

                         Come boys and gals, come join the winning team!

                    Exit Cheneyus, dancing the Gay Gordons with the sponsor’s chorus line

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