Tuesday, October 26, 2010

19 - The Tragedy of Bushius Caesar Act 5 Scene 5

                              Enter Cheneyus, Scooterus and sundry hangers-on

Cheneyus:         Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock.
[he sits down]    My fate forsooth ticked by another clock
                        Than I foresaw. Yet no! I must be right!

Scooterus:        You would have fiction put the facts to flight?
                        E’en now you would persist in your delusion
                        And garb in clothes of fact your grand illusion.
                        The senate will impeach thee, thou art out
                        As Veep, as Prez. McCainus hath the clout.
                        We’ve lost! Finito! Done for! We’re kaput!
                        Get that into your nut, you nutty nut!
Cheneyus:        Untrue! Thou liest, foul Qaeda-lover!

Scooterus:        Get real and see the truth, you stupid muvver…

Cheneyus:         But no, we must have won, I’m always right.

Scooterus:        As right as night is day and day is night!

Cheneyus:        O, my offence is rank it smells to heaven.
                                            Alarums, excursions. Enter sponsor 2

Sponsor 2:       Buy Arrid Dry at thy Seven Eleven!
                       Stops odours under arm and wetness too;
                       On earth and e’en in heaven, fear no poo.

                                              Exit sponsor 2

Will S.:            Stop, stop, thou blith’ring fool, that is wrong play!
                       Once more into Hambush do they now stray.

Cheneyus:       Could I be wrong? First Scootie, and now Will
                       Do fault me. Scootie’s crazed, and Will’s a pill.
                       I’m always right! And day is night! So there!
                       Let neither them nor facts nor what’s what dare
                       To contradict me. Aaagh! What’s that? My heart!
                       My poxing pacemaker forgot to start.
                       My Guidant’s skipped a beat, its circuit short.
                       I cannot breathe, my breastbone doth feel taught.
                       And now another miss! That effing Guidant!
                       Three more! A sixth. A ninth. My breath is strident.
                       My head doth swim, my throat doth choke, mine eyes
                       Do cloud. Thus is it that great Chenie dies?
                                                            Cheneyus falls
                              Alarum. Enter McCainus, Georgie P. and hangers-on

Georgie P.      What man is that?

McCainus:                                    Why, that’s the Chenie prone.
                        Ha ha! Thus doth he lie upon cold stone.                              
                        My talk is straight but not the Guidant’s circuit.
                        It tripped his heart. And Hastie’s, it will jerk it.
                        For thus my plan progresses, fortune-kissed.
                        Look how he lays there stilled, mouth all a-twist.
                                       Alarums, excursions. Enter sponsor 1

Sponsor 1:        He was the noblest snowman of them all.
                        Forever was he at our beck and call.
                        At Halliburton, while he was the Veep,           
                        We filled our pockets full and wide and deep.
                        For oil policy he was our guest,
                        His pol’cy team all picked at our behest
                        From industry alone. Our interest
                        He guarded jealously. It was the best
                        Of times. And no-bid contracts in Eye-rak   
                        Did put our earnings into blackest black,
                        Secured and guaranteed, he at our back,
                        Ensuring lucre’s wind proffered no slack.
                        Good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing
                        Thee to thy rest!
                                                             Exit sponsor 1

Will S.:                                        What is this Hambush thing
                        That they here do purloin as in a daze
                        And intermingle verses from wrong plays!

                                     Alarums, excursions, sennet. Enter Hastertus

Hastertus:         Chenie is gone. I'm in, I am the Prez.
                         Hand me my topper, crown, whate'er, my fez.
                         As Speaker of the House I'm next in line.
                         I'm C-in-C now that th' White House is mine.
                         The Senate names thee, Anus, as new Veep 
                         My heir apparent. Arghhh! What is that beep?
                         My heart doth pitter patter muchly fast,
                         It races, bursts, explodes. I breathe my last,
                         Short-circuited. Thus doth poor Hastie sink.

McCainus:         Tee hee, I slipped a Guidant in his drink. 
                         At last, as Prez I cross the White House portal.
                         Sing Hail to the Chief - that's me - immortal.                        
                          Alarums, excursions, sennet. Enter Caesar to swelling
                                                            strains from Götterdämmerung

Georgie P.:       The Kenny Bushie Caesar lives ag’in!
McCainus:        The leaker-'n-chief has leaked, 'sblood, right back in.
                         'Tis Bushie, zounds, no ghost, no phantom shade,
                         But flesh and blood he rains on my parade. 

Caesar:             Hello! You’re right! It’s me! I’m back! Tra-la!
                        Now come and listen all, from near and far!
                        You say bells resonate. I say they resignate.
                        You say commensurate, I say commiserate,
                        With keeping peace. You say at the drop of a hat;
                        At the whim of a hat, say I. Not only that:
                        You say relations are, I say relations is.
                        And that is just for starters. Deal with it, gee wiz!
                        I say thus hold hostile when you say hold hostage,
                        And human fallacy, when frailty’s the adage.
                        I said accept their tenants, when tenets ‘s what I meant...
                        Well, language after all’s just begging to be bent.
                        I said that I got pillared, instead of pilloried
                        In cartoons and the press. You think that Hillary’d
                        Do all that better? Then think all the fun you’d miss.
                        Who else would say OB/GYNs aren’t able – take the piss –
                        To practice love with women - and many, many more?
                        I’ll think up new ones, too – lockbox becomes lockjaw;
                        From pleasantry one letter leads to peasantry,
                        To mourn becomes to moon, dissenters dysent’ry;
                        For hissy fit there’s fishy shit. Fudruckers? Guess!
                        The English tongue, you think that I have made a mess?
                        To Grecian I’ll do worse. All grammar I’ll reset:
                        The level are, the children is… You ain’t seen nuttin’ yet.
Vox populi:        No child left behind? King of illit’racy,
                        Thyself thou’rt way behind, boil-brained pox populi.

Caesar:             Nor does it stop at words, my actions speak more loud
Grammarian:     That’s louder!

Caesar:                                 Hopefuller, you said, is not allowed.

Grammarian:      That is more hopeful there.

Caesar:                                                         You stab me in the back.
                         But let us to the facts now go! Look at Eye-rak!   
                         Top C-in-C am I, and wars I do collect.
                         No WMDs? Ten million I detect.
                        There are no toxic arms? I conjure up galore
                         Hyped data, lies, half truths, myths, all to go to war.
                         For alpha male am I, fulltime war president;
                         For battles, clashes, fighting I’m incontinent.

Vox populi:        Yet when way back he could, he never dared to fight,          
                         Lily-livered, from Nam to Texas he took flight.
                         And thence to Alabama, AWOL, did he flee,   
                         That chicken-hearted codpiece, foul pox populi.

Caesar:              Let my axis ‘f anvil tenfold expanded be

Wordsmith:        That’s evil, cockered clown!

Caesar:                                                         From sea to shining sea,
                          Till all the world's a stage…

Will S.:                                                           That’s As You Like It, knave!
                          World? Stage? Not e’en in sandlot couldst thou e'er be brave .

Caesar:               From North Korea, Iran to France and Germany
                          My evil anvil…

Wordsmith:                               Axis, codpiece!

Caesar:                                                                          Italy
                          Embrace I in my axis, and Australia,
                          Japan, Tajikistan, Outer Mongolia,       
                          Siam; and from Brazil I’ll march on to Tibet.
                          Thought’st Eye-rak was the last? You ain’t seen nuttin’ yet.

Vox populi:        This saber-rattling dastard now just wants to be
                         What he did fear when young, milksop pox populi.

Caesar:              And talking evil anvils, evil…

Wordsmith:                                                              Axis, cow!

Caesar:             Move on that I can show you on the taxes how
                        I’ll ease the wealthies’ burden, all their taxes cut,
                        Reward the one per cent with fattened coffers’ glut. 
                        Death tax, capital gains, soon will I end them all
                        To shower the affluent with opulent windfall.
                        And how can I afford to grant them all that loot?
                        Food stamps and Medicaid, the poor man’s cup to boot,
                        I’ll slash and burn and mow and slice and strip and cleave,       
                        Till not a single cent for them will I, zounds, leave.
                        Slash, burn, mow, carve to gut the social safety net!
                        Thought’st tax cuts were the last? You ain’t seen nuttin’ yet.

Vox populi:        More gruel, said Oliver in Dickens’ history,
                         But less than Twist we’ll get from our pox populi.  

Caesar:             They whine and whinge and moan at yawning deficit?
                         Yawn on, in hissy fit! Or is that fishy shit?
                         I’ll spend on tax cuts all; in that no one outbids
                         My generosity; the gap’s for our grandkids.
                         I’ll ope the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge                             
                         For energy, for Halliburton’s profits huge.
                         Nor there I’ll stop, my friends in industry, fear not!
                         I’ll smite at Yellowbone…

Wordsmith:                                                     That’s Yellowstone, you clot!
                         E’en national parks in word and deed you rape!

Caesar:                                                                                        …to find
                         More oil and minerals. Our land is under-mined.
                         I’ll ope Yocemet’ry..      

Wordsmith:                                           Clotpole! Yosemite!

Caesar:             For oil, gold, timber, too. It’s no calamity
                        As toxic greens do claim. And that’s just on-land digs.
                        Offshore I’ll go to war and seed a billion rigs
                        In pure Pacific waters, Gulf of Texaco.

Wordsmith:      Thou maggot-pie, malt-worm! ‘Tis Gulf of Mexico.

Caesar:            Greenhouse gas heats the earth and warms the seas? Hey man,
                       That way we use less energy to get a tan.
                       But climate change they cite as clear and present threat?
                       I’ve barely started, friends. You ain’t seen nuttin’ yet.

Vox populi:      With him there’ll ne’er survive a single poxing tree,
                       All felled by brutish mammering pox populi.

Caesar:           On th’ home front I stand guard, e’er ready to protect
                      With Brownie’s FEMA’s legions, free from all defect,
                      Homeland Security’s hosts ready to rush in
                      At th’ whim ‘f a hat yet one more victory to win,
                      As with Katrina in New Orleans fair town
                      Thanks to my fast response and heck-‘f-a-job Mike Brown.
                      Maligned were we, defamed by evil media,
                      Yet no response since Noah’s time was speedier.
                      I, chief responder, asked ‘Now what would Jesus do?’
                      He’d walk upon the waters! Let them walk there, too!
                      They sink? ‘Tis not our fault, ‘tis ‘cause they do lack faith.
                      They gripe? Then let him cast th’ first bone as Jesus say’th…

Wordsmith:     ‘Tis stone, not bone, clack-dish, coxcomb, bonehead of stone!

Caesar:           Thus with our fast response we have naught to atone. 
                       Why should I let Katrina’s waters interrupt,
                       Or terrorist attacks, expected or abrupt,
                       Encroach upon my reading of that Goat my Pet.
                       Just wait, next hurr’cane seas’n! You ain’t seen nuttin’ yet.

Vox populi:      O mercy, gods, we beg! Will we ne’er e'er be free
                       From knotty-pated, swag-bellied pox populi.  
                                                        Exeunt omnes, dancing a square dance   

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