Alarums. Tumult. Ruckus. Shattering of plates. Trumpets strike up Hail to the
Chief. Enter Caesar, Laura, Roveus, Cheneyus, Lynna, Scooterus, Rummeus,
Ashcroftus, a soothsayer
Caesar: Friends, fellow Americans, countrymen, lend me your ears!
Will S. O pox! The Bushie Caesar is fulfilling my worst fears
Not now, you twit! Nor thou! Thou jump’st the sword
With speech a tad untimely, twatty lord.
‘Tis not until Act three or four indeed,
So don’t fast-forward thus with undue speed.
Nor is it thine to speak, you bumbling fool
McCainus has this great rhetorical tool.
Vox populi: Nor is it ears he needs that we now lend,
But all our gold his deficits to end
Caesar: O oopsus! Poxus. Silly us, forsooth,
We do so love that speech and its fair truth,
That scarcely can we wait…
Cheneyus [aside]: We? Us? His mind
Deludes itself with grandeur of such kind
That e'en great Jove would don not.
[turning to Caesar] Welcome home,
My Lord, to this, thine own sweet personal Rome.
Caesar: And thou, O Rovie, hast thou now devised
A show to mask our lies with facts revised?
Stratagerem to back strategerie…
Wordsmith: ‘Sblood! Zounds! Our language suffers buggery.
The vilest butcher strikes again our tongue,
The serial murd’rer turns gold words to dung.
Caesar: A spectacle to stun with imagery?
The question is: is the Eye-raqis free?
Grammarian: ‘Tis plural, fool, ‘tis are, not is, ole mate!
Caesar: Whatever! Let a circus now elate
The beating hearts of our conserv’tive base.
Rovius: Indeed, it will, my lord, thy shining face
Upon the Lincoln, smirking in prime time,
In photo ops to beat the Demmy slime
In next year’s polls ads, under giant sign
‘Mission Accomplished!’ Let their hearts now pine!
And even more, with helmet of top gun,
Though Dad did fight in war but not the son,
Wilt thou appear the ult’mate alpha male.
And even though the Lincoln doth now sail
But yards from coast, the cam’ras we will train,
To justify your landing in a plane,
Far out to sea, e’en as we now delay
Its journey home so that you now can play
As superman.
Trumpet sennet
Caesar: Oh bully, Rovie, you’re,
Doing a heck ‘f a job, just give me more!
Set on and leave no ceremony out,
That gives my reelection added clout.
Renewed sennets
Rovius: Forsooth, I will. My devious mind doth toil…
Alarums, excursions. Enter sponsor 1
Sponsor 1: Did you say devious? Let us now talk oil.
With Halliburton's tasks, both small and large,
In Eye-rak none can beat our overcharge.
Prophets of profit are we, fully knowing
How to bulk up tenfold all that is owing.
Exit sponsor 1
Soothsayer: Caesar.
Caesar: Aha, who calls?
Rovius: A lowly seer.
Caesar: Cries Caesar? Speak! Caesar am turned to hear.
Grammarian: Odds bodkins! Here ‘tis is, not am, you fool.
Third person used for self follows that rule.
Soothsayer: Beware the Ides of March!
Caesar: Beware the brides?
Wordsmith: Oddsbodikins! A verbal woe betides!
He mangles even as he echoes words
And glorious lines transforms he into turds.
Caesar: What say’st thou to me now? Speak once again.
Soothsayer: Beware the ides, not brides, of March, birdbrain!
Rovius: Birdbrain say’th he? How dare he show such gall!
Caesar: All Gaul into three parts, without a wall,
Divided is - I wrote that - like Eye-rak
With Sunni, Shiite, Kurdies back to back.
Wordsmith: No, not that Gaul, but gall, you tin-eared fool!
That’s Gaul, but this is gall, you piece of stool!
Caesar: Then say it once again, full loud and clear!
Soothsayer: Of coming Ides of March do thou have fear!
Caesar: He is a dreamer. Let us leave him. Pass.
Sennet. Exeunt omnes line-dancing to the strains of Land
of Hope and Glory, except Cheneyus and Rummeus
Rummeus: And may it be he falleth on his arse!
Cheneyus: What say’st thou, Rummie? That he get the chop?
Flourish and shout
Writing C. Say not these word, I prithee Will! Stop, stop!
[panting] Thou knowest not that, even in a jest,
The FBI will fain make great arrest
Of thee, the Secret Service too? So joke
No deadly harm unto the Bushie bloke!
'Tis just as if at airport, just in fun,
Thou said'st: 'say guard, I have a bomb, a gun.'
For any word that could thus seem a threat,
Though jest or fiction, will with force be met.
Will S.: I knew not, no; for in the past I wrote
Of people further in the past of note,
Macbeth, Hamlet and Caesar One; so then
No fear of hurt or harm restrained my pen.
Writing C. Ah, Will, those were the days, but now be still!
For in his fever Bushie taps thy quill,
Without a warrant from the Court, forsooth;
For to the Constitution he’s uncouth.
Thus death must we redact out of the plot,
And daggers, too, stabs, gore, e’en mere blood clot.
Will S.: But, writing coach, how can I? My best lines
Come only when their beauty death defines.
‘O mighty Caesar, dost thou lie so low?’
Writing C. I know, my dear, it is a nasty blow.
But now revise the plot and try to scan…
Will S.: ‘Thou art the ruins of the noblest man
‘That ever lived in the tide of times…
Writing C. Out, out! That too must go, and all those rhymes.
Will S.: They rhymed not then, I told thee…
Writing C. Hold thy peace,
Lest even now his quill-tapping release
The FBI, that we regret our birth.
Will S.: ‘O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth!’
Writing C. O, pox! Repeat not that. E’en now I feel
The piercing deadly thrust of G-men’s steel.
Guantanamo awaits us if you write
Of daggers sturdy and of deadly blight.
Will S. But what assassination can replace?
Writing C. I have it. We can save our hide and face
If we replace manslaughter in each speech
With bloodless tranquiliser like impeach.
Thus Gitmo we avoid should he detect
By tapping thy blest quill. For us protect
The First amendment and its many clauses.
Will S. Alas, you give my play the menopauses.
But be it so. So let us now proceed.
Cheneyus: What means this shouting? Do we now indeed
Hear cheers e’en here from Lincoln’s deck unfurled?
Rummeus: Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus, and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs as in a den
Of lions, his huge legs…
Cheneyus: Eee-ew, how gross!
Rummeus: In truth, it makes me now indeed morose
That we cannot control him as we did
When first with judges’ nod past Gore he slid.
The fault, dear Cheney, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that sit we on our ars…
Why should that name be sounded more than yours,
Caesar than Cheney? Let it give us pause
For action now to stop his coronation
To cut him down.
Cheneyus: Mean'st thou assassination?
Flourishes and shouts; police sirens in the distance
Writing C. Oh, Will, sweet Will, remember what I said
[breathless] No stabs, no blood, no Caesar effing dead!
Just cut him down to size, or else we go
You, me, posthaste, pele-mele unto Gitmo.
In ev’ry speech, impeach, impeach, impeach!
‘Tis our last chance. I do thee now beseech.
Will S.: Ooops! Sorry, my mistake!
Cheneyus: …to clip his wings
In Congress, bloodless, with impeachy things?
Enter Caesar and his train
The games are done, and Caesar is returning
Rummeus: Like rotten food this gives me bad heart burning
Alarums, excursions. Enter sponsor 2
Sponsor 2: Take Nexium, the super purple pill,
For gastroesophagealic ill
And heartburn, bellyache, acid reflux.
Exit sponsor 2
Caesar: What mean'st? Heard I just now Hassid refux?
Writing C.: Gadzooks! He bringeth in a Jewish cult.
Each ev'ry phrase he butchers.
Will S.: Oy gevalt!
You see, o coach, I've learned the modern tropes
From thee; I know the yiddish, hip-hop ropes.
Caesar: McCainus!
McCainus: Caesar.
Caesar: Lo, without McC
Nicknaming-fond I dub, just Anus be!
Let me have men about me that are fat
And such as sleep a-nights, too tired to rat.
Yond Rummeus has a lean and hungry look.
He thinks too much. According to my book
That is not good. Such men are dangerous
McCainus: Fear him not, Caesar.
Caesar: Art thou sure, Anus?
McCainus: As sure as sure can be.
Caesar: I fear him not.
McCainus: For ‘tis with us that he hath cast his lot.
Caesar: Would he were fatter, though! But as a pawn
He used me first. Now that I am reborn
As alpha male, his love hath turned to scorn.
But, come, ‘tis nine; before night turns to morn
Let’s hie from here!
Vox populi: Upon his house a pox,
For he unleashed through lies Pandora’s box
Of Goya’s horrors ‘f war painted in oil…
Alarums, excursions. Enter sponsor 1
Sponsor 1: Did I hear oil? Halliburton the soil
Doth rake and rape and torture till we find
The precious liquid that we have in mind
To ship on no-bid contracts to our troops
At hundred times the price.
Cheneyus: Keep quiet!!!
Sponsor 1: Oops!
Cheneyus: Speak not too fully of our beauteous scam.
It must be hid in secrecy, this sham
Lest public knowledge prove a true game breaker.
So cross your hearts as I cross my pacemaker.
Sennet. Exit Caesar and his train,
but Ashcroftus remains behind. Exit sponsor 1
Ashcroftus: You pulled me by the cloak. Woulds’t speak with me?
Cheneyus: I would’st, but I forget lines one through three.
Ah, yes! What chanced on Lincoln by the coast
That he on every lip is now the toast?
Ashcroftus: Why, he did pose and posture like a king
With smirks and shoulders swinging, swaggering,
A-strut; but for a shining kingly crown
Had he a top-gun helmet fleeced with down.
The crew thrice cheered, as on the Lupercal,
Ev’ry last man and child and ev’ry gal,
The whole damn rabblement, the tag-rag horde.
As I do speak the truth, or on my sword
Let me now fall!
Rummeus: And Fristus, did he speak?
Ashcroftus: Aye, speak he did, but t' me it was all Greek
Alarums. Tantrums. Enter Caesar, frothing
Caesar: Not Greek, but Grecian! See, I know my grammar!
Will S.: Out, Bush! ‘Tis not thy time. Into the slammer
Put him until Act two Scene Two!
Caesar: See, mate,
My skills they do misunderestimate
Wordsmith: If you have tears, prepare to shed them now,
Ye muses, for our language struck so low.
Will S.: How comes he here unprompted by the text?
I am afeared of that which might come next.
My cast doth come to life, like Frankenstein,
Recasting, uncontrollable, each line.
Out, out with him!
Writing C.: Out, out!
Wordsmith: Out, out!
Grammarian: Out, Out!
Caesar: Ow! Ouch!
Writing C.: Take that!
Wordsmith: And that!
Grammarian: You saucy lout!
Caesar: Hands off, base knaves! Unhand me!
Sennet. Stagehands drag Caesar off, snarling
Rummeus: Ashie, wilt
Thou sup with me tonight on fish gefilt?
Ashcroftus: No, I am promised forth.
Rummeus: Then wilt thou dine
With me tomorrow night at half past nine?
Ashcroftus: Ay, if I be alive. Hast chicken broth?
Rummeus: Good golly, yes!
Ashcroftus: I’ll come then. Farewell both.
Exit Ashcroftus, draping a naked statue of Justice with his toga, and mooning the audience
Cheneyus: What a blunt fellow is this grown to be!
So slow of mind and hand. No busy bee!
He was quick mettle when he went to school.
Rummeus: This tardy form he puts on just to fool.
This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit
Hidden beneath appearance of a tit.
Cheneyus: So be it then. Tomorrow let us gather
That I may ken more fully thy mind’s blather.
Rummeus: Indeed!
Exit Cheneyus, falling over forum wall and clasping pacemaker
Well, Cheney, noble art thou now,
The ship of state, pray, take it by the prow!
And after this, let Caesar know it sure;
For we will shake him, or worse days endure.
Exit Rummeus, cackling like a witch
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