March 10, 2004

To Be Or Not To Be

I've reconsidered my thinking about this. Maybe we should teach Shakespeare using contemporary English after all. For example,

Double double toil and trouble Fire burn and cauldron bubble

From Macbeth could be, Stir the pot bitches!

Or

Out damn spot! Out I say!

Could be, I can't get this fucking blood off my hands!

So in the spirit of updating Shakespeare, here is Hamlet's famous soliloquy.

To be, or not to be: that is the question:

To live or die. WTF?

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Should I put up with bullshit?

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them?

Or should I tell the world to just fuck off?

To die: to sleep;

To off myself.

No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to,

And then I wouldn't have to put up with any more bullshit.

'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd.

It would be fucking great!

To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream:

Will I dream when I'm dead?

ay, there's the rub;

That could really, really suck!

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

I mean, they might be really bad fucking dreams, dude!

Must give us pause: there's the respect That makes calamity of so long life;

So maybe I'll live for a while even though it might suck big time.

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

So who would put up with the following bullshit:

The oppressor's wrong,

Gummint bullshit.

the proud man's contumely,

They're dissing me! (contumely - Rudeness or contempt arising from arrogance; insolence. )

The pangs of despised love,

Ophelia can be a real bitch!

the law's delay,

That asshole Claudius and my mother murdered my dad and they're gonna get away with it!

The insolence of office and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin?

I gotta put up with this shit when I could just stab myself with a bare bodkin?

who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

Who would put up with a load of crap for the rest of his life?

But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of?

But death might be worse than the fardels I'm putting up with now. (See, I used fardels in a sentence!)

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;

I'm really spending entirely too much time thinking of this shit so I'll probably not off myself after all.

And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pith and moment With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action.

Hmmm. Should I shit or get off the pot?

--Soft you now! The fair Ophelia!

Here comes the foxy Ophelia.

Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins remember'd.

Remember my sins in your prayers babe.

So there you go.

Would y'all like me to do Marc Antony?

Posted by denny at March 10, 2004 09:28 PM