CLOWNWORLD SHAKESPEARE - The Journey Spontaneously Spoofs Into a New Chapter
The Bard Goes House Hunting...
Welcome to yet another chapter of The Journey. Let’s open the book and turn the page....
INT. TESLA MOTOR VEHICLE - DAY
It’s a glorious sunny day in Southern California. Not a cloud in the sky since they’ve been banned by recent state government diktat.
Shakespeare rides shotgun with his boss, bank manager Thomas, who’s got a self-satisfied grin driving his teal Tesla down a spacious LA residential street.
The pair are headed to an open house. After writing a bunch of jingles for the Sterling Cooper Ad Agency (click here), Shakespeare is flush with cashola. The famed ad agency paid the famed poet nearly a million bucks for one day’s work. Not bad, huh?
I wish I was “famed.”
Anyway, Shakespeare looks a bit distracted as he peers out the rolled-down window. Thomas just drones on and on and on...
THOMAS: “...and that was my second Tesla. I originally bought this one for my son, but they don’t have enough chargers where--”
Shakespeare’s eyes widen.
SHAKESPEARE: “That’s the one! Stop!”
The Bard points toward... a castle! What? In LA? Well, sort of. It’s a castle design: stone, with arrow slits and battlements, a tower, even a cute little moat! It’s a bit out of place among the more modern LA architecture, but it is kinda cool.
SHAKESPEARE: “I hope I can afford this phat crib.”
Thomas stares at William, as if to say: “Phat crib”? Thomas shakes his head and speaks.
THOMAS: “Don’t be too hasty, William. You need to look at dozens--”
SHAKESPEARE: “Let me out! Now!”
Thomas eases up on the accelerator, and the Muskmobile comes to a smooth e-stop. Shakespeare bounds out of the car and races toward the front door, er, portcullis.
The poet runs onto the lush green lawn and passes an OPEN HOUSE AT 2 PM -- FOR SALE sign.
Then he abruptly stops, looks around to see if he’s being watched. Nope. Coast is clear. He then lunges toward the sign and violently yanks the thin twin metal rods from the ground.
Shakespeare then flings the sign under the nearest shrubbery. Which is a shame.
Because he’s glossed over an important piece of information. 2PM! It’s only 1:30, so technically the open house isn’t open yet.
The Bard claps his hands clean and quickly continues toward the entrance and that cute little moat (which is actually a koi pond).
He stops momentarily at the koi pond/moat and marvels a second or two at God’s creation. And then continues toward the portcullis, which opens automatically. Nice touch.
INT. CASTLE
Shakespeare traverses a long dimly lit corridor. There’s voices. They grow louder.
Hmm. Sounds like muffled grunts. Shakespeare presses on. The dimness fades as more light leaks into the corridor, courtesy of a bank of bright LED ceiling lights that emanate from an adjoining sunken living room.
Shakespeare stands just outside the perimeter of this large sunken living room. And he takes in the snazziness.
Massive grand piano, expensive artworks, sumptuous leather couches and chairs resting atop a hand-crafted teak wood floor.
Oh, and some THUG in a full-body, one-piece leather suit is choking the life out of a model-esque, business attired, 20ish blonde WOMAN, whom we’ll come to know as RASHELLE LAMONTAIGNE.
THUG: “Where’s the jewels, huh? Huh!”
Shakespeare is aghast. He trembles. His brow furrows. His jaw clenches. The Bard can’t let this stand.
He yells as he runs full steam toward Mr. Leatherthug.
SHAKESPEARE: “You scoundrel! Thy wicked pustule! Unhand her! Eternal torture by Hell’s demon beasts, your punishment shall be!”
The famed poet wrests the attacker’s hands away from Rashelle’s neck and FLLOOOSSHHH! Shakespeare smashes the thug onto the floor.
Shakespeare then jumps on top of the crook and pummels him good and hard with a few lefts and rights.
THUG: (muffled) “No! Stop! Stop! No! Don’t!”
The thug groans, faints and goes limp.
The victim, Rashelle, then leaps onto Shakespeare’s back and latches her hands over the Bard’s skull attempting to gouge out his soulful eyes.
RASHELLE: “Get off him, you clown! Get off!”
Shakespeare quickly stands up, and in doing so, Rashelle flies backwards and crashes into an end table. A small lamp topples, plummets to the floor and shatters.
RASHELLE: “The open house doesn’t even start until-- Marvin, idiot! Did you forget to lock the door?”
MARVIN, 20s, pudgy, as well as a half-dozen other SLEEPY YOUNG MEN and WOMEN (film crew, actually) suddenly appear from behind couches, shelves and tables. Ah, it’s one of those undercover film shoots.
Clueless, Shakespeare crouches, with arms extended and fists balled, ready for more action. He squints at the film crew. “Are they all brigands, ready to attack?”
SHAKESPEARE: “Who’s next? Have at me! I took on the Earl of Chesterton and his six felonious cousins one night at Cheswick’s Tavern and—”
RASHELLE: “We were filming a scene. For Instagram stories!”
Shakespeare is thoroughly confused: “WTF is an Instagram story?”
RASHELLE: “We were acting!”
Rashelle moves over to the unconscious robber/actor and takes the fainted man’s hand into hers and massages it.
The Bard’s panting as his mind reels. His limbs have morphed into rubber. He leans against a bookshelf for support and regains a little composure. The Bard scans the room and then it hits him. He mumbles: “Acting! Of course. A play!”
With a concerned look on his face, Shakespeare rushes toward the downed actor, but halts when Rashelle holds up her hand.
RASHELLE: “Stay back! You’ve done enough. Dylan! Dylan! Come on, wake up!”
Dylan moans, groans. He’s coming-to. The film crew throw Shakespeare dirty looks as they gather ‘round Dylan. Well, except for Marvin, the lighting guy. He sheepishly sits in a corner, muttering to himself.
Rashelle gives the actor’s hand one final soothing pat as the film crew lift Dylan up and carry him toward the nearest couch.
Shakespeare breathes a hearty sigh of relief as he watches the now-conscious Dylan stretch out on the couch.
SHAKESPEARE: “I’m so sorry… is it, Dylan? Yes, Dylan. I have spent a lifetime protecting and nurturing actors on stage and from the wings. I beseech you, sir, and everyone else here to consider my apology most sincere.”
Dylan, not really paying attention, waves Shakespeare off with barely an acknowledgment.
DYLAN: “Can someone get my pills? My irritable bowel syndrome is acting up.”
Rashelle turns her attention to the Bard. She’s still pretty steamed, and plus, her hair’s all mussed.
RASHELLE: “You’re lucky I don’t call the police.”
SHAKESPEARE: “No need for constables. I see my actions were but in haste, and so I do humbly apologize. I wanted to partake of this magnificent castle, but instead, my weary gaze chanced upon a base buffoon mauling a fair maiden.”
Rashelle was just about to lay into Shakespeare again, but softens on “fair maiden.” She hands him a business card. He reads it and tucks it into his pants’ pocket.
RASHELLE: “Rashelle Lamontaigne, the queen of LA real estate.”
Shakespeare perks up on “queen.”
SHAKESPEARE: “William.”
They shake hands. Shakespeare scrutinizes the room.
SHAKESPEARE: “What about this resplendent residence, My Queen?”
RASHELLE: “This shack? It’s got termites, and... they do a lot of porn shoots here. A lot. If you don’t mind that, I can show you around.”
SHAKESPEARE: “Termites?”
RASHELLE: “Bugs.”
Shakespeare doesn’t like bugs, so he recoils and looks nauseous for a second.
SHAKESPEARE: “Bugs! Unwanted hearth and home dwellers, carrying the blight of eons! I’ll cast thee to burning cellars, far from kings and peons!”
Rashelle suppresses a laugh.
RASHELLE: “Hold on a sec.”
She walks over to the crew who are huddled around the recuperating Dylan.
Rashelle and the crew briefly powwow. They whisper. They watch a few moments of a cell phone video of William attacking Dylan. Faintly, we hear: “...Hell’s demon beasts, your punishment shall be...” followed by some yelling.
Rashelle chuckles, gives a thumbs up and strolls back over to William, who’s become preoccupied with bugs. On him. He’s bending this way and that way, scratching his neck and legs. Back and shins, neck and legs again and again. And again.
The time-traveling writer is so engrossed in fending off imaginary insects, he’s slightly startled when the lovely Rashelle coquettishly plays with her hair and addresses him.
RASHELLE: “So, William. Can I call you ‘William’ or do you prefer ‘Bill’? You wanna be on a cable TV show?”
YE OLDE CUT TO:
EXT. WOW! ANOTHER SPLENDIFEROUS LA HOME! - DAY
Shakespeare stands outside a massive frosted-glass front door and looks up... and up. This beast of modern architecture’s got about five stories. Can William afford this? Eh, he works for a bank. You don’t think bank employees pay the same mortgage rates as us dinks, do you? Hell no!
He rings the doorbell. Waits a few seconds and poof!
The door swings open. And Rashelle and four other TV REALTORS quickly rush outside, accidentally knocking the Bard down onto the ground.
Overly boisterous and overzealous:
THE FIVE TV REAL ESTATE PEOPLE: “Hello, William, and welcome to Another Generic Real Estate TV Show!!!!!”
William swiftly picks himself up and dusts himself off as the film crew pours out from the shadows and shrubbery, hovering around him for close-ups.
YE OLDE CUT TO:
EXT. MANSION ROOFTOP
Shakespeare, Rashelle and the camera crew are perched atop the mansion rooftop. There’s mountains majestically rising on one side, and the city of LA un-majestically deteriorating on the other side.
Rashelle, wearing a dazzling white business suit, sits next to Shakespeare. She leads the Bard by the arm away from the bar and toward a massive infinity pool. The camera crew dutifully follows the pair.
RASHELLE: “This house would be perfect for parties and sexy late night rendezvouses. Wanna make an offer?”
William is really out of sorts. It’s the camera. He doesn’t know how to behave in front of it.
RASHELLE: “William?”
He smiles, he frowns, he shifts his body one way, he shifts the other way.
RASHELLE: “William?”
The Bard cranes his neck. He de-cranes the neck... and re-cranes it.
He tries to speak, but nothing comes out.
RASHELLE: “Cut! CUT! Jesus, you’re such a stiff, man.”
The head crewman gives the high sign to stop. With the camera off, William returns back to his normal-ish self.
Quoting from the Bard’s very own Richard II:
WILLIAM: “‘When words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain.’”
But Rashy throws some Hamlet back into Shakespeare’s face:
RASHELLE: "‘Words without thoughts never to heaven go.’”
Shakespeare’s a bit taken aback, a bit pleased, but this seems to have devolved into a Shakes-off! From one of his many superb poems:
SHAKESPEARE: “‘Words are easy, like the wind; faithful friends are hard to find.’”
Hamlet again:
RASHELLE: "‘Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice.’"
Shakespeare is stunned. He shakes his head and just stares at Rashelle, who’s beaming with pride.
Then CHIME! Rashelle whips out her cell phone. She taps taps taps.
RASHELLE: “Awesome! Got another subscriber to my OnlyTits channel.”
YE OLDE CUT TO:
INT. BEDROOM
RANDY, another TV real estate guy, dark-haired, five o’clock shadow on his lantern jaw, leads Shakespeare into a majestic bedroom, featuring a stunning fireplace, huge French windows and a shiny dark wood floor.
The crew is in position. Cameras roll and...
RANDY: “William, we are in the master bedroom--”
The TV real estate guy’s cell phone rings. Hmm, sounds like a Taylor Swift ringtone. Nice.
RANDY: “Hold on. Sorry.”
He grabs the phone from his pocket and answers the call.
RANDY: “Well, did I get it? Damn! Okay, well, what about the Toyota commercial?”
Shakespeare exhales, bored. He slumps down on the bed as Randy chatters on.
YE OLDE CUT TO:
INT. BASEMENT
TREVOR, a curly blond, lanky, clean-shaven real estate guy, leads William toward a semi-walled off corner of a gargantuan concrete basement, where there’s a handful of large machines (furnace, hot water heater, etc.)
The camera crew closely follows as they film the action.
Trevor beams from ear-to-ear like he’s emceeing a beauty pageant.
TREVOR: “This, William, is what I like to call the ‘engine room’ of the house. Everything here is state of the art. Electric with gas..…. backup.”
Trevor seems to glitch on the word “gas” up above. His eyes dart. He sees… something. But what?
TREVOR: “There’s electronic sensors…… equipped--”
Another glitch. Trevor’s endearing-but-fake smile is slowly replaced by a psychopathic grin. He stares straight ahead with menacing focus.
TREVOR: “Turn the cameras off, please.”
The crew just keeps on filming.
TREVOR: “I said turn the fucking cameras off. Now!”
Trevor spots a toolbox as well as a few rusting metal pipes tucked away in a nearby corner of the basement.
YE OLDE CUT TO:
INT. LIVING ROOM
Wow, nice living room. Gleaming marble floors. Ample floor space, plenty of wall room for a 100-inch TV... or two!
VANESSA, a redheaded reality show realtor, stands next to William. She speaks in a thick Irish brogue.
VANESSA: “Before the camera crew gets here, love, I want to show you the best feature of this house.”
She points to the horizontal and vertical woodworking/wainscoting crossed all over the living room walls.
VANESSA: “This Vietnamese teak woodworking. Well, it’s simply amazing, yeah?”
She leans her face in toward the thick, dark wood wainscoting and sensually rubs her cheeks and forehead against it. Like a cat scraping its face on a wall to release those powerful scent glands.
VANESSA: “Just feel the workmanship. I could do this all day, love. Yeah?”
Shakespeare furrows his brow.
YE OLDE CUT TO:
INT. BASEMENT
Somewhat frightened, Shakespeare and the camera crew lean straight back against a concrete basement wall as Trevor plods around the room brandishing a thick, rusted metal pipe.
Trevor’s got what the Marines would call a 1,000-yard stare going on. He’s focused. Very focused. But on what? Who knows?
TREVOR: “Where are yoooooouuuuuu? Come out, lil’ buddy.”
Trevor’s eyes grow wide. A giant rat scurries across the basement floor! Shakespeare and the camera crew gasp as Trevor whacks the large, obese, long-tailed beast with the metal pipe. Or tries to, at least.
YE OLDE CUT TO:
INT. BEDROOM
Shakespeare naps, snoring slightly, on the bed, while Randy continues yapping on the phone. The crew have since disappeared.
RANDY: “What about that new Scorsese movie? Get me in for a reading? Yeah, the one about the transgender hitman— Raging Cow.”
YE OLDE CUT TO:
INT. GAME ROOM
Standing next to William in the magnificent game room, TV real estate maven Leilani sexily sports a crew-cut hairdo and loooong intricately painted fingernails. Her sequined red dress is more suited for the Met Gala than real estate transactions.
Leilani is all up the famed poet’s grill, rubbing his back, shoulders.
LEILANI: “I stan this whole crib, but this room is like you, William, triple Gucci, yo!”
She smiles like she’s about to eat him up, but is interrupted mid-flirt.
HEAD CREWMAN: “Cut! Take five, everyone.”
The crew tend to some technical mishap.
Leilani quickly pulls back from William. Her expression completely changes, from sexy kitten to hard-nosed financial industry analyst.
Her way of speaking is now much less slangy and hip and more Wall St. Journal opinion section.
LEILANI: “Listen, you need to wait at least six months before you put an offer on this house. My sources at the Fed tell me interest rates will be lowered by three basis points come Q4. Citibank and Wells Fargo are finalizing a merger that could change real estate investing forever. ETF fund managers are spooked, and the big three housing developers--”
Shakespeare tries to follow her. He’s lost. Luckily, the crew is ready to start rolling again, and they interrupt Leilani mid rant.
HEAD CREWMAN: “Ready now. Places, everyone!”
YE OLDE CUT TO:
INT. BASEMENT
CLONG! CLONG! CLONG! Trevor has gotten his man... er, rat. He’s killing that poor rodent, bashing that little body to bits with the rusted metal pipe.
Blood spatters on the floor, on Trevor’s socks, on his shoes, his pants. It’s everywhere.
Shakespeare and the camera crew look away in disgust, backs flat against a far wall. Actually, one of the crew isn’t horrified. He’s filming it on a cell phone. And chuckling.
Trevor’s finished and so is that rat, who’s now a pool of blood, bone and gristle.
Veins pop out of Trevor’s sweaty forehead. Moons of sweat spread from underneath his armpits.
Clank! Trevor unclenches his hands and drops the metal pipe onto the smooth, cold concrete floor. He slumps down, and his head flops forward onto his knees. Warrior takes a break after job well done! Er, or something...
YE OLDE CUT TO:
SOMEWHERE!
We’re nowhere, not inside, nor outside. But we see William’s face and only William’s face. Ah, it’s one of those reality TV show interview close-up type things.
Wow, the Bard is still not comfortable in front of that damn camera. Sweat is pouring off his lips, chin and brow. He smiles, grimaces, let’s out a shriek and then:
SHAKESPEARE: “Me like... house. (burps) Me not... (frowns) sure ...make offer... (smiles).(shakes head in disgust and closes eyes).”
YE OLDE CUT TO:
EXT. HOT TUB ON THE BALCONY - GLORIOUS L.A. EVENING
Yep, that’s right. The house, like many LA cribs, has an outdoor balcony hot tub. Shakespeare and the realtors are now enjoying the soothing water.
Well, except Trevor. Tensely, he sits fully clothed on a nearby pool chair.
Hey, Shakespeare must be working out. Looking pretty buff there, shirtless in the Jacuzzi.
Randy, of course, is neck deep in the hot tub while still yapping on the phone.
Rashelle and Leilani alternately vie for Shakespeare’s attention and then glare at one other in disgust. Both are wearing skimpy bikinis.
Vanessa, also in a bikini, is rubbing her stomach smack dab right up against one of the water jets.
VANESSA: “Feels so good, yeah?”
The camera crew are ready to begin, when--
TOTAL CHAOS! From downstairs, we hear yelling and screaming. Wood crashing! Glass smashing!
More yelling! SMASH! CRASH! Screaming, chaos! A few smaller bangs. Some grinding. A big bang! Yelling, shouting.
Then total silence for a few seconds as the commotion stops.
Shakespeare, the realtors and film crew freeze. No one moves a muscle. They look to one another and speak in hushed tones: “Should we hide?” “Where’s my goddamn metal pipe?” “How much does TMZ pay for murder scenes?” “Who wants to see my tits?”
Then bam! Crashing! Smashing! Whooping, grunting! More whooping!
It’s… the GNARLY BIKER GANG from Chapter 7, the ones who lent Monique that most excellent BMW motorcycle.
There’s a half-dozen of ‘em, carrying guns and knives and other assorted weaponry. They all frown angrily as they stomp around in their studded leathery garb.
Frightened, Randy drops his cell phone into the hot tub. Rashelle and Leilani end their feud and grab hold of one another. Vanessa, well, hmm. She’s more interested in the hot Jacuzzi water spray than the biker crew.
William squints his eyes. Yeah, he recognizes these guys.
But more importantly, the biker dudes recognize...Trevor? Yeah, the gang does a double take upon seeing Trevor, who stiffens as the gang approaches him. Trevor tightly balls his fists. His face reddens.
The BIKER BOSS holds up his hands to his crew as if to say: “I got this.” He addresses Trevor respectfully.
BOSS: “We’re not here for trouble, sir. Just for the English guy.”
The biker gang continues spreading out, eyes peeled for the Bard.
Trevor relaxes, and Shakespeare’s eyes grow wide at “English guy.” The famed poet vainly scans the area for an escape route. But he’s been spotted. He ducks down into the Jacuzzi.
But he can’t stay under that hot water for very long. Game over.
YE OLDE CUT TO:
INT. SUV - MINUTES LATER
In the back seat of a rather large SUV, Shakespeare is tied up with some sort of sparkly, metallic garland type thing. You know, something that’d be a big part of a young girl’s “princess” Halloween costume.
A logo-ed piece of sticky tape covers Shakespeare’s mouth. Upon closer inspection, those logos on the tape are assorted My Little Pony emojis!
The Boss sits next to Shakespeare. He rips the tape off the Bard’s mouth, and glitter goes… well, everywhere. Shakespeare spits and coughs and spits.
Then the famed poet perks up. He cranes his neck out toward a window. He recognizes this neighborhood.
It’s where the Dane lives. In fact, the SUV turns onto the Dane’s very private and very long driveway. The Boss turns to Shakespeare.
BOSS: “Sorry about the glitter, Englishman. We just knocked over a My Little Pony pop-up. I’m gonna free you now, and you’re gonna behave. Mmkay?”
Shakespeare frowns, but what can he do but comply?
YE OLDE CUT TO:
EXT. SUV - DANE’S DRIVEWAY
The SUV grinds to a halt. Shakespeare slides open one of the doors and jumps out. He’s itching for an argument. Kidnapping??!!! Is the Dane out of his Scandinavian mind?
Oh, he sees Monique, the Dane’s very attractive girlfriend rushing toward him. Man, he’s gonna give her a piece of his mind too. But wait...
She’s bawling her eyes out.
MONIQUE: “They got him! They took him!”
William rushes toward her.
SHAKESPEARE: “Who took who?”
MONIQUE: “Thor! They took Thor!”
Thor is the Dane’s real name.
SHAKESPEARE: “Well, you didn’t have to kidnap me too, did you?!”
MONIQUE: “Kidnap you?”
She turns toward the Biker Boss.
MONIQUE: “I said go to the bank and see him there if he wasn’t too busy.”
BOSS: “See him at the bank. Stalk him, kidnap him. Eh, all the same to us, right, boys?”
The biker boys have since assembled around their boss. They all laugh and nod.
BIKER GOON: “You tell her, boss, you tell her!”
Shakespeare softens when he sees how hurt Monique looks.
SHAKESPEARE: “They got Thor?”
Monique nods. Shakespeare grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her.
SHAKESPEARE: “Who? Who? Who has him?!”
Monique whips out a small piece of paper. William grabs it.
MONIQUE: “They left a note.”
Shakespeare reads it. Steely resolves fills every fiber of his being.
You lost me several "Ye Old Cuts" in
What specifically didn't you like? Didn't grab your attention?
You lost me several "Ye Old Cuts" in...
However, I can imagine at least one of my own fictional characters calling someone a "wicked pustule", so thank you for that.