CLOWNWORLD SHAKESPEARE - The Journey Plunges into a Billionaire Pool Party

Shakespeare gets a taste of LA high society before he goes head-to-head with a robot bear

When we last left off, Shakespeare had just been kidnapped by the Biker Gang during the filming of a reality TV show.

The Biker Gang was supposed to just ask the Bard if he had time to meet up with Thor’s girlfriend Monique for a brief chat. But instead, the good ole biker boys kinda, sorta, possibly unlawfully detained the Bard.

It turns out, in a rather odd twist of fate, that Thor’s actually been kidnapped. Unlike Shakespeare, however, Thor’s been taken by actual bad guys who might do him actual harm. And that’s what Monique wanted to chat about with Shakespeare.

And that’s where we’re starting out this chapter. Shakespeare spent the night in a spare bedroom at Thor’s mansion. Thor’s family is uber-wealthy. (That’s right. They’re so wealthy, they can afford to Uber everywhere.) The Bard and Monique need to get an early start in rescuing Thor, otherwise known as the Dane.

It’s morning now, and the sun pokes its hazy head through a sliver in the drapes.

Shakespeare wakes with a gasp. This bedroom is massive and so much nicer than his apartment. “Where is he?” he sleepily wonders. The Bard looks around, rubs his eyes. He’s barely conscious and in throes of a huge yawn when...

A knock on the bedroom door.

MONIQUE: “William, you awake? We need to get on the road before rush hour. Jim doesn’t like to wait. And I’m scared for Thor. We need to hurry.”

Ah, Monique! The Dane’s caring, beautiful girlfriend, who’s not just a doctor, but a pro-level race car driver as well.

William, still reeling from yesterday’s events (kidnapping, rat murder, you know, the usual), tries to rise. But where’s his shine?

The famed poet can’t move. Or speak. He’s restrained...at the neck by a bunch of bed sheets and a blanket.

He struggles. Whoops! The Bard’s face glows red, and his eyes bulge as he accidentally ties the knot tighter trying to escape.

He falls back onto the bed. Wait, he’s got the knot loosened. Sort of. Almost. No, not yet. He yanks and pulls, one hand, two hand, takes a break. One big two-handed pull. There’s movement.

FLWHOOSH! Finally. He’s freed. Shakespeare rubs his chafed and almost-broken neck.

He catapults out of bed and nearly runs full steam into a large mirror on wheels.

MONIQUE: “William, you awake? Be careful in there. Watch out for the mirrors. They’re everywhere in this house. Thor loves ‘em.”

YE OLDE CUT TO:

EXT. UPSCALE LOS ANGELES RESIDENTIAL NEIGHBORHOOD

Monique parks her sports car on the street in front of a lavish English-style Tudor house that belongs to SECURITY EXPERT JIM. She and William rush toward the front door.

MONIQUE: “Jim will know what to do about Thor. These security guys always have a plan. He requested you…specifically.”

SHAKESPEARE: “Me? Uh, what about your friends, the biker brigands? Can’t they help with Thor?”

MONIQUE: “Never work. Jim would have them all arrested. He’s 100% by the book. Thor must have really spoke highly of you to Jim. He was insistent that you be a part of this rescue.”

Sniffly and with sobbed-out red eyes, Monique rings the bell, and an OLD MANSERVANT, GRAHAM, quickly answers the door. He smiles earnestly when he sees Monique, but looks slightly askew at William.

Graham turns his attention back to Monique.

GRAHAM: “Oh, yes, Mr. **** asked if you would wait in the trophy room.”

As Graham pronounces the last name (”Mr.”), a horn from a passing car honks, and we don’t catch the name.

YE OLDE CUT TO:

INT. TROPHY ROOM

Young, vibrant, handsome JIM is pictured with the queen, Elvis, a bunch of US presidents, and whoa! A framed photo with the guy who invented Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. This Jim guy really is somebody.

We finally get to see Jim’s last name. It’s... oh, drat, it’s covered up by Shakespeare’s thumb, as the famed writer grabs a small but heavy glass award with etched writing.

SHAKESPEARE: “’Commendation by MI6, 1999 Agent of the Year.’”

Shakespeare grabs another award.

SHAKESPEARE: “’Bravery, Honor, Valor, FBI 1996.’”

The Bard grabs yet another honor:

SHAKESPEARE: “’Sexiest Undercover Butt, 1993, Brazilian Secret Service.’”

Graham enters the room.

GRAHAM: “Mr. **** will see you now.”

Monique sneezes after “Mr.” She’s still a bit sobby.

Holy cow! Jim’s 85 years old if he’s a day! He slowly slides into the room with the aid of a walker, tennis balls on the walker feet and all. Young and vibrant has turned into decrepit and insulin-dependent.

Sniffling up a storm:

MONIQUE: “Jim, so good to see you.”

The pair shake hands.

Jim turns his attention to Shakespeare. With a slight British accent:

JIM: “Ah, yes, the banker teller friend Thor spoke glowingly of. Come on, no time to waste. Let’s get a move on. The queen’s got sand in her britches, as we Brits say.”

Shakespeare’s like: “WTF? Never heard that phrase before.” He shakes his head slightly in disbelief as he turns to face Monique, as if to say: “This old dude is gonna save Thor?!”

MONIQUE: “You figured out who took Thor?”

JIM: “Yes.”

Jim motions to a corner of the room, where several six-foot stacks of paperwork and manila folders are leaning over, almost falling.

JIM: “I analyzed all the info. Ran it through my computer.”

Jim taps his forehead when he says “computer.”

JIM: “It’s Obsidian.”

According to Jim, Obsidian is a neo-terrorist/anti-free speech group.

JIM: “They’ll give us few days to worry, then they’ll contact us. That’s their MO. Obsidian will most likely demand something ridiculous, like they’ll return Thor only if he destroys all copies of his publishing company’s books. But we’ll get Thor back today, my dear! Without concessions!”

Thor’s family has business interests in publishing, and Obsidian doesn’t like free speech or even the free exchange of ideas. In short, they hate the written word.

JIM: “No time to waste. We have places to be! You drive, Monique.”

Monique nods. And sniffles. And sobs.

Quoting Shakespeare’s Cymbeline:

JIM: “‘Boldness be my friend!’”

Boy, Jim needs a “boldness” infusion. It takes about ten seconds to turn his walker around, and he then begins moving so slowly that he’d have to double up just to achieve a snail’s pace.

Shakespeare and Monique both wear forced smiles as they follow Jim out of the trophy room. Though the Bard now has a bit of a warm spot for the geriatric fella. That old dude sure has good taste in famous quotations.

Unsmiling, Graham follows all of them out.

YE OLDE CUT TO:

EXT. 5-STAR BEVERLY HILLS HOTEL, FRONT ENTRANCE

William and Monique quickly jump out of the car. The pair politely help Jim and his walker slloooowwwlly exit the vehicle. A valet takes the keys from Monique and drives off with the vehicle.

INT. ELEVATOR

William, Monique and Jim ride up an elevator. Shakespeare looks a bit nauseous. He doesn’t like elevators, as has been discussed previously.

Shakespeare and Monique look quizzically at Jim as the three step out of the elevator and come face-to-face with…

EXT. SWANK ROOFTOP POOL

It’s party time at this luxurious rooftop pool…

You know, waiters and waitress in fancy garb serving the rich and famous. Lots of young women in bikinis, shirtless older rich guys trying to impress them, everyone lazing around an Olympic-sized pool. In LA, this is known as “just another Wednesday afternoon.”

MONIQUE: “Is Thor... here at the hotel?”

JIM: “Thor? God, no. I haven’t been out in a while, and I had the invite lying around. If anyone asks, we don’t know the slender Englishman here. It’s only a plus-one.”

Monique is about to go ballistic, but Jim reads her mind as he holds up a feeble hand. A very shaky hand.

JIM: “I’m not wasting our time, my dear. You see my hand? I can’t perform like I used to. I need to make sure of this man’s mettle...“

Jim puts that feeble hand on Shakespeare’s shoulder. Shakespeare’s pats Jim’s hand, to show the old guy he’s up for the challenge.

JIM: “...get to know him a bit. He’s going to do much of the heavy lifting to get Thor back to us safe and sound.”

MONIQUE: “We don’t have much time, Jim.”

JIM: “This won’t take but two minutes, I assure you, my dear.“

The three stroll along poolside. Well, Jim ambles slowly with his walker. He deftly takes a small object out of his pants pocket and holds it furtively in his hand.

There’s a contingent of heavy hitters up ahead.

JIM: “Ah, that’s Chinese Ambassador Shin Peng and his wife, former Miss Norway, Olga Svensson. Polish Prime Minister Thaddeus Wrocklivkovkailakdpolski. And world weightlifting champ Sergei Prizov and his entourage are here too.”

Those big shots are surrounded by many others in the same social boat. You know, rich and powerful, frequently with personalities as exciting as Styrofoam. Some are young and good-looking. Others are ugly and old. But it don’t matter. Everyone flirts with everyone. Even the workaday hotel staff mingle with the moneyed folks.

There’s a hulking bear-shaped Boston Dynamics robot milling around as well. These sleek robots, often made to resemble humans or animals, generally possess the raw strength of an army of hangry Lizzos.

JIM: “Oh, Ambassador, good to see you made it. I’d like you to meet my friend Monique.”

AMBASSADOR: “Ah, Mr. ****, good to see you.”

Damn, the name gets drowned out by shouts and screams as a hairy, fat, 73-year-old billionaire just cannonballed off a diving board. The shouts and screams were people arguing over the elderly man’s will should he not survive the dive.

Continuing… Monique, Jim, the ambassador and his wife shake hands and make small talk, while William just slumps away awkwardly, bored.

No one’s paying any attention to him, which is never solid ground for a playwright. Those creative types thrive on constant attention.

But wait! The Bard’s happiness factor suddenly goes from limp to eleven.

What are these strange but wondrous Epicurean delights on those silver trays? Why, it’s tiny hotdogs wrapped in a turkey bacon blanket!

The Bard’s intrigued.

Shakespeare accosts a SERVER.

SHAKESPEARE: “My liege, may I partake of one of your succulent sweet meats?”

The SERVER gives William a sly smile.

Shakespeare grabs one of the blanketed pigs. Pops it into his mouth. Yum! Fantastic! He must have two-- er, three-- er, all of them!

The rapacious Bard devours the food, much to the delight of the waiter, who smiles slyly at Shakespeare.

WAITER: (mouthing) “I’m done at five.“

Shakespeare squints sideways at the waiter as the poet snatches more of the bacon-wrapped treats.

But Shakespeare’s caught the attention of not just the hired help, but a guest, a real beaut in fact...

The former Miss Norway! OLGA SVENSSON. She grows tired of the small talk with Jim and the other stiffs-- I mean, dignitaries.

Olga looks around and spots William mopping up the last of the hors d’oeuvres. She gives the poet a good once over... about three times.

Jim still holds that strange small object in his hand. With her big blue eyes, Olga undresses William as she addresses Jim:

OLGA: “Who is this hunk?”

JIM: “Oh, him? Just some limey bastard...”

Jim looks around, inhales deeply and screams as loud as an old man possibly can:

JIM": “...who may just be an assassin out to steal our money and disrupt our billionaire plans for global domination!”

Gasps! Shouts! Cries! “Who let him in?” “Shoot the son of a bitch!” “Can I get some real gin instead of this piss water?”

Jim and his walker slink toward the Bard. The elderly man brandishes the small device (looks like a large vape pen battery) in his wrinkled shaking hands, as Shakespeare quickly gulps down the last of the tasty morsels. He belches and smiles. But it’s a short-lived happiness.

Jim rams the curious object into Shakespeare’s lower back. Thwap! Crackle! Fwop! Sort of Taseresque weapon apparently.

Shakespeare quickly bolts upright. He grimaces and turns three shades of red.

Jim stares into Shakespeare’s watering eyes.

JIM: “You’re in a highly suggestible state, William. Listen to me. You will protect me and Monique and lead us out of here. You have two minutes. That is your mission. Go!”

Shakespeare’s body violently convulses. Like he has no control over his limbs. Or over anything really.

He drools. His ears flap. He wants to speak, but his mouth and tongue aren’t in sync.

He contorts. He flails. He nearly topples over the former Miss Norway, who seems to enjoy it, actually.

Glasses and cutlery go flying. Serving trays, food plates and wait staff clatter and smash. Shakespeare accidentally but brutally head butts the Chinese ambassador into the pool.

Some TOUGH-LOOKING BEARDED DUDES WITH SUNGLASSES whip out pistols, anticipating a fight.

Immediately, several BODYGUARDS get into the “I’ll show you my big gun right now!” act.

Many men approach each other. Growling, with weapons and fists drawn.

Shouts, screams, yells. Unsure what to do next, partygoers freak the heck out and run! A bunch of people slam into each other, while others slip, trip and careen into the pool.

Shakespeare is still convulsing like a motherbleeper. Oh, no, he’s headed toward that group of bearded dudes. One of the beards fires a warning shot into the air.

Now all hell really breaks loose. A bunch of G-MEN TYPES-- dark shades, dark suits, dark souls -- get involved. Badges and holstered guns flash.

The Bard has now convulsed himself right into the shallow end of the pool. Hmm, which is good because it helps straighten him out a bit.

The Bard splutters and sees Jim smiling at him. Olga, the Norwegian hottie, also beams at William, but there’s definitely no time for that.

A fight! A G-Man flirts with a Bearded Dude’s girlfriend. And Mongo no like. Fists fly!

The two brawlers slam into wait staff. Wait staff trample over guests. Guests ram into chairs and tables. It’s a scene, man!

The pool’s gotten pretty filled up in the past few minutes with reluctant swimmers, still fully clothed of course. Shakespeare throws a few of these already pissed-off folks to the side of the pool as he stiffly clambers out of the water.

Still convulsing, Shakespeare hoists himself weakly onto the concrete pool deck as his limbs slowly regain their strength.

JIM: “Come on, William, complete your mission!”

Oh, crap! A TOUGH GUY has his hands all over a cowering, visibly fearful Monique. The jerk can’t keep his filthy paws off her. The Tough Guy’s four menacing henchmen stand at attention nearby, with balled fists and unholstered weapons.

Soaking wet, the Bard lumbers over to Monique and over-dramatically belches out a line from the play Henry V. But something just isn’t quite working right in his memory hole.

SHAKESPEARE: “‘He which hath no stomach to this fight….uh… would do well to remember there are… few die well that get their…asses kicked in a battle.’”

The Tough Guy turns from Monique to William and stares bewildered at the Bard.

TOUGH GUY: “What’s all this then? You tryin’ to do Henry Vee, huh? It’s completely wrong.”

SHAKESPEARE: “What? No!”

The four henchmen grumble.

TOUGH GUY: “Yeah, dumbass. I do Shakespeare in the Park every summer at Williamsburg. The correct line is ‘he which hath no stomach to this fight, let him depart; his passport shall be made.’”

The Bard considers. Furrows his brow. A mental light twinkles.

SHAKESPEARE: “Yes, my dear fellow, yes! I stand corrected.”

Monique and the Bard exchange knowing glances: “Get me out of here!” “What do you think I’m trying to do, win a poetry contest?!”

TOUGH GUY: “You don’t know shit, pal, but love your accent.”

One of the henchmen grows animated.

HENCHMAN 1: “I got a better one.”

He clears his throat and continues:

HENCHMAN 1: “I’d have gone with Henry VI: ‘Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colors wave! And either victory, or else a grave.’”

HENCHMAN 2: “Oh, please, that is so overused.”

HENCHMAN 1: “Your mother’s twat is overused.”

Henchmen 3 and 4 laugh.

HENCHMAN 2: “Oh, you think that’s funny, huh?”

TOUGH GUY: “Knock it off, will ya?”

HENCHMAN 1: “Just ‘cause I only went to community college—”

TOUGH GUY: “I told you two idiots—”

HENCHMAN 2: “You took a Learning Annex course!”

HENCHMAN 1: “Yeah, but it was at the college…”

With the men distracted, Shakespeare grabs Monique by the hand and ushers her to safety behind a wet bar.

SHAKESPEARE: “Stay here. I’ll get Jim.”

Shakespeare spots Jim’s walker, but where’s the old-timer?

Ugh! Jim is pinned down. That Boston Dynamics robot, the one resembling a large bear, rampages as Jim and a few of his big-league friends cower under tables, afraid to move. The mechanical beast has zero regard for life, limb or expensive hotel property. Smash! Dash! Kablash!

Shakespeare shuffles over toward the robotic menace. It snarls at the poet. The Bard crouches down readying for a fight. His limbs are at 90% strength.

William kicks and throws a few errant punches toward the robot. Which instantly proves to be a mistake since the robot is made of Kevlar and titanium. He picks up a drinking glass, throws it. Crash! It smashes uneventfully it into the beast’s midsection.

Shakespeare desperately looks around. There’s stuff strewn everywhere. Aha! That’s it! The Bard spots a long metal serving spoon lying on the ground. He snatches it and brandishes it like a sword as the robot struts around.

The poet’s finally back to his normal self. Though his body is teeming with so much adrenaline, it’s coming out his pores. He’s almost superhuman.

Shakespeare has spent many hours fencing and defending himself. For theatrical productions, of course. Then there’s the angry mobs, pissed-off husbands, fuming creditors and so on and so forth.

SHAKESPEARE: “En garde!”

The Bard flicks the spoon like a champ. Grinning ear to ear like a Cheshire cat on ketamine, Shakespeare advance-lunges into the robot.

The robot’s mouth opens, let’s out a beastly mechanical e-roar. The famed writer performs a masterful series of lunges and retreats. Retreats and lunges. Even a few passata sottos. Swish! Swash! Floosh!

The robot looks a bit flummoxed. Not sure what to make of this lightning quick, spoon-carrying poet, the robot stops moving for a brief second.

Shakespeare immediately attacks! The Bard plunges the blade, er, spoon into the robot’s open mouth and quickly backs up, out of range of the beast’s limbs.

The roaring ceases.

The robot whines and whirs. Its head and legs violently twitch. Its feet thwack! thwack! thwack! on the ground with humongous clanks. The bear twirls around a few times like it’s infected with brain worms. Then a loud screeching sound.

The mechanical monster collapses into one big Kevlar heap. Sparks fly, steam hisses from its bowels, while the spoon is still firmly lodged into the back of its titanium-reinforced throat.

SHAKESPEARE: “He’s dead, Jim!”

The poet rushes toward the old man and helps him with his walker. Monique comes out from behind the nearby wet bar, and the three duck and cover their way out of the absolute chaos!

Shakespeare’s a bit light-headed and nauseous, so Jim takes the opportunity to catch Monique’s attention. The old man beams with delight as he motions toward William and gives a thumbs up. The old man mouths: “This bastard is good to go!”

JIM: “Okay, you two. Next stop. LA Central Library. That’s where we’ll find Thor. He’s buried under books!”

Monique gasps.

JIM: “Just a figure of speech, my dear. I’m sure we’ll find Thor has been treated well.”

Monique looks unsure, afraid even. But she musters courage and manages a slight smile.

As the three heroes approach a bank of elevators, Shakespeare looks up. He’s distressed and nearly collapses. He needs a moment.

The poet slumps, with hands on knees. He looks up. And out of the corner of his weary eye, he glimpses the devastation left behind.

Holy Hamlet! What a mess. A few diehards are still fighting, but there’s also a lot of knocked out G-men and bearded dudes. The robot bear continues sparking and steaming into rust.

Wait staff, uh, the ones who are still conscious or who weren’t thrown into the pool, hide under tables.

Dishes and other assorted eating implements are scattered everywhere. There’s dozens of overturned and broken tables, too. It’s gonna cost a fortune to replace it all.

And that pool. That pool’s gonna need a good, hard, deep cleansing. Looks like some blood and a few dozen daquiris and— ewww!

There’s a COUPLE, er, sorry, a throuple, having sex in the deep end.

Gathering strength, Shakespeare closes his eyes for a second as he rises to join his two friends standing by the elevators. He opens his eyes and sees... Olga, Norway’s finest. She beams at the Bard.

The Bard smiles back, weakly. Under his breath, quoting from his play Antony and Cleopatra:

SHAKESPEARE: “‘Who seeks and will not take when once ’tis offered, shall never find it more.’”

THE END...for now.

***

Usually, down here, post-post, if you will, there’s plugs for ClownWorld Shakespeare’s other Substack entries. And there’s also pleas to follow ClownWorld Shakespeare on Instagram.

But those plugs and pleas are on vacation this week. So if you wanna read some other ClownWorld Shakespeare posts… well, you’ll figure it out.