CLOWNWORLD SHAKESPEARE - The Story Escapes into Another Chapter
There is nothing more gruesome than a first date
When we finished Chapter 5, Shakespeare was on the run with Vicky (now a ghost) after the First National Bank of Beverly Hills came under attack by anti-penny protestors. Now for the Sixth Installment:
INT. BANK
Vicky floats in front of Shakespeare and leads him toward a door marked DO NOT ENTER, ALARM, but the alarms are already blaring. He hesitates for a beat.
VICKY: “Come on!”
He barges on through.
Down a stairwell. Along a narrow unlit corridor. Down a creaky metal staircase. They come to a boiler room area.
Rusted metal machines humming, dripping water onto a dirt-covered floor. Sludge hanging from walls, sludge on top of sludge. Saw wouldn’t film here, it was just that gross.
Vicky floats, the poet follows. Another hallway and finally at the the end, they come to…
A windowless rusty metal door. It creaks open as Shakespeare pushes against it.
Ahh! A dreadful sight. There’s skeletons and heads and body parts, well, mannequin parts, everywhere.
SHAKESPEARE: “Vicky!”
She’s gone.
Shakespeare fumbles around, crashes into a skeleton, yells, trips. Comes face-to-face with a smiling severed head.
More yelling from Shakespeare.
SHAKESPEARE: “Vicckkyyy!”
Wait. He sees a small pinprick of light. He runs toward it. Crash! He slams into a series of mannequins, many missing body parts and sporting leering smiles.
SHAKESPEARE: “Fie upon thee!”
He gathers himself and makes his way toward the light.
He runs into a giant bear replica. He takes off in another direction. Fwoosh! Shakespeare charges straight into some sort of oversized ostrich. Feathers swirl everywhere.
YE OLDE CUT TO:
EXT. ALLEYWAY
Shakespeare careens through a small door and lands, gasping, outside a small dilapidated brick warehouse in an alleyway somewhere in Beverly Hills. He’s covered in feathers.
Vicky is LOLing her ghostly you know what off.
VICKY: “You look like a future McNugget!”
SHAKESPEARE: “Vicky! Oh, thank heavens. Thought I’d lost you... again.”
Shakespeare shakes the feathers off his frame.
SHAKESPEARE: “Ah, now I get it. You. The footprints on my wall, mustard on the ‘fridge.”
VICKY: “Just my way of saying hello.”
A moment passes. Shakespeare just stares at her, still not sure what to make of all this.
SHAKESPEARE: “Is this really… for real? Am I dreaming?”
VICKY: “I say just go with the flow…”
Vicky glides off like an attractive wind, and Shakespeare tries to follow.
SHAKESPEARE: “Hey, wait!”
He attempts to keep up, but she’s just too fast. He runs and gallops and runs. And gasps.
Finally. She stops mid-air, turns to face Shakespeare and swoops back down to him.
As he’s trying to catch his breath, the poet notices a two-sided standing painted wooden sign:
Shakespeare immediately perks up.
SHAKESPEARE: “Interesting.”
VICKY: “Ugh, I’m a numbers kind of gal. Theater, eww.”
SHAKESPEARE: “Surely, you can’t be serious.”
VICKY: “I’d rather haunt the inside of a septic tank than watch some boring old play.”
And poof! Vicky’s gone.
Shakespeare is a bit distressed for a minute. He spins arounds, looks hither and yon, but no Vicky. He’s exhausted.
He shuffles wearily toward the theater.
YE OLDE CUT TO:
INT. OBERON THEATER
The lobby of the old-time playhouse has bright red carpet and walls thickened and bulgy from too many re-plasterings.
It’s a warm cozy venue where one can watch B-grade stand-up, C-grade community playhouse or boozy former A-listers making their #MeToo comeback. Art know no bounds, folks!
Roughly two dozen people stand around chatting expectantly, waiting for the show to begin.
Shakespeare shakes his head (“Huh?”) when he sees an LED display on a lobby wall: IF MUSIC BE THE FOOD OF LOVE, PLAY ON. But here’s the nutty part. Every few seconds the PLAY ON is replaced by a skull and crossbones.
VOICE OVER LOUDSPEAKER: “Attention! Today’s free event is about to begin. Make your way to the seating area now.”
Shakespeare and the others take their seats in the 50-seat arena. They face a curtain-covered stage.
Sitting in the front, Shakespeare looks around with a bit of excitement. The day could be ending on a high note.
Then things turn worse. The Dating Game theme song plays.
Then it gets even worse.
ANNOUNCER OVER PA: “Welcome to the Squid Dating Game!”
The stage lights up, and the curtain falls away to reveal that colorful and trippy iconic game show set. Except the psychedelic splashes look like blood splatters.
Did you know that serial killer Rodney James Alcala was actually a Dating Game winner in the late 1970s? He’s not at the Squid Dating Game today. Whew!
Two red-suited individuals with geometric logoed face masks come out on stage, ONE MAN, ONE WOMAN. This faceless pair walk out toward the crowd near the edge of the stage.
RED-SUITED MAN: “Hello, everyone, welcome to the Squid Dating Game. You’re not going to WATCH a play today. You’re going to BE the play.”
The audience approves with excited chatter and applause.
Shakespeare is really enjoying this now.
RED-SUITED WOMAN: “We want answers from you.”
RED-SUITED MAN: “If we like your words, you stay.”
RED-SUITED WOMAN: “If not, you go away. Two will be winners. A man, a woman, one of each.”
RED-SUITED MAN: “The prize is so amazing, listen to what we preach!”
RED-SUITED MAN AND WOMAN: “You may desire a husband or a wife.
But today, the big winners get to keep their life!”
Then suddenly, a half-dozen more red-suited helmet wearers stomp across the stage and position themselves around the seating area, with Uzis strapped to their shoulders. Talk about a shotgun wedding!
Shakespeare and the other attendees murmur and grow tense. This is not cool at all. Not at all.
A 30ish WOMAN with a ponytail gets up to leave. But one of the brutes grabs her ponytail and yanks her back down in the seat.
RED-SUITED GOONS: “Resistance is dangerous and futile. Resistance is dangerous and futile!”
A MIDDLE-AGED BALD MAN whips out his cell phone and dials. Whoosh! The uniformed henchmen swarm and wrestle the phone away. The bald man tries to put up a fight, but a red-suited thug grabs his neck and squeezes hard, very hard. The man, chokes, gags and immediately slumps down in his seat.
RED-SUITED GOONS: “Resistance is dangerous and futile. Resistance is dangerous and futile!”
Shakespeare stands up. In a fighting position.
SHAKESPEARE: “Hey!”
RED-SUITED GOONS: “Resistance is dangerous and futile. Resistance is dangerous and futile!”
The guards close in on the Bard, who strongly considers resisting. But he strongly considers his unbroken limbs more, so he sits down.
RED-SUITED WOMAN: “Okay, we’re ready, I see. Let’s begin the show!”
She points to a YOUNG MAN, who immediately cringes: me?
RED-SUITED WOMAN: “What is the capital of Czechoslovakia?”
YOUNG MAN: “Uh, I thought this was, like, a dating game. I have a girlfriend. We just got back together this morning, so—”
RED-SUITED WOMAN: “I hate stupid men. Answer the question.”
YOUNG MAN: “The capital of Check-o-slo— uh, I don’t know. Uh, Pensacola?:”
RED-SUITED WOMAN: “No.”
A bunch of red-suited Uzi-toting goons descend upon the young man. He tries to resist, but who can resist the sweet siren song of Ms. Taser to the neck?
Shakespeare is absolutely panicked. He’s never really seen Tasers or automatic weapons or Korean-language Netflix shows!
Time passes. The red suits on stage pose questions. Losing contestants are eventually roughed up and whisked away.
The guards stroke their weapons as they constantly patrol the area.
Oh, look, Shakespeare’s turn is up. He’s shaking. He’s sweating. He wipes his brow on his sleeve.
RED-SUITED WOMAN: “If we were dating, and my brother Mike came out as transgendered, what would you say to him during his gender reveal party?”
Shakespeare hesitates. He’s working something out.
SHAKESPEARE: “Er, uh, hmm. A glistening— no, no. A dewy forest— damn it! I can do this.”
He buries his head in his hands. A few seconds pass, and then his head shoots up.
RED-SUITED WOMAN: “Three seconds!”
SHAKESPEARE: “Women may fall when there’s no strength in men.”
RED-SUITED WOMAN: “Okay, good enough.”
SHAKESPEARE (to himself): “‘Good enough’? That’s gold!”
And on and on it goes as more contestants are manhandled and taken God-knows-where.
A 50ish WOMAN in the audience rubs her temples.
WOMAN: “Guys, I told you a dozen times already. I’m married! I want to go home. Now!”
RED-SUITED MAN: “Answer, please. Three seconds.”
The goons begin to move toward the woman.
WOMAN: “Fuck! I don’t know. Chocolate chip!”
RED-SUITED MAN: “Oh, so sorry. Incorrect. Chocolate chip is considered part of the oppressor class of desserts. We would have accepted sugar-free plain bread or gluten-free red velvet cake.”
And the Uzi-toting brutes grab the woman and whisk her away.
Shakespeare’s up again.
RED-SUITED WOMAN: “If you’re in a throuple and break up with one woman, and want to keep the other but only as a sidepiece, what do you say to the one you fully reject?”
SHAKESPEARE (mutters to himself): “‘Athrouple’? Is that in Greece? Wait, I know that term. The bank had a special week about that.”
RED-SUITED WOMAN: “Three seconds.”
SHAKESPEARE (out loud): “Uh, let me think… I got so many of these lines. Uh, ‘tis me not you— no, hold on. I could have sworn that was you, not your sister. Wait.”
Shakespeare groans. He pounds his fist in the air.
RED-SUITED WOMAN: “Time!”
SHAKESPEARE: “The fault is not in our stars, but in ourselves!”
RED-SUITED WOMAN: “Hmm. Let me see. Judges, he get the answer in on time?”
She pauses. Shakespeare turns white.
A very long pause. Shakespeare almost vomits he’s so nervous.
And then a very loud DING!
RED-SUITED WOMAN: “We can accept that. Moving on…”
Shakespeare lets out a huge sigh of relief. He’s dripping sweat now. He looks around mightily pleased with himself, but still very apprehensive and scared.
More questions, more brutality. The male red-suit on stage walks off arm-in-arm with the LAST WOMAN from the audience. She’s so weak and drained that the red-suited man has to basically carry her off.
It’s down to Shakespeare and one OLDER MAN who looks fairly confident, actually. He turns to Shakespeare and whispers:
OLDER MAN: “I got stage-4 pancreatic cancer, so I’m already dead.”
RED-SUITED WOMAN: “Answer?”
OLDER MAN (to the red-suited woman): “You’re as hot as the yellow sun, and your eyes twinkle like them stars up there.”
Shakespeare groans.
RED-SUITED WOMAN: “Okay. I’ll accept that.”
SHAKESPEARE (under his breath): “Serious? Ye gods have mercy. The rhyme and meter is most foul.”
RED-SUITED WOMAN (to Shakespeare): “What poem would you recite after I consented to allow your lawyer to contact my lawyer about drawing up an agreement that would legally administer our first kiss under the new #MeToo Amendment to the Constitution?”
Shakespeare closes his eyes in deep thought. He ponders. He uses his fingers to count as he mutters. He’s got it!
He swings his arm with artistic flair, as he plops down on one knee. He casts his head toward the sky as if speaking directly to God himself. Er, herself perhaps. The jury’s still out on that one.
SHAKESPEARE: “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Huh? Shall I? I’ll do that right now! Thou art more lovely and more temperate, baby. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May. And summer’s lease hath all too short a date, boo. Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines--”
The red-suited woman rips off her headpiece. She’s quite fetching actually. Shakespeare is literally taken aback, however, when she jumps on him and straddles him with both legs.
RED-SUITED WOMAN: “Winner!”
The Bard pushes her away.
She then takes her Squid Game helmet (hers has a lopsided triangle on it) and places it over Shakespeare’s head.
RED-SUITED WOMAN: “So hot!”
Shakespeare rips the helmet off his head.
SHAKESPEARE: “That smells like the merkin of leprous widow!”
She tries straddling him again when THE DANE appears out of nowhere.
THE DANE: “I was having a dreaming that there would be trouble here.”
Uh-oh. The bad guys approach the Dane with their gleaming weapons drawn.
The Dane squares up, ready to do battle with the henchmen. He motions for Shakespeare to stay back.
THE DANE: “This is not the first timing this happening to me.”
The Dane rushes one of his attackers. He tackles the assailant and lands a few solid belts to the henchman’s neck. The weapon falls to the wayside.
Another goon raises his weapon, but the Dane lands a knockout blow to the neck before the bad guy can react. The Dane pummels the thug in the face a few times for good measure.
The Dane then takes the red suit’s gun and points it at the other goons.
THE DANE: “Let us going or I will be shooting.”
The red-suited assailants put up their hands in acquiescence.
The Dane motions for Shakespeare to follow him. However, the red-suited woman with the crush on the Bard pleads to go along with them. The Dane puts the kibosh on that by holding up his gargantuan palm facing toward her.
'The woman nods “okay” and sheepishly slinks away.
THE DANE: “We going!”
THE END…
To read the next installment of The Journey, #7, click here…
