Hamlet vs MacBeth 2 Party Preferred
A Shakespearian Tragedy played across our electorate.
Garretio: Hail to your lordship!
Hamlard: I am glad to see you well: Horatio,–or I do forget myself, Garretio, balding as the eagle, insular against the prongs of misfortune
Garretio: The same, my lord, and your poor sap ever.
Hamlard: Sir, my good friend; except that I am a lady
Marswanellus: My good lady – you arte a ranga, which transcends all other gender considerations, bloody in hirsuite, bloody in endeavor
Hamlard: Fie! You flatter Marswanellus, what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?
Garretio: My lord, I came to see your father’s funeral.
Hamlard: I pray thee, do not mock me, it was not the laying of rest of the fresh corpse I think it was to see another’s wedding.
Garretio: Indeed, my lord, it follow’d hard upon.
Hamlard: Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio! My father!–methinks I see my father.
Garretio: It’s Garretio, my Lord, remember we have Shakespearianised our names to better encompass his tragic professions. Where have you seen your political father?
Hamlard: In my mind’s eye, Garretio
Garretio: I saw him once; he was a goodly king.
Hamlard: He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again. Not in my cabinet anyway.
Garretio: I think I saw his ghost the other night
Hamlard; Nay, that was his pale shadow, appearing commercialised, televised, galvanised without gall
Garretio: It was, as I have seen it in his life, A sable silver’d.
Hamlard: I will watch to-night; Perchance ’twill walk again.
Garretio: I warrant it will, there is yet no other content residing on the Seventh
A desert place.
Thunder and lightning. Enter three Independent Witches
First Witch: When shall we three meet again, In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
Second Witch: When the hurlyburly’s done, When the battle’s lost and won.
Third Witch : Fuck it’s hot
First Witch: Where the place?
Second Witch: Upon the heath.
Third Witch: Where the fuck’s MacAbbot. I’m dripping more crotch sweat than a private school first year boy having his tackle lathered with dencorub.
First Witch: I come, Graymalkin!
Second Witch: Paddock calls.
Third Witch: If that stupid arse Joyce opens his fucking mouth I’ll shove my dung coated boots down his fucking throat. Geez, it’s fucking hot.
Scene fades, like a well hung memory
Enter GHOST and Hamlard
Hamlard: Where wilt thou lead me? speak; I’ll go no further.
Ghost: Mark me.
Hamlard: Mark, is that thoust?
Ghost: My hour is almost come, When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames, Must render up myself.
Hamlard: No, it’s Kev. No-one else speaks like that.
Ghost: It’s not Kev you fairy floss piece of ranga drivel, you couldn’t convince a turd to float around the S bend. Ive had tougher opponents sneeze out my substantial hooter, I have more intellectual stimulus from my regular bowel checkups, I’ve….
Hamlard: Fucking Paul, I am bound to hear.
Ghost: So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.
Ghost: I am thy father’s spirit.
Hamlard: No yer not, now piss off, it’s my paaarty now and Labor’s gunna become prooogressive
Ghost: Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.
Hamlard: Murder! Go annoy Gough. The only thing you’ll murder is our chances!
A heath near Forbes. Thunder. Enter the three Independent Witches
First Witch: Where hast thou been, sister?
Second Witch: Killing swine. And a Country Practice rerun was on the cauldron.
Third Witch: You know Windsor, while I often think you’re full of sh%t, Oakespotty is a bit of a girl.
First Witch: A sailor’s wife had chestnuts in her lap, And munch’d, and munch’d, and munch’d:–
Third Witch: Chestnut muncher, ha, I like that. Hear that Oakespotty, you’re a chestnut muncher.
Second Witch: I’ll give thee a wind, Katter
First Witch: Thou fart kind.
Third Witch: Why can’t we just make a decision?
First Witch: Geez, Bob, you want to drop your belt as quickly as a 16yo country girl at her firs B&S ball Second Witch *giggles*
First Witch: Shut up Oakeshott, you and you loony ideas aren’t helping and you’re the only one who insisted on dressing as a witch
Third Witch: A drum, a drum! MacAbbott doth come.
ALL The weird sisters, hand in hand,
Posters of the Outback land,
Thus do go Baa Baaa:
Thrice to thine and three little mice Mary had a little lamb
That’ll be our regional policy again.
Enter MacAbbott and Hoquing
MacAbbott: So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
Hoquing: Geez, I’m hungry, I could go a pie
MacAbbott: Speak, if you can: what are you?
Hoquing: I’m a Minister. I think. Oh, you’re talking to these akubra wearing witches. *squints at the middle one* Give it a break, that Uni night was 30 years ago and I had too much spritzer.
First Witch: All hail, MacAbbott!
Second Witch: All hail, MacAbbott!
Third Witch: Fatboy there hasn’t got a beer tucked away in his backpack has he?
MacAbbott: Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more, wait…
Hamlard: To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer
Kevin f&^%ing useless ‘07
Or to take arms against a sea of Caucus?
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;
That’s what Kev does to the Electorate
They dream of this mortal coil afearing
Calamity Kev will stretch their days
Subject to the whips and scorns of time
Where each hours seemeth a month of morns
Fair Wilkelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember’d.
Wilkelia: Good my lady, How does your honour for this many a day?
Hamlard: Like Brutus at a demtell demonstration, knife happy
Wilkelia: O, help him, you sweet heavens!
Cut to the Coalition bedchamber
MacAbbott: I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise?
Lady MacJoyce: I heard the Turnbull scream and the Hoquing cry. But there nought misusual at that
MacAbbott : This is a sorry sight.
Looking on his hands
Lady MacJoyce: A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.
MacAbbott : Methought I heard a voice cry ‘ETS no more! MacAbbott does murder bipartisan’,
Lady MacJoyce: Beaut isn’t it.
MacAbbott: Still it cried ‘ETS no more!’ to all the house:
‘Upper hath murder’d sleep, and therefore Lower
Shall pass no more; MacAbbott shall no more.’
Lady MacJoyce: Are you trying to say you’re constipated? You know we have an old farm remedy that might help. You take a firm flexible length of hose and …
MacAbbott: I’ll go no more:
I am afraid to think what I have done;
Look on’t again I dare not.
Lady MacJoyce: Whoo, that nasty eh. Been getting stuck into a bit too much of the protein. You know, now that we’re like formally Coalition, is there anything conjugal we have to do?
Hamlard stands in the graveyard of Labor leaders past, tended by a wisened clown because that’s what Labor do, he was displaced and could not be sacked so they retrained him and included him in a collective bargain agreement. Somehow he gets maternity leave.
This same skull, sir, was Kevvie’s skull, the king’s jester.
Let me see.
Takes the skull
Alas, poor Ruddick! I knew him, Garretio: a fellow of finite jest, of most mediocre fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! Where be your gibes now? Your gambols? your songs? your flashes of smile, plastered for the camera’s pose? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen?
Where now is your words of travelling around this fair nation talking to the ordinary person? Where is your fair shake of the sauce? Who has been rat f&^%ed now? Bet you didn’t see that coming did ya, ya smug bastard.
It wasn’t that silver bullet you spake so fondingly of, nor the fiddle faddle that stopped Bob your uncle, it was the cold hard knife of truth etched not in your back back in your groin, penetrating your gall, one swallow did not make a summer but your fat lady sung.
Puts the skull down
Enter MacAbbott, dressed in electoral battlegear, speedos on the outside, cap tied tightly on.
MacAbbott: Thou wast born of woman cannot bring me low, barbs I smile at, witticisms laugh to scorn,
Brandish’d by man that’s of a woman born.
Alarums. Enter MacTurnbull
MacTurnbull: That way the noise is. Tyrant, show thy face! The election is over and I return rightly to take my crown!
MacAbbott: Why should I play the Roman fool, and die On mine own sword? For while I have not led us to victory neither have I cascaded our defeat!
MacTruss: Turn, hell-hound, turn! For thoust has been treating with three independents who are fair upon the plains!
MacAbbott: Katter? Windsor? Oakespotty? Of all men else I have avoided these, for I chase the whimsical tail of Wilkelia and that green hippie chick who I’m sure puts out, all the hippy chicks do.
Hoquing: I have no words, am I to be spurned for the thrice begotten love of poorly disguised independents?
MacTurnbull: Wait?!? Then who won? Was verbose ejaculation for power premature?
MacAbbott: Hamlard and his ranga loving cronies did not win.
Hoquing: But neither did we
MacTruss: That is enough for now, the fates have decreed otherwise, for now, for a time, we shall be well hung.
First Witch: And we shall be the wellest hung of all
Second Witch: I’m not sure a well hung parliament is a good thing, can’t we all just work together?
Lady MacJoyce: ^&%$ %%# ^&%^$% ##$&_) balls ^%$ ^%^ Oakespotty
Third Witch: Now that we can agreed on, Lady MacJoyce, you gutted rat &^%$ing a$%$-lick
They ride off into the sunset all hiding knives behind their backs as the Ghost of Kevvies past follows, the soft wind carrying his cackling that if he were still in power no-one would be well hung.
Catch the next exciting performance of Bell’s Shakespurian Electoral performance in the tale of two lovers from the opposite sides of the tracks – Brownlio and Julliard.