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T h e G R E E N Y w o r l d D o m i n a t i o n T a s k F o r c e
Presents:
"Shakespeare Silliness: Part the First"
by Lobo
We all know the famous poem "The Seven Ages of Man" by good ol' Willy S.,
don't we? Well, if not, here goes:
THE SEVEN AGES OF MAN
from _As You Like It_
by William Shakespeare
All the world's a stage
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
And then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of normal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Well, there it is. My English teacher, thinking we were all poets, said
that we should all re-write that poem so that it reflects something that is as
important to us as the stage was to Shakespeare and that makes sense in the here
and now. Here is what I wrote at first:
THE SEVEN PHASES OF CRIME
by Lobo
All the world's a crackhouse
And all the men and women merely junkies;
They have their habits and the the things they do,
And one man in his addiction does many things,
His jobs having seven phases. At first the crack baby,
Whining when he doesn't get his high;
And then the boy-dealer, with his backpack
And shining AK-47, walking sulkily
To make his rounds on the streets. And then the full-fledged dealer,
Working at the furnace, melting cocaine into crack
To give to the ho's that he pimps. Then a gangster,
Clothed in solid colors and doing drive-bys,
Jealous of others who dared to enter his 'hood.
Seeking to smash the others
Even with an enemy's gun in his mouth. And then the cartel,
With fine cars and Armani suits
With mistresses and "designer drugs",
Full of advice or bullet-holes;
And so he runs the business. The sixth phase shifts him
Into the lean and mean Mafia Don.
With wiretap on chest and sawed-off at his side;
His pinstripe suit, well preserved, way too small
For his fat body; and his big manly jive,
Going back to when he was a kid on the streets, lungs
And throat ruined by cigarettes and crack pipes. Last phase of all,
That ends this organized criminal's days,
Is losing control of his bladder
As a hitman's bullet enters his brain.
Well, since it was supposed to be something important to me and because I
didn't think my teacher would like that, I started over and wrote this, although
"The Seven Phases of Illegalities" is much funnier:
THE SUB-ROUTINES OF MAN
by Lobo
All the world's a computer
And all the men and women merely circuits and programs;
They have their useful times and their useless times,
And one man in his life accesses many programs, but never for himself,
This sequence operating under many sub-routines. At first the child
Is made. Thrust just from the womb into the circuit board known as life,
He does nothing at all but retrieve one or two programs, again and again,
Always with the great fear of being replaced by a newer model of himself.
If he is lucky, he might know love, and if he abounds with
Luck, the object of his affections might just love him back. He lives,
Maybe having children in the form of updated versions of programs, maybe
Even his own. He then becomes an artifact, finally outdated, finally
almost
Finished with his work. At this point he is often retired, and he might go
on
A few trips. Usually, he will be thrown in a hole, and covered with dirt,
Along with many of his comrades. If he is ever again allowed to use his
Talents, it will be to show young children what life and computing were
Like in his generation. His remains may be discovered years down the road
And studied by those more advanced than he, just to see how something this
Simple could have possibly worked. In the final sub-routine of this grand
Program that we call life, the man is finally laid to rest; without heart,
mind,
Body, or soul, he falls to the all encompassing oblivion.
Sure, it's corny, cheesy, etc., but so what? Sure there aren't seven sub-
routines in that poem, but the teacher still liked it. In fact, I got a 100 on
it. Woo woo.
Thus, we leave you until the next exciting installment of Shakespeare Silliness,
a satire of that most celebrated of plays, _Romeo and Juliet_.
Both poems by me were written on February 7, 1994, just in case you were
wondering. It's just taken me until today, May 22, 1994 to actually put them in
the same file and to type up the one by Shakespeare.
-Lobo
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/---------------\
copyright (c) 1994 by Lobo of GwD Inc. :FIGHT THE POWER:
GREENY world Domination Task Force copyright (c) 1993 by Lobo: GwD :
All rights reserved to The Wearer of the Green Undies! \---------------/
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