first my face then the story below
When
Shakespeare met the Vampires ©
By
Michael
Casey
As I
said before the morn broke, on yester eve, my offspring were partaking of a
Tale on the magic flickering theatre box, tv in common parlance. So as the dawn
has broken I will relate a Tale inspired by the Originals and how they spake
like Shakespeare, to my own very ears that is.
Let us
begin. O you upon the balcony, what is thy purpose, are you afte perchance a
thief or a knave, or an escaped slave. You came to wash the windows? But where is
thy bucket, or is it hidden in thy mighty codpiece?
Do not
dally, go fetch a pale of water, and should thou meet Jake and Jill, tell them
to hurry. Now with that boy gone I shall tell you the gist of the Tale. There
are strange creatures abroad, they dost say they live in the darkest of the
night and make merry, no not Students, but strange strange people who have
exceedingly bright teeth, as white as virgin snow. And thou dost know how hard
it is to come upon a virgin in this city, and as for snow, Ha, I repeat Ha, it
never snows in Old Forge and Singing Anvil.
The
leader of the Teeth as they are called is a man called Bert, yes Bert is how
his mother did Christen him, Bert, it was to have been Gilbert, but gills sound
too fishy, and it was for lack of a fish head that the bastard was born. As
thou will remember fishes’ bits were used to prevent unwanted births. Brook
Street had not yet been invented, it was still just a puddle filled back
passage, before the Future arrived. But back to the tale, the Teeth as they
were called were bold strong men that hung out together, yes very early Body
Builders, who always wore deep red lipstick, or so it would seem. Perchance
when I awoke from my reverie in the mist of the night, to use the chamber pot,
I overfilled my chamber so I had to throw it out the window. It was then that I
saw a man below, he was all red mouthed, I just thought he was a local rent
boy, and I nearly waved and said garde
de l’eau below, but I did not. For on the floor by his feet was a very very
pale maiden, her neck and bosoms exposed, and her neck was blood soaked. I had
in the middle of the night come upon such a dreaded sight. The Teeth had bitten
and a faire maiden had been bitten, and her blood been drained from her. So, I
bit my tongue, and waited for the Teeth to depart, while I held in a fart, then
I caste my po, because I was in dire need of it again. So, the fallen maiden
was blessed with a po full of my pee, by me Will Shakespeare, consecrated from
above, by a shower of water, not blessed, just expelled not heaven sent, just from
a window above, without any love.
In the
morrow without any sorrow I emptied my po again, and when I looked to see was
the maiden still fallen, and perhaps was she still available, her bosoms did
methinks were so inviting. There was naught to be seen, maybe it was all a
dream, but it would be and could be inserted into a tale, inserting a maiden
always makes good theatre after all, I am Will Shakespeare after all. So, I
went about my business, sharpening my quills, which is always a cure for all
ills for Writers such as I. Besides the Tavern, the Horse Trader had yet to
open, so I sharpened my quills, as I watched my maid shake my paliass, though I
must confess I dost enjoy her paliass more than my own, especially when dear
Ann is away.
I was on
the lookout for a tart, Greggs Olde Bakery was and still is the best, but I was
wont for a strumpet, as I had great need filling my codpiece, and besides I
needed a boy to play that strumpet. Not that I have inklings for boys, but you
see we have to have boys playing maidens, as the Queen does not allow ladies to
play ladies, she is the Queen and does not want any competition. Queen Rules
OK. So unbroken boys dress as strumpets and ladies and all sorts of the female
gender, where is the equity of it all, it seems all balls to me.
So I
came upon Bert in the dark, the inn keeper refuses to use more candles, so it’s
always dark, it’s frightening whom one couldest bump into. Then Bert opened his
lips and I was dazzled, his teeth were so amazingly white, I was stunned, but I
recklessly asked how he managed to get his teeth so white. Perchance a triffle
I could buy the wife to keep her happy, a white teeth maker. Bert explaineth to
me he had a friend from over the border, what Birmingham I asked, no a bit
higher, not Wolverhampton. And we continued with said game till he explained
over the Wall, the other side of Hadrian. Now Hadrian was a fat bastard, he
really was fat and a bastard to boot, so I looked past Hadrian at the bar. Bert
smiled and nearly blinded me in the process. No, he explained, not past that
bastard Hadrian stood at the bar, but over the wall, Hadrian’s Wall into
Scotland, the land of the men is skirts.
I was
immediately interested then, men in skirts would be perfect to act in my plays.
Bert explained his friend MacClean helped him with his teeth, after he had
eaten him his teeth had forever been so bright and white. Little did I know
that Bert did not mean eat but eat, you see Bert was a Vampire. But I was intrigued,
if I could meet some more of the Clan MacClean then I’d have a source of actors
to play the strumpets in my plays, like wot I wrote yesterday as Ernie Wise
used to say, before he ran away with a sailor in Morecambe.
So Bert
and I tarried in the bar, Falstaff came with the food, he was such a fool, I said I’d put him in a
play if he gave me more ale, so the fool did, and I will stick him in a play if
my name is William Shakespeare. Through I have to leave my mark on parchment
just for the record, so I always sign Michael Casey let that fat silver haired
writer who hides in the shade, get the Kings Men chase him when I leave for
London at the weekend, he can pay my bar bill, my civil bar bill, or should I
reverse it, the bar bill of civil, methinks that could be a good title for
something. I’ll file it in my codpiece for later.
That
night as the cock crowed, as it’s neck was being strangled for crowing at a
such an ungodly hour, before being put in a pot, cock in a pot is a verily a
great disk in these parts, put your cock in my pot is a much heard refrain,
not just from cooks but ladies of the night around here. Bert appeared in a
flash, his codpiece was loose, too much weight being carried within. With him was
a man past Hadrian, a Scots man, a man in a skirt. So, I proposed he appeared
in one of my plays, and did he mind kissing me, and as I demonstrated, the man
in a skirt kissed me back. A Glasgow kiss, or head butt to those who do not
know, a Glasgow kiss is a head shattering head butt, the men past Hadrian may
wear skirts but they were definitely all men, and as their kilts swirled I can
attest definitely ALL MAN. But for a good bottle or Irn Bru they’d dress in all
a girl’s finery and appear in my latest play. Measure for Measure, which was
all about drinking, or so I told the Devil in a Kilt. The Scot told me he’ll
accept all this carry on, so long as I left his kyber alone.
Bert
smiled and dazzled us both, then he flew away after turning into a bat, he said
his friend Bruce, another Scot was making the dinner, dina dina Batman.
