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Author Topic: Play for school  (Read 1798 times)
Posts: 1245

stay positive!


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« on: October 04, 2006, 08:54:08 PM »

I needed to write a play for my Intro to Theatre class, but we've been allowed a few days to revise it. Basically, it's Romeo and Juliet twenty years after the events of Shakespeare's play. Juliet's an overweight alcoholic and Romeo's a pansy.

So, here it is. Help me out. Tear me apart.

Romeo and Juliet: The Lost Years

Chorus: One household, lost of all its dignity,
In rote Mantua, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to failed matrimony,
Where PMS makes many words unclean.
From forth the sorry loins of these two foes
A pair of star-cross'd lovers took their life;
Whose misadventured piteous lustfulness
Did with their bond further their parents' strife.
The fearful result of their much-mark'd love,
And the continuance of divorce rates,
Which, but for their children's health, naught could remove,
Is now the ten minutes’ traffic of our stage;
The which if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.

[Juliet burps]

Romeo: Wherefore dost thou call me, my love?

Juliet: Oh Romeo, Romeo, where the ‘eck’s Benvolio?

Romeo: Juliet dearest, why dost thou request counsel with my friend?

Juliet: Romulus, thou has’ never been quite sa’sfact’ry in terms of company, casual or innimate- if thou has’ caught my meaning.

Romeo: A-ha, my dear, thou hast such a wicked tongue! If I did not know you better, I would think you were being truthful!

Juliet: … How quaint.

Romeo: You know, my sweet, all these twenty years we’ve been married I’ve never once looked at you without the sparkle of love in my eyes.

Juliet: Is tha’ love? I thought it was glaucoma.

Romeo: Love, your humor cuts to the bone it is so fierce!

Juliet: If only that ‘er true.

Romeo: Yes, through all these twenty years- nay, nineteen still, until a fortnight’s past- I’ve looked upon your countenance as though it were the visage of an angel. ‘Tis true we’ve had our detriments- the loss of our true home not being the least- yet here we are, together, twenty years in a fortnight, and our love still blazes with a passion more fiery than the route of Charon!

Juliet: Dear saint! I can think of unly one thing here tha’ flames more ‘an Hades.

Romeo: What’s that, my dear?

Juliet: Nothin,’ Reemus, but muh unremittin’ love…

Romeo: Lady, I-

Juliet: … For the delicious chicken I doth consume.

Romeo: - Love thee to the shadows of the moon!

Juliet: Sometimes I wonder, dear Romeo, where thy mind has gone and why, oh why, dos’ thou continue living with a skull so clearly vacant.

Romeo: O! My dove! Thou must know my thoughts belong to thee! My every dream- asleep or waking- is devoted to the pursuit of your happiness.

Juliet: You speak as though you have a plan. Whaddas thou expect to get from flat’ry?

Romeo: Well, my lark, the children are gone until dusk. Indeed it has been quite some time since we shared a coital bond.

Juliet: Indeed it has, and I am none the worse. If you want ‘ta show me love, catch and cook another chicken from the fields.

Romeo: By fortune, dear, I had meant to breach the subject of your recent taste for poultry. Do you not think that, perhaps, one or two whole chickens a day might be enough to satiate your hunger? As you and I both know, well, that is to say, your former curls and curves have been joined of late by a host of unsightly, and, I admit, slightly disturbing…

Juliet: Do go on.

Romeo: Did I speak? Oh no, my dear, ‘twas but a daydream. Never mind that rot; the thought’s forgot!

Juliet: And by its loss ya keep your right to call yourself a man for one more day.

Romeo: To suggest, angel, a display of our still-strong physicality should be shown now, while we’re alone- does the thought not ignite your passion?

Juliet: I believe I left a clof’ uh lil’ value on the table by your bedside. I’ve told you before whadda do with it, but I’ll say it again as my words clearly dun affect you how they should: enner the back room and I assure you, you shall not be disturbed. Do whatever you need to do as long as you dun’ make too much noise and the floor’s cleaned up afterwards. Daf’s the purpose of the clof.’ It’s for you to keep.

Romeo: Dear Juliet, why do you admonish me so? Why did you ever agree to fool the fools that are our families if you did not intend to keep our love as fresh as the flowers of the spring?

Juliet: Rozoro, it’s what you say, those cursed rhymes, that continue to avert my love. You had promised to be everthing, yet you turned out to be nuffin’ more ‘an another love-struck poet prancing in his mind through a field of daffodils.

Romeo: It was that same poetry I thought you fell in love with.

Juliet: The poetry was nice. ‘Twas. But you see, you never stopped. And the crying- the torrents uh tears at every dropped pin! Rozario, look awhat we’ve been through! Do you ‘member how you risked your life the night we met before my deaf was faked? We met that unce- you came by chance, dough I knew somehow you would- moments before the potion took effect. I told you muh plan and you told me somehin’ true: we had to fool bof our families and the monk er else our trials would be in vain. So you cameta me while I slept’n that tomb and you pretended to die. And I, in turn, set the scene of passion turned to death. We ‘ere able to escape while er fam’lies were castigated by the Prince and you promised me as we ran to our new ‘ome that the world was ours to take. I believed you, young fool that I was, and your words charmed me to no end! But not two monfs later, we found I’s wif’ child. Since then I’ve been nothing but berated by our neighbors, by our old friends. And you, there you go, cryin’ again!

Romeo: You hate me so?

Juliet: I hate nothing! I’m indiff’ernt to the world! You’ve shown me, not through your thick devotion, but as a result of it, that nothing worldly is worth both’ren over.

Romeo: Why?

Juliet: Oh, dear Romero, because I dun’ believe this world could take more ‘an one of you. Where’s my wine?

Romeo: If there’s nothing left of our love, I do believe I’ll drown my sorrows with you in the humors of that bottle.

Juliet: Over my dead body!

Romeo: Oh sweet angel, I don’t believe life’s worth living if I’ll never again deserve your love!

Juliet: The charm ‘a your dramatics quickly wears thin, my rose. It’s not been less ‘an eighteen years ‘at I thought you’d ‘a been better off wif’ Mercutio had he not been struck dead by my formerly livin’ cousin! God rest bof’ ‘eir souls.

Romeo: Oh! Mercutio!

Juliet: Daf’s exactly what I mean! The tears you shed for everthing; Mercutio’s been dead for almos’ twenty years and the mention of ‘is name still makes you blubber an’ wail!

Romeo: Oh! Oh! Oh! Mercutio!

Juliet: Since the moment we ‘er matrimonified our lives started fallin’ apart. A testament to the evanescent nature ‘uh young love, apparently. An’ ours could be the story ‘at teaches a million generations ‘at you can’t play at things ‘at you got no control over.

Romeo: Give me that bottle!

Juliet: Though I doubt ‘at any of ‘em ‘ill listen.

Chorus: Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie,
And their affection fails to be his heir;
That fair for which love groan'd for and would die,
With chunky Juliet match'd, is now not fair.
Now Romeo is drunk and cries again,
Alike bewitched by the charm of wine,
But to his wife supposed he must complain,
And she steels-

Juliet: Did you jus’ call me chunky?

Chorus: - lost love’s fate from dirty looks:
Being held a bi-

Juliet: I said did you jus’ call me chunky? And what was ‘at you ‘er jus’ about to say?

Chorus: Being held a biting itch, he may not have access
To breathe such swears as spouses like to-

Juliet: I know you can ‘ear me!

Chorus: Would you shut up, you bawdy clapper-clawed bugbear? I’m trying to end this fobbing thing!

Juliet: [As she gets up and walks offstage] Bawdy clapper-clawed bugbear? Bugbear? I’ll show you bugbear, you yeasty swag-bellied pignut!

Romeo: [Sitting down] A bloomin’ piece of scut this morning brings
… We’ll shun the sorrow. After all, we’re not dead.
Whence did we get lost in these sad things?
Will foolhardy love be pardoned or punished?
For never was there a story of more woe
Than this of my wife and—oh, my Mercutio!


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