A scene from from the new play, now being composed, Barromeo and JulioCare,
from Act II. Scene II.
The scene: before dawn, in Capitolettes’ orchard
Barromeo. But whattheheck? what entitlement through yonder Congress breaks?
It is the east, and JulioCare is the sun!
Arise fair sun, and burn off the fatted corporates,
who are already plump with capitalism’s excess.
Oh, How shall I fund thee, JulioCare?
Let me count the ways.
One, two, three, what are we pushin’ for?
Ask me again and I’ll tell you the same–
next phase gottta be an affordable game.
But hey! what Act through yonder Congress creeps,
shepherded by my Dhemmi peeps
It is my plan; O! it is my .gov!
Ob! that (s)he knew he/she were.
She/he speaks, yet spouts legal-speak, what of that?
Her/his eye discourses; I will pander to it.
See how he/she leans his/her cheek upon her/his hand;
oh that I were an MJ glove upon that hand,
that I might touch them little cheeks.
JulioCare (on hill portico above): Pshaw! woe is me.
Barromeo (aside): (S)he speaks: O! speak again bright angels in America,
for thou art as amorphous to this night
as some winged messenger of left-equality
unto the white-winged Right.
JulioCare: O Barromeo, Barromeo, wherefore art thou Barromeo?
Deny thy privilege, and ante up their game;
Or, if thou wilt not, be butt torn my love,
and I’ll no longer be a Capitolette.
Barromeo: (aside) Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
JulioCare: ‘ Tis but thy game that is my enemy;
thou art, thyself, not a politician bought-and-sold-for.
What’s a politician? it is not Dhemmi, nor Prublican,
nor ding, nor dong, nor any other part
belonging to a man. Ob! be ye some other name:
What’s in a frickin’ name anyway? that which we call a rose
by any other name would smell as sweet;
So Barromeo would, were he not El Prezzo called,
retain that dear election by which he shows
Barromeo: Listen up, girl! By a name,
I know not how to tell thee who I am, except
I am, you know, El Prezzidente, and tell your
Capitolette Prublican patriarchs don’t you forget it!
JulioCare: My funds have not yet drunk! a thousand pages of thy remedy,
yet I’ll tell my maid Nancy to have them read the damn thing
after it is passed by yonder congressional hacks
so its passage will be sure before yonder sun arises
to cast dread light upon our desperate plan
for the candyman can the candy man can.
At least that’s what Uncle Sammy said back in the day.
Barromeo: Hey, fair maideno, we got it covered. Not to worry. We can slide it past your Prublicans duds quicker than you can say Taxonomy, according to Chief Justy Roberto. You just go back in there and get some rest
and I’ll take care of the rest, cuz I’m the best
thing since sliced bread
to come outa Chicago since Dick Daley was the head. . .
JulioCare: Wait! (looking down at her cell) Pshaw! Pshit! My maid just texted–she said beware the ides of March and the
Big Banquos and the
Risk Corridors and whatever obfuscations my esteemed Prublicans bury in there before the whole damned spot gets out of the House of the Capitolettes.
Barromeo: Not to worry, babe. By yonder bleepin’ moon I swear–
JulioCare: Oh! swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, which is, bi- and by, darkened by its dark side and–pshaw! pshit!–there’s the lark, the herald of the morn, with harsh chirps and unpleasant sharps–’tis no nightingale that now soothes the forest of this night. Bi hence, be gone away! before reconciliation faileth to befuffuddle my forebears.
Barromeo: But hey, babe, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?
JulioCare: What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?
Barromeo: the exchange of, um, thy love’s faithful vow for mine.
JulioCare: That’s a great idea; tell ’em to go the Exchange. No big deal.
Barromeo: You got it, babe, but hey, parting is such sweet sorrow, ’till we meet again. . .
JulioCare: Oh, ’tis twenty years ’til then!
Barromeo: Whoa, whoa, don’t get bent out of shape. We needeth not such hyperbole.
JulioCare: Oh! when will we meet again! ’til then will I be but shapeshifting and forlorn.
Borromeo: In your dreams, baby; in your dreams. ‘Til then, this thing will come together when Prublican wood doth move against Dhemmo games.
Maid (from within): JulioCare, get yo’ assets back in here before the light of day changes everything!
JulioCare: Oh! pshaw! pshit! gotta go, Barromeo, but ’til we meet again in better circumstances . . . ; -)
Borromeo: Farewell, fair maideno, until we meet again! stay thee away from the risk corridors, lest they fall upon thee with unbearable rate-hikes. ‘Tis a dangerous game. So fair and foul a game I have not seen, nor have most other folks. Hey, What’s in the game, anyway? a dollar by any other special drawing rights– ’tis nuttin’ butt a tweet. I’ll see ya when I see ya. I’ll see your beloved currency and raise you an SDR. Fare thee well; my love for thee runs as deep as the Fed.