September 14, 2004

The Tragedy of Omlet, Prince of Massachusetts

Omlet | Act 3, Scene 1

SCENE I. A cabin in the Gulfsteam, 40,000 feet over New Jersey.

To be or not to be President: that is my platform:
Whether 'tis more nuanced to vote for before against
The 87 billion of outrageous appropriation,
Or to make my case upon the seas of health care,
And by raising taxes get it fully funded? To windsurf: to trap-shoot:
To say "I cannot bring a gun to the debate." Oh end
The heart-ache and the thousand polling shocks
This campaign is heir to, tis a consomme
Devoutly to be reheated. To be elected, to rule;
To rule: perchance to decide: ay, there's the belly rub;
For in decision what results may come
When we have pulled out and hugged Chirac
Must give us all pause: I can't get no respect
That makes worthwhile of so long campaign.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of November;
The Limbaugh laugh, the Clintonian contumely,
The wrath of despising wife, the landslide votes of scorn,
The insolence of Begala, and the spurns
Of all my ambitions to be an aging JFK,
When I myself might my quietus make
With a pump-action? Who would Carville bear,
His grunts and sweating items of "To-Do,"
But that the dread of always junior senator,
That obscurity where I shall sink, from which
No non-Kennedy emerges, freezes me like headlighted deer,
And makes me bear John Edwards' southern drawl,
Than fly off to Nantucket or Gstaad to sport until December.
Thus candidacy doth make mincemeat of my myth;
And thus my native shape of waffle
Is amplified by my pale cast of speech
And my life's enterprise of "It's my ambition, stupid!,"
With view of my face their votes turn awry,
And lose the name of Winner. -- Soft me now!
The fair Teresa! Nymph, in thy checkbook
Be all my ambitions, stubs.

SOOTH! The Tragedy of Omlet, Prince of Massachusetts, doth continue at Protein Wisdom

Omlet | Act 5, Scene 1
SCENE I. A field in Red Bank, New Jersey.  Prince Omlet examines the skull of a famous news anchor....

SOOTH! SCENE III. A lavish hotel room in Cleveland Enter OMLET and JOHN EDWARDS as described by Blogfonte.

Sooth, fair Instapunditeers, who, upon this plain of Mars
Hath joined good Sir Jeff and I, old Gerard of Gaunt,
To ponder demons from the Democratic depths
That rise with juice of cursed hebenon in a vial,
And in the porches of our ears do pour
Their leperous distilment. Abide in this abode,
And with keyboards brave and full of wit
Inscribe your scenes in comments that will fit.

Posted by Vanderleun at September 14, 2004 8:48 AM
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"It is impossible to speak in such a way that you cannot be misunderstood." -- Karl Popper N.B.: Comments are moderated and may not appear immediately. Comments that exceed the obscenity or stupidity limits will be either edited or expunged.

Very nice. An egg-white Omlet, no doubt.

I'm convinced that Kerry is a robot built in Karl Rove's basement. I just hope smoke doesn't start coming out of his ears during the debates after he gets some of that Dubya-rap thrown at him, 'cause then the jig will be up.

Posted by: Tom L at September 14, 2004 9:34 AM

Superb! I've added another scene here.

Posted by: Jeff G at September 14, 2004 9:53 AM

Author! Author!

Posted by: SarahW at September 14, 2004 10:26 AM


I believe you owe a tip of the hat to Phil Vischer of VeggieTales. Check

Posted by: Dex at September 14, 2004 10:27 AM

If we could spread this around we could rewrite the whole play on blogs.

I'm emailing wretchard at the Belmont Club.

Who else is of the Shakespearean persuasion.

Posted by: Van der Leun at September 14, 2004 10:47 AM

It was cute for the first four lines or so, but after that it was...well...overdone and forced. Sometimes you need to know when to cut a joke short, guys.

Posted by: AnnaMottaPA at September 14, 2004 11:35 AM

VdL-- Roger L. Simon is a graduate of the Yale Drama School. Perhaps he might be persuaded to join the King's Men (the name of WS's company after 1603, when James I became king) in the capacity of playwright.

Posted by: Connecticut Yankee at September 14, 2004 11:38 AM

It's all a lie, I tell you !!!

Gulfstreams don't fly at 40,000 feet.

Posted by: Steve Raines at September 14, 2004 11:49 AM

Can't wait to see Babs quote it...

Posted by: R at September 14, 2004 11:53 AM

Looks great, but shouldn't it be "consomme" rather than "consume"? Sorry to be a nitpicker.

Posted by: Eugene Volokh at September 14, 2004 11:55 AM

Fair Anna Motta, ye of gimbled leg,
Teach not thy grandfather how to suck the egg.

Posted by: Van der Leun at September 14, 2004 11:57 AM

To mighty Volokh, I doff my dented crest,
For sooth his nits when picked are of the best.

Posted by: Van der Leun at September 14, 2004 12:07 PM

I cannot stop laughing! Totally awesome! Chuckle! Chuckle!

Posted by: leaddog2 at September 14, 2004 12:17 PM

Excellent. Shakespeare couldn't have said it better himself.

This also might have worked:

To flip: perchance to flop: ay, there's the rub.

Posted by: paul at September 14, 2004 12:19 PM


Get a hold of "The Derb", John Derbyshire of National Review Online. He's a regular poster on The Corner, which is the blog of NRO. He's big on poetry and EngLit and has even put out a CD of famous poems (American poems, I think).

As a matter of fact, he's been having a running debate the last few days with his fellow posters about the merits of the new poet laurete of the US and others such as T.S. Elliot, Joyce Kilmer, etc.

Posted by: Daniel at September 14, 2004 12:21 PM

Even so.

Posted by: Huckelbuck at September 14, 2004 12:32 PM

To Derbyshire hath I my herald sent
That he too of dour Omlet shall assent
That our watchfires on the headlands seen
Will make our Omlet wish he'd never been.

Posted by: Van der Leun at September 14, 2004 12:37 PM

RLS has indeed joined the King's Men:

"Someone's in My Pool!

To fair L.A. the herald now commutes
And to the Simon Castle he imputes
A muse of fire in the Sage above the pool
That he too shall play our Omlet for the fool.

Lo, shall it be so? Methinks my vision shines!
To where Bold Belmont to his hobbyhorse repairs
To spin a scene upon our frosty aires,
And that good Pundit, time honored Tennessean,
Of his favor doth across the brindled sphere of blogs
The brazen call of trumpets far rebounding sound
To war, to horse, to breach, to brunch,
And finish off our Omlet before lunch."

Posted by: Connecticut Yankee at September 14, 2004 12:54 PM

I haaav hoff a mind to challenge you to fisticuffs.

..or do I just haaav hoff a mind...?

Posted by: JF'n at September 14, 2004 1:46 PM

My attempt to extend the joke, here.

Posted by: Mitch H. at September 14, 2004 1:46 PM

this is a rough crowd!
it's gettin' to where a poseur can't even annul a marriage anymore, even for the sake of true ketchup

Tom York
Newport Beach, CA

Posted by: Tom York at September 14, 2004 2:02 PM

Steve Raines

Actually the Gulfstream 550 has a cruise ceiling of 51,000 feet, but no proportional seating and kerning of passengers is not recommended. Pilots should not be retired when writing evaluations of performance.

Posted by: EddieP at September 14, 2004 2:50 PM

Lady McRather:
Out, damned (Kerry)spot! out, I say!--Powerlineblog: Instapundit: why, then, 'tis time to forge't.--Hell is blog!--Fie, Hugh Hewitt, fie! a blogger, and afeard? What need we fear who reads it, when none can call our journalistic power to account?--Yet who would have thought the blogosphere to have had so much blood in him.

Posted by: skokorat at September 14, 2004 2:56 PM

Ah, fair Fonte, thou are the very man
To grind the Omlet's Edwards into sand!

Posted by: Van der Leun at September 14, 2004 3:13 PM

From 12th night...

What sense in this? How runs the stream? Or I am mad, and this a dream! Let senses still in Lethe steep; if it be THUS to dream, let Rather sleep.

Posted by: ChrisPer at September 14, 2004 6:04 PM

Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came.

My first thought was, he lied in every word,
That television anchor, with malicious eye
Askance to watch the workings of his lie
On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford
Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored
Its edge, at one more voter gained thereby.

Posted by: jm at September 14, 2004 6:37 PM

OOh I just love Shakespeare! Really! The words just ring true! Too bad Rather's don't.

Looks like he will be hoisted on his own petard.

Posted by: Paul Gaddis at September 15, 2004 4:05 AM

Scene - Election Night, Omelet's Nantucket Villa as returns are posted:

Mary Beth Cahill (Campaign Queen): No, no! Florida, Florida! O my dear Omlet!
The electoral college, the electoral college! Thy ambitions are poison'd. [Quits campaign]

Omlet: O villany! Ho! let the ballet boxes be lock'd.
Treachery! Seek out the Florida Supreme Court.

[Daschle falls.]

Daschle: It is Ohio, Omlet. Omlet, thy presidential hopes art slain;
No media whitewash in the world can do thee good.
In thy campaign there is but a concession speech of life.
The treacherous instrument is Ohio,
The electorate envenom'd. South Dakotans
Have turn'd themselves on me. Lo, here I lie,
Never to obstruct again. Thy career's poison'd.
I can no more. Rove, Rove's to blame.

Omlet: Wisconsin envenom'd too?

Soon afterward:

Omlet: O, I slink away, Ted!
The potent electorate quite o'erthrows my ambition.
I cannot bear to hear the news from Fox,
But I do prophesy th' election lights
On Bush. He has my concession speech.
So stall him, with th' Senate, obstruction and filibuster,
With liberal solicitation - my departure is silence.

[slinks away]

Kennedy: Now flees a bleeding-heart. Good night, sweet senator,
And crews of leftist protestors chant thee to thy retirement!

Posted by: kamatoa at September 15, 2004 11:48 AM

Scene I


THE KING: And can you, by no drift of circumstance,
Get from Omlet why he puts on this confusion,
Grating so harshly all his days of quiet
With turbulent and dangerous lunacy?
ROSENCRANTZ: He does confess he feels himself distracted;
But from what cause he will by no means speak.
GUILDENSTERN: Nor do we find him forward to be sounded,
But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof,
When we would bring him on to some confession.
THE KING: Yet may true stated what you have observed,
Unwrinkle the body politic in parts.

ROSENCRANTZ: We came upon him thus,
GUILDENSTERN: (Becalméd He!)
ROSENCRANTZ: Mapping windy aspirations made
Insensible with hawks, hacks saws.
ROSENCRANTZ: (Old Saws! They Say He’s Mad As Me!)
Denies it north-east-west, though claims it south,
Bold arguments himself with self, a habit
Leading only to
ROSENCRANTZ: complaining
Of complaints. Tis here our litany turns
Upon itself, and forward we report
But what our eyes have seen
GUILDENSTERN: (O Hear Him, Word)
ROSENCRANTZ: We leave to you davining,
Prince Omlet, Signals He His Dogs Of War.)
ROSENCRANTZ: Throws he down his staff, calls forth whole cloth,
Scissors hIm new sails, yet mirror mired
GUILDENSTERN: (O Brave New Cut Of Jib!)
ROSENCRANTZ: he preening paused,
And swift was blown awry, discoursed again.
ROSENCRANTZ: A lackey propped him with advices
From a ghostly king,
GUILDENSTERN: (Oh Aye, Ghastly)
ROSENCRANTZ: Sweet Willaim embedded and beflowered, arose.
Cast ye clear trajectory, says he,
GUILDENSTERN: (O Princely King!)
ROSENCRANTZ: fie on fact chequery.
GUILDENSTERN: (My Kingly Prince!)
ROSENCRANTZ: Yet pays he heed to hearty Willie, nil, he lists
He luffs, he comes about, attempts a jab,
Then jibe,
GUILDENSTERN: (Ho Curséd Wind Would Rather Be!)
ROSENCRANTZ: Or naught but tempest in black kettling pot?
Enough, so Omlet cried! Havoc rising with
ROSENCRANTZ: the tides, the march of time, he backward
Climbed, till Milady proud, and stern, unbowed,
Get thee beheinzed me said, and hauled his halyard,
GUILDENSTERN: (Hoist pertard!)
ROSENCRANTZ: Distaffed, aloft, and thus
Bedeviled, in a blue suit Omlet tried
His hand upon yon tiller, plied, but gaffed,
Soon sideswept by swift mettle testing surf.
Now spinning,
GUILDENSTERN: (Yea, Right Spinnakered Was He!)
ROSENCRANTZ: Outspent, left leaning, beached he bark to port
Push polled him out upon the shifting sands,
GUILDENSTERN: (What Ho! Begalaland!)
ROSENCRANTZ: where yet he sits,
Conjuring carvillainies, consulting stars
Which round him garland now,
GUILDENSTERN: (Affirmament!)
ROSENCRANTZ: More like the tangled web we weave each night, of late bejewelled
With yet another thousand points of light, for taming of the shrewd.


[Sure wish I knew how to post preformatted lines, right now!]

Posted by: JM Hanes at September 16, 2004 7:59 PM

So lead on, Maguffin, and
Cursed be he who first cries,
Hold! My polls are puffin'

Seest thou not these Murricans,
Lowly, hold in their hands
My fate, as slowly, I do
In the wind twist, turning,

No hurrican' this, nor momentary
Dip in ratings. Miss not
The readings of entrails, cast
Unto al-Qerry's vaunted past!

Posted by: Carridine at September 18, 2004 2:21 AM

Sorry. Really.

Should've been,
"Unto Omlet's vaunted past!"

Deep regrets. Mweh.

Posted by: Carridine at September 18, 2004 2:25 AM