MACBUSH,
Emperor of the Imperial
Empire
A Musical Comedy
by
Stuart Eugene
Thiel
Copyright
(c) 2006 by Stuart Eugene Thiel. All Rights Reserved.
Royalty waived for amateur performances only.
FOREWORD
Lest I be accused of plagiarism, let me
immediately spell out my debt to William Shakespeare, W.S. Gilbert, and Sir
Arthur Sullivan. I have followed MacBeth
fairly closely, actually. The main changes are that Lady MacDuff is
"killed" before Banquo (whom I call Aliquot), and that no one is
actually killed, except democracy herself. Human careers, not lives, are
attacked with murderous intent. I use a lot of Master Will's original language.
Here and there you may recognize phrases from his other works. If you consider that
blasphemy, stop reading here. You'll give yourself apoplexy.
The
tunes for my songs, several phrases in the lyrics, and two characters (Turdbloom
and Count Dickula), come directly from the Gilbert & Sullivan operettas, The Mikado and H.M.S. Pinafore. It’s all in the public domain, as is the sheet
music, soon to be posted on the web site. Portions of statements by prominent
persons, and of Supreme Court opinions, are also recited.
This work is agitprop -- cheerful, silly
agitprop -- but agitprop just the same. I have no idea whether it is even
possible, let alone profitable, to produce this play. (I doubt it.) When I
started this project, I knew almost nothing about writing plays, staging
scenes, lighting, operettas, Elizabethan argot, etc., etc., etc. I don't know
very much more now. I know a little about Gilbert & Sullivan and a little
more about Shakespeare. Among other things, all this ignorance means that if
you're trying to stage this show, feel free to make changes.
I had two moments of inspiration -- the
breath of God -- that led me to write this play. First, the name,
"MacBush," just popped into my mind one day.[1] Could
I write a parody of MacBeth starring
someone named MacBush? At first look, I couldn't -- no matter what you think of
Laura Bush, she's no Lady MacBeth. Then came the
inspiration. Barbara MacBush! That's Barbara, Sr., the one who called Geraldine
Ferraro a million-dollar "something that rhymes with witch." So, I
dug up a copy of MacBeth (plentiful on the web) and started to read. I had it
in mind to cast Ann Coulter, Michelle Malkin and some third harpy as the three
weird sisters. Shakespeare himself beat me to it. One of his witches is named
"Graymalkin!" Another has an Adam’s apple. From that point on, I was
hooked.
I concocted new names for recognizable
public figures and places by ear. My choices are not meant to conceal some
profound insight.
This whole project may sink without a
trace, except that some kid will take a break from his I-Pod and hear some real
music. Could be worse.
Stuart Eugene Thiel
September 2006
PS. Please don't whine to me or anyone
else about the slippage between my version of various events and reality. Unlike
Disney Corporation, I'm not pretending that I've written a documentary. I've
enjoyed much poetic license. And anyway, not that it matters, but most of it is
true, according to the pre-9/11 definition (Webster's Second) of truth.
MACBUSH, The
Emperor of the Imperial Empire
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
MACBUSH, Governor of
Glamis,[2]
President of Cawdor, later, Emperor of the Imperial Empire.
LADY MACBUSH, his Mother.
MR. TURDBLOOM,
MacBush's Chamberlain and Political Manager.
COUNT BELLICOSA, Minister of War.
BARON GONZO, Minister
of Justice.
BARON HECKUVA, Minister
of the Interior, then Boss of Emergency Management.
COUNT DICKULA, Official
Regent, and Minister of Everything Else.
AMBASSADOR MACDUFF, former Ambassador to
an unnamed country.
LADY MACDUFF, his wife.
DOCTOR HOWARD, Director of the Democrats.
The Spectre of ALIQUOT, with whom MacBush
had contested the throne in 2000.
Featuring:
THE
WHITE HOUSE PRESS CHORUS
Whose members play, as needed:
COOLA, GRAYMALKIN and CEDILLA, the three
weird sisters;
a POLL-WATCHER,
REYNARD, a cable TV reporter;
JUSTICE FUCHSIA, a Judge on the High
Court;
a JANITOR;
APPARITIONS;
COURTIERS;
CITIZENS;
SPIES;
SERVANTS;
JOURNALISTS; and
PUNDITS.
The action of the play spans the first
several years of the 21st Century.
Act I. December, 2000
Act II. September,
2001
Act III. Summer,
2003
Act IV. Late
Spring, 2004
Act V. August,
2005
Act VI. July
- October, 2006
Orthography: Dialog in italics is to be delivered as an aside
(stage whisper). Dialog in {curly brackets} emanates from a television or other
device; the actor is not on stage. Indented dialog means that the speaker is in
another place (e.g. Justice Fuchsia, Act I, Scene iii, or the two parties
eavesdropping on the sleepwalking Lady MacBush, Act VI, Scene ii).
Set: One upstage corner,
preferably elevated one or two feet, should be spotlit so as to convey the idea
that the character there, and those on the main stage, are doing their thing at
the same time, but in different places. An ordinary desk should do the trick.
[The
White House Press Chorus is onstage, looking busily journalistic.]
SONG:
PRESS CHORUS: WE ARE GENTLEMEN OF THE PRESS
If you want to know who we are,
We are gentlemen of the press:
Each one of us going far
‘Cause we’re gonna get great access!
We stenographize as we’re told:
So our story’s above the fold --
And you’re wrong if you think we’re bold,
oh!
If you think that we’re worked by
strings,
Like a Japanese marionette,
You don't understand these things:
It is simply Court etiquette.
Perhaps you suppose that we
Can't spend the day on our knees
If that's what you think, puh-leeeez! Oh!
If you want to know who we are,
We are gentlemen of the press –
We will go far
To get access
And write any, any, any, any, any, any, anything they suggest!
Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!
And that is why
We have success.
[Chorus
of journalists retreats far upstage, where it will stay throughout the play. When
suitable, they do journalist things, e.g. take notes, flash
flashes. Otherwise, they are unobtrusive.]
[First
J. remains downstage for one line.]
FIRST JOURNALIST. The time?
December, 2000. The place? A remote orange grove,
somewhere in The Orange State. . .
[rejoins chorus]
SCENE
I. An orange grove. Stormy. Dark.
[Three
Witches detach themselves from the Chorus of Journalists: Coola, Graymalkin and
Cedilla. All three are supermodel-thin and more or less attractive. Coola and
Cedilla are blondes; Graymalkin is dark. Coola wears a micro-miniskirt 20 years
too young for her; Cedilla, evening dress; Graymalkin, casual Banana
Republic-style shorts and top.]
GRAYMALKIN.
When shall we three meet again?
In thunder, lightning,
or in rain?
CEDILLA.
When the battle's lost and won;
And MacBush’s reign is well begun.
COOLA.
If the counting’s ever
done.
GRAYMALKIN.
Where’s the place?
COOLA.
The battle rages in the courts and city halls of the
ALL.
Fair is foul, and foul is fair:
To victory, nothing can compare.
[Witches
vanish. As they do, the lights come up to make blinding sunshine for a moment,
then blackout for scene change]
-------------------------------------------------------------
SCENE
II. A town of
[Enter citizens]
CITIZEN ONE.
What bedraggled man is that? Perhaps he can relate
The tumultuous events in the
That is a Democratic poll-watcher
Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought
For an honest election. -- Hail, brave friend!
Goes the recount for good, or naught?
What portends?
POLL-WATCHER.
Doubtful it stands.
The votes are counted, yet neither man
won,
Unlikely as that
sounds. The votes are
almost all counted
And equal for Aliquot and for MacBush.
Aliquot should prevail in the recount
Yet, as we speak, MacBush’s lawyers
petition
To be heard at the highest court in the
land.
Meanwhile, MacBush’s fixer, firm in his
purpose,
A man unacquainted with no manner of
ruthless tactic
And who is with cash and minions
well-supplied –
Entrusts Dame Fortune
to help seal the victory.
Hope remains for Aliquot, but Dame
Fortune sins like a rebel’s whore.
CITIZEN TWO.
And what of Aliquot?
POLL-WATCHER.
Noble Aliquot, as usual, thinks when he rather should act.
He may well prove unequal to the contest.
Mark, citizens, mark! – MacBush played
foul from the start;
Assisted by his kinsmen on television
And legions of men sent to riot and
frighten the vote-counters.
CITIZEN THREE.
Dismayed this not candidate Aliquot?
POLL-WATCHER.
Yes, as the tortoise dismayed the hare.
Armed with favorable precedents, his men
Were deployed to court,
And emerged victorious.
CITIZEN ONE.
But -- ?
POLL-WATCHER.
The capital,
The very stench will show you the way.
Noble Aliquot cannot smell it.
He plays fair; it is his folly. Adieu, my
fellows.
[exit]
CITIZEN THREE. [turns on television]
Reynard will give us the latest.
REYNARD (from TV)
{MacBush victory! MacBush victory! MacBush victory! . . . [continues]}
ALL.
What? MacBush the
victor?
Messieurs, stay your credulity.
Reynard is a kinsman to MacBush.
Of course he says MacBush is the winner.
CITIZEN TWO.
But the television tells us: the decision
is made!
All hail MacBush! All hail MacBush!
CITIZENS ONE & TWO.
All hail MacBush!
Citizens, I beg you. Suspend
Your judgment in abeyance.
ALL CITIZENS. [staring at television, chant in synch with Reynard]
MacBush victory! MacBush victory! All hail MacBush! MacBush
victory!
[all
exit. Reynard continues for a few seconds, then
fades.]
-------------------------------------------------------------
SCENE
III. A sunny beach.
[Enter the three Witches.
As they enter, the beach grows dark.]
CEDILLA.
Where have you been, sister?
COOLA.
On Oh,
Really?,
slandering Aliquot
And taunting his
followers.
GRAYMALKIN.
How about you, sister?
CEDILLA.
Virtuously at home, writing more fiction.
Mr. Scarf said he’d buy half a million
copies!
It’ll be another best-seller!
And you?
GRAYMALKIN.
On the World Wide Web, of course!
A pinheaded Democrat – now,
There’s a redundancy, sisters! – a foolish and persistent fellow,
He tried my patience.
He cited facts from the source
To rebut my home-made
prognostications.
He tried to make me look the fool, and
nearly succeeded.
CEDILLA.
Oh, your virgin eyes and ears!
COOLA.
So you ---
GRAYMALKIN.
--
Googled him. I found his addresses, work and home;
His numbers, social security, license
plate and phone,
His credit card balances, his payments in
arrears
And details yet more
intimate.
I published these on my site.
I expect that my loyal readers might
Drop by his home and persuade him for a minute.
-- So
much for that Liberal!
SONG. WITCHES: THREE LEGGY RIGHT WING BABES
ALL. Three
leggy Right-Wing babes are we,
On
television frequently,
Screeching
our vile hyperbole;
Three
leggy Right-Wing babes!
COOLA. Each
one of us a T.V. star --
GRAYMALKIN. Things
that we say there always are --
CEDILLA. Hateful,
violent and bizarre!
ALL. Three
leggy Right-Wing babes!
ALL. Three
leggy babes reactionary
Slandering
Riveting
horny boys unwary –
Three
leggy Right-Wing babes!
Three
leggy Right –
Wing
babes!
GRAYMALKIN. One
leggy babe is cute but dumb –
CEDILLA. Two
are relentless with the drum –
COOLA. All
three together leave you numb –
Three
leggy Right-Wing babes!
ALL. Three
leggy babes, reactionary
Slandering
Afflicting
you, mountain, coast and prairie --
Three
leggy Right-Wing babes!
COOLA. Katie
Couric’s Eva Braun –
GRAYMALKIN. Round
up the Japs and hold ‘em down –
CEDILLA. I
look great in a strapless gown --
Three
leggy Right-Wing babes!
ALL. Three
leggy babes, reactionary
Slandering
Riveting
horny boys unwary –
Three
leggy Right-Wing babes!
Three
leggy Right –
Wing
babes!
[Drum
within.]
GRAYMALKIN.
A drum, a drum!
MacBush doth come.
[Enter
MacBush, Turdbloom and Count Dickula]
MACBUSH.
How far, now, to
--Whoa,
three slender mannequins?
Lucky me, I've hit the trifecta! But so
immodest in dress,
They cannot be family-values Republicans
'Tho' they claim to be so. I confess
They more resemble scarlet ladies of the avenue.
[to witches]
-- Are
you real? or are you
Only apparitions from T.V.?
[to COOLA.]
-- You
seem to understand me,
You, the bottle blonde with her chappy
finger laying pert
Upon her skinny lips? You should a woman be,
And yet your Adam’s apple forbids me to
interpret
That you are so. Speak, if you can. What are you?
COOLA.
All hail, MacBush! hail to thee,
Governor of Glamis!
GRAYMALKIN.
All hail, MacBush! hail to thee,
President of Cawdor!
CEDILLA.
All hail, MacBush! who
shall be Emperor of the Imperial Empire!
TURDBLOOM
Good sir, why do you jump; and seem to fear
Things that do sound so fair?
Are you fantastical, or as nervous
As you outwardly show? Lord MacBush,
These apparat-chicks say you have won,
And your most ardent wishes true will
come.
[to Witches]
He seems stunned, withal.
--
But what of Aliquot?
If you can look into the future,
And say which grain will grow, and which
will not,
Speak then of our rival, Aliquot,
And tell us what from what.
COOLA.
Lesser than MacBush,
and greater.
GRAYMALKIN.
Not so happy, yet much happier.
CEDILLA.
He shall never be President, but a power
just the same;
A prophet and statesman
in all but his name.
So all hail, MacBush!
MACBUSH.
[shaking off thrall]
Wait! Please! Explain your promise;
Of course I know I am Governor of Glamis;
But how President of
Cawdor? We have
petitioned the Supremes,
Who have yet to agree even to hear my plea.
It now seems
We will succeed, but to what do you owe this strange
intelligence?
[witches vanish]
TURDBLOOM.
Sire, they give us hope, but let us use
our common sense.
DICKULA.
I believe them. My good friend Justice
Fuchsia
Will serve us as well
as anyone could wish.
Me, Regent of Cawdor! The fix is in.
And you, the newly-chosen President of
Cawdor!
I tell you, I am absolutely certain we
will win.
MACBUSH
I've dreamed of the moment ever since I was a young fellow
of forty.
SONG. MACBUSH & CHORUS: WHEN I WAS A LAD
When I was a lad, the words for me
Were lazy selfishness and cruelty
The sort of pastime that I thought was
fun
Was to shoot my little brother with a BB
gun!
Was to shoot his little brother with a
BB gun!
My tender years were so misspent
That now I am the newly-chosen President!
His tender years were so misspent
That now he is the newly-chosen
President!
Next stop was university
Matriculating on my family’s legacy
And ‘though I never quite made the team
Leading cheers and doing cocaine helped
my self-esteem!
Leading cheers and doing cocaine
helped his self-esteem!
They gave to me the “C” for gents
And now I am the newly-chosen President!
They gave to him the “C” for gents
And now he is the newly-chosen
President!
The political connections of my Dad and
Mom
Kept my tender tushie out of
I said I'd fly for the National Guard
But showing up for weekends was just too
damn hard!
But showing up for weekends was just
too damn hard!
Without leave, I was oft absent
But now I am the newly-chosen President!
Without leave, he was oft absent
But now he is the newly-chosen
President!
My need for cash being what it is
I headed several ventures in the oil biz
I never struck a gusher, but I didn’t
mind --
‘Cause a generous investor Dad could
always find!
‘Cause a generous investor Dad could
always find!
I’ve never earned a nickel of the cash
I’ve spent
But now I am the newly-chosen President!
He's
never earned a nickel of the cash he's spent
But now he is the newly-chosen
President!
As governor I strove to be
Santa Claus for rich folks and for
industry
To relax I'd watch the losers being put
to death
And I’d mock their pleas for pardons with
their dying breath!
And
he’d mock their pleas for pardons with their dying breath!
And, all along, my true intent
Was to be, as now, the newly-chosen
President!
And, all along, his true intent
Was to be, as now, the newly-chosen
President!
Now, children all, however you be
Handicapped by ignorance and poverty
Listen closely now, as I address
The recipe that guarantees your sure
success –
Be the eldest of a family in the top
percent,
And you could be the newly-chosen
President!
Be the eldest of a family in the top
percent,
And you could be the newly-chosen
President!
[Enter
Courtiers; Chorus remains downstage.]
[Lights
up, upstage, of a solitary individual in judicial robes, seated at a small
table or desk, scrivening away using quill and scroll]
JUSTICE
FUCHSIA [talking to himself as he writes]
The issue is not whether counting every
legally cast vote can constitute irreparable harm. The counting of votes that
are of questionable legality does in my view threaten irreparable harm to Governor
MacBush, and to the country, by casting a cloud upon what he claims to be the
legitimacy of his election. Count first, and rule upon legality afterwards, is
not a recipe for producing election results that have the public acceptance
democratic stability requires.
DICKULA.
I am told that the deed is nearly done.
By Monday, we shall have the election won.
All hail, President MacBush!
FUCHSIA [looks up and grins]
I just wrote that it’s better for
democracy that the votes not be counted, because if they were, and Mr. Aliquot
got the majority of those votes, it might cast doubt on President MacBush’s
victory.
ALL.
Hail! Hail! Hail!
FUCHSIA.
Ain’t I something?
[blackout Fuchsia]
DICKULA.
Justice Fuchsia doth happily write the
decree that stays
The recounting of
votes. The learned
justice says
That counting all the votes might
intimate
That your lordship’s
reign is not legitimate.
As would surely be the case, if Aliquot
won the majority! [laughs]
Have cheer. I have information of the
highest authority
That soon enough, you will be declared
the winner.
Indeed, on election night I was host of a
small dinner.
As Aliquot led in the counting, Justice
Daycon said, “This is terrible!”
And her face was twisted, ugly and
unbearable.
If she, a swing vote, can be so clearly
biased
I’d say we have the best chance cash can
buy us.
So, let us celebrate.
MACBUSH.
[aside.]
First Glamis, then Cawdor:
The greatest is behind.
Empire: I cannot deny that
I have sought her
But
these prophecies are of an uncertain kind.
(If
I’m the emperor, that is) but still
My
heart races in the role of thief
Of the seat at the center of all the world’s affairs.
Perhaps
it is the path to empire my palpitating heart fears
But
I will soon command unparalleled martial might
As
its Commander in Chief;
If
chance will have me Emperor, why, chance may crown
If
I only bide until the time is right.
TURDBLOOM.
[aside (but separate from MacBush)]
See
the fool smirk! He contemplates his empire.
To
achieve his aim, he will certainly require
My Snickersnee and dagger in fullest measure.
He
is indeed fortunate that dirty deeds
Are, for me, the source
of orgasmic pleasure.
SONG. TURDBLOOM & CHORUS:
I'VE GOT A LITTLE LIST
As some day it may happen that a victim
must be found,
I've got a little list — I've got a
little list
Of political offenders who might well be
underground,
Who never would be missed — who never
would be missed!
That economic columnist who checks our
fuzzy math
The pudgy guy from
Reporters who ask follow-ups or parlez-vous Francais
Or say they don’t believe we never heard
of Kenneth Lay
The civil libertarians who on their
rights insist
They'd none of 'em be missed — they'd
none of 'em be missed!
He’s got them on the list, he’s got them on the list
And they’ll none of them be missed,
They’ll none of them be missed!
And the Cabinet officials
who resign, then write a book
On the best-seller list – they never will
be missed,
The people who can prove that our
intelligence is cooked;
They never would be missed — they never
would be missed!
The ones who call us chickenhawks for
dodging
The guy who’s selling t-shirts at
gwbush.com
And the crazies who mock Lieberman for
wanting to be kissed;
I don't think they'd be missed — I'm sure
they'd not be missed!
He’s got them on the list,
he’s got them on the list
And they’ll none of them be missed,
They’ll none of them be missed!
The senators with principles that they
won’t compromise
That
The pestilential bloggers who will not
believe our lies
They never will be missed – they never
will be missed!
Officials who leak documents that make
MacBush look bad,
Detainees who a day in court insistently
demand --
And those who fear dictatorship instead
of terrorists;
I don’t think they’d be missed – I’m sure
they won’t be missed!
He’s got them on the list,
he’s got them on the list
And they’ll none of them be missed,
He’s sure they’ll not be missed!
But it really doesn't matter whom you put
upon the list,
For they'd none of 'em be missed — they'd
none of 'em be missed!
You may put 'em on the list, you may put 'em on the list;
And they'll none of 'em be missed —
They'll none of
'em be missed!
[All exit.]
-------------------------------------------------------------
SCENE
IV.
CITIZENS ONE & TWO. [nearly in sync]
Is the decision done? Is MacBush
Yet become President?
CITIZEN THREE.
Peace! He speaks.
JUSTICE FUCHSIA. The State has failed to specify a
micro-detailed procedure for conducting unprecedented recounts. Moreover, the
State has not prepared or mobilized an army of identical election judges to do
the recounting. Therefore, the Equal Protection Clause of the United States
Constitution prohibits the State from conducting any recount at all.
Neener, neener, neener.
{MACBUSH (voice from TV) Today, we affirm
a new commitment to live out our nation's promise through civility, courage,
compassion and character. Our country, at its best, matches a commitment to
principle with a concern for civility. A civil society demands from each of us
good will and respect, fair dealing and forgiveness. .
. .}
-------------------------------------------------------------
SCENE
V. President's Palace.
[Enter
Lady MacBush, reading a letter. Lady MacBush is a large, imperious elderly
woman with very big, very white hair. She is definitely not a mousy brunette.]
LADY MACBUSH (reading aloud)
"They
met me in the day of success; and I have learned by the perfectest
report they have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire to
question them further, they made themselves air, into which they vanished.
While I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came Count Dickula, who all-hailed me,
'President of Cawdor'; by which title, before, these weird harpies saluted me,
and referred me to the coming on of time, with 'Hail, Emperor of the Imperial
Empire that shall be!' This have I thought good to deliver to you, my dearest
Mother of greatness; that you might not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being
ignorant of what greatness is promised to us. Lay it to your heart, and
farewell."
Governor, President, Emperor to be;
If you can find the
courage to grasp the nettle.
I have taught you well; you’re
serpent-mean
And ambitious, but perhaps lacking the
stamina for the battle.
The Constitution does not countenance
dictators;
--Goodness! Did I say the word?
And although the media is tamed, mere
spectators
Or stenographers, we shall need
theoreticians.
Casuists, Jesuits, legal magicians
Who can convince that anything, no matter
how absurd
Is not only Constitutional, but
reasonable.
With Nofax and Oh? Really? and all our other shills
To repeat repeat repeat repeat,
escalatingly shrill
The conventional wisdom will be that holding
some other view
Is not merely wrong,
but treasonable.
My son, the manliness your father lacks
is concentrated in you.
I shall be thy comrade, and no mere mother! Come, you
spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here;
And refill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full
Of direst cruelty! make
thick my blood,
Stop up the access and passage to
remorse,
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace
between
The effect and it! Come to my woman's
breasts,
And take my milk for gall, your murdering
ministers,
Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature's mischief! Come,
thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of
hell
That my keen knife see not the wound it
makes
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of
the dark
To cry, "Hold,
hold!"
[Enter
MacBush.]
Governor! President! Emperor to be!
Greater than both, by the all-hail
hereafter!
Your letters have transported me beyond
This ignorant present, and I feel now
The future in the
instant.
MACBUSH.
Mother, I am inaugurated.
LADY MACBUSH.
Your reign begins tonight.
MACBUSH.
A reign, or a term of office?
LADY MACBUSH.
A reign. Your coronation awaits only a crisis.
MACBUSH.
--
Mother, advise me on this;
Do you think that if I neglect signals
and warnings
Of enemies afoot, and nameless terrors
dawning
A photo opportunity will develop quickly
Or should we also try dis-disinformation?
We can say, “MacBush is negligent,” lay
it on thickly
So our enemies will take the hint, and
hasten to the consummation?
LADY MACBUSH.
I cannot say as yet;
We need experts. Whom will you get?
MACBUSH.
[ticking
through a list] Turdbloom,
though a commoner, is Chamberlain; Count Bellicosa, Minister of War; Baron
Gonzo, Minister of Justice; Baron Heckuva, Steward of the Lands; Count Dickula,
Minister of Everything Else, in particular, petroleum.
I have heard, too, of a law professor,
Thieu[3]
Who can prove fair is foul, and foul is
fair;
With complicated theory full prepared
To prove the Emperor may do whatever he wants
to do.
Lavish cash will keep our allies in the
fold,
And the press corps, of course, will
publish what they’re told.
And then, we must simply repeat, repeat,
repeat, repeat --
Until beside our Lie, the truth looks
incomplete.
LADY MACBUSH.
O, excellent, excellent!
But success depends on concealing our
intent
[Enter
Turdbloom, upstage]
Your face, my son, is as a book where men
May read much, if not
completely all.
Memorize the talking points, and never
veer!
You must look and act the mediocre,
average guy
Act the part, bear welcome in your eye;
As a friend with whom
they’d like to share a beer.
Keep the copperhead well hidden,
underneath it all.
[Exit
MacBush and Lady MacBush]
TURDBLOOM.
[aside] MacBush must play-act as the mediocre guy;
I’ve
known him for years. He won’t even have to try.
[Exit.]
-------------------------------------------------------------
ACT II. September 2001.
SCENE
I. In the Press Room of the President's Palace.
{REYNARD [softly, on T.V.; repeats throughout scene]
Terrorists terrorists terrorists
terrorists terrorists terrorists terrorists terrorists terrorists terrorists
terrorists terrorists terrorists terrorists terrorists terrorists terrorists }
{REPORTER
[replaces Reynard on TV, but "terrorists
terrorists" persists, muted]
Summing up what's known about yesterday's
devastating terrorist attacks: the exact number of people killed is not yet
known. Estimates range from two thousand to eight thousand. The terrorists died
in the plane crashes, but cameras at the airports where they boarded confirm
that they are very -- different -- from our people. The terrorists were brown,
swarthy brownandswarthy brownandswarthy brownandswarthy brownandswarthy
brownandswarthy brownandswarthy . . . }
{COOLA (Witch One)
[replaces
Reporter on TV. "terrorists terrorists" and
"brownandswarthy" persist, muted]
We should invade their countries, kill their leaders and
convert them to Christianity. If we can't figure out where they came from we
should invade them all and kill them kill them kill them kill them . . . }
{TELEVANGELIST.
[replaces Coola on TV,
with all three mantras droning in the background]
. . . the
pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians
. . ., the ACLU and all of the others who have tried to secularize our nation
-- I point the finger in their face and say "you helped this happen."
It's all the gays' fault gaysfault gaysfault gaysfault gaysfault}
[As
he speaks, enter Reporter Two, Camera Crew]
[gaysfault gaysfault is
added to the first three]
REPORTER TWO.
[live, holding microphone; camera crew is on him]
From the President's Palace, a spokesman for President
MacBush said, "all citizens . . . need to watch what they say and watch
what they do."
The President says that the terrorists
envy our freedom. Well, he just took a big step toward making us safer. Now we
have less freedom for them to envy.
[mantras stop abruptly]
[Panicky,
suited network executive runs onstage, followed by police.]
[Executive
points at Reporter]
EXECUTIVE.
That's him!
[Brief
struggle, then Reporter is led away by Police (handcuffed if possible)]
You're fired!
[Exit
executive, camera crew]
[Offstage. Shouts
of “stone him!” “stone the traitor!”]
-------------------------------------------------------------
SCENE
II. President's Palace.
[Enter
MacBush and entourage, including Lady MacBush]
[Counts
Dickula and Bellicosa rush in.]
DICKULA.
Nephew, my in-house intelligence confirms, ninety-two
percent
That yesterday’s attackers most probably represent
No nation, but instead Ossama's vicious band
Of zealots, hiding in the mountains
of Talbistan.
MACBUSH.
Where’s Talbistan?
DICKULA.
--
It’s in
But I have spoken to an agent who will swear
That he saw, in
One of the killers enjoying an espresso
With an agent of the Tiger of
Euphratia.
If your heart skipped a beat, sire, I cannot blame ya';
It's the Tiger, whom your father merely diminished
And with whom you’ve sworn a fight to the finish.
BELLICOSA.
At the time we could not but defeat him, and go no
farther.
MACBUSH.
The Tiger – that’s the man who once tried to kill
Father!
LADY MACBUSH.
Your father should have finished the job, it seems to
me.
BELLICOSA.
Anyway, the Tiger planned Yesterday, don’t you agree?
ALL.
Aye!!
DICKULA.
Indeed, sire. As your Minister for
Everything Else,
I officially verify that the Tiger’s a
worthy plum for the plucking.
Although he’s had naught to do with the
hurts we’ve sustained,
He’s notorious for his crimes and general
run-amoking.
We can surely convince the public and its
nervous, racing pulse
That he and our foes are one and the
same.
And we mustn’t overlook that one of the
spoils
Is control of those beautiful fields of oil.
For months we’ve been drafting elaborate
plans
To arrest him by
conquest, and do that by invasion.
MACBUSH
But, Count Bellicosa, what about
Talbistan?
Is that not the terrorists' location?
BELLICOSA.
We can do both at once.
Accomplish both missions in a matter of months.
[interposes
his body between MacBush and Lady MacBush, whispers into MacBush's ear.]
M'Lord, but wouldn't it be ever so much
more satisfying
To succeed where your father failed,
And for good measure, your father's
wealth be multiplying
Through his stock shares in companies,
largely invested
In weapons and
munitions, battle-tested?
And the Tiger humbled and safely jailed?
Your dear mother will be most impressed.
. .
LADY MACBUSH.
I'm standing right here, Count, but I
concur, I confess.
Son, to the great unwashed masses, you
can do nothing wrong;
But the public is fickle; its panic won’t
last too long.
And if we catch the mastermind, Ossama,
too soon
That frail bubble, reputation, may burst
And our progress be stalled, or maybe
reversed.
As long as there’s war, then we call the
tune
We’ll stifle our critics as unpatriotic.
Therefore, it would be close to idiotic
To capture Ossama, or
lapse from war status.
The people want us to use our military
might
To kill terrorists. Count Bellicosa is, I fear, quite right
But for the wrong reason; Euphratia is
ripe for conquest
Not ‘cause it’s
easy, but instead, the reverse. We'll have a war that is
A quagmire, squared, thus all we could
desire;
Perfect for maintaining
our power at crest.
So how can we pick a fight with
Euphratia?
DICKULA.
Easily, M'Lady. My intelligence sources say the Tiger
seems
To have weapons of mass destruction
(whatever that means)
And missiles from
And aimed so as to
threaten our regional Special Allies.
Our doctrine of the preemptive strike
will formalize
Our writ to arrest the Tiger, doing the
world a favor, too;
Of course, our real authority is simply,
“We’re stronger than you.”
BELLICOSA.
Lady MacBush is wise; time is of the
essence.
Our quiet coup d’etat will be accepted by the hoi polloi and peasants
If before they realize our gambit, it is fait accompli.
MACBUSH.
Count Bellicosa, I have told you -- never speak in foreign languages to me!
BELLICOSA.
My deepest apologies,
sire, and amends.
HECKUVA.
But those weapons of
mass destruction, on which you depend?
Inspections have shown, more than once,
there are none.
BELLICOSA.
So what? There are a hundred ways that
can be spun.
The inspectors have not walked each
hectare of land
Or done adequate digging deep into the
sand
In short, we just say they have not
looked hard enough.
Any nation or news organ that tries to
call our bluff
Can readily and cheaply be co-opted,
bribed or cowed.
Perhaps all three. Moreover, since your inauguration
We have thrown together a plan for the
invasion.
The terrorist attack and the public's
panicky response
Was easily predictable
and perfect for our wants.
Although not party to the terrorists'
plot,
We were well prepared, to get whatever
could be got.
[All
exit except MacBush.]
MACBUSH.
My mother is wise, and so is Bellicosa,
however annoying.
This terrible task with which I've been
laden!
Is Euphratia the place that we should be
invading?
If we're going to do it, then 'twere well
It were done
quickly. If in one fell swoop
We can begin, conduct and complete our coup,
So the one blow be the be-all and end-all
of the matter,
As we trumpet the perfect safety they are
enjoying,
Most of the public will be disinclined to
rebel.
And for the rest, let them impotently
natter.
[Pacing, as one trying to make up his mind.]
But what if justice be even-handed?
Or worse, what if I be
sowing the wind?
By my whirlwind, I may be painfully
reprimanded
As were Marie
Antoinette and Mussolini.
I may damage or destroy democracy herself
Beyond anyone’s power to rescind.
If I should release Pandora’s genie
It may resist being replaced on the
shelf.
But who am I kidding? Vaulting ambition
Will defeat these unmasculine inhibitions
And I shall see it through, with my
mother’s help.
[Enter
(after a pause) Lady MacBush.]
MACBUSH.
Mom, I doubt that I can do it; the
calamity has bought
Golden opinions from all sorts of people;
That good will which is now mine to
keep’ll
Trickle away if an unjust war is sought.
LADY MACBUSH.
What? My son, less than
a man? Afraid?
Were you drunk with hope an hour ago,
Hope that now takes a greenish, pale
shade?
Are you afraid to try to get what
you desire?
What of reproach for cowardice by your
own self, your ego?
We need a lion, but you’re acting the
prissy cat
Who wants the fish, but hates getting her
paws wet.
MACBUSH.
Shut up, Mother! Shut up!
I dare do all that may become a man;
No one can dare do more than I can.
LADY MACBUSH.
But that is not what you say.
When you dared, then you were a man.
Besides, that great scholar, Professor Thieu
Has proved that during war, a president’s
imbued
With absolute power; nothing, no matter
how pernicious
Is beyond his scope if that is what he
wishes.
If you cannot, then I'll do it. I'll sign
for you!
I've raised you from a suckling babe
toward this cusp;
But if I had looked ahead and seen you in
this hue
No substance of a man, but merely the
empty husk!
I might have dropped that first-born baby
on his head
And tried my luck with
the next one born, instead.
MACBUSH.
If we should fail?
LADY MACBUSH.
We fail! But screw your courage to the
sticking-place,
And we'll not fail.
MACBUSH.
Find me a pen; I'll see the matter
through.
For thy undaunted mettle should compose
Nothing but males. [signs]
--
There! By these orders I impose
The surreptitious reign
of George the First.
Or is it the Third?
LADY MACBUSH.
--
Either one; either monarch
Shall be as likely
praised as cursed.
MACBUSH.
Away, and mock the time with fairest
show:
False face must hide what the false heart
doth know.
[All
exit.]
-------------------------------------------------------------
SCENE
III. President's Palace.
[Enter Count Dickula, Baron Gonzo and
Heckuva (last carrying bulging briefcase).]
HECKUVA.
Count, I must say you’ve done a heck of a lot of work,
preparing all these documents. Do you know everything?
DICKULA.
No, of course not. But I do know what’s best for Cawdor. I am the scion
of the House of Petroleum, latest and greatest in a line of Petroleums that has
gone on for millions of years. I can trace my descent back to the protoplasmal
primordial globule in the tar sands of the Tigris and
But, I strive to overcome this defect. I mortify my
pride, continually. Did I not search high and low for a suitable Regent and
find – myself? Did I not fill most of the important offices of the executive
with incompetent hacks or refugees from Enron?
[aside] Not counting inept cronies like Heckuva, here.
I’m the de facto
holder of all those offices, at once. It is consequently my degrading duty to
serve this -- pup! -- as Regent, Minister of Petroleum, Master Chef of Cooked
Intelligence, Commander of the Congress, Umpire of Rigged War Games, Conduit
for Legislative Language, Usurper of the Constitution, Dispenser of Payola,
Avenger of the Blood, and a dozen others, all rolled into one.
GONZO.
My dear Count, I hope you are remunerated for all of these various
tasks.
DICKULA.
Alas, no, but I do a brisk trade in the rights to write legislation and
to oversee government contract bidding. Privatizing those functions is really
very lucrative. The oil companies alone. . . I also retail accurate
intelligence information at a very low figure. It lands on my desk, every day.
I have no use for it, because I make up my own, and it seems a shame simply to
throw it into the shredder. Multinational corporations pay top dollar for good
information, and nests must be feathered, you know.
HECKUVA.
What of all the papers in this briefcase?
DICKULA.
Alas, Baron Heckuva, that is a state secret. It will, of course, be
revealed presently, when to our best advantage. But meantime I will not tell
even you.
MacBush approaches.
Please excuse us here.
[Enter MacBush]
MACBUSH.
Good morning, gentlemen.
Heckuva, did I ever nominate you for anything?
HECKUVA.
Interior, sire. We're cutting down every tree we can.
MACBUSH.
Good work. But now you're also in charge of emergency
management.
Go see the Minister for -- oh, whatever, just go.
We'll take care of the appointment this afternoon.
[exit Heckuva]
GONZO.
M’Lord. I have the documents which you must sign
To execute the plan. As Commander in Chief,
You must reluctantly collect, consolidate, combine
All the powers of all the governmental
branches
Into the Executive; that is, into you,
alone
Until you safely may
retire to your ranches.
The people are prepared and primed to
panic;
Fully twenty-two percent agree, and are
emphatic
That you permanently
and promptly take the throne.
MACBUSH.
I'm not going to read all this stuff.
I'm the decider, not the reader.
GONZO.
Very well, sire. Perhaps a run through
the titles will be enough.
Too much attention to detail is most
unbecoming in a leader.
[picks up the sheaf of papers, lays them on the
desk one-by-one]
[paper]Eavesdropping and wiretaps, declaring you
won't take the trouble
To follow the law and obtain a court order;
[two papers]Telephone
and banking records, the same, only doubled;
[paper]
Where do-gooder lawyers cannot see 'em or
reach 'em;
[paper]Ah,
here's one I wrote! Assures that our troops in the field
Will face no penalty for tortures most
hideous,
Even at times when they know that the
yield
Will be useless intelligence, not worth
impeaching;
[paper]And
this, if our generals are over-fastidious
Permits us to outsource any interrogation
To hardier experts in third-party
nations;
[paper]
The generals must provide a plan for invading Euphratia
Just as we discussed, in case we decide
the Tiger's in league with Ossama,
And ditto for all of the nations of Minor
Asia;
[paper]
This order nominates and confirms Count Dickula
As the Authority for Determining What
Information Is Classified.
MACBUSH.
You know, all these papers are worse than ridiculous!
The Constitution’s just a goddamed piece of paper –
Why don't we just wait 'til we have an occasion,
When some senator or judge needs to
pacified
Then whip up an Order, custom-made for
the purpose,
Perfectly fitting,
right down to the commas.
GONZO.
Of course we can, Sire, but this set of
decrees
Can serve, if you will,
as insurance or surplus.
My
advice as Minister of Justice is that you sign these, then
I'll log them and put them away until needed. If we must make a new version, we
can simply write it, tear the old one up, and put this one in its place in the
files. The log won't show the switch. It'll help protect your position in
history, if nothing else.
MACBUSH.
I thought our people were gonna write all
the history.
But, okay. Now go away so I can look
these over and sign them.
GONZO.
[paper]
One more, Sire! The keystone of them all.
We're at war, and as the
Commander-in-Chief
You're the only authority; your will is
the law.
From congressional meddling you have
total relief,
And, when we are sued, you may order
plaintiff to withdraw.
This power is yours 'til the end of the
war.
The war will end when, and only when, you
make the call.
I call it my "unitary
executive" theory of government;
And you, Sire, are the very man I wrote
it for;
Take the power, and become the colossus
your mother meant.
MACBUSH.
C'mon,
Gonzo. We both know that this is Professor Thieu's theory. We paid enough for
it!
DICKULA. [quickly]
Pray excuse me, sire. I don't have Baron Gonzo's poetry, but
I support everything he said.
I’d stay to help, but as usual, I have other priorities.
MACBUSH.
Where are you going?
DICKULA.
To my undisclosed location, if it please m'lord.
MACBUSH.
Yes, yes, you may both go.
Dickula, while you're hanging around your undisclosed cave,
Don’t let all the blood rush to your head.
[Dickula
and Gonzo exit, leaving papers on the desk]
[MacBush
approaches the desk, sees quill suspended in midair]
MACBUSH.
Is that a quill pen which I see before me,
Beckoning my hand? Come, let me clutch thee:--
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou but an image of the
mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from the
heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as
palpable
As these
modern pens upon this desk.
Should I use a quill instead,
As the Founding Fathers would
have done?
[For the remainder of this soliloquy, MacBush clumsily and
comically tries to grab the quill. He succeeds only at the very end of the
speech.]
I know I am callow and incurious;
Given to exercise and
other idle pleasures.
But even so, I am not so ill-informed
That I cannot see how these edicts and
measures
Can to freedom and liberty be only injurious
And must render the body politic
deformed.
"A republic, if you can keep
it!"
So it has been kept, pruned and watered
well;
Its roots have ever stretched and
deepened,
Through trials dangerous, far in excess
Of the foreign bandits who not afflict us
With far more panic than they should
compel.
The Indian tribes our forefathers pushed
back and farther back
Resisted by striking lonely farmsteads;
Yet the settlers kept coming, bearing on
a western head
Bravely facing the
daily risk of terrorist attacks.
Black people, too, lived in constant fear
of lynching,
For trivial offense, or when some white
man's pride was itching.
And, of course, once our nation, newborn
and weak, was fated
To fight
Forty years later, traitorous rebels
tried to rip the nation in two;
At no time would the President have aught
to do
With edicts like these, which by history will be rated
As those from which
tyranny set forth.
And yet, to authorize the edicts I've
agreed
Despite the loss of liberty decreed.
[Sits
at desk, picks up a modern pen, then pauses]
"Of the people, by
the people, for the people!”
Merely by scratching my name, gone!
Their fears well-stoked, I'm sure that
they, like sheep'll
Acquiesce, save a headstrong, willful few
Who fear tyranny, not the foe, and who
Will base their stout
resistance thereupon.
Why don’t they understand that I'm no
tyrant?
My rule will be benign, and never
strident;
But when the lives of thousands are at
stake
All errors must be on the side of caution
Thus, some times, some rights or
liberties I'll be quashing;
But I never, never, never,
make a serious mistake.
[Snatches the quill from
the air, positions himself for signing. The quill is
very long, and the trembling feather betrays MacBush's nervous indecision and
excitement. Begin slow fadeout. He dips the quill in an inkwell and knocks it
over; ink spills all over the desk. He rescues the papers before they are
stained, but gets ink on his hand and clothing. As the lights fade, we see a
large flow of black ink across the desk, then across the floor – far more than
the inkwell could realistically have held. In the last bit of the dying light,
we see MacBush throw down the quill and pick up a modern pen. He pulls the
chair clear of the spilled ink, sits, rests the papers on his thigh and begins
signing quickly and carelessly, without any ceremony.
Blackout for about ten seconds.
[Lights up. MacBush still seated, but
the papers are gone.
[Enter
Lady MacBush and servant]
LADY MACBUSH.
My son, have you done it? Have you signed
the decrees?
MACBUSH.
Yes, Mother. I signed them all.
Find me some ibuprofen for my wrist, please.
[Lady
MacBush gestures, and servant departs.]
[She
wrings her hands nervously, pacing a little. She gets too near to the desk, and
smears her hand with ink.]
LADY MACBUSH.
What's this all over your hand? And pants? And my hand? Surely your blood is not -- yet -- black!
MACBUSH.
The inkwell overturned; I was slow in
jumping back.
It’s nothing, really. When the man
returns, we’ll send him for the janitor.
LADY MACBUSH.
Well, you might think it's nothing, but
look! All over my hand!
MACBUSH.
Please, Mother, my own wrist and hand
Ache severely. Where's that servant?
[Servant enters, with
pitcher, glasses, and pills on a tray. He holds the tray while MACBUSH and LADY
MACBUSH both take two tablets. Lady MacBush murmurs an instruction (to fetch
the janitor), then the servant exits, with tray.
MacBush still holds the pill bottle; puts it on the desk.]
LADY MACBUSH. [Rubbing the inkstain.]
Dammit, rubbing isn’t working. I must get that ink stain
off.
Perhaps something like
[All exit.]
-------------------------------------------------------------
SCENE IV. The same room.
[Enter Janitor. He is old and slow; most
movement seems chronically painful.]
JANITOR.
Somebody spilled some ink. Where? Ink, ink, ink. Ah, here. There’s a heck of a lot of it! Well,
no use crying over spilled ink. [wheezy laugh; then he begins to clean up the ink]
I wonder, though -- is it ink, or maybe
the blood of that Count Dickula? He's an evil one, that one, for sure, for
sure, for sure. His blood is probably oil, straight from the ground! But this
MacBush crew, I'll tell ya. I could name a few who've been hired from Hell
itself. Some of them'll have black blood, for damn sure. They’d commit treason,
for God's sake, and if the price was right they'd for sure do it for their own
sake. They’re equivocators down here, but when their time comes,
their equivocating won’t be in heaven.
Even Mr. MacBush -- he's an equivocator,
big time. He could sit in either pan of a scale and swear against the other.
Real nice guy, though. Sweet
No pretzels, though. [affectionate chuckle] 'Member
the pretzels? The President. The
Leader of the Free World, watching the Super Bowl all by hisself. I
wonder if the man has any friends. Heck, I'd'a watched with 'im. Mighta saved his life.
None of them neocons wanted to watch the
Super Bowl? Figures. Too busy with
their secret conspiracies. I don't unnerstand why Mr. MacBush hired that
bunch. His Daddy wouldn't ha' let 'em in the front door. But then,
Mr. MacBush ain't nothin' like his Daddy. Too bad.
[knocking]
Ah, who is it! I'm trying to work in
here! He won't be so impatient at the gates of Hell, he won't.
[gets up, heads toward
door]
I'm comin'!
LADY MACBUSH. [offstage]
C'mon, you! Open this door!
JANITOR.
[aside]
Lady MacBush! Her – Now, she's Mr. MacBush's real father.
I'm comin', ma'am!
[Janitor opens door;
enter Lady MACBUSH.]
LADY MACBUSH.
Are you here to clean up that ink spill?
JANITOR.
Yes, ma'am. I was just working on it.
LADY MACBUSH.
Make it perfect.
JANITOR.
Yes'm. Pardon me, ma'am, but did you get the ink on your
hand, there?
LADY MACBUSH.
Yes, yes. I can't get the stain out. After you're done here,
bring me a bottle of whatever works. Wrap it up in a towel, or a bag or
something. Give it to me, directly, not to anyone else, not even my secretary.
Not my daughters. God, especially not my daughters!
JANITOR.
Yes, ma'am, but y'know, some of these
chemicals is really bad for your skin.
LADY MACBUSH.
Okay, you've covered your ass. Just do as
I tell you. Bring me that bottle as soon as possible.
[Lady
MACBUSH exits]
JANITOR.
Yes, ma'am.
[aside]
I guess maybe I know who spilled the ink.
[resumes work, blackout]
-------------------------------------------------------------
ACT III. Summer
2003.
[Enter
Macduff and
MACDUFF.
So,
Official business?
MACDUFF.
Sort of. I'll tell you in a moment what I’ve
learned.
But tell me, first – how go the war
drums?
The Tiger's poor troops were summarily
vanquished
Far more quickly than we’d forecast or
wished;
Idle in victory, our soldiers languished
And with much triumphal pomp and costume,
Lord MacBush declared the mission
accomplished.
MACDUFF.
By your face, that’s not the end of the
story.
Nay. The Tiger escaped, and ‘though his army
had surrendered
Much payment in blood had yet to be
tendered.
Lord MacBush and Count Bellicosa should
have remembered
That even the oppressed will
patriotically resist
When their homeland’s
unlawfully entered.
MACDUFF.
Quagmire.
Indeed.
How fared your business abroad?
MACDUFF. [lowering his voice]
The indictment of the Tiger is a fraud.
You will recall Lord MacBush’s speeches,
Adducing his reasons for this unprovoked
war?
I was in
That he was lying, fibbing, and
prevaricating.
All three? The assertion is of course no surprise.
And you will doubtless convince those
with professional eyes.
But the public? The pundits will all soliloquize
With certain pomposity and pompous
certainty
That your claims are naught but inventions and lies.
MACDUFF.
But how, in my place, would a patriot act?
Surely only my character is at risk of assassination.
I’ll take that chance.
Silence is not an option. What
consequences –
Would attend if I speak out?
Retaliation swift and
sure. The sole
restraint
Will not be civility or decency, or
anything so quaint;
But only whether they are sure the taint
Of their bad deeds will never touch the
Palace
And
disturb the carefully tended image of MacBush the Saint.
MACDUFF.
Can you not prophecy the form it will
take?
Can you keep your family safe?
MACDUFF.
My old friend, forgive me. I cannot tell
you why,
But an unguarded word can cause my wife
and her colleagues to die.
But to speak thus, to the wrong ears,
would be treason!
Turdbloom demands your blind allegiance;
To crush you by committing treason
Dissuades the next MacDuff, with good reason –
He knows that crossing Turdbloom will
Be punished by extremes
indecent.
MACDUFF.
Aye. Farewell, my friend.
[exit]
And you, my friend, must balance on a knife
Patriotic duty against livelihood
and wife.
[exit]
-----------------------------------------------------------
SCENE
II. A dark cave. In the middle, a caldron
boiling.
[Thunder. Enter the three Witches.]
GRAYMALKIN.
Round about the caldron go;
In the poison'd entrails throw.--
Toad, that under cold stone,
Days and nights has thirty-one
Swelter'd venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i' the charmed pot!
ALL.
Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire, burn; and caldron, bubble.
COOLA.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the caldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and howlet's wing,--
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
ALL.
Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire, burn; and caldron, bubble.
CEDILLA.
Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,
Witch's mummy, maw and gulf
Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark,
Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark,
Liver of blaspheming Jew,
Gall of goat, and slips of yew
Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse,
Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips,
Finger of birth-strangl'd babe
Ditch-deliver'd by a drab,--
Make the gruel thick and slab:
Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,
For the ingredients of
our caldron.
ALL.
Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire, burn; and caldron, bubble.
COOLA.
Cool it with a baboon's blood,
Then the charm is firm and good.
CEDILLA.
By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes:--
Open, locks, whoever knocks!
[Enter
MacBush.]
MACBUSH.
How now, gray hoydens of the air!
We’ve come to this forsaken place
To conjure you, by that which you
profess,--
And find what black art indicates
About our ultimate success;
Enemies lurk in all directions.
How will our velvet monarchy
Be viewed by future history?
The weighty burdens that we bear
Demand attention and reflection.
GRAYMALKIN.
Speak.
COOLA.
Demand.
CEDILLA.
We'll answer.
GRAYMALKIN.
Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from our mouths,
Or from those of our
masters?
MACBUSH.
Call 'em, let us see 'em.
GRAYMALKIN.
Pour in sow's blood,
that hath eaten
Her nine farrow; grease that's sweaten
From the murderer's gibbet throw
Into the flame.
ALL.
Come, high or low;
Thyself and office deftly show!
[Thunder. An Apparition of an
Elephant Head rises.]
MACBUSH.
Tell me, thou unknown power,--
GRAYMALKIN.
He knows thy thought:
Hear his speech, but say thou naught.
APPARITION.
MacBush! MacBush! MacBush! Beware Macduff;
Traitor to you, but not to his nation.
-- Dismiss
me:--enough.
[Descends.]
MACBUSH.
Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution,
thanks;
Thou hast harp'd my fear aright:--but one
word more,--
GRAYMALKIN.
He will not be commanded: here's another,
More potent than the
first.
[Thunder. An Apparition of a Toddler]
APPARITION.--
MacBush! MacBush! MacBush!
MACBUSH.
Had I three ears, I’d hear thee.
APPARITION.
Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to
scorn
The power of man, for no person of woman
born
Shall harm MacBush.
[Descends.]
MACBUSH.
MacDuff is thus harmless, of woman born
And yet, he knows things that threaten us
harm.
The first apparition we surely shan’t
scorn;
And we’ll not rely on the second one’s
charm.
[Thunder. An Apparition of a Child,
wearing Mardi Gras beads and crown, rises.]
It rises like the issue of a king;
Is what he wears upon his baby brow the round
And top of sovereignty?
ALL.
Listen, but speak not to it.
APPARITION.
MacBush shall never vanquish’d be
Until the cold salt water of the sea
Shall rise up and
over a city of
Leaving behind her, death, ruin, disorder.
[Descends]
MACBUSH.
That will never be;
Who can bid the sea to abandon
Its usual bed by his commanding?
Rebellion’s head will never rise,
And MacBush won’t ever temporize
With rebels, traitors or usurpers.
I beg you, terrible peace-disturbers
To tell me, please, just one last thing –
Is MacBush the name of Cawdor's next king?
ALL.
Seek to know no more.
[witches disappear]
[Enter
Heckuva, carrying newspaper, panting]
HECKUVA.
What's your grace's will?
MACBUSH.
Saw you the weird sisters?
HECKUVA.
No, my lord.
MACBUSH.
Came they not by you?
HECKUVA.
No indeed, my lord.
MACBUSH.
How long have you been lurking here?
What did you see? What did you hear?
HECKUVA.
Sire, please. I only just arrived. I did
not see nor hear anything.
MACBUSH.
What are you doing here?
HECKUVA.
Count Dickula bid me to hasten and show
you this article. See his notes in the margin.
MACBUSH.
Tell us what it says.
HECKUVA.
Ambassador MacDuff is the author –
MACBUSH.
--
What!? What has he written?
HECKUVA.
He asserts that you lied to the public,
to win their support for the war.
MACBUSH.
So what? Our enemies have been claiming
that since we gave the speech.
HECKUVA.
MacDuff says he has proof that you knew the information was false.
MACBUSH.
Undoubtedly, Count Dickula has a plan.
HECKUVA.
I believe so, sire, but he has told me
nothing.
MACBUSH.
Lucky you. We shall return to the capital at once.
Summon our helicopter. Call Dickula and tell him
To meet us on arrival, and in the interim
Not to indulge in his villainous stunts.
HECKUVA.
Yes, M’Lord.
[Exit]
MACBUSH.
Heckuva and the
harpies? Are they in
league? To what end?
What’s Heckuva to them, or they to
Heckuva?
[Exit]
-------------------------------------------------------------
SCENE
III. President's Palace.
[enter Turdbloom, who paces a little]
[enter
First Journalist]
TURDBLOOM.
I have a very, very big scoop for you.
How’s your writing hand? Good shape?
FIRST JOURNALIST.
Very good shape. How can I help?
TURDBLOOM.
Have you ever met Lady MacDuff?
FIRST JOURNALIST.
Once or twice. She’s pretty hot.
TURDBLOOM.
She’ll be aflame soon. Here’s the scoop.
She’s a spy. One of ours, of course. She runs a
network of agents in several countries of
FIRST JOURNALIST.
So why are you telling me this? Surely you don’t expect me
to publish it?
TURDBLOOM.
Why not?
FIRST JOURNALIST.
Merely telling me this is tantamount to
treason!
TURDBLOOM.
Pursuant to a decree by Count Dickula,
Regent and Authority for Determining What is
Classified, this information is declassified. He said so, just before I came
here. You now have a constitutional right, and a constitutional duty, to break
the story.
Or should I take it to someone else?
FIRST JOURNALIST.
You’d better take it to someone else.
It’s too much, sir. I can’t do it. But you can count on me to keep my mouth
shut.
TURDBLOOM.
You’d better. This is going to cost you
some access points, you know.
FIRST JOURNALIST.
Yes, sir, I know. But I still can’t do it.
[exits]
[enter Second Journalist from other side of stage]
TURDBLOOM.
I have a very, very big scoop for you. Have you ever met
Lady MacDuff?
SECOND JOURNALIST.
Yes, I know her fairly well. Why?
TURDBLOOM.
She’s a spy.
SECOND JOURNALIST.
What!?
TURDBLOOM.
Calm down. She a spy
for our side. I want you to write that in your column.
SECOND JOURNALIST.
What’s going on?
TURDBLOOM.
Never you mind.
SECOND JOURNALIST.
Does this have anything to do with her husband’s Op-Ed last
week?
TURDBLOOM.
Of course not. What kind of man do you think I am?
SECOND JOURNALIST.
[aside.] A rhetorical question, I am certain.
[Conversation
goes to mime as lights fade. We have just enough light to see Second J. exit,
and Third J. enter.]
-------------------------------------------------------------
SCENE
IV. MacDuff Home.
[telephone rings. Enter
Lady MacDuff, who answers.
As she does, the caller, is revealed
on a distant corner of the stage (alternatively, he need not appear at all; his
voice is sufficient).]
LADY MACDUFF.
You’ve seen the paper?
{CAWDOR'S AGENT IN
Yes.}
LADY MACDUFF.
My friend, our cover is blown, blown,
blown. Tell your people to burn everything and save themselves.
You have the emergency cash?
{AGENT.
Yes. Lady MacDuff, what’s going on?}
LADY MACDUFF.
It’s political payback. My husband exposed one of His
Excellency the Great MacBush’s lies. Turdbloom and Dickula have struck back at
him through me, and through me at you.
{AGENT.
But what of the damage
to your nation? To your intelligence gathering?}
LADY MACDUFF.
Elegant, nay? Dickula is saying to everyone, “We will
even go so far as to commit treason to punish you if you cross us.” Right out
in the open. Besides, Count Dickula has little interest in gathering
intelligence. He makes it up to suit the moment.