10/3/2015, 5:33 pm
Some Hillary Clinton Donors Defect to Movement to Draft Joe Biden
Dear Comrades,
Hillary just doesn't know what to say, what with Joe Biden displaying his most extra special presidential face. Very intimidating. So, I offer her this:
DISCLAIMER: In no possible way do I pretend to emulate the most esteemed Shakespeare, who, as we know, has been banned from schools everywhere. (Shakespeare, kick in the rear! Ha! Ha! Ha!) He is, after all, just a rube, making a pathetic effort to tell his “truth” about human nature. (Yuk, yuk!)
However, I have found him useful in my attempt to save our dear Hillary from humiliation.
The original text is here.
Here is mine:
To be, or not to be, is that the question?:
Whether 'tis Nobler in the mind to suffer
The Slings and Arrows of the Vast Right-Wing Conspiracy™,
Or to take Arms away from a Sea of idiots,
And by opposing to end them: to die, to sleep
No more; and by a sleep, to say we end
The Heart-ache, my coma and head injury
That Flesh is heir to? 'Tis merely a concussion
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep,
To sleep, perchance to Dream; aye, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes Calamity of so a long life:
For me, who would bear the Whips and Scorns of the Vast Right-Wing Conspiracy™,
The Vast Right-Wing's Conspiracy™ is wrong, the poor man's desperate hope,
The pangs of despised Love, like homosexuality and transexuality, the Law's delay,
The insolence of Office, and the Spurns of those who disagree,
That patient merit of the unworthy takes, when they criticize me,
When he himself might his Oleander make
With a bare Booty? Who would the public bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life of here and there,
But that the dread of something after death I do not care,
The undiscovered Country, from whose bourn
No Traveller returns, like my worldly travels, Puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly, like I have all over the world, to others that we know not of.
Thus Conscience does make Cowards of us all,
So, why do you have a problem with me?
And thus the Native cry for Revolution
Is sicklied o'er, with the pale cast of Thought™,
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard their Currents turn awry.
And lose the name of Action. Soft you now,
The fair Uma? Nymph, in my Horizons
Be all my sins remembered.
Edit: to fix link of original text which was not linking.
Sorry, Comrades.
Somehow when I corrected the link, my photo montage (kindly provided by Comrade Red) disappeared. It is not in my possession at the moment.
