Vitri as Hamlet: A Farce
In order to memorialize our favorite slacker (and to mock him mercilessly),
I have devised a slightly altered scene from the great William Shakespeare's
"Hamlet." In it, the late Carue Dryf's bestest buddy Vitri
and his old pal Alcemedon have come upon a graveyard, in which two
Clowns (gravediggers) are digging and tossing aside the old bones
they find. So rest in peace, Carue, and I hope you have it easier
wherever you are. Thanks to Mr. Shakespeare for the inspiration,
to Jester for the wonderful character you created, and extra special
thanks to Ben for killing that wonderful character.
Note: Read Vitri's lines with a thick Russian accent
Above drawing by Eric Blanchard
|Clown: ...Here's a
skull now hath lien you in the i' th' earth three and twenty weeks.
Vitri:Whose was it?
Clown: A bastard mad fellow's it was. Whose do you think it
Vitri: Nyet, I know not.
Clown: A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! He poured a flagon
of Rodian ale on my head once. This same skull, sir, was, sir, Carue's
skull, the Gamemaster's "Jester."
Vitri: Let me see. [Takes the skull.] Alas, poor Carue!
I knew him, Alcemedon, a fellow of infinite jest, a real screwball.
He hath kicked me in the back a thousand times. And now how abhorred
in my circuitry it is! My proton matrix convulses at it. Here hung
those lips that have never stopped flapping. Where be your taunts
now? Your wisecracks, your sarcasm, your flashes of buttocks that
were wont to set the Empire against us? Not one now to mock your own
grinning? Quite chapfall'n? Sucks to be you. Prithee, Alcemedon, tell
me one thing.
Alcemedon: What's that, my friend?
Vitri: Dost thou think El-Li looked o' this fashion i' th'
Vitri: And smelt so? Pah! [Puts down the skull.]
Alcemedon: I'd put money on it.
Vitri: Pathetic. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. What a bunghole.
Alcemedon: Don't let it get to you.
Vitri: Nyet, faith, not a bit, but to follow him without exaggeration,
and likelihood to lead it, thus: El-Li died, El-Li was buried, El-Li
returneth to dust; the dust is Tatooine, of Tatooine we make dough,
thanks in part to the Hutts. Imperious Palpatine, dead and turned
to clay, Might stop a black hole to keep the solar wind away. I'd
like to stuff that jackass in an airlock and blow the hatch... Wait!
Shut up, here comes the Gamemaster.