Writing gave me my name. Writing gave me my life. It gave me money. For years, my words entertained even the greediest of men and bitchiest and gossipy women of the 16th century. But it was never my main purpose in life.
Because the only thing that drove me was to write lines that were so fucking classic, they’d look epic rad on that t-shirt you’re going to gift your girlfriend because she has a degree in English literature and you couldn’t think of anything else.
Who the hell wants to sell out theatres in some random villages of 16th-century England? Give me limited edition Antony and Cleopatra fridge magnets over that shit any time of the day.
Look, I know Hamlet is supposed to be all serious and shit. But I included all that “To be to or not be’”stuff just so that one day, you could wake up in the morning and drink tea out of a cup that says, “To tea or not to tea,” with an awesome photoshop of me drinking a cup of tea.
And why else is the Much Ado About Nothing laced with social commentary, emotional depth, and clever humor? So that one day, you can practice (or fuck up) those YouTube baking recipes using your “Much Ado About Muffin” baking sets, which has a photoshopped image of me wearing baking gloves.
If I’m being honest, I really don’t get why the hell anyone would read my work and decide to sit down and analyze it. Yeah, I may have written some groundbreaking plays that defined the literature of my time. Yeah, I might have written some characters that still influence storytellers of the modern age too. Yeah, I guess I probably exemplified the use of the “iambic pentameter,” whatever the fuck that is.
But all that really matters is how you can sell a bunch of kitchen knives on Etsy by starting a company called “Julius Caesar Knives.” Because, of course, the only historical significance of that entire play is to demonstrate the importance of sharp knives.
And I should probably clarify, I never wrote Romeo and Juliet as a love story for the ages. I never thought of it as a story of young, innocent but doomed love. I wrote it so that a bunch of wannabe chic white girls could post some really cool Insta stories with their boyfriends and rub their relationship in the faces of the girls in their posse by comparing it to the star-crossed lovers from Verona who died in the end.
Oh wait, you didn’t know they die? That doesn’t even matter. I’m happy as long as you’re making and selling “Romeo and Juliet Salt ‘N' Pepper Shakers,” which come in the shape of two small figures dressed as the young lovers and are magnetically attracted. You know, as a way to symbolize them spending their whole lives together.
And don’t you dare think you’re gonna invite your friends for a party and not serve them beer in your “Taming of the Brew” beer steins. There’s no way you should pass a chance to let your friends think that you’re so wise and cultured that even when you’re trying to get drunk, you’re only thinking of the Bard.
Also, don’t buy that fake shit. The original mugs will have an image of me passing out in front of my typewriter. Even though I didn’t use typewriters. But who cares? It’s cool and that’s all that matters.
Did I tell you I love photoshopped images of myself? You bet your ass I do. It’s the reason why I had such an iconic hairstyle.
A lot of you might have anxiety or insomnia. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t try using Midsummer-Night’s-Dream-themed weighted blankets or a stress ball in the shape of Yorick’s skull from Hamlet (of course you don’t know who the fuck Yorick is, but you can act like you do).
I’ve always wondered why literally nobody thought of starting a multiverse based on Shakespearean plays. Hello? That’s basically easy fucking money. Who the hell in their right mind won’t buy tickets for Hamlet Vs MacBeth: Dawn of Tragedy? And then a comic book series. Maybe a spinoff television show. A podcast explaining behind-the-scenes of the TV show.
Ultimately, all the world’s a stage. And this stage needs to be milked for every single penny it can give.