Ash's Art Appreciations, Lecture #6

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*Ash, hiding behind a screen, patiently awaits the arrival of all of his students, then dims the lights in the classroom, so only the front of the room is still fully lit. He walks out in strange clothing, along with poofy pants and tights*

A-hem. Because of the theater teacher having disappeared, and my god kids they are not assumed dead so you all better not start crying on me, I'm allowed to branch out a bit in our Art classes, so today I present...

Shakespeare!

*clears throat*



Now is the winter of our discontent, baby
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds... that lowered upon our house, yeah
In the deep bosom *snicker* of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments,
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, knuckleheads
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front, cause apparently he finally learned the importance of ironing.
Now, ummm, instead of mounting barbed steeds, cause that'd hurt like hell, kids
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, in a sexual manner kids, yes. Please feel free to giggle.
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; That's a mirror, to those less informed, kids
I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; and beg for sugar, baby.
I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time
Into this breathing world scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them - Or, in other words, I am totally fugly.
Why I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity.
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days. Because ugly people apparently aren't lazy.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other;
And if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mewed up
About a prophecy which says that G, yo shizzle my nizzle,
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul - here Clarence comes! And that's not in a sexual way, kids. Stop laughing.


Alright... Shakespeare. ERm...

Discuss!

*stands in his poofy pants, waiting for kids to discuss things*

Comments

[defiantlyyours.livejournal.com]

Shock and horror would be passing over 6's face if he was paying attention at all.