This is the eighth of a series of Shakespeare-themed parodies of popular songs.

Enjoy!

Countrywide Problems
rapped to the beat of “99 Problems”

(With apologies to Jay-Z, and anyone who came here looking for stuff they could use in class…)

I ain’t worried ‘bout the Maid of Orleans.
I got countrywide problems, but a wench ain’t one.

I got morbid fears on the war frontiers,
This thing’s been ragin’ on for a Hundred Years.
Charles the Dauphin named himself the French King.
I’m the French King, stupid, you don’t know a damn thing.
My father did conquer, or haven’t you heard,
Reclaiming the title of Edward III.
So now England and France are united as one.
If you don’t like the arrangement, too bad, it’s all done.
But with our generals shaken, an army unskilled,
With Talbot taken, and with Salisbury killed,
The French took back Champaigne and Rouen,
Rheims and Poitiers, and now Paris is gone… zut alors!
I don’t know what you take me as,
Or understand the divine right that Henry has.
We took back Rouen, but the French ain’t done.
I got countrywide problems, but a wench ain’t one.
Back me!

Countrywide problems, but a wench ain’t one.
I ain’t worried ‘bout the Maid of Orleans.
I got countrywide problems, but a wench ain’t one.
Back me!

It’s 1429, and the realm is fine,
But some folks just want to step out of line.
My uncles spend hours debating my powers,
And out in the garden, they’re choosing up flowers.
Plantagenet shows up with a smirk on his face,
And actin’ like the fool thinks he owns the damn place, so I
Take the time out of planning for wars,
And I heard “I have a claim that’s better than yours.”
You don’t have a claim, who you messin’ with?
Your pops was a traitor, mine was Henry V,
So what’s this claim you think you can flaunt?
“From my mother from a brother who was older than Gaunt.”
Uh-huh. “My uncle carried the Mortimer name,
And now that he’s gone I inherit his claim.”
Descended through a female, so you missed your chance.
“If that’s how it goes, what are we doing in France?”
We use English law here, you wanna be a smart alec,
French law is different, and it’s not the Law Salic!
“Aren’t you sharp as a tack, you some type of scholar or somthin’,
Some kind of royal family historian?”
I ain’t got all the lineage trees from Burke’s,
But I know a little somethin’ ’bout how this all works.
I gave him York, but his trench ain’t done.
I got countrywide problems, but a wench ain’t one.
Back me!

Countrywide problems, but a wench ain’t one.
I ain’t worried ‘bout the Maid of Orleans.
I got countrywide problems, but a wench ain’t one.
Back me!

Now once upon a time, when I had to invade,
A monarch like myself had to strong-arm a maid.
This is not a maid in the sense of some girl with a sword,
But a self-proclaimed handmaid who waits on the Lord.
My army met hers on an Angiers field,
And in force of war, York made the witch yield.
You know the type, claiming divine sight,
But she couldn’t hold her own in a brute fight.
The only thing that I’d let happen is to stop all her yappin’,
Take her to the stake and start strappin’ with the wrappin’,
And then watch the witch start bargainin’,
In a desperate attempt just to save her skin.
Such an unholy lass, so afraid of death,
That she’s spouting out lies with her dying breath.
She denied her father, claimed a noble birth,
And an unborn child to increase her worth.
But from Renier of Naples or Alencon?
So much for the “Maid” of Orleans.
We lit the fire, and the stench ain’t fun.
I got countrywide problems, burnin’ a wench ain’t one.
Back me!

Countrywide problems, but a wench ain’t one.
I ain’t worried ‘bout the Maid of Orleans.
I got countrywide problems, but a wench ain’t one.
Back me!

Oops, I did it again! This is the seventh of a series of pop-music parodies for Shakespeare fans.

Enjoy!

Thought We Were Friends
sung to the tune of “Till the World Ends”

(With apologies to Britney Spears and, yeah, Shakespeare…)

Been servant to you for my whole life, you see.
Never seen you behave so abnormally.

Although you are my master,
Your words are a disaster.
I tell you of your honey;
You ask me for your money.
I ask you if you’re eating;
You answer with a beating.
Master, say, is everything all right?

I can’t take it, take it, take no more.
Never been like, been like this before.
C’mon get me, get me off the floor.
Master, what’d you, what’d you beat me for?

* * *

Say what else, but I know what I know did pass.
Being kicked, I should kick, if I were an ass.

You brought home guests for dinner;
The doors were locked from inner.
You left mad with the goldsmith;
A rope you said come back with.
Then, my task completing,
I earn another beating.
Master, say, is everything all right?

I can’t take it, take it, take no more.
Never been like, been like this before.
C’mon get me, get me off the floor.
Master, what’d you, what’d you beat me for?

* * *

If you beat me, I must take it.
But I really thought we were friends.
I’m the servant; you’re the master.
But I really thought we were friends.

But I really thought we were friends.
But I really thought we were friends.

This is the sixth of a series of parodies, in which I change the lyrics to a popular song to make it about Shakespeare.

Enjoy!

Mourn This Way
sung to the tune of “Born This Way”

(With apologies to Lady Gaga and, I guess, Weird Al Yankovic…)

It doesn’t matter if you loved him,
Or capital M-O-M.
Just throw some black on,
‘Cause you can mourn this way, baby!

My mama told me when I was young,
I’d one day become the king.
But when my father died, my uncle did,
While she was glad to wear his ring.

And now I’m seeing my father’s ghost;
“Avenge my unnatural death” he’ll say.
I’ll fool my uncle, keep him off his guard,
With the crafty madness I can play.

I’m gonna change how I look,
Then read some words from a book,
And I’ll wear all black, baby,
‘Cause I mourn this way.

I’m gonna put on a show;
I’ll get my uncle to go,
And I’ll wear all black, baby,
‘Cause I mourn this way.

Mourn this way!

Oh, I’ll watch him at the play.
Maybe I can mourn this way.
Maybe I can mourn this way.

Mourn this way!

Oh, I’ll watch him at the play.
Maybe I can mourn this way.
All black, baby,
‘Cause I mourn this way.

I’m not a king; I’m just a prince.
I’m not a king; I’m just a prince.
I’m not a king; I’m just a prince.

My uncle murdered Dad and took his crown;
I know just how far fetched that sounds.
But now the king’s fled from the play, so I’ll
Take the ghost’s word for a thousand pounds.

“Direct your vengeance against the king,
But not capital M-O-M.” Hey, hey, hey!
If I confront her, then the ghost will come:
Truepenny, hic et ubique.

And now my girlfriend’s gone mad,
Because I murdered her dad,
And I wore all black, baby,
‘Cause I mourn this way.

I took a trip with some friends;
Too bad they’ll now meet their ends,
While I wear all black, baby,
‘Cause I mourn this way.

Oh, I sent them on their way.
Maybe I can mourn this way.
Maybe I can mourn this way.

Mourn this way!

Oh, I sent them on their way.
Maybe I can mourn this way.
All black, baby,
‘Cause I mourn this way.

I’m not a king; I’m just a prince.
Hereditary governments
Have quite a lot to answer for
In Copenhagen, Elsinore!

And soon I’ll need to fear no toil,
I’ll shuffle off this mortal coil,
So get yourself some black today,
‘Cause, baby, you can mourn this way.

No matter king, queen, or knave,
Prince, yeoman, beggar, or slave;
You gotta wear black, baby,
When you mourn at my grave.

No matter Danish, German,
Norwegian, Pole, Swede, or Finn;
You gotta wear black, baby,
So your mourn can begin.

Out to the graveyard I’ll go,
Talk to this skull that I know,
And I’ll wear all black, baby,
‘Cause I mourn this way.

I’ll match Laertes with swords,
Then get my final rewards,
And you’ll wear all black, baby,
‘Cause you’ll mourn this way, yeah.

Oh, this is my final day.
Horatio, you’ll mourn this way.
Maybe you can mourn this way.

Mourn this way!

Oh, this is my final day.
Horatio, you’ll mourn this way.
All black, baby,
‘Cause you’ll mourn this way.

You can mourn this way, hey!
You can mourn this way, hey!
Just wear all black, baby,
You can mourn this way, hey!

You can mourn this way, hey!
You can mourn this way, hey!
Just wear all black, baby,
You can mourn this way, hey!

I’m DOA, so mourn this way…
I’m DOA, so mourn this way…

This is the fifth of a series of parodies, where I change the lyrics to a popular song to make it about Shakespeare.

And now, it has come to this.

Feste And I Know It
sung to the tune of “Sexy And I Know It”

(With apologies to LMFAO and the greater Internet community…)

Yeah, Yeah…

When I get harangued… I see no colors, ‘cause I’m too well hanged.
I’ve a motley style… when Olivia’s sad, I can make her smile, yeah.
I’m nonchalant… I have free license, say what I want.
You put me down, you get your comeuppance.
To be in your shoes, man, I wouldn’t give twopence. (Nah!)

Ah…girl, look at that coxcomb.
Ah…girl, look at that coxcomb.
Ah…girl, look at that coxcomb.
Uh uh, I’m no fool!

Ah…girl, look at that coxcomb.
Ah…girl, look at that coxcomb.
Ah…girl, look at that coxcomb.
Uh uh, I’m no fool!

When I jest in the streets, yeah, you like what you see. (What, ho!)
Maybe you’d consider some money for me.
I have a clownish kind of wit and I ain’t afraid to show it, show it, show it, show it…
I’m Feste and I know it.

I’m Feste and I know it.

Yo, I never cease… but I can’t begin if I hold my peace.
I live by the tabor… and by the church, ’cause it is my neighbor. (Faith!)
Olivia’s harried… she’ll have no fool ‘till she be married.
When madmen and prisoners get too obdurate,
Illyria knows me as Topaz the Curate. (Vox!)

Ah…girl, look at that coxcomb.
Ah…girl, look at that coxcomb.
Ah…girl, look at that coxcomb.
Uh uh, I’m no fool!

Ah…girl, look at that coxcomb.
Ah…girl, look at that coxcomb.
Ah…girl, look at that coxcomb.
Uh uh, I’m no fool!

When I jest in the streets, yeah, you like what you see. (What, ho!)
Maybe you’d consider some money for me.
I have a clownish kind of wit and I ain’t afraid to show it, show it, show it, show it…
I’m Feste and I know it.

I’m Feste and I know it.

Check it out! Check it out!
Giggle, giggle, giggle, giggle, giggle, yeah.
Giggle, giggle, giggle, giggle, giggle, yeah.
Giggle, giggle, giggle, giggle, giggle, yeah.
Giggle, giggle, giggle, giggle, giggle, yeah.

Make you giggle, man. Make you giggle, man. Yeah.

I’m Feste and I know it.

This is the fourth of a series of parodies, where I change the lyrics to a popular song to make it about Shakespeare.

I guess we all knew this one was coming, so let’s just get it out of the way.

Call Me Lady
sung to the tune of “Call Me Maybe”

(With apologies to Carly Rae Jepsen and to former fans of this once-proud blog…)

It’s such a wonderful thing,
Just what some prophecies bring;
They said that you would be king,
But he is in your way.

I got your note from the heath;
Look like a flowering wreath,
But be the snake underneath,
‘Cause he is in your way.

Your choice affects me;
Yet thy nature doth perplex me.
Come spirits, here unsex me.
No one will suspect thee, baby!

Hey, you just got home,
And this is crazy!
But be a man and
You’ll call me Lady.

It’s good to know what
Will your fate be.
So make it happen,
Then call me Lady.

Hey, you just got home,
And this is crazy!
But be a man and
You’ll call me Lady.

And all the other Thanes,
Will kneel and praise me,
When I’m their Queen and
Not just a Lady.

You took your time with the kill;
It takes more courage than skill;
If you won’t do it, I will,
‘Cause he is in your way.

Just take your cue from the witch;
Don’t tell me you have no itch;
Don’t mean to be such a bitch,
But he is in your way.

Your choice affects me;
Yet thy nature doth perplex me.
Come spirits, here unsex me.
No one will suspect thee, baby!

Hey, you just got home,
And this is crazy!
But be a man and
You’ll call me Lady.

It’s good to know what
Will your fate be.
So make it happen,
Then call me Lady.

Hey, you just got home,
And this is crazy!
But be a man and
You’ll call me Lady.

And all the other Thanes,
Will kneel and praise me,
When I’m their Queen and
Not just a Lady.

Before resorting to the knife, I never went mad.
I never went mad. And now I’m so, so mad.
Before resorting to the knife, I never went mad.
Look at that blood splat.

So call me Lady!

This is the third of a series of Shakespeare Song Parodies.

The idea is to take a popular song and change the words so that it’s about Shakespeare. Enjoy!

Boyfriend
sung to the tune of “Boyfriend”

(With apologies to Justin Bieber and to all that is good and right in the universe…)

You’ve come to plead before me,
To let your brother go.
Ask me not for mercy,
‘Cause my blood is made of snow.

Your brother broke the law,
As his girlfriend starts to show,
Which is punishable by death,
As you must surely know.

(Shag, Shag, Shag) You do.
There’s nothing in this case that would merit review.
But if you could save his life, exactly how much would you do?
So say hello to false fellow in three, two…

(Shag)

Feel free to tell anyone you want.
Hey girl, who’d believe it’s true?

If I was your boyfriend, I’d let your brother go.
Torture him to death, girl, if you tell me No.
He won’t have to die, though, if you give me love.
If I was your boyfriend, I’d let your brother go.
I’d let your brother go.

I hear that you’ve been studying.
You want to be a nun.
But you haven’t been invested yet.
We could have some fun.

Your virtue gets me going.
No strumpet ever could.
Do I desire you foully,
For that which makes you good?

You fear for your salvation,
As that’s your only goal.
But just yield me up your body;
I talk not of your soul.

If I say you must do it,
Well then, of course, you must.
Just close your eyes and think about
How the law is just.

Feel free to tell anyone you want.
Hey girl, who’d believe it’s true?

If I was your boyfriend, I’d let your brother go.
Torture him to death, girl, if you tell me No.
He won’t have to die, though, if you give me love.
If I was your boyfriend, I’d let your brother go.
I’d let your brother go.

This is the second of what is now a series of Shakespeare Song Parodies.

The idea is to take a popular song and change the words so that it’s about Shakespeare. Enjoy!

Dutiful
sung to the tune of “What Makes You Beautiful”

(With apologies to One Direction and anyone reading this…)

You act demure.
Don’t know what for.
You could defend yourself for marrying a Mo-o-or.
But rumors spread.
Some people said
That you and Cassio have been in be-e-ed.

Everyone else in this town could see it,
Everyone else but me-e.

Baby, you light up my world, yea, I say amen;
So I must put out the light, then do that again;
You must die else you may betray other men.
I don’t know, oh, oh,
I don’t know you’re dutiful.

If you saw what Iago has helped me see,
You’d understand why I’m so filled with jealousy;
I know that you burned your dad, but would you burn me?
I don’t know, oh, oh,
I don’t know you’re dutiful.

My hankerchief:
It was a gift.
And now it’s lost; that’s what started this ri-i-ift.
You dare to lie,
And now you’ll die,
But I pause first to kiss you goodbye-eye-eye.

Everyone else in this town could see it,
Everyone else but me-e.

Baby, you light up my world, yea, I say amen;
So I must put out the light, then do that again;
You must die else you may betray other men.
I don’t know, oh, oh,
I don’t know you’re dutiful.

If you saw what Iago has helped me see,
You’d understand why I’m so filled with jealousy;
I know that you burned your dad, but would you burn me?
I don’t know, oh, oh,
I don’t know you’re dutiful.

You defended me down to your dying yell,
You’re like a liar who’s now gone to burning hell.
So Emelia, what was it you had to tell?
Now I know, oh, oh,
Now I know you’re dutiful.

I’ve long enjoyed the Shakespeare song parodies posted by Bardfilm and ShakespeareGeek. Now, it’s my turn to join in the fun. If this works out, maybe I’ll make it a regular feature.

The idea is to take a popular song and change the words so that it’s about Shakespeare. Here is my first attempt. Enjoy!

Filled with Woe
sung to the tune of “Somebody That I Used to Know”

(With apologies to Gotye, Kimbra, and my readers…)

Now and then I think of when you were my whole tomorrow,
Like when I kissed you at your father’s masquerade;
Told myself that you were right for me,
But felt alone under your balcony,
And yet I always felt that parting was such sweet sorrow.

You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness,
Like how we know our parents never would approve;
So when you heard that I was banishéd,
Well, you said that we would still be wed,
But I’ll admit that I feared it was over.

But you didn’t have to kill yourself,
Taking poison on your wedding day and come to nothing,
And losing you was hard enough,
But you’re lying dead near Tybalt and that feels so rough.

O, you didn’t have to do this, no,
But I bought some poison, killed Count Paris, now I join your number;
Thus, with a kiss, I let you go,
Now I die somebody who is filled with woe!

Now I die somebody who is filled with woe!
Now I die somebody who is filled with woe!

* * *

Now and then I think about our plan to stay together,
And now I’m guessing that you never really got my note;
A pity you did not survive,
Because the whole time I was still alive;
Thy lips are still warm, Romeo,
And so, happy dagger, kill me –
I’m somebody who is filled with woe!

* * *Somebody!
Filled with woe!
Somebody!
Filled with woe!

Now I die somebody who is filled with woe!

On Friday evening, I went to see the Bridge Project production of Richard III, directed by Sam Mendes.

I’ve always been a fan of Kevin Spacey, particularly in American Beauty, The Usual Suspects, and Glengarry Glen Ross. I was very much looking forward to seeing him in my favorite play.

He gave a fantastic performance as Richard III, but I thought the production took too many liberties with the text for the sake of their famous headliner. Take a look at an excerpt from the production script and I think you’ll see what I mean.

ACT IV. SCENE II. London. The palace.

Sennet. Enter KING RICHARD III, in pomp, crowned; BUCKINGHAM, CATESBY, and others.

KING RICHARD III
Stand all apart Cousin of Buckingham!

BUCKINGHAM
My gracious sovereign?

KING RICHARD III
Mine. 1970 Pontiac Firebird. The car I’ve always wanted and now I have it. I rule! But shall we wear these honours for a day? Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?

BUCKINGHAM
Still live they and for ever may they last!

KING RICHARD III
O Buckingham, now do I play the touch,
To try if thou be current gold indeed.
I need to shape up fast: think now what I would say.

BUCKINGHAM
Say on, my loving lord.

KING RICHARD III
Cousin, thou wert not wont to be so dull:
Shall I be plain? I want to look good naked!
What sayest thou? speak suddenly; be brief.

BUCKINGHAM
Give me some breath, some little pause, my lord
Before I positively herein:
I will resolve your grace immediately.
Exit

CATESBY
The king is angry: see, he bites the lip.

KING RICHARD III
Let’s all sell our souls and work for Satan because it’s more convenient that way. Catesby!

CATESBY
My lord?

KING RICHARD III
Rumour it abroad
That Anne, my wife, is sick and like to die.

Exit CATESBY

Our marriage is just for show. A commercial for how normal we are when we’re anything but.

Enter TYRREL

Is thy name Tyrrel?

TYRREL
James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.

KING RICHARD III
Ely always said, “I don’t believe in God, but I’m afraid of him.” Well I believe in God, and the only thing that scares me are those bastards in the Tower.

TYRREL
Let me have open means to come to them,
And soon I’ll rid you from the fear of them.

Exit TYRREL.

Re-enter BUCKINGHAM.

BUCKINGHAM
My Lord, I have consider’d in my mind
The late demand that you did sound me in.

KING RICHARD III
Well, let that pass. Dorset is fled to Richmond.

BUCKINGHAM
I’ve heard we have the Marquess lost, my lord.

KING RICHARD III
Lose him? We didn’t lose him. It’s not like, “Whoops! Where’d Dorset go?” HE QUIT. Someone pass the asparagus, please.

BUCKINGHAM
My lord, I claim your gift, my due by promise,
For which your honour and your faith is pawn’d;
The earldom of Hereford and the moveables
The which you promised I should possess.

KING RICHARD III
I’m really thirsty. I used to dehydrate as a kid. One time it got so bad my piss came out like snot. I’m not kidding, it was all thick and gooey.

BUCKINGHAM
What says your highness to my just demand?

KING RICHARD III
That guy is tense. Tension is a killer.

BUCKINGHAM
My lord!

KING RICHARD III
I used to be in a barbershop quartet in Skokie, Illinois. The baritone was this guy named Kip Diskin, big fat guy, I mean, like, orca fat. He was so stressed in the morning…

BUCKINGHAM
My lord, your promise for the earldom,–

KING RICHARD III
Tut, tut, thou troublest me; I am not in the giving vein to-day.

BUCKINGHAM
Why?

KING RICHARD III
Because I don’t like you.

BUCKINGHAM
Why, then resolve me whether you will or no.

KING RICHARD III
Will you go to lunch? Go to lunch. Will you go to lunch?

Exeunt all except for BUCKINGHAM

BUCKINGHAM
The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist. And like that, poof. He’s gone.

The Klaxon invaders lit up the starship corridor with weapons fire, as Alliance scientists and technicians dove for cover on the other end. Klaxons had a reputation for ruthless violence, but nothing could prepare you for your first encounter with them. It was likely to be your last.

This starship seemed an unlikely target. The captain recalled how a mundane scientific mission had turned noteworthy by the addition of the President of the Intergalactic Council, who decided to join the expedition as an observer. The scientists had been excited by the leader’s visit, and were eager to show him the important work they had been doing. But now, a Klaxon boarding party was attacking, and his life, all of their lives, were very much in danger.

A Klaxon pulse blast damaged a power generator, creating massive interference waves in the electromagnetic field within the ship, which rendered pulse weapons on both sides absolutely useless. What now? Hand-to-hand fighting? Klaxons weren’t known to be skillful in direct combat, but they could likely hold their own against a team of scientists with no battle experience.

Suddenly, the side hatch flew open, and there stood Will Daring, one of the two humans who had recently been taken from Earth, the planet they were currently orbiting. Telescopes had not yet been invented on their world, so it seemed safe to do the experiments close by. The captain had no idea how the male human had broken loose from his containment section, but he had bigger problems.

Will Daring walked halfway down the corridor. Was he fearless, or did he just not understand the threat the Klaxons posed? He bent to the floor to pick up one of the sharp wooden pikes that had been dislodged from its decorative place on the wall by the Klaxon weapons, and waved it menacingly in front of the invaders. The Klaxons took one look at the handsome eighteen-year-old human gesturing wildly with his makeshift lance, and decided it wasn’t worth the risk. They made a hasty retreat to their battleship, frightened off by no more than a boy holding a stick.

When he returned back to his hosts, the captain greeted him warmly. “You have saved the lives of this entire team, not to mention the President of the Intergalactic Council. We are all in your debt, Will Shake-Spear.” It was customary for Alliance captains to grant titles based on achievements in battle, and Will liked the way the moniker rang in his ear. “I have something for you,” the captain added slyly, beckoning Will to follow him into a side chamber.

Once the two men were alone, the captain handed Will a thick packet of paper, bound in a leather portfolio. Will looked through the pages and was surprised to find a collection of 55 plays: Hamlet, Macbeth, Love’s Labours Lost, Love’s Labour’s Won, the titles went on and on. “This is our gift to you, Will Shake-Spear,” the captain beamed, “a collection of plays for you to stage with your theatre company. We have analyzed your simple language, and have created combinations of words to appeal to the primate brains of your species. The stories have been taken from among the most popular in your culture, but the language patterns we’ve created are more complex than anything your world has ever seen.”

“What am I supposed to tell people,” Will responded, “that space aliens gave me these plays?”

“No, you must say that you yourself wrote them.”

“What sane person could possibly believe that?”

“Nevertheless, you must claim these plays as your own, or risk being condemned as a lunatic.”

Just then, the ship was rocked by an explosion. The Klaxons had fired on the science vessel and the ship’s systems were failing fast. The captain rushed to the bridge, while Will Daring ran back to the containment section where he and his companion had been kept. There he found the raven-haired beauty Anne Hathaway. Her bodice had been ripped, exposing the tops of her voluptuous breasts. For a moment, Will found himself captivated by her stunning allure before snapping back to the matter at hand. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

The two humans ran to the emergency hatch, but there were no escape chambers. By now, the damaged ship had broken orbit and had descended into the atmosphere of the planet below. Will Daring recalled a drawing he had seen by Leonardo Da Vinci, created over a century earlier. “I have an idea!” he bellowed over the sound of explosions erupting across the ship. Grabbing some nearby cloth, he created a makeshift parachute, grabbed Anne Hathaway, and jumped out of the hatch.

As the two floated gently to their home planet below, Anne Hathaway looked at Will Daring like he was the only man in the world. He had always felt she was unapproachable to him, nine years older and so impossibly lovely. But now they were closer than they had ever been. The landing was rough, but the two were unhurt. Nothing could hurt them now.

The explosion of the starship turned the sky a bright orange, creating a majestic backdrop for the most passionate kiss either of them had ever known. “Oh darling!” moaned Anne Hathaway breathlessly. “It’s pronounced Daring,” Will responded calmly, looking down at the bulky leather portfolio still in his hands, “but from now on, baby, you can call me Shakespeare!”