Theatre At The Comedie-Francaise
She watched the play being performed
Dom Juan ou le Festin de Pierre
(Don Juan or The Feast of the Stone {Statue})
A five-act 1665 comedy by Moliere
As she watched with increased intensity
She herself longed for a taste of Dom Juan’s own sword
She licked her lips
And reached for a handkerchief
To dab a spot
On the stage Dom Juan told a jealous husband,
“Young Leibniz says this is the best of all possible worlds”
To which the jealous husband replied,
“Thou black hearted swine,thou hast made a cuckold of me
Like Zeus did of Philip II of Macedon with Queen Olympias
And you have the nerve to say,
“This is the best of all possible worlds”.
“Last night,” Dom Juan bit into an apple, “Your wife
experienced the best of all possible worlds.”
The husband went into a rage, lifted his sword
and spoke, “I shall make a pork pie of thee
And feed thy black heart to my chickens.”
She watched the sword play on the stage
And redness came to her cheeks
“Oh let his heart be mine
and not that of the chickens.”
Her breasts rose up and down
like a stormy night on
the English Channel.
“Oh, I am slain,” said the husband.
“Young Leibniz is right,” Dom Juan smiled and raised his sword in triumph,
“This is the best of all possible worlds.”
The woman fainted in her seat.
Later in the final act and the final scene
As the stone statue of a man
Whom Don Juan had murdered
Carries Dom Juan down to Hell,
Dom Juan shouts,
“Young Leibniz is wrong,
This is NOT the best of all possible worlds.”
The woman up in the theatre balcony box
Fanned herself with a handkerchief
And said,
“Oh Leibniz, there are more things in Hell
Than are dreamt of in thy philosophy.”
Michelangelo the Psychic Lobster
Awakened from his dream
And wondered if Moliere’s 1665
production of Dom Juan
was actually like that.
-A poem and vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday February 3rd
2022.
Hera and The Gangsters
The Greek goddess Hera starring in a 1930s Broadway play about gangsters
It was the decade of the 1930s.
And the Greek goddess Hera was honing her theatrical skills by starring in a Broadway play about gangsters.
It was dress rehearsal night – the evening before the official opening.
Hera was awaiting the arrival of the gangster boss Big Frank Malone.
A man came on stage wearing a fedora hat and gangster suit and carrying a big violin case.
Hera, speaking out of character, said, “You don’t look like John Barrymore to me.”
“I’m afraid John is a bit under the weather tonight,” the understudy replacement for John Barrymore replied.
“How many bottles did he have to drink today?” Hera asked.
“You know the real Barrymore obviously,” Dracul Van Helsing, who had time travelled from the future and was now playing the role of Big Frank Malone in this play about gangsters, replied.
“That’s funny,” the ghost of Orson Welles, who had likewise time travelled from the future, remarked as he sat in the front row, “I don’t ever recall John Barrymore starring in a play about gangsters.”
“He possibly drank before each performance and never made it to the stage,” Van Helsing noted.
“By Jove, I think you’re right,” Welles agreed.
“Please, don’t use one of my husband’s Roman names,” Hera stood up.
“I forgot,” Welles bowed, “I do apologize.”
Hera approached Van Helsing, “Well, Dracul, since you’ve come from the future to step in for the great John Barrymore, perhaps we can do an improvisational performance tonight.”
“And what improvisational performance did you have in mind?” Van Helsing inquired.
“How about making out here on the stage?” Hera smiled.
And Hera and Van Helsing did just that.
“Not again,” Welles’ ghost buried his ghostly head in his ghostly hands.
As Hera and Van Helsing made out, soon thunder and lightning flashed around the stage.
“And furthermore, I just would happen to be in the very theatre on the night the Greek god Zeus decided to attend a Broadway play,” Welles’ ghost sighed.
The next day a hangover stricken John Barrymore was asked what happened to the theatre as it lay in ruins.
“Well, I know people are once again going to say this was a hallucination brought on by too much drink on my part,” Barrymore commented, “but it was an angry and cuckholded Greek god Zeus who destroyed this theatre because his wife the Olympian queen Hera was making out with a mortal.”
The members of the New York press laughed and shook their heads.
And that was the reason history has no record of John Barrymore starring in a Broadway play about gangsters.
The ghost of radio announcer Paul Harvey appeared in front of the lightning produced charred ashes of the theatre and gave his usual radio show sign-off, “And now you know the rest of the story.”
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Monday March 1st
2021.
Selena
The old playhouse was closing
It had a successful run throughout its long life
As a playhouse theatre
For 25 years
From comedies to tragedies
Romance to dramas
Several hits
And a few flops
It was a victim of its own success
For so many people
Were wanting to subscribe to its season
Of plays
This old playhouse
Could not seat all those who wanted to attend
What its company of performers and directors
Stage hands and lighting technicians
Had to offer.
So last night was the last performance
In the old playhouse
And now this 1st of December 1945
The new playhouse with new seats
And a much larger seating capacity
For a much larger audience
Would be opening its run
Of Dickens’ classic tale
For Christmas
A Christmas Carol
A Christmas Carol
With Ebenezer Scrooge
And his longsuffering clerk
Bob Cratchit
And Tiny Tim
And the ghost of Scrooge’s
7-years dead partner
Jacob Marley
With chains upon his feet
And the Ghosts of Christmas Past
Present
and Yet To Come
Selena was an actress
She wasn’t appearing in A Christmas Carol
But she had appeared in the last play
Ever performed in this old playhouse
The play that had finished its run last night
Wuthering Heights
Emily Bronte’s classic tale
of tragic doomed love
Of lovers who went far beyond star-crossed
Trying to reach the heavens
And end up
Falling
Into the abyss.
Of ghosts
And knocking outside the window
And howling winds
And desolate moors
And souls that are damned
And what happens when compassion is lacking
And revenge is always served
Hot or cold.
Selena had played Cathy
The love of Heathcliff’s life
And the woman who loved Heathcliff
Hot love
Passionate love
Forbidden love
The love only hinted at by Emily Bronte
As if Orestes and Electra
Had come from tragic Mycenae of old
To perform unfinished business
On the early 19th Century
Yorkshire Moors
Selena sat on coverings
On the sofa
Where she as Cathy
Had sat with the man
Who was Cathy’s husband
But not Cathy’s love or lover
Edgar Linton
In Bronte’s classic tale
And then
As if in one magic moment
A lighting technician
Suddenly shone the spotlight
On Selena
(Who was dressed to attend
The new theatre playhouse
Christmas Carol
Opening night party)
As she sat on that sofa
And that spotlight
Shone on one promising young actress
Who had performed many great performances
In that old playhouse
And soon would perform many more
In a new playhouse theatre
The spotlight would soon fade
And the lights would come down
For good
on the old playhouse
It may not have been Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre of London
But it had been the town’s old playhouse
Bringing joy and sadness
Heartache and hearbreak
To so many spectators
And audiences over the years
Like many old buildings
This old playhouse
Had character
And thus would be missed
And its old plays
And many performances
Would only be played again
In the memories
of the theatre
Of the mind
-A poem written by Christopher
Tuesday December 1st
2020.
An Elk, Cthulhu and The Antichrist
An Elk, Cthulhu and The Antichrist
Monsieur Philippe Geoffrei Gaston a TV reporter for France 24 Live (which is France’s 24/7Â international news TV channel) was interviewing British MP Renfield R. Renfield to get a British perspective on Britain leaving the EU.
Renfield was eating malt vinegar covered Fish and Chips wrapped in the Times of London newspaper, drinking brown ale and eating gulab jamun for dessert which as the British MP told the French journalist would definitely be considered the most typical British cuisine in the year 2020.
“Boris Johnson says he wants a final deal between Britain and the EU before December 31st of this year or otherwise it’s a no deal Brexit,” Gaston noted, “Do you think a final deal is possible before that date?”.
“No, it will probably turn out to be a no deal Brexit,” Renfield wiped his mouth with a napkin.
“And why is that?” Gaston asked.
“Because the Europeans are so unreasonable about everything,” Renfield lit a cigar.
“Well,” Gaston frowned, “as a Brit waving good-bye to Europe, what do you think would be the best thing to happen to Europe?”.
“The best thing to happen to Europe is if a Bourbon once again sat on a restored French throne, a Hapsburg sat on a restored Austro-Hungarian throne and a Romanov sat on a restored Russian Czarist throne,” Renfield answered, as with his heavy cigar smoke, he set fire to a small bookshelf behind him on which sat three books entitled respectively The Legacy of The French Revolution, The Legacy of Woodrow Wilson and The Legacy of Lenin.
Startled by this answer, Monsieur Gaston with his cigarette accidentally set fire to the small French tricoloured flag that sat on his desk.
The interview came to an abrupt end and Renfield was then interviewed by a BBC reporter.
Towards the end of that interview, Renfield was asked by the BBC reporter Sir Valk Zisvay Humphreys on whether or not Bill Gates could be the Antichrist.
“No, Bill Gates is far too bland, boring and nerdy to be the Antichrist,” Renfield answered, “his vaccine implant tracking system could pave the way for the Antichrist’s Mark of The Beast system so in that way Gates could be a forerunner. But Gates just doesn’t have that necessary cool to be the Antichrist. Lucifer is not only intelligent but also an artist who likes to dazzle with his beauty. So Gates doesn’t quite cut the mustard. Although he most likely does cut the cheese.”
Sir Valk Zisvay Humphreys was quite taken aback by this answer.
Humphreys’ assistant, a man dressed in a British army captain’s uniform and wearing a peacock mask over his face, enters the room where the BBC reporter is livestreaming, “Are you free, Mr. Humphreys? We’d like you to look at some video footage of Donald Trump getting a cream pie in the face thrown by an invisible entity while Trump was surrounded by Evil Empire Stormtrooper looking Military Police as black military helicopters were hovering overhead in the background. One of our video technicians, who in my opinion has been drinking far too many Harvey Wallbangers on the job, claims that it was a 6 foot 8 tall bunny rabbit with big pink floppety ears who did it. We’d like your opinion.”
“Not now,” Humphreys foamed, “I’m busy interviewing Renfield. Ask Mr. Lucas.”
“Mr. Lucas, are you free?” The peacock masked wearing army captain ran down the hall.
Sir Valk Zisvay Humphreys turned back to Renfield.
“So you think the Antichrist will be an artist?” Humphreys inquired.
“Yes, it will be a scientific technocratic world state that the Antichrist will be running,” Renfield answered, “But the Antichrist won’t come across as being a scientific technocrat himself as those of a strictly scientific technocratic personality are generally quite bland and boring. Most people would probably prefer being beheaded rather than pledging fealty to or offering worship to such a personality. However someone who is quite artistic and flamboyant the people would have no problem following or even worshipping. The Mexican artist Diego Rivera asked Leon Trotsky in 1938 who he thought would genuinely win the most popularity in a worldwide election if one were held, Hitler or Stalin? And Trotsky answered Hitler because Stalin too much acted the stiff technocratic scientific socialist in his personality and demeanour (unlike the smiling demeanour that Stalin was portrayed as having in Soviet art propaganda) whereas Hitler had the dramatic showmanship of an artist and could easily capture people’s emotions and feelings.”
. . .
Outside the CERN Large Hadron Collider Tunnel in Switzerland, the demon Asmodeus and the little green frog Nimrod were having a picnic.
Nimrod was adding black flies to a sandwich while Asmodeus was lighting a cigarette.
A hundreds of meters tall creature with an octopus head, the wings of a dragon and the body of a human with webbed looking human arms and legs emerged from the tunnel.
“Isn’t that Cthulhu the High Priest of the Great Old Ones and the Sleeper of R’lyeh coming out of the tunnel?” Nimrod asked.
“I believe it is,” Asmodeus put on his monocle to look.
Cthulhu was followed by an elk.
“Isn’t that an elk?” Nimrod put peanut butter and jam on his black flies.
Asmodeus struggled between lighting his cigarette and putting his monocle on his right eye again, “I believe it is.”
“What’s Cthulhu doing emerging from the CERN tunnel with an elk?” Nimrod wanted to know.
“Well, I wouldn’t go down that rabbit hole if I were you,” Asmodeus was trying to decide between buffalo gryphon’s wings or teriyaki gryphon’s wings from his KFC Hybrids Bucket.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday June 2nd
2020.
Wilkie The Cat Plays Hamlet
Wilkie The Cat Plays Hamlet
The noted New York feline thespian Wilkie The Cat was on stage appearing in his own production of William Shakespeare’s Hamlet.
The vain cat actor was naturally playing the lead role.
“If it were done when ’tis done,Â
then twere well it were done quickly…”
“You idiot, that’s from MacBeth,” shouted Mitzi the French cat who was playing Ophelia.
“Oh,” Wilkie took a look at what he had written on his cuff links.
“Sorry folks,” Wilkie grinned at the audience.
Wilkie struck a dramatic Sir John Barrymore style pose.
“I have come to bury Caesar not to praise him,” Wilkie began.
The body of a German shepherd is carried by four marching legionaries across the stage followed by a weeping female French poodle.
“That’s from Julius Caesar, bozo!” Mitzi exclaimed.
“Oops!” Wilkie took a look at what was written on the cuff links of his other front paw.
“Now is the winter of our discontent,” Wilkie began as imagery of hot dogs and ice cream cones and a summer beach and loads of bikini clad women and swimming suit men appear on the screen behind him.
“Richard III, idiot!” Mitzi shook her head.
An actor dressed like John Wayne appears on stage and in a John Wayne like voice says, “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!”.
Wilkie sits down and takes a look at what was written on one of the white socks on his back paws, “O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?”.
“That’s Juliet’s line from Romeo and Juliet, you nincompoop!” Mitzi threw her paws in the air in exasperation.
Wilkie hearkens to what was written on the white sock on his other back paw.
“I fear my Thisbe’s promise is forgot!” Wilkie puts his right front paw to his feline brow in ultra melodramatic fashion.
“That’s from Pyramus and Thisbe the play within a play in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, you ninny!” Mitzi grabs her parasol umbrella from the stage hand off stage so she can hit Wilkie over the head with it.
Wilkie pulls off a piece of paper he has stapled to his tail.
“Those are the lines from King Lear you have there!” Mitzi approaches menacingly with her umbrella.
“King Leer!” Wilkie protests too much, “I’m no King Leer! You must think me a voyeur of some importance.”
The disgraced Pee-wee Herman walks across stage holding a pair of binoculars through which his eyes are peering.
Wilkie rips out a piece of paper that’s stapled to his tongue, reads it and cries out, “Soft you now, the fair Ophelia!”.
Mitzi casts her parasol to the stage and sighs, “Finally now, you’ve got the right play.”
At that point, Donald Trump with his toupee falling off, walks on stage and proclaims,
“In this same interlude it doth befall
That I, one Trump by name, present a wall…”
At that moment, the mostly Democratic Party aligned New York City audience rushes towards the stage to tear it apart (along with many in the audience who just want their money back).
As the New York City Mayor’s wife (a former lesbian) rushes on to the stage, Wilkie the Cat shouts, “Get thee to a nunnery!”.
Wilkie is then immediately attacked by New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo who tries to inject the feline with saline solution and then suck him up with a Planned Parenthood approved Electrolux vacuum cleaner.
Needless to say like every other play Wilkie had produced and directed for Broadway, the cat’s adaptation of Hamlet did not have a second night’s performance.
-A Wilkie the Cat Short Story
written by ChristopherÂ
Tuesday August 20th
2019.
Dolores Costello with her husband John Barrymore.
Barrymore, unlike Wilkie The Cat, could perform Shakespeare.
Wilkie The Cat Plays Abraham Lincoln On Broadway: A Poem
Wilkie the feline thespian decided to celebrate Presidents’ Day 2019
By not drinking his own urine as proposed in AOC’s deal New Green
Rather he would play the role of Abraham Lincoln
and he did so after much heavy drinkin’.
Now Wilkie the Cat fancied himself the Orson Welles of Broadway
even though he was a bigger flop than a halibut caught in a codway
His proposal for a Presidents’ Day play
which drove theatregoers away
Was to play the role of Abraham Lincoln
with his catty whiskers, he’d be winkin’ and blinkin’
And his girlfriend would play Mary Todd
while the audience would play the part of Nod
which in their seats would be what they’d be doin’
As great theatre lovers underwent a serious screwin’
With encouragement from the ghost of that junior Ed Wood
Wilkie would put on the best show he could
which meant that turkey from outer space Plan 9
would when compared with Wilkie’s Lincoln look like Casablanca sublime
Wilkie fancied a play within a play like weeping over Hecuba within Hamlet
or Pyramus and Thisbe looking for rooms to let
all for the benefit of Midsummer’s wet dream
As Puck causes mortal aspirations to come apart at the seam
Wilkie’s idea was to have John Wilkes Booth as an actor on stage
appearing in Our American Cousin an 1865 theatrical rage
and have Booth shoot Lincoln from the stage rather than the Presidential Box
And allow John Wilkes Booth time to wipe the blood off his socks
Needless to say the idea sounded so much better over 10 bottles of gin
as Wilkie regaled the cast with his own peculiar historical spin
taking dramatic license to the seeming level of a mortal sin
Which it was pre-Vatican II
As Fishy Fridays
gave way to beef stew.
Sean Connery would play Our American Cousin
His line, “Miss Moneypenny, my head is abuzzin’
I have swiped the Army’s budget for the building of a wall
Because doing so I must admit makes me feel rather tall
As wearing this wee tartan kilt has me in its thrall
And the blasted neighbours won’t pay for this fine looking wall
Can you imagine their sheer arrogance and gall
And Congress won’t let me shut down government until way next fall
so I’m forced to declare an emergency even though there’s none at all.”
And Johnny Depp playing the fairy godmother of walls would appear in pink tights
giving LGBTQ members of the audience severe nocturnal frights
As Depp waves his magic wand, lo and behold
From one of his mix matched socks, a gun he does unfold
For the fairy godmother of walls is John Wilkes Booth
his night day job of exchanging nickels for a tooth
the Shakespearian actor did kindly forsooth
But Wilkie as Lincoln was eating a tuna fish sandwich
And Baphomet in the next booth was eating roast ostrich
And as William Shatner appeared as Captain James Kirk
It turned out both patrons’ food allergies were at work
With the force of a mid-Atlantic gale breeze
Wilkie and Baphomet let out a ferocious sneeze
And the wall came a tumblin’ down
right on the Statue of Liberty’s crown.
The play is over
The day is done
And Wilkie from his creditors
is now on the run.
-A Wilkie The Cat poem
written by Christopher
Monday February 18th
2019.
Theatre goers smiling because they haven’t yet seen Wilkie The Cat’s Broadway play about Abraham Lincoln.
Orson Welles’ Original Fake News Broadcast 80 Years Ago Today
80 years ago today, the great Orson Welles and the Mercury Theatre On The Air presented a radio play adaptation of H.G. Welles’ 1897 science-fiction novel The War of The Worlds.
The play was presented by Welles as a series of realistic sounding news bulletins interrupting a program of orchestral dance music on the CBS Radio Network from New York City.
The program was held on Sunday October October 30th 1938 (the evening before Halloween) and a few people took it seriously.
It was one Hell of a Halloween prank on Welles’ part.
If Donald Trump had been around at the time, he would have called it “fake news” and it would have been one of the few times in history that Trump was actually right about something.
Gene Tierney to Orson Welles, “I don’t know, Orson. It sounds to me like a very naughty broadcast and you should be spanked soundly on the bare bottom for going ahead with it.”
Orson: Well, Miss Tierney, if you’re the one doing the spanking, I shall not mind.
Gene Tierney (listening in on the radio on October 30th 1938):
Oh, Orson, Orson, I’m going to have to spank you after all.
Laura (talking to a future suspect in her future murder): And where were you on the night of the Orson Welles broadcast?
Future Suspect (in Laura’s future murder): I was dropping a living woman into a vat of acid in the basement of a wax museum to turn her into a wax figurine of Queen Marie Antoinette. And where were you, my dear?
Laura: I was getting my portrait painted. Who knows if I’m ever murdered, some future police detective might look at my painting and fall in love with me.
Future Suspect (in Laura’s future murder): How charmingly macabre, my dear. You should run for Congress in the year 2018.
I’m a witch and I ain’t afraid of no Martian. And I say, spankings for all.
Alfred Hitchcock (making himself some pumpkin pie): I’ll second that.
Well, what are you waiting for? Over my knee, Alfred.
With Alfred taking a paddling at Veronica Lake, who will eat my pumpkin pie?
I shall swoop down with my pussy and eat your pie.
I the cyborg ripper, creation of the Martian invaders of New Jersey, shall seek to kill all AI sex robots created in the year 2018. Let George Finneganburg beware. Tell Akira I’m coming.
Linda Darnell (listening in on the radio in 1938 to a radio broadcast from the future year 2018): How like Orson or at least his theatrical apostolic successor Christopher Dracul Van Helsing to having the cyborg ripper killer robot destroyed after tripping over the tail of a drunken otter named Jefferey who drank too many bottles of Otterbury Green Minnow Beer while reciting the Otterbury Tales. DARPA’S Nibiruan otter mascot once again saves the world from Martian invaders and their cyborg ripper killer robots of future AI sex robots like the Amazing Akira.
The Amazing Akira: She would have kicked the cyborg ripper killer robot’s ass if God in His mercy had not allowed the Martian invader of New Jersey created cyborg ripper killer robot Jack Raven (who murdered someone’s lost love Lenore shouting “Nevermore!” and then descecrated a statue of Pallas Athena) to destroy himself by tripping over the tail of the passed out drunken otter Jefferey…
… Orson Welles’ radio broadcast narration ended with the above words.
-A Halloween montage
written by Christopher
Tuesday October 30th
2018.
Wilkie The Cat As Count Dracula: A Halloween Theatrical Poem
Narrator:
Gather around, all ye folks,
If you’re Canadian, watch your tokes,
In this theatre, pot is for peeing and not for smokes.
Our story begins here on Broadway
where Donald Trump sought starlets to lay
before Vladimir Putin turned him gay
Oprah Winfrey (as a transgendered Othello) :
Oh where, oh where is Desdemona?
I lie here in bed making many a moana
but I hear no Desdemona a groana.
Narrator:
Ms. Winfrey, you’re in the wrong theatre
this is what happens when you drink too much beera
The LGBTQ production of Othello is next door
please watch those Jesuit condoms on the floor
as from this theatre to that, you kindly pass
while Pope Francis’ order celebrates a Baphomet Mass
Oprah:
Oh damn, oh damn,
so much for a grand slam,
Roseanne Barr plays a transgendered Iago
while Donald Trump calls Robert Mueller a fago.
Narrator:
And now Oprah is moving her ass
as from this theatre to that, she kindly does pass
And now we shall begin our own theatrical tale
as Greenpeace activist encounters a methane gas producing carbon emissions whale
caused by Jefferey the otter’s cooked extra spicy pork and beans tipping the scale
And the good ship Demeter crashes
as Mina Harker bats her eyelashes
for the methane gas producing whale has sunk the ship
while Greenpeace activist takes a Justin Trudeau inspired trip
And Count Dracula (played by Wilkie the Cat) swims ashore
while his coffin is carried by a yarmulke wearing rabbi wild boar
it’s a good thing the boar is no porcine Hannibal Lecter
otherwise his culinary tastes would violate the Mosaic laws inspector
I forgot to mention that Mitzi la feline actress Parisienne plays Mina Harker
as Dr. Jack Seward’s asylum patient Renfield eats Peter Parker
Spiderman is now gone
a marvel of a swan song
Lackey of Christopher Lee has triumphed over a Lee named Stan
as Antifa takes a statue of Robert E. into the can
The Confederate military hero
is to the political left a great big zero
even though he freed his own slaves long before did Ulysses S. Grant
but this is all ignored in a New York Times rant
Dracula swims ashore near Whitby Abbey
where Canterbury’s ex-ArchDruid Rowan Williams looks crabby
he should have had the lobster flambe instead of crabs a l’amour
given him while dallying with a young French paramour
And Jonathan Harker (played by Kelsey Grammer) watches in horror
as Dracula seduces his sweet love Lenore
oops! – wrong script! – Poe’s The Raven is the performance for tomorrow night
as this Wilkie production of Dracula shuts down this theatre’s marquee light
As Dr. Abraham Van Helsing played by David Hyde Pierce
moves in to collect Dracula’s Transylvanian government tax arrears
he stabs the vampiric nobleman through the heart
as the carbon emissions whale in the sea lets out one last fart.
Both Greenpeace activist and Count Dracula are now dead
The janitor will have to wipe the spot where Wilkie has bled
for a real stake was mistakenly used instead of a prop
the hazards of hiring for a prop hand a drunken sop.
-A Wilkie The Cat poem
written by Christopher
Saturday October 27th
2018.
Desdemona’s Death Scene by Dante Gabriel Rosetti
A scene from a 19th Century British production of William Shakespeare’s Othello
very different from an early 21st Century American production of Othello
Wilkie The Cat Performs Nat King Cole: A Poem
Wilkie The Cat
had a lovers’ spat
His girlfriend Mitzi
was raging spitzy
She had broken her parasol
saving Wilkie from a very deep hole
by red hot pokering a Saudi librarian mole
Trump defended the Saudi librarian assassin
and took to Twitter tweety bashin’
Saudi Arabia had threatened to fly planes into Canadian Toronto’s CN Tower
while Mohammad bin Salman like Putin gave Trump a golden shower
No wonder the Donald’s hairpiece was a sickening gold yellow toupee
for Putin and the Saudi Crown Prince performed like it was a rainy day
Mid-term elections were soon on the way
Was Robert Mueller making hay?
Democrats wondered
as Lizzie Warren blundered
The New York Times defended the Senator’s DNA test
because of brains and intelligence, The Times had not been blessed
It took one to hate one was that old adage
which is why Trump and The Times exchanged nasty tweets and cabbage
But fortunately for Wilkie’s relationship, he got a good gig
and an assignment that his girl Mitzi should really dig
He and she were invited to perform at a political party function
and did not have to play the part of Beverly Hillbillies at Petticoat Junction
It was at the Lincoln Performing Arts Centre
and Wilkie promised Mitzi he wouldn’t go on a bender
Mitzi dressed as Elizabeth Warren took to the stage
while politicos gazed at her like lions released from a cage
Mitzi began to sing,
Cherokee people,
Cherokee tribe,
so proud to live
so proud to die
…
and maybe someday when we’ve learned,
Cherokee Nation will return, will return
Wilkie The Cat came on stage dressed like Nat King Cole,
he really relished getting into this role
He pointed at Mitzi as Warren and began to sing,
“Oh yes, she’s the great pretender…”
after the show, Wilkie went on a bender.
For he got the attending crowd wrong
turning this into his Lincoln Center swan song
He thought he was performing to Republicans but alas! they were Democrats
and now Wilkie and Mitzi were once again unemployed performing arts cats.
-A Wilkie The Cat poem
written by Christopher
Friday October 19th
2018.
Wilkie The Cat As The Shadow: A Poem
Wilkie considered himself the Big Apple’s NYC leading thespian
When he told people what he did, they thought he said lesbian
but thespian was the Shakespearean term for actor
not a bull dyke riding one Hell of a tractor
Now Wilkie was a feline by species
one whose litter box was full of feces
Wilkie naturally thought of himself as a cool cat
when he played James Cagney saying, “You dirty rat.”
Now the lovely French cat Mitzi was the love of his life
he longed to make la belle mademoiselle his beloved wife
but the Parisienne Pussy (so called by President Macron) wanted no such strife
for her current single state now was such a delightful life
Now it came to pass that a big Broadway producer
when he encountered a #MeToo woman, he did goose her
now he was in disgraced exile
Alyssa Milano’s Wiccan spells cast on him by the pile
only Bret Kavanaugh’s pile of hexes was much longer
as Hillary made a voodoo doll of Bill and his donger
Now it so happened that Wilkie had several incriminating photos
of the producer seducing starlets in one of his chateaux
so Wilkie blackmailed the producer from Park Avenue
who forced gruesome things on the young nubile Frou Frou La Rue
and made him finance Wilkie’s new play
a heavy price the theatrical big wig had to pay
for wanting to engage in getting a lay
in such a very strange, awkward and peculiar way
Wilkie wanted to do a stage version of that old radio play The Shadow
that showed Man About Town Lamont Cranston always on the go
The Shadow’s object of affection was one Margo Lane
to organized crime, Lamont Cranston was a first rate pain
So once again a Wilkie directed Broadway stage play came to pass
Theatre critics went to the play expecting the feline to again make himself an ass
and Wilkie certainly did not let them down
The Broadway disaster was the talk of the town
Wilkie playing Cranston opened the play with The Shadow’s opening line,
“Who knows what…” and there was a sudden pause,
as Wilkie held to his head his feline claws
for the catty thespian had forgotten his lines
to say nothing of not paying library card fines
He was recognized by a librarian sitting in the audience
who leapt on stage like a secret agent of a Saudi Crown Prince incensed
Mitzi leapt into action with her parasol to prevent Wilkie being dismembered on the spot
and Trump’s future defense of petulant librarians was such poppycock
the aftereffects of a urine coloured toupee causing a brain to rot
The play’s opening moments were its very last
petulant librarian got a parasol up the ass
and Wilkie’s earlier pork and beans dinner produced much gas
and the pervert producer’s line of credit did not come to pass
for he committed hari kari permanently ending his tendency to harass
So now the time has come to say to one and all, Good night
as for The Shadow playing a 2nd night, theatre owner told Wilkie to go fly a kite.
-A Wilkie The Cat poem
written by Christopher
Thursday October 17th
2018.
Dracul Van Helsing 
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