By William Shakespeare
My works are templates of history, in Julius Caesar I write of the great and tragic leaders of the past and in Macbeth I set the guide posts for leaders hence, my plays and sonnets are quoted by great men in reverence, and I am replaced ignominiously by an angst-filled wench who writeth cryptic verse of longing for her Lady’s sexy meat curtains.
“University of Pennsylvania Removes Shakespeare Portrait Because He Does Not Represent ‘Diversity’” And I, The Bard was replaced with a portrait of a black lesbian poet few dost know about, and with heavy heart I wandered far and wide to find someone who heard of her. Finally, a melancholy alumni wroteth unto me, “these illiterate buffoons, staging sit-ins in their ‘I’m With Her” footie pajamas, feel their ilk are under-represented in the literary pantheon, and they are very, very upset. So we give all of them a trophy now, or we have to deal with butt hurt parents threatening to withdraw funds in one form or another. That is one such trophy.”
Thou mayest have diversity among the accomplished and merited that is colorblind, aye, but in talent diversity dost mean equal standing for the talented and those bereft of talent; a parity betwixt a rose and weed, betwixt a horse and clothes horse.
I shant say these ignoble eunuchs and marching, hairy shrews hath no right. Perhaps this Audre Lorde dost represent diversity, albeit Alexandre Dumas would be mine choice, being a great black writer of French origin, with a great body of work, like the Three Musketeers, The Man in The Iron Mask, The Count of Monte Cristo, and many others. Alas, his only handicap is a disqualifying lack of ovaries, or lesbian prerequisites. But who is this woman, this Lourde? Thou mayest often find the answer at the local eatery neareth the campus. Whenst the middle-aged cashier asketh unto thee “Do you want fries with that?” inquire ye of the timeless mystery that is Audre Lourde, for thou shalt find their English majors relegated there, at McDonald’s, from the fry cook to hapless, unpaid fast food intern.
They shall tell thee of Lorde’s unknown yet transcendent poetry that bitch slappeth the plays and sonnets and letters of yours truly, carefully avoiding micro-aggressive gender references as they explain for they know not what is boy or girl. Mayhaps thine eyes may fall upon grown men with somber countenances who weareth diapers over their uniforms to protest establishments devoid of transgender amenities. Then thou shalt know of a true Shakespearean tragedy, for that is what our once respected universities have come to be.
Thou blocks, thou stones, thou worse than senseless things!
Behold, poor misled social justice warriors, thou shalt never teach at a respectable university, or school, if thou knowest not who I am, or what my works have contributed to the English language, culture and time itself.
My works are templates of history, in Julius Caesar I write of the great and tragic leaders of the past and in Macbeth I set the guide posts for leaders hence, my plays and sonnets are quoted by great men in reverence, and I am replaced ignominiously by an angst-filled wench who writeth cryptic verse of longing for her Lady’s sexy meat curtains. ‘Tis not a bad thing, truly, we hath such naughty longings in common, yet this doth seem scarce pickings for a lifetime’s body of work; such a poor excuse for an unexamined existence.
With a grim fardel of sorrow, I shall now assuage my bitterness by heading to one of her immortal plays, or perhaps watch one of countless film adaptations starring the world’s greatest actors. But what say ye now? She hath inspired none? But even Alexandre Dumas hath been honored thus, and many times! Nay, I am in utter disbelief!
And so it leaves me to ask… to be, or not to be… that is the question, whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of emasculated stupid… Or perchance to troll, and from mine spite alone, leaveth unto this meandering, obscure study in mediocrity, this plebeian scribbler and usurper a slew of one star Amazon reviews.
Cruel SJWs. Thou disrespectful whale vaginas, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. I hate thee all.
Herman Melville, my friend, thou didst know this hate whenst thou penned “From hell’s heart I stab at thee! For hate’s sake I spit my last breath at thee, and mine ghost dost farteth in thy slack-jawed yapper as thou slumbers unaware!”
Fuck you University of Pennsylvania.
SJW = Social Justice Warrior
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