The Gay Adventures of Billy Shakespeare & Wally Whitman - Act 1

This is the tale all about the gay adventures of Billy Shakespeare & Wally Whitman. They sailed around the Specific for no pacific reason, leaving no loves lost and no one to tell the tale.  But first they had to procure a vessel.  Billy knew about a blood yacht behind the shadows of Macbeth Mountain.  He had used it during a Tempest while trying to wash his hands, and though he never got the stains out, he still made for a good coxswain.  This word alone had Wally sold.  They’d met on a New England farm while doing a stint as retired hands for a commune of trans-gender-dental-hygienists (Transcendentalists for short).  Recommended by Emerson, Whitman gained the title of Chief Gardener based solely on ‘his life experience with leaves of grass’.  ‘Course when the committee actually read more into this so called ‘experience’, they began to worry they’d chosen the wrong guy.  ‘What if he perverts our Mother Nature the way he perverts the nature of his poetry?; What if he corrupts our Union with Red ideology, ruining the soil with his tainted blood, sweat, and anal tears?; Who can account for this man?; Where’s Waldo!’ they demanded, but he was nowhere to be found.  Empty word of mouth would have lost all credibility for Wally if not for Billy.  For in that moment when no one would stand behind him, Billy got up on the committee desk and declared, ‘O Captain! My Captain!’, instantly winning them over.  He was British after all, and Americans always turn to the Brits for a stern last word.  After the farm went bust, they banded together with hopes of making it out on the final frontier of their childish imaginations: the Ocean.

Sea, they both bonded as men’s men and nothing got them more rock hard than the prospect of plowing a till into Big Ole Blue and seeing how long they could rough it.  They started their journey on foot guided by the looming visage of Lady Macbeth carved into the side of the murder-horn; as if anyone would ever look up to that for inspiration on a long trek.  And a long trek it was to the first landmark, a fortnight to be abstract, but it was worth it to spend the night in a fort built from their labors.  Applying what they had learned on the farm, they gathered what they could from the land and made the worst of it.  Sure, they didn’t have much wood and most of the fruit they found was poisonous, but they’d done less with more.  “For though we have failed with the fruit of the land, the fruit of the Spirit shall sustain us!”, reassured Wally, “All of what we need comes from within; the rest shall follow.”  It was true, Words had yielded for Wally much more success than actual work ever had; Billy still reserved a stash of rations, water and whatever hadn’t almost killed them in a gunny sack, just in case.  Pleased with the ease of progress so far, they really made knights of their sleepover.  Horror stories, poetry slams and word games kept the candle burning at both ends as they watched the sun rise and set many times before a vast Waste Land.  For you see, the boys had found themselves confronted by the Marlboro Desert and it looked like their gay romp was about to get some sand in its craw.

Dante’s Inferno had nothing on this place; even the unfinished gate had a scarier message: ‘You’re Fucked.’  Coarse it was in broken Latin so the message really didn’t get through; it would be a couple more centuries before that kind of language became à la mode.  As they passed under the work-without-progress, they were greeted by a gargoyle with graffiti on him.  His lapel had the initials TSE but the tags initials were EP: ‘WONDERFUL! That’s what you get for commissioning a French Sybil to do your dirty work.’  Halfway into the belly of the beast, the boys were feeling the heat.  The winds fierce, the sand endless, both of them walked at their own pace.  They’d lost much heart and most of their provisions but they still had their spirits.  In fact Wally wouldn’t shut up about his.  Luckily the desert left little for his enumerations.  Billy seemed to be keeping it together quite nicely as they made their way across The Sands.  That was until he started hearing things.  It started softly like elevator muzak, then there was a crescendo to the sounds of a live big band.  ‘You can Count on Frankie to SWING, SWING, SWING,’ came a voice right in his ear.  Between the two of them a tobacco haze as if from beyond appeared and an upright camel stepped forward creating a triangle from their line in the sand.  His ensemble, as perplexing as it was given the environment, included a leather jacket and shades.  But the truly bizarre facet of his feature presentation was the fag held between his camel toes.  “The name’s Joe,” crooned the dry-humped creature, “Joe Kool.”

Wally: Bless my soul!  We’re saved.
Billy: Not so fast.  This could be a sort of madness.  The story’s wearin’ a bit thin and the writer’s probably getting desperate for a new sense of direction.
Wally: What makes you say that?
Billy: It’s what I would do.
Joe: Don’t be a pill daddy O’.  This is no madness and I’m no mirage.  I’m here to help you on your quest to the shadows behind Macbeth Mountain.
Billy: Where are we?
Joe: You’re in flavor country aka ‘The Marlboro Desert’.
Wally: Are you my Angel?
Joe: Next question.
Billy: Do you have food and water?
Joe: Look I’m not a convenient store.  Just stop asking questions and let me show you how to get out of this hot mess.

Billy grabs Joe by the collar of his Kool leather jacket and starts yelling in his mouth.

Billy: Look Jack!
Joe: It’s Joe.
Billy: Whatever.  If we don’t get some sustenance out here pronto WE’RE GONNA DIE!!!!

With all that hot air, Joe takes a drag from his death stick and blows a plume of indo smoke in Billy’s red face.  Slowly he begins to calm down and release his grip from Joe.

Billy: I’m sorry, man.  You get pretty desperate when you’re holding your mirage and beatin’ off your shadow.  You dig.

Joe: Not really, but I don’t think you have to worry about death here in this place.  There is literally 203 years between the two of you right now.  If anything, you should be more worried about that simoom heading your way from the south-eastern coroner of Death Valley.  That thing can do more damage than your black thumbs combined.

As the winds picked up speed, all was blackened and charred as if passing through the fires of Hell.  But before the storm could overtake them, an angelic host rose from the furnace and protected the three of them like that story in the Bible.  You know, the one about what’s his face, the other guy and someone named Indigo.  His entire body contained an infinitesimal amount of closed eyes sort of like what you’d see on the album cover of a Tool record.  He was naked with no genitalia but a masculine physique and the color of his skin (if you can call it that) was a violent dark violet.

Samael: Hit the road Jack.  I got this one.
Joe: Like hell you do!  For the last time the name’s Joe.  How hard is it to refrain from lame puns simply to sound clever?
Samael: You do know who I am, don’t you?
Joe: ‘Course I know who you are.  Every supernatural being in the universe knows who you are.
Samael: So why are you still here?
Joe: There is no way I’m giving these boys over to you, even if it means my life.

Samael’s eyes opened like magnifying glasses and burned Joe Kool to a stick of ash.  All that was left was a filter and a pair of shades.  Billy felt like Esau before the heavenly host and in its eye’s he could see the downfall of man.  Wally felt like Jacob and he wrestled with the urge to fall down on his knees and bask in the black light glow of heavenly hatred.

Samael: Now that we got that out of the way, I am Samael and you should be very afraid.
Billy: Way ahead of you.
Samael: Silence!  I am on a mission from God to bring you to the very place where you shall discover the method of your demise.
Wally: And what if we choose not to go with you?
Samael: That is not an option, seeing as we’re already there.

Change in scenery

Wally: That was fast.
Billy: Where are we now?

Samael: Before you is the crypt of the great prophet Saul.  He shall reveal to you the future and what part you must play.  Be warned: if you choose to ignore his vision I’ll be back and this time there will be blood.  My work here is finished.  Go forth and let it be done.

Billy: As it is in Heaven.
Wally: Is now and ever shall be.  
Both: World Without End.

Samael: Amen. (Poof)