Forsooth! Shakespeare Dreams of the Christ

"Yea, verily, and I say to you, Caesar, and suchlike, rendering, wot."

William Shakespeare laid back in his sofa and took a puff of his pipe. It was difficult writing a play about Jesus. Most of the time, he had taken a story from elsewhere, like with Tristan and Isolde when it came to Romeo and Juliet.

Ugh. Romeo and Juliet. That story had cemented him as a romance writer. Romance? What part of that story is romantic? Bitches get wasted and kill themselves. It was a story from the streets, where Shake 'Em Willy grew up, as he was known to his friends. Willy was tough, and that story was harshin' on his rep.

Unfortunately, the Church had recently been pressuring on him to write a story about Jesus. Being his biggest fan group, they really wanted his story to be put into the hands of those looking for a good story. Willy was having trouble delivering.

"It's far too dry," Willy moaned. "My heart aches for the carnal, the angst-ridden, the ghetto. None of this divine foo-foo does me any good. This Jesus character seems so full of emotion, such raw power, but these puritanical writers are dampening his flow like mad, yea." Shakespeare lay back, and tried to sleep. But verily, he had the insomnia, and had difficulty.