Right off the bat, I hate the cross-dressing comedies
the most. There’s nothing funny about life on earth, as you
very well know. Let’s start with the pawnbroker’s brow—
X marks the spot where my ax smashed her head, a wavy
zig-zag of blood staining the floor. There’s nothing a
boy loves more than mayhem. Titus—now there’s a comic
dish to set before the king. Or Richard III. My God, he
fought like a cossack. Part monster, part bulldog;
he took the Plantagenets down with him. Of course, I
just adore Macbeth, but forget that mealy mouth Hamlet—book
loving malcontent. Give me a tyrant any day—Saddam,
Nebuchadnezzar, both king and bottle of champagne. O
pop a cork for Babylonia—now, I believe, called Iraq.