Wherein Wm. Shakespeare’s Ancient Pistol Meets His Match

It was not long after his impeachment by the House of Representatives and conviction by the Senate, that the knave then known as Barack O’Bomb was brought before the reformed Alexandria Rocket Docket to face further charges for his crimes against humanity committed while occupying the White House. As history will recall, it was the sage Mr. L. who had advised: “And when we bounce you, that doesn’t mean we just impeach you. That means you are held after being impeached, for the crimes you have committed… In a case like O’Bomb, because of the international ties he has, we’d like to have him just go, but maybe that wouldn’t work. Maybe we just have to try him.”

And so it was. And as befits such a case, O’Bomb was then indicted, tried and convicted on all counts most expeditiously.

Our tale today begins during the sentencing stage of that trial, when O’Bomb’s lawyer, the also moustachioed Pot Holder, Esq. and Etc., rose to plead his client’s case before the court, in the hope of reducing the expected sentence of 17 consecutive life sentences, down to no more than 6 such.

“Your honor, my client confesses that perhaps his most heinous crime was to falsify his birth certificate, to remove all record of both his actual place of birth (Hades-on-Thames), and his true name at birth, Bark O’Pistol.” [Ed. note: Other apocryphal accounts have it that he swapped names with John Brennan, after an especially heavy swapping session.]

“My client Bark,” Holder held forth, “confesses that it was perhaps presumptuous on his part to cleverly aggrandize his ancient name from Pistol to Bomb, seeking thereby to intimidate those who dared cross him, by pretending to be more than a mere Pistol—which admittedly backfired. But he pleads for your leniency, Your Honor, since megalomonia is an affliction which often strikes extraordinarily, wondrously, superlatively gifted geniuses such as he.”

“And, please Your Honor, we would like to also call forth two character witnesses on behalf of Mr. O’Bomb—excuse me, Mr. O’Pistol—who can attest to all of the aforementioned marvelous qualities of his, and then some. Please the Court, summon to the stand O’Pistol’s always overdressed wife, Mistress Michelle.”

After a nod from the presiding judge, the Sargeant-at-arms pronounced loudly: “Mistress, come Quickly!”

Whereupon Pot Holder proceeded: “Mistress, prithee recount O’Pistol’s gentle ways on departing for wars abroad.”

“Indeed shall I,” said she. “I hear his gentle words even now:

Come, let’s away. My love, give me thy lips. Look to my chattels and my movables: Let senses rule; the word is ‘Pitch and Pay:’ Trust none; For oaths are straws, men’s faiths are wafer-cakes, And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck: Therefore, Caveto be thy counsellor. Go, clear thy crystals. Yoke-fellows in arms, Let us to Ukraine; like horse-leeches, my boys, To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck!”

Pot proceeded: “And once in battle, did he not show valor, and unswerving commitment to his principles?”

“Indeed, so,” she recounted. “When once he took a Frenchman prisoner, this exchange had he:”

“French Soldier: O, prenez misericorde! ayez pitie de moi!

PISTOL: Moy shall not serve; I will have forty moys; Or I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat In drops of crimson blood.

French Soldier: Est-il impossible d’echapper la force de ton bras?

PISTOL: Brass, cur! Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat, Offer’st me brass?… Come hither, boy: ask me this slave in French What is his name… Bid him prepare; for I will cut his throat…

French Soldier: O, je vous supplie, pour l’amour de Dieu, me pardonner! Je suis gentilhomme de bonne maison: gardez ma vie, et je vous donnerai deux cents ecus.

PISTOL: What are his words?

Boy: He prays you to save his life: he is a gentleman of a good house; and for his ransom he will give you two hundred crowns.

PISTOL: Tell him my fury shall abate, and I the crowns will take… As I suck blood, I will some mercy show. Follow me!”

A bit disconcerted at what he had inadvertently placed on the court record, Pot Holder, Esq. and Etc. inhaled again, and made a second stab at it. “May it please the Court to now hear from Madame Doll Tearsheet, one of the realm’s most esteemed strategists, better known under her nom de guerre, Susan Rice. Madame Doll, wouldst you share with the Court some choice adjectives from your intimate knowledge of the gentleman seated before you, Bark O’Pistol?” To which the silver-tongued Oxford graduate replied, in the Queen’s best English:

“I scorn you, scurvy companion. What! you poor, base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen mate! Away, you mouldy rogue, away! I am meat for your master…

Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! by this wine, I’ll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale juggler, you!”

Which was more than the dethroned O’Pistol could handle, becoming at once unhinged and unholstered, and shouting back at her: “Et tu, Susan? After everything I did for you, and to you? After those long, intimate nights together discussing regime- change? Now you too R2P on me? I thought that was all over after what Panurge did.”

After ordering O’Pistol muzzled to restore a modicum of dignity to the Court, the presiding judge then handed down his sentence. “Being duly moved to maximumu leniency by your pleadings, I will allow you to serve your 17 consecutive life sentences concurrently with the 6 consecutive life sentences which you also so richly deserve. But just take these two bitches out of here with you. And Pot, too.”

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