A Parody of Shakespeare's Hamlet Soliloquy

A/N: Question: What induces a novice writer to write rather poorly done parodies of Hamlet's Famous Soliloquy?
Answer: Having to memorize it for Extra Credit and toying with the notion that I give the Mark Twain version of the Soliloquy instead. R and R. This is meant for fun...

To be or not to be, that is the quietus
That makes the fardels bear
The whips and scorns of time.
For who would bear the proud man's
Knocking on Duncan's door whilst he
Casts Poor Tom of Bedlam out 'to the cold
Without a bare bodkin? For is it nobler to
Suffer the pangs and sorrows of despised love
than take arms against thy daughters
who wrongs thee with thy oppressors
whilst the cauldron boils?
For the toils and troubles
Come unceasingly
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
With the sound and fury of an idiot
Or a nuncle or a fool or a hand stained with
that spot that always indardinaes the sea red.
For a fool is better than one
Who gives not his land to daughters and
suffers a most foul and unnatural
murder with more blood
than anyone thought. Tis a contumely undesired
By the insolence of office or the law's delay.
For so fair and foul a day must wait
Until Birhnam Wood comes storming
Down into Venice causing
much ado about nothing.
Need I say that Outrageous fortune
Favors that rebel in Ireland
And bring about the decay inside us?
For what is man but like the dew on the grass
Who withers under the scorch of the Sun
And causes him to contemplate the end of his life
and by contemplating, wishing to act upon it
Only to hear the voice of Banquo screaming
and warning me of the canon that God hath against
This action? For it is the door and the shade beyond our
Reckoning that makes us quiver with fear
and desire not to plunge through the curtains
Where Poor Yorick, whom Iknew well
No doubt, blundered through
And thus, stays our hands, rather to wait for that time
When we must enter out of this stage
Only to come to a new one...
Hark! Poor Ophelia comes here
No doubt, singing of the time
When poor Bottom lost his own head
Literally, giving him the face to meet
The demeanor of a stubborn braying donkey...
No doubt, Ophelia is
Lost in the mists of love and anguish
at the soon-to-come death of her
Beleagured fool of an uncle and
Eventual death of her brother
Laertes whowill eventually poison
Mein the battle of wits
with our parleysas we foil each others
Attempts to land a stinging blow

Enter Ophelia

Ophelia runs away, bewildered.