Rockwind: Greetings, mortal, and welcome to the lighter side of existence.  I read Shakespeare's play Julius Caesar several years ago.  Once I had gotten as far as the scene of Caesar's death (the Et tu Bruté part for the less cultured), a friend of mine asked me to write out the rest of the play, as I thought it would occur.  Suffice it to say that Shakespeare and I don't quite see eye to flaming eye.  Enjoy.

DISCLAIMER: There are so many different references in here that the disclaimer would be almost as long as the story if I mentioned everything I don't own here.  I pull out everything from Crocodile Dundee to Abe Lincoln to Doctor Octopus.  To make things simple, just assume that the only thing in this story belonging to me is my severely warped sense of humor, and keep in mind that this earns me absolutely no money.  Thank you for not suing, please turn off all cell phones and pagers, and enjoy the show.

Great Caesar's Ghost!

-or-

How to Make Shakespeare Roll Over in His Grave

            John Wilkes Brutus and Lee Harvey Cassius were hiding out in Ford's Coliseum.  They had just killed John F. Caesar during the play Our Roman Cousin.  They knew Mark Antony and his friend Otto Octavius Caesar, the infamous Dr. Octopus, would head straight there to seize and kill them, so they had to act fast.  Planting OJ Cicero's gloves on the plastic butter knife they used to kill JFC, they ran out to the parking lot.

            When they got to the parking lot, they were sincerely worried there was a subtle flaw in their strategy.  Then they were surprised to see a shiny new Ford Explorer Chariot with the keys left inside.  There was a pair of souvenir dice hanging on the rear-view mirror.  Cassius was successful at picking the lock.  They jumped in, but Brutus had to drive because Cassius couldn't drive a stick shift.  Brutus felt a strong sympathy for anyone who couldn't drive a stick-shift, so he was willing to drive.  They gunned the engine and took off down the highway.

            After traveling for an hour, they stopped for lunch at Little Caesar's.  They ordered separate Personal Pan Pizzas, because Brutus wanted one with everything, but Cassius, being Catholic, wanted to suppress his desire to eat meat during Lent.

            After eating, the two used a pay phone to call Cassius's brother, Cassius Clay, for advice.  All he would tell them was: "Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee."  Since they had no idea what he was talking about, they hung up on him.

            "You owe me a quarter," Brutus told Cassius.

            The two jumped back into their Explorer and took off.  The ride was very bumpy.

            "There must be something wrong with the suspension," Cassius said.

            "Who's that behind us?" Brutus asked, looking in the chariot's side-view mirror.

            "It's Octavius and Antony, being chauffeured by Crocodile Dundee.  They're in a Subaru Outback!  They have two horses and better gas mileage.  That means they can outrun us easily.  They also have better braking, so don't try to trick them into driving off a cliff."

            "They won't catch us.  Simmer down.  I'll turn on the radio for you."  Brutus turned on the radio to station 104.3 FM.  They play oldies now, but back then, the songs were brand new.  No Particular Place to Go was playing.

            "Hey," Cassius said, "I remember that song from Sergeant Bilko.  I really liked that movie."

            "I hate to break it to you Cassius, but movies haven't been invented yet.  You won't be able to watch Sergeant Bilko for about two thousand more years."

            Suddenly, a voice came over the CB radio shouting, "I'll get you yet, Bandit!  Sheriff Buford T. Justice always gets his man!"

            Cassius, ignoring the non sequitur remark from the CB, said:  "Two thousand years!  No man has ever livéd that long!"

            Brutus replied, "I think you put the emphásis on the wrong sylble."

            "O, shut up, you retard!  I am the Darkness; I am never wrong!  Where have you driven us to, anyway?  The road is gone, and we're in the middle of a desert."

            Just then, a cartoon roadrunner being chased by a cartoon coyote ran past them.

            "I don't know," Brutus admitted.  "I was just following that car up ahead.  The white one with the license plate THLMA&LU-EEZ."

            "You mean the one that just drove off the cliff?"

            "Yup, that one."  Then Brutus realized he was still following them.  "Great Caesar's Ghost!"

            Brutus slammed on the brakes, but the horse didn't stop soon enough, and they plummeted over the edge.  Antony, Octavius, and Dundee would have met the same fate, but everyone knows that an Outback has better braking than an Explorer.  And the moral of this story is:  My cat's breath smells like cat food.

THE END