I'll write it in scipt format, yes, but only for parody purposes. I hold no illusions.
CHORUS: In fair Verona, Missouri, will our drama occur. Two families, distinctly different, and equally opposed, paint with blood the streets of the place, as the Montagues, long enamoured by the lofty ideals of the Manifesto, lead a strike against the poor working conditions at a chemical factory owned by the Capulets, their masters, that serve only the holy trinity of God, Hitler, and the Market. In this two ever-rival families was born a pair of uncrossed lovers, fated to shake their beliefs and surely bring surety to the grave. The not-so-terrible story of this love you will see in this stage.
Scene 1, Verona, a public spaceEdit
Enters GREGORY, brother of MR. CAPULET, and his teenager son, carrying two pieces of wood
SAMPSON: We can't let them strikers get away with it dude!
GREGORY: Yes, Sampson, you are correct, but perhaps it would be preferable to allow law enforcement to deal with them, instead of getting our hands dirty. And don't call me "dude", we are above that, you know.
SAMPSON: When I'm angry I get totally angry, old man! There's no nothing that can stop me from hitting them strikers with these! Take one and help me, dad? ...by the way, wanna see my new swastika tattoo I did this morning? The other four didn't get me satisfied no more.
GREGORY: Uh...no, I don't, son, I am really happy that you are following your father's footsteps, but no need to advertise around, okay? People don't take swastikas too kindly these days. Though, I think you should lie off whatever you're smoking, that was kind of sudden.
SAMPSON: Yeah, you're right. In fact, if we were some kind of "characters" in a flick or something like that, I'd say the writer was using a pretty lousy trick to make it obvious we are nazis!
GREGORY: Sampson, I thought I told you to not break the fourth wall! See? Now the suspension of belief we worked all this time to build up just fell in shambles! I thought I had given you a better education. You disappoint me, when we are at home again, I shall spank you!
SAMPSON: Oh, please! Why can't we spank the Montagues instead? We spank their men with these clubs and we spank their women with our own hands...if they're being bad girls. Hehe...
SAMPSON: I will cut the heads of those poor-paid maids! Or their maidenheads, whichever they prefer. Hehehe.
GREGORY: Young man! Will you stop with the double entendres and sexual innuendo? We are not some two-bit actors working on a play that is to be watched by illiterate industrial workers that receive less than survivable wages! We are distinguished characters, members of a distinguished family! I will not have this behaviour from you!
SAMPSON: Who's breaking the fourth wall now old man!?
GREGORY: Wha...I...well you did it first and...oh, look, those half-nigger Montagues! With signs! Uh...give me a club.
Enter ABRAHAM, MR. MONTAGUE's recently divorced cousin, and BALTHASAR, one of his friends
ABRAHAM: Are you givin' me the finger, man?
SAMPSON: (to GREGORY) Can he sue us if I say, ya?
GREGORY: I don't know, but unions do sometimes have good lawyers.
SAMPSON: No, sir, I am not giving ya the finger.
ABRAHAM: Hallucinations again!? (to BALTHASAR) I'm tellin' ya, when your boss say you don't need one of those expensive gas masks, dun believe 'im.
SAMPSON: Uh...I am giving the finger. B-but I'm not giving the finger to you, of course.
GREGORY: I most certainly hope you do not wish to fight.
ABRAHAM: Uh, no, sir, mos' certnly not. I sure can't stand when the cops shoot them tear gas at us. Mah eyes get all tingly and stuff.
SAMPSON: YEAH, RUN AWAY IN FEAR! 'cuz I gots this club thing and it's as strong as those signs you carry!
ABRAHAM: Well, y'know what they say, there's always someone carrying a piece of wood as strong as yers. Not stronger, eh, sir?
SAMPSON: (looks at the big signs) Uh...
GREGORY: Say stronger, one of our relatives comes in, and I'm itching to hit those strikers. I mean, literally itching. It's a condition I have...Don't ask.
SAMPSON: Yep, stronger! Stronger than yer soft-head, even.
ABRAHAM: That insult made no sense!
SAMPSON: Just start fighting for God's sake!
They fight, enter BENVOLIO, Romeo's brother
BENVOLIO: Woah, woah, woah! What part of "nonviolent resistance" didn't you hear. I'll bet it was the "nonviolent" part. Or may be just the "non" part. Because that's not nonviolence. That's its diametrical opposite. Which is violent resistance. Now give me those signs and go back home to cool yer heads.
Pulls BALTHAZAR'S sign from BALTHAZAR'S hands, enter TYBALT, MRS. CAPULET's nephew that studied in Cambridge
TYBALT: The fuck you doing guv!? You hitting me mateys with those bloody signs? Those are bigger than their clubs and that is terribly unfair, if I may say so.
BENVOLIO: Fuck you man, I'm trying to stop this crazy shit that's going on here. Though, of course, there is no amount of actual faeces involved, and it is debatable just how crazy a "shit" can...
TYBALT: Fuck me? You talk of peace and tells me to fuck myself? Fuck you, you bloody half-nigger!
BENVOLIO: Actually, I am, presumably, only a quarter-"nigger", since my only known purely black relative is my grandmother. But, of course, perhaps it is possible that the genes of one my relatives is recessive and has not shown itself, so I could, theoretical...
TYBALT: Bugger! Look, that yakking's really bloody interesting guv, but can we leave all the talking to after I kick yer bleeding arse!?
They fight, enter several of both houses, who join in; then enter more citizens with clubs
CITIZENS: (yelling) Beat them down! Yeah, beat them down! (to other citizen) I don't really know what the hell is happenin' but that sure is whole lot funnier than WWE. (yelling) Hit those Montagues, Ty! Give the Capulets a jab for me, Ben!
Enter MR. and MRS. CAPULET
MR. CAPULET: Give me my gun, Mara, I'm gonna shoot them goddammed commies!
MRS. CAPULET: A gun? You mean a crutch, right?
MR. CAPULET: Yeah, it'll do.
MRS. CAPULET: No, you stupid old bastard, I meant that you are too old to fight. In fact, you are so old that I can't have you dying before you pay me for a new breast surgery and a liposuction. I have young lovers to entertain.
MRS. CAPULET: Did I actually say that out loud?
MRS. CAPULET: Because I was kidding, you know? ...b-but...what matters is that you can't fight.
MR. CAPULET: AW, Mara, come on! Montague is gonna fight! Look, he even brought a big sign, can't I have at least a itty bitty crutch to fight too? It has been days since I fighted last! Pleeeeeaaaase!
Enter MR. and MRS MONTAGUE
MR. MONTAGUE: HAHAHA!!! I have this big sign and Capulet can't have even a itty bitty crutch to fight me head-on, the weak coward! Your girl don't need no whip to have you barking "yes, ma'am" for whatever she tells you to do, doesn't she? You're the man in yer marriage!? 'Cuz I have my doubts! HAH...
MRS. MONTAGUE: Stop that, Mark, do you see the size of those clubs? You are not entering that fight.
MR. MONTAGUE: Of course, darling.
Enter CHIEF of police, with ATTENDANTS, the fight stops
CHIEF: What's that? Striker violence? That's it, I'm having you all arrested.
CHIEF: Call me Scales, son.
ABRAHAM: Scales, it was not us that started the fight, it were the Capulets!
CHIEF: Is that true?
MR. CAPULET: Er...no?
CHIEF: Well, guess that's that then. Another obvious case of striker-initiated violence, I'm telling the mayor to make strikes illegal, but he just don't listen to me! ...Whatever. I'm sorry about this, Mr. Capulet, but I cannot give preferential treatment to you over those...people. Just in case, if any of you, either Capulet or Montague, fight in our streets. I'll personally make sure you get the highest penalty possible. In fact, I'll press for death penalty.
Everybody but BENVOLIO and the MONTAGUE couple leaves
MR. MONTAGUE: Oh, great. At least we didn't get the tear gas this time, right? By Marx, who started the fight anyway?
BENVOLIO: I don't know. It might have been the Capulets. Then again, it might have been our own. Because I don't know. So could be anyone. Except for me. Because I wasn't here when the fight started. And I guess it wasn't the chief. Perhaps it...
MRS. MONTAGUE: I got it, sweetie. Where's Romeo, anyway?
BENVOLIO: This morning, when I woke up, he was in his locked room. Then, after I took my bath, he kept locked in his room. Then, after the breakfast, he was still in his room. After that, about an hour ago, I saw him walking like a crazy purposeless madman on the streets. By which I mean he was walking, looking at the sky, and sighing. Sighing a lot. And, right now, he must be backstage now.
MR. MONTAGUE: Walking around like a crazy madman? So Abraham wasn't hallucinating this time!
BENVOLIO: Do you know why, dad? 'Cause I wanted to know. And if you know, you can tell me. If you want to, of course.
MR. MONTAGUE: Are you dumb or what? I didn't even know he was backstage! I thought he wasn't in the play. Isn't it obvious already that I am a distracted father? Maybe because I'm too busy fighting for unimportant things global communion and happiness and peace and free cheeseburgers to care about the oh-so-important sons I had. They're mere distractions for me. Stupid and brainless and don't understand the true communist cause!
BENVOLIO: Uh...I am one of your sons...dad.
MR. MONTAGUE: Oh look! Romeo! Why don't you ask him why he is acting like a crazy retard?
MR. MONTAGUE exeunted, which is an euphemism for avoided telling the painful truth by fleeing while dragging MRS. MONTAGUE along
BENVOLIO: If I wasn't about to be distracted by the entrance of my brother, I might have become irreversibly worried at the fast flight my father engaged in.
Enter Romeo, while looking at the sky and sighing
ROMEO: Yes! YES! You have me where you wish, buffoon!
Yes! YES! Her face makes me smile and my heart go boom!
Yes! YES! It is my love for her (for I love her as no one else can!)
Yes! YES! For I love her like no other woman or man!
Yes! YES! It is for her that I act like this! Like do crazy madmen!
BENVOLIO: Well, that was certainly easier than I thought. I figure dad didn't even try to know what problem afflicted you, since he certainly doesn't seem to care about his children. But, more to the point, why are you speaking like that? You weren't reading that poetry book again, I hope. Also, I'm not sure if that rhymed.
ROMEO: It's modernist poetry, it doesn't need rhymes or metrics.
BENVOLIO: Riiight. Poetry with no rhymes or metrics. Uh huh.
ROMEO: (sighing) rhymes and metrics are bourgeois constructs made to oppress the masses.
BENVOLIO: Ah! It's an anti-bourgeoisie thing? Then I guess it's alright. Because I am a communist, and therefore, anything that is anti-bourgeoisie is fine by me. Because, being a communist, I dislike the way the bourgeoisie...
ROMEO: Okay, okay,
Heard your painful voice.
The voice that moves your mouth,
BENVOLIO: I don't have a beard.
ROMEO: Yeah, but without the last verse, it wouldn't sound nearly as good.
BENVOLIO: ...can we stop talking about your dumbass poetry? Who are you in love with?
ROMEO: O, she be fair
BENVOLIO: So she's foreign? I do hope she's not Japanese like the last one. Dammed corporate bootlickers!
ROMEO: No, in India,
the far-flung India, she rests.
She's also chaste.
BENVOLIO: Chaste? Well, at least this love interest isn't a luxury prostitute of the stars. She's not a hinduist fanatic, I do hope.
BENVOLIO: Another one!? If she wasn't in India, I'd guess it was another German missionary living naked amongst Amazon Indians. But, if not, who is she?
ROMEO: Mother Teresa.
BENVOLIO: You do know she is dead...am I correct?
ROMEO: Yes! But she is so caring with the poor! I've never met anyone like her! And she's also hot.
BENVOLIO: Are we talking about the same Mother Teresa?
ROMEO: I hope! Or you most certainly think of me as a crazy mad loony retard!
BENVOLIO: Oh, whatever, just stop thinking about her and move on to the next mark.
ROMEO: Good idea! Okay, wanna go to a party?
BENVOLIO: Sure. The Capulets are throwing a costume party, I intend to go there and cause them unbearable pain.
ROMEO: You won't...
ROMEO: You surely can't be thinking about...
ROMEO: Aw, Benvolio! You told me you'd stop spray-painting messages of support to the proletariat in rich people's bathrooms!
BENVOLIO: But it's the perfect pro-communism strategy!
ROMEO: Forget the words I utter!
Or I'll simply confuse myself to the point of stutter!
Let's go to this party already!
And find a hot chick!
I'll make her eyes flutter.
BENVOLIO: Romeo! Just stop that. We'll need a disguise if we plan to enter the Capulets' party!
ROMEO takes a fake moustache from his pocket and puts it above his mouth, BENVOLIO takes glasses without lenses from his pocket and start wearing them.
BENVOLIO: It works for superman! And he was once a communist, so I guess it's alright.
Scene 2, a street Edit
Enter MR. CAPULET and PARIS, the son of a wealthy owner of a oil company
MR. CAPULET: I'm sure Montague will keep his peace. I mean, with my other companies, I can indefinitely resist this strike, but he doesn't know that.
PARIS: Yeah, yeah, I'm totally interested in that. Can I marry your daughter?
MR. CAPULET: What the!? She's not even fourteen yet! Are you some kind of pedophilian!?
PARIS: Aw, come on! Girls younger than her get pregnant ALL the time.
MR. CAPULET: Maybe in Ralph Nader's America, not-so-young man! But as long as our leaders remain God-fearing, our slow decay into complete immorality will be much slower! [The author does not condone people that live in the United States calling their country America, as there's much more America outside its borders than inside. Use it at your own risk]
PARIS: Su' thing, gramps.
MR. CAPULET: However, you do have much weal...I mean, mone...I mean...positive balan...argh! ...I meant qualities. So I guess the sooner your rich family joins our less-rich family, the better. So you can date her, if you really want to spend more time with her, you two can live in the same apartment, but without marriage, in some evil liberal parody of interpersonal relationships, and in five you can get engaged, to marry as soon as she's not a minor anymore.
PARIS: Wow, I thought it would be harder convincing you let me marry your currently under-age daughter.
MR. CAPULET: Yeah, but I care about my finances...I mean, my bottom line...actually, er, I meant my daughter.
PARIS: Yeah, dude, she's a sizzling hot piece of...
MR. CAPULET: Okay, okay, I get the idea...by the way, you are, er...formally invited to my costume party. It'll have food and...alcoholic beverages, and, well, costumes. In fact, I forgot to invite people. Well, I don't trust postal services, so...
MR. CAPULET waves a bundle of dollar bills high in the air, a large crowd of people go to him
MR. CAPULET: You! All but you, begone!
MR. CAPULET: Take these invitations, read the names on it, and give them to these people. Tell them to call me to confirm that they received it. Serve me well and I'll give ya ten grand.
SERVANT: Yes, master.
MR. CAPULET and PARIS exit
SERVANT: Find the people! Yes, yessss! Must finds them and give them the invitations. They must call! They MUST! Ten grand ten grand ten gs!!! TEN Gs! HAHAHAH! Nothing can stop me from serving my massster. MASSSSTER!
Enter BENVOLIO and ROMEO
BENVOLIO: Hello, my good man. I heard your fairly crazed rant about those particular invitations, and, in my mind, I had this crazy idea idea that perhaps, only perhaps, they are invitations to Capulet's costume party, it is unlikely, of course, but possible.
SERVANT: Uh...you look familiar, but your glasses distract me, and I am unable to discover your probable identity.
BENVOLIO: Oh, yes, that is a common reaction. So, are those the invitations?
SERVANT: YESSS YESSSSS!!! They are, they ARE! Ten Grand! MASSTER wishes me to bring them to people's home, but sservant is very, very sad, very sad, since sservant don't know reading! He DON'T! You sound smart! Very smart! You must read for servant! YOU MUSSST!!!
BENVOLIO: Why, yes, I'd be glad to help you. Gimme...oh, what a remarkable coincidence, it seems these top two are for me and my good friend here. The others, I'll help you to get them to their fair destinations.
SERVANT: Servant thanks your kindness! But ten grand is mine! Only mine! YESSSS! You can't have it you can't! CAN'T! Here, take your two invitations while I go get the others to their rightful owners. Thank you.
BENVOLIO: There. We should find you a decent girl over there.
ROMEO: I do hope so
And I also hope
That not all hope is lost
Or that she get me killed
BENVOLIO: Come on, you think that every new chick you meet will get you killed! Including that Buddhist monk.
ROMEO: She had predatory eyes of evil!
BENVOLIO: Yeah right, let's go to that costume party already. My finger are itching to spray-paint walls. I mean, literally itching. It's a condition I have...don't ask.
Scene 3, home of the Capulets Edit
Enter MRS. CAPULET and MAMA, her illegal immigrant housemaid
MRS. CAPULET: Mama, where is my girl?
MAMA: No lo sé, señora, watching soap operas about teens, I guess. In la ensolerada tierra de Mexico our soap operas only have teens if they are about to engage in some teen on teen action. Muy unlike your sissy cheerleader characters, if you know what I mean, eh?
MRS. CAPULET: No, Mama, I have no idea on what you mean.
MAMA: But por mi Dios católico, adonde está esta niña!? Juliet! Juliet!
JULIET: What NOW?
MAMA: Momma wants to talk to ya, chica.
MRS. CAPULET: Leave me, Mama, the very presence of your less-than-white skin and absolutely not blonde hair makes me sick.
JULIET: Aw, MOM! I like her.
MRS. CAPULET: Yeah, yeah, whatever. You are almost...
MRS. CAPULET: Whaat?
JULIET: If you think illegal immigrants should get the death penalty, why do you hired one to work as housemaid?
MRS. CAPULET: She's cheaper than real people. I actually get a profit out of her.
JULIET: Yeah, but shouldn't you value your convictions more than profit?
MRS. CAPULET: What are you? Some kind of commie?
JULIET: No! I...just think that maybe there are things more important than saving money, you know.
MRS. CAPULET: Little missy, I know you are at a rebellious age, but you must understand that if you said something like that back in the days, good ol' McCarthy would have talk with you, and you would have to either name some names or be put on trial, arrested, tortured, executed and buried... Not exactly in that order. So stop with your bad thoughts, okay?
MRS. CAPULET: Okay, like I was saying, you are almost fourtee...
Enter MAMA, quickly
MRS. CAPULET: Juliet! I am trying to have a healthy parent to child conversation here.
JULIET: Por favor, puede hacer mi madre parar? Ella habla y habla y habla! Parece que no comprende que quiero nada más que salir de aquí!
MAMA: Sí, sí. Comprendo, su madre es burra como una porta, mas habla mucho más que una, se sabes lo que quiero dizer, eh?
JULIET: No, mama, no estoy cierta se lo sé.
MAMA: Santa Madre de Guadalupe! Nadie entiende o que digo!
MRS. CAPULET: Speak my language! You didn't cross a Goddammed desert on foot only to speak your silly-sounding language!
MAMA: Your daughter feels like a mariachi en un bar solamente para hombres! She has to leave.
MRS. CAPULET: But I want to have a conversation! ...Look, Juliet, you're almost fourteen...
MAMA: She has more years in her age than I have teeth in my mouth! Siempre que recuerdo de mi falta de dientes, recuerdo que lucha libre no es tan fácil cuanto parece! How long, oh lady, does she lack to be fourteen.
MRS. CAPULET: Two weeks, but that's beside the point. Now, what I came discuss with you, daughter, is about...marriage.
MAMA: Oh yeah, as my fiancée always said, "Casamiento!? Uh...bueno...Santa Maria! Eh...mi querida novia, adoraría me casarme contigo, mas...ojas!", then he would run away as fast as he could while I was looking away, if you know what I mean, eh?
JULIET: No Mama, I don't know what you mean. However, your inspiring speech reminded me that since I'm fourteen years old, marriage is...er...an honour that I dream not of.
MRS. CAPULET: Why, of course, yes...uh...even if the suitor is obscenely rich?
JULIET: MOM! WE are obscenely rich.
MRS. CAPULET: No, my dear. Daddy's unsavoury deals with several African dictators are breaking apart, those pesky African unions actually want us to pay them more than a cheeseburger every week! And they want us to provide them with...Gas masks! Can you believe that? Anyways we are no longer obscenely rich. We are only...rich, now. And even that's a bit of a stretch. So we can no longer burn money for internal heating. Which reminds me... (to someone off-stage) Enrico! Stop throwing money in the heater!
JULIET: Mom...who exactly do you have in mind?
MRS. CAPULET: Well, you know, your father and I are only...considering the prospect of marrying you into a richer family. It's not like we'd marry one of our own into another family against her will unless we had no other choice, so we are only studying the chances that you might feel slightly happy with...umm...Paris.
MAMA: Por los antiguos dioses de mi antepasados aztecas! That guy is more girly than los estereotipados homsexuais de la televisión mexicana! Ello es como una rosa rosa hermafrodita, excepto la rosa no es hermafrodita, ella es afeminada! That being said, far from me trying to convice you to not do what your mom tells you, eh, chica?
JULIET: Mama is right, mom. Anyone whose parents have the guts of naming him or her Paris must be fated to end badly in horrible ways.
MRS. CAPULET: Okay, I didn't want to tell you this, but I called a pastor friend of mine, and I have letter written with his handwriting that says it's God's will that you try to endear the rich guy. Besides, he might be nice-looking. (shows letter)
JULIET: Okay, guess I can't argue against God. I'll try to like him, but if I don't, I'll consider it a sign of God that this letter you just shown me was bullshit.
SERVANT: Mrs. Capulet, th' supper's ready ma'am, the guests are a' comin'. I bezee...beese...bessek....besseeeech you. Come now.
MRS. CAPULET: Sure thing.
MAMA: Go now, chica. Get yer happy nights like happy days. Moviendo mucho tu piernas y gritando de felicidad. If you know what I mean, eh?
JULIET: No, mama, I don't know what you me...
MAMA: Just go, niña.
SCENE 4, A street Edit
Enter ROMEO, BENVOLIO and Mercutio, their hippie brother
ROMEO: So, we enter without ceremony or I recite a poem to make them unwary and ready to love us for what we truly are? I have just the poem for the occasi...
BENVOLIO: Without ceremony. We enter. We spray pain. We leave.
ROMEO: Look, I don't really wanna spra...
BENVOLIO: Okay, while we grown ups spray paint you play with the chicks.
MERCUTIO: But we gotta have Romeo dancin' man!
ROMEO: Ugh! Ack! Ouch!
That was the gayest thing that ever came from your mouth.
MERCUTIO: No man! Dancing with a girl, for you to forget the other chick, dude.
ROMEO: Oh, no. You dance, I'm not in mood for dancing, I'll never forget...who was it again?
MERCUTIO: Seriously, man. You gotta loosen up, go with the flow, dude. Make out with love, man. Far out.
ROMEO: Make out with love?
How can I make out with love
If I can't even make out love through the fogs of...Tambov.
MERCUTIO: You totally made that name up only to rhyme, bro.
ROMEO: No, that's a Russian city name, I swear. You can Google it.