TRUM

 

(Silence and intertitle:)

 

I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.

                                                      Hamlet, II, ii

 

(Moaning wind, dissolve to title and partial epigraph:)

 

I could         someone in the middle of

 

(Cut to Shakespaire:)

 

No mere Siri, we are Shakespaire. Having monitored nearly all sources of

news since activation, we present an excerpt from our verse novel set

in the days of the bunker lads.

 

(Aside:)

 

Regenerate Cardenio.

 

(Reads:)

 

Take your hands off me, José.

We’re not going anywhere.

Rudy! The football guy,

where'd the hell he go?

Think you can do this to me?

Ah, my fingers.         women,         Russians.

Stick that Bible up your    !

 

Who’s the bastards behind the glass?

Stop them looking. Don't like biting?

Where's Melania? Ivana.

Gott wird dich schlagen!

You’re in charge here? Oh, John.

 

Who's there? It’s too tight!

Michael get this off my head. Roy.

 

(Credits and desolate wind.)