Pubdate: Tue, 26 Jul 2011 Source: Packet & Times (CN ON) Copyright: 2011 Osprey Media Group Inc. Contact: http://www.orilliapacket.com/ Details: http://www.mapinc.org/media/2397 Author: Jim Foster WEED SLEUTHS AFTER BILL'S BONES Perchance did you see the article about some bonehead plan to dig up old Bill Shakespeare to check for traces of marijuana? It's true. Palaeontologists from South Africa have asked permission to exhume his remains from a cemetery in Stratford on Avon. Now, I'm not one to suggest that Bill (We writers always call each other by his or her first name. For example, Leon Uris, Tom Clancy, J.K Rowling -- I guess that blows that theory all to hell.) As I was saying, Bill is one of the Elizabethan playwrights whose immense body of work is suspected by literary historians as being written by someone else. As if it matters now, the royalties have long since run out. However, should anthropologist Francis Thackeray, the leader of this band of nosy Parkers, actually find traces of weed in his bones, the discovery could very well solve the mystery surrounding his plays, poems and limericks. (Few people know that Bill was big on limericks. His classic, There was an old girl from Penrhyndeudraeth received critical acclaim from the Welsh Literary Society in spite of the fact he was never able to come up with a second line.) There may well be some merit to their quest since rumours abound that he and several other writers of that era were known to get all banged out of shape on special days, such as the Summer Solstice and Queen Elizabeth's birthday. Once or twice, the old dear herself was reported to have been seen staggering from the Pig and Whistle in the wee hours looking somewhat worse for wear. Which wouldn't be hard, Liz the First, not being a handsome woman and all. Who knows who wrote what after an all-nighter when the big names were drinking, smoking and wenching? I'm not saying the Queen was wenching, but let's be honest, she never married. Although she was suspected of dallying with Robert Devereux, the Earl of Essex. Bob was a bit of a scamp whenever his missus was out of town. Christopher Marlowe and Ben Jonson were both seen with Bill on many occasions and after a few hours of imbibing could quite easily have jotted down a sonnet or two. Regardless which one did the writing, it is hard to imagine a sober scribbler dreaming up a scheming witch like Lady Macbeth. Whoever wrote the Scottish play must have been on something. Assuming Thackeray's request to exhume old Bill is granted, what do you think the Bard is going to say when he hears about it? It will probably go something like this: Scene One -- Heaven, a fluffy white cloud. Enter three writers Marlowe -- Bill wake up, Bill, haul thine buttocks from under yon park bench and taketh a gander at what is going on down in Stratford. Shakespeare -- Forsooth and gazooks, don't tell me there is another sale at the Stratford Home Hardware? I needst another round-nosed shovel, like I need a hole in my puce hose. Jonson -- Not Stratford, Ontario, the real one, some nosy varlets are digging up thy plot. Shakespeare -- Odds bodkins, my prize roses! Fetch me my poniard, I shall aerate the cads. Why just yesterday, I blew a ha'penny on some rose powder to... Jonson -- Not your garden, thee dolt, your internment spot. Thee can be somewhat of an ass at times. Shakespeare -- Mayhap, I dost be an ass, but at least I remember to put an "H" in my name, not like others I can mention and shall. Jonson -- It was a mistake at the registry office. My father had just crawled home from the Elephant and Hound. A bit of a souse, you know. Made Falstaff look like a teetotaller, my old man. Shakespeare -- Hey! What are they doing to my repose down there? Marlowe -- That's why we woke you up. They are after your bones. Shakespeare -- My bones? Well, I'll be a sonofabi... Jonson -- Probably, but methinks they are after your grass. Shakespeare -- No doubt it's a mess and needs mowing. Anne should have gone for the perpetual care plan. Marlowe -- What? Thee say the strangest things at times. Shakespeare -- I know. I think it may be the marijuana we get up here. It comes from someplace in Severn Township. Speaking of marijuana, roll me another joint? Oh, oh, make haste! The jig is up. All three exeunt like a bat out of hell as a heavenly narc arrives. Well, maybe not. - --- MAP posted-by: Richard R Smith Jr.