Isaiah:
Now is the winter of my discontent.
For rough winds do shake the darling buds of May
I Please Get a Job and I am forsaken.
Grim-visaged directors hath handed down
their instructions. And now, instead of merely
hiring me much to the dismay of my less
talented adversaries, they demand two
contrasting Shakespearean monologues!
But I, am not prepared for such tricks
Nor made to court an amorous kleenex,
I, that am distressed and want to get cast,
To run around my apartment in victory
am made to scramble like an ambling nymph
I, that am cheated of success by mediocre selections past,
desperate, overwhelmed, called back before my time
Into this expecting world, should I make something up?
And therefore, since I cannot prove a Shakespearean Actor
to entertain these fair well spoken casting agents,
I am determined to prove an improviser,
and hate these theater bigwig gents.
Dive thoughts, down to my soul; here
my roommate comes.
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