We will, my lord.

Hey, listen, Gobbo, since you didn’t bother coming to listen to the Prince of Fucking Denmark with us – he asked us to pass a message along to you. He says you can expect an order of execution sometime tomorrow unless you do the best performance of your life tonight.

Oh, alright, he didn’t order your execution – but I will, if you fuck around up there like you usually do. And I’m not kidding, he did have a message especially for you. I mean, – he went on for DAYS, or at least a few minutes, about shitty clowns – Am I right, fellas? Wasn’t it, like, an epic speech? It was the last thing he told us before sent us out. “Tell him” he said.

We’re telling you. No interrupting the play tonight. No catch phrases. No dancing around. None of it. Or we’ll all catch hell. You know what? Now that I think of it – we’re doing a tragedy tonight. We might be safer if you didn’t perform at all. It’ll be better for all of us – and none of us will get our heads chopped off. Fingers crossed.

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