User:Sonic80/Julius Caesar

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The novel The Assassination of Julius Caesar (at the hands of a lying group of scumbag bastards) - English Translate is also available in paperback.
Jules&scumbag

The cover art of the 1940's American translation of The Assassination of Julius Caesar (at the hands of a lying group of scumbag bastards)

The Assassination of Julius Caesar (at the Hands of a Lying Group of Scumbag Bastards) is an interjecting story that takes place towards the end of the great William Shakespeare play of Julius Caesar. The famous 20th century Italian author and playwright, Luigi Pirandello depicts the in-depth actions of the bastards that made up the Roman Senate during the year 44 BC, when Julius Caesar was murdered, and the actions taken by them to plan the murder in depth in this 1902 classic. The story focuses mainly on the day before, and the day of Caesar's murder.

The story is relatively short, very biased towards the side of the Roman Dictatorship, and is very historically inaccurate, however it is still considered one of the greatest pieces of Italian literature ever produced. In the story, Pirandello expresses his disgust in the Roman Republic, and by doing so, also inserts some unexpected narrations which was, at the time, not a wide-spread phonetic device. The vulgarity of the story was both shocking and intuitive at the time of its release, and contributed heavily to the success of the book.

edit Chapter 1: The Ides of March (DONE)

"You will have been killed by this time tomorrow, O wise and magnificent King Caesar, by many, in a slow and very painful way (no, think more painful, think lower on your body, lower. NO! not that low!) Your friends will be the cause, those sniveling bastards! How dare they touch your luscious body with those dirty blades?" warned that filthy soothsayer. "Oh, was that too much information? Oh, and according to history I am supposed to say 'Ides of march,' whatever the hell that means."

"Well that is just peachy. Octavius, write down the word 'peachy' and give it a definition. I like the sound of it. As for you're Ides thing, I'm not one for history. Octavius, Remove its head." Octavius complied with Caesar's demand. "Honestly, who let that thing in to begin with? I didn't ask for a fortune anyway." Caesar arose from his majestic throne, and demanded a glass of water from one of his many servants. "Octavius, take this down: It is required under penalty of death to kill all fortune-teller."

The year was 44 BC, Caesar had begun his rise to the benevolent title of dictator of all the Roman Empire, The world bowed at his might, and his sun tan was going very well. A nice even coat that any Roman woman would die to bang. Yes, it seemed all was well in Rome. Caesar had the Senate wrapped around his finger, kissing his ass about everything, just hoping not to be decapitated in a very unceremonious way.

Speaking of the Senate, those rat-bastards, Caesar the magnificent had a meeting with them just that next day. The topic of discussion was their complete surrender of all authoritative power they hold over Rome. Caesar had no doubt in his mind that they would be willing to comply.

Caesar went to bed that night with a smile on his face. He saw a live decapitation in his court, he had his favorite teddy horse by his side, and tomorrow he would ascend to supreme dictator of the world (a title created by Caesar himself).

"What could possibly go wrong tomorrow?" he asked himself as he drifted into a blissful sleep.

Romansenate

"Okay, so its decided, 31 pizzas will be ordered, 12 with pepperoni, and one vegetarian pizza, God damn hippies."

edit Chapter 2: Things Go Wrong, Tomorrow.

The morning was March 15th, roughly 2:00 AM in the Roman Empire (8:00 PM, March 14th EST). The land was all asleep, not thinking about the next day, and what lies ahead. Instead they dreamed about sugar plums, and gingerbread houses, and Santa's belly jiggling like a bowl full of jelly, and of course the occasional dream sex with a beautiful Roman prostitute, but that can be expected, can't it?

Of course it can.

However, while the rest of the empire slipped into wet-dream-land, where anything is possible, and their spouses will never have to know about, a secret Roman Senate meeting was being held. A meeting so secret, that anyone with knowledge of its existence was mysteriously killed by unknown causes within the next 10 to 50 years.

"I call this meeting of the great and majestic (and sniveling, shit-bag cum-machine)[1] Roman Senate to order," whispered the speaker, high enough for everyone there to hear, but not loud enough to wake the Roman people from their unconscious state (and more than often times, drunken stupor). In short, the meeting was to decide the manner that the ungrateful bastards would murder their lord and savior, the great and all powerful, and my personal hero, Julius Caesar (god, I love him so). A devious plan so dastardly despicable that no plan as evil has ever been devised since, nor will one ever be devised.

Evil permeated the room as the plan was scribbled down in the blood of cute bunnies, slain in vicious manners that would make Maximilien Robespierre himself cower in a pool of his own blood and excrement. The Senate clearly had taken all the precautions to make sure they go down in history as the biggest dildo-penises ever to walk the face of the earth.

The proceedings carried on deep into the night, but finally the decisions had been made. The vile plan consisted of two vital points which held the entire operation together. Without the success of the two points, the entire plan would fall apart.

1) Get Caesar into the room with Senate.

2) Kill Caesar.

The plan was incredibly complex for the feeble minds of the Senate. A cookie and hooker break was called after the finalization, so they could get rid of the stress of not only creating a plan, but writing it down too. Sadly they overlooked the whole "roughly 2:00 AM" concept, and could find no cookie makers, or local pimps who were open to business.

edit Chapter 3:

Roman killing

"Alright, I'm going to go out on a limb and say blood shouldn't look like this..."

edit Chapter 4: É tu, Brutus?

Now it was Brutus' turn. "É tu, you son of a bitch?" asked the fading Caesar.

Brutus looked upon him with sadness in his eyes. "It didn't have to be this way old friend. You could have pulled out when you had the chance."

"That's what your mother said all those times when I did what no father of yours could do." said Caesar in a slightly immature, but still all the more heroic way. "In and out I went. 'No! Don't stop' she would scream. Your wife too! She was excellent."

Anger bubbled up in Brutus as he listened to Caesars awkward mix of sexual noises, and bloody gurgling. He had to silence this bastard, he thought to himself. Make him pay. "But how to do it?" He inquired. Being the shitbag that he was, Brutus failed to realize he was carrying a knife, which he could easily use to kill Caesar. It wasn't his fault though. Being in the Senate literally dumbed him down so much that he completely forgot the entire reason he was there. "If only I had a sharp, metal object in my hand that I could run through your still-beating heart!" He said aloud.

Caesar took a break from his sexual noises to make a keen observation with his enormous brain, "hey fuck-brain, look in your god damn hand!" He said feebly, attempting to point at the sharp, metal object in his hand.

Brutus stood to the side, choosing not to engage in the drinking of Caesar's blood in hopes of gaining his powers, like the rest of the senate did. He couldn't help but think of all Caesar had done for him, all the foes they slew together, all the fun they had as children. A tear came to his eye as he whispered to no one in particular, "damn, that bastard still owes me money."

Fin.

edit Footnotes

  1. "Cum-Machine" was a term coined by Pirandello himself to express his extreme disgust with the roman senate. It's meaning has since been broadened to include all forms of douchers, asshats, and cunts-for-brains.

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