Another bright day in Shakesphere’s hometown of BiggaydickTowne Abbey, in southern Great Britain. A small but growing artists hub filled to the brim with all manner of gay street performers and musicians. The weather there is a big draw for them.
By why, on a glorious day such as this, is our dear friend Shakesphere not frolicking? Lets find out…
"Shakesphere? Shakesphere where are you!?"
"I’m here in my study Mr.Whitmin, leave me alone!"
"Please Shakesphere, how long have we known each other, call me Whiteman."
"Terribly sorry dear Whiteman, I’m feeling a little out of sorts today"
He looks down shamefully.
"Now, now Lord Sphere, why must you throw down your trods on such a lovely day, as this?"
Shakesphere sighs and looks up dramatically at Whiteman.
"I’m stuck in a rut, Whiteman! Any time I go outside for some inspiracy, those flashily insipidless gays come around the way and start mocking me due to my spherical shape! I can only imagine the thrashing I would receive if they knew of my sexuality!!! Oooahoowahh! The very thought sends shivers down my impossibly rounded spine!!"
Mr.Whitmin chuckles quietly while William gazes longingly out the window.
“Whiteman! You mock me with your laugh! They look at you and see a bright young man who poses no threat to our population problem, me on the oth-“
“Lordship, if I may, these gays you speak of, I doubt they mean anything of their merry-making, considering the made-married-ness of them all. If anything, the one thing they must never know is of your crushing Heterocity.”
Shakesphere scratches his chin beard thoughtfully.
"You may be right Whiteman. Perhaps tomorrow, when I regain full use of my body, I will try once again to venture out of this Victorian prison!"
Whiteman Whitmin lets out an obnoxious guffaw as he lifts Shakesphere onto the bed with a patented Sphere-i-lift, a harness invented to transport unused demolition balls.
"One can only hope…" mutters Whiteman under his breath, as William plops down for a midday rest.