Making Shakespeare Sassy

I wanted to try to add some sass to a few scenes from Shakespeare.


SCENE IV. Another part of the same street, before the house of BRUTUS.

Enter PORTIA and LUCIUS
PORTIA
I prithee, boy, run to the senate-house;
Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone:
Why dost thou stay?

LUCIUS
Excuse me, dost thou see a HOW MAY I HELP YOU printed
on the back of my smock?

Didst thou pass a WAL-MART greeter on the way here?

PORTIA
I would have had thee there, and here again,
Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there.
O constancy, be strong upon my side,
Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue!
I have a man's mind, but a woman's might.
How hard it is for women to keep counsel!
Art thou here yet?

LUCIUS

I ain't your bitch.

Why art thou still talking?

(Lucius holds up hand, palm facing Portia)

Talk to the place where I give holy palmer's kiss.


PORTIA
Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well,
For he went sickly forth: and take good note
What Caesar doth, what suitors press to him.
Hark, boy! what noise is that?

LUCIUS

You buggin. I don't care if Caesar doth crack.

PORTIA
Prithee, listen well;
I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray,
And the wind brings it from the Capitol.

LUCIUS

Wyrd.

Enter the Soothsayer

PORTIA
Come hither, fellow: which way hast thou been?

Soothsayer
At mine own house, good lady.

PORTIA
What is't o'clock?

Soothsayer

If your Daddy wasn't crackin' thou couldst afford a sundial.

PORTIA
Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitol?

Soothsayer

It ain't none of mine.

PORTIA
Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou not?

Soothsayer

He owe me yeah.

PORTIA
Why, know'st thou any harm's intended towards him?

Soothsayer

None that I know will be, much that I fear may chance.
Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow:
The throng that follows Caesar at the heels,
Of senators, of praetors, common suitors,
Will crowd a feeble man almost to death:
I'll get me to a place more void, and there
Speak to great Caesar as he comes along.

Yeah boieee!

Exit

PORTIA


I must go in. Ay me, how ghetto-triflin' a thing
The heart of woman is! O Brutus,
Thy Hummer speed thee in thine enterprise!
Sure, the foo' heard me: Brutus hath a suit
That Snoop Caesar will not grant. He's about to LAY IT DOWN.
Run, Lucius, and commend me to thy Dog;
Say I am crunk: come to me again,
And bring me the flow that he gizzy you.

I'm abouts to kill me some HYPNOTIQUE, sista.

Exeunt severally