Trapped in Elon’s Mansion: a cybercomedy in Shakespearean verse

Last year, Elon Musk and I got into a fight on Twitter. And this? This is my revenge.

Joe Bagel
Dec 20, 2018 · 5 min read
Read the batshit story behind this play

PART 1 (ACT 1.0.1)

[ENTER AZEALIA BANKS AND GRIMES ON THE PHONE]

AZEALIA BANKS
Proceed, caller, I am Azealia Banks
Pin-up rap bombshell and roaster of skanks.

GRIMES
Hello fair Azealia, this is Claire B
AKA Grimes with a capital G.
Pray, art thou familiar with my oeuvre?
My art pop is worthy of the Louvre
I match beats, so lush, with choirs choral,
Filigreed soundscapes, aptly laureled
By Juno’s committee, though Polaris’
Has not been as quick to gild my merits.
Forget those fool ear’d, mapley mountebanks!
They will each be bloodlet by my new tracks.
For years I have laboured, showers unpermitted,
Before my MacBook, in silence, sitted,
On the floor, crossleggèd, chair nor sofa’s
Cushion cradling my bonesome pagoda.
Alas, my opus is nearing complete —
Minus a guest verse: Ms. Banks, can we meet?

Yes. This play actually happened.

AZEALIA BANKS
Dost thou think I know not thine pedigree?
Wherefore thou might so soon forget: we’ve met!
Claire, smelling rank as a teenage tent tryst
Utterly guileless, every lip fresh,
Face unshaven, underarms double-braided,
Mascara fouled, greased like a deep fryer,
Your tongue, Aphrodite, was a ratking.

GRIMES
How humorous thy descriptions! What wit!
T’would be an honour to procure its loan.
And though I despise the greenback’s transfer
Much preferring to coax soul from its spool
By the looms of artistry and friendship
Rather than by capital’s blunt pick–
What tool of oppression and injustice!–
Our intimacy eludes at least me
And my label ponies a handsome fee.

AZEALIA BANKS
How natural ’tis to despise the buck
When one doth find herself behind its breach
Feeding her tapestry from loonie’s loom
Art thou not betrothed to a billionaire?

GRIMES
A loonie’s loom — Ms. Banks, you spin a phrase!
Though I’m done my days north of forty-nine,
As is Elon Musk, my not-quite-betrothed,
Mine having neither ring nor bank vault’s key,
But such matters are of little import.
My label people will come to thee beared
Of ample providence for thy namesake.

AZEALIA BANKS
I salute thee, Claire, for coming of means.

GRIMES
Coming? I have, sadly, always had means.
Bonds of palm and loin only increased them.

AZEALIA BANKS
Easy ’tis to disparage dollars, then,
When thou wast born with one over each eye!

GRIMES
Yes, an advantage can indeed confound
And leave all its beneficents blinded.

AZEALIA BANKS
Enough talk of coins. Let me see thine purse!

GRIMES
Please, no. My purse, ’tis a dirty subject.
Let our lawyers fine-comb its hairs instead.

AZEALIA BANKS
Daft bleached waif! Waste not my time with vagueness.
Speak thine terms or I’ll scatter thee in nots.

GRIMES
I need thirty-two bars of your finest
And in exchange, offer one gold bar’s half.

AZEALIA BANKS (aside)
I am galled by this wench. I know her well.
We shared a town in twenty-eleven.
O, Montreal! That shimmering isle.
By tongues it was twained: Anglo and Franco,
The schism betwixt them, an uphill road.
Rue Saint-Laurent, volcano vent of art —
Launching bands like pyroclast and magma —
Had lured me North with its fragrant smoke.
I purchased a one-way ticket in June
In the gut of a Greyhound. ’Twas a bitch.
I left home in Harlem with a backpack,
A microphone, pre-amp, interface, clothes,
Pad, pen, and dreams — my heaviest baggage.

GRIMES
Ms. Banks! Art thou there? I hear but mumbles.

AZEALIA BANKS
Yes yes yes, I mumble and thou lispeth
I will take thee on thine half-bar’s offer
Though it had better be for bother’s sake
Paid in gold and not poutiney pesos.

GRIMES
Perfect! I’ll let the lawyers dot the i’s
And plot the particulates of thine prize.
Art thou free to meet here in a week’s time?
We’ll book a first-class flight on our own dime.

AZEALIA BANKS
Let me see. Hence a week works fine for me,
In the interim days I’ll sketch some rhymes
Hast thou produced some beats for me to hear?
If so, I can begin at once, my dear.

GRIMES
Beats? Yea, I’ll shoot them to your inbox now.

AZEALIA BANKS
I will receive thine email in raptures.

GRIMES
Ha-ha-ha. Great. I’ll go arrange your flight.
I’ll meet you at the gate, Ms. Banks! Good night.

[THEY HANG UP THE PHONE]

GRIMES (aside)
Herpèd boil!

AZEALIA BANKS (aside)
Bombastic animal!
“World-prove each the master of her art.” What!
That rocket muse is but a master slut.

GRIMES (aside)
The gall! The gall! That witch — she hath it all!
Only my ears could slight believe that call.

AZEALIA BANKS (aside)
To this entitled brat, I must debase
My art? How then I’d ever look my face
In glinted pools without then heaping stones?
Lash my back! Fuck! Gouge my ass! Drill my bones!

GRIMES (aside)
To think that my upturned hand could be met
In such a discourteous flippant way?
Could a wildebeest be so ungrateful–
She hath not released a single in years.

AZEALIA BANKS (aside)
Am I expected thus to buck and skip
At the hail of a limp-wrist napkin’s wave
Because the coupled hand can write a cheque?
Hell no — t’were not my accounts in the red.

GRIMES (aside)
In my life I have never been greeted
With such unwarranted asperity.
She converses in a jocular coat
Yet its weave is too thin for the weather.

AZEALIA BANKS (aside)
I will butter her in insouciance
To palate this utmost distastèd act
Then, once the gold light breaks, reveal at once
How she hath wronged me back in Montreal.

[GRIMES AND AZEALIA BANKS EXIT]

CLICK HERE FOR PART 2 👈🚇👉 OR BUY THE PAPERBACK + PDF!

Joe Bagel

Written by

Joe Bagel

Semi-literate writer.

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