Every issue, Brendan McDougall takes a classic literary text and fills it with graphic, explicit,
filthy, transgressive, don’t-show-your-grandma sexiness. Keep it under lock and key.
Macbeth: How does your patient, doctor?
Doctor: Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.
Macbeth: Thick cumming fancies!
Doctor: The fingers of her right hand be shoved
So far up her baby-hole
I cannot budge them.
Macbeth: I’ll cure her o’that! Seyton, haste!
Fetch Macbeth a jar of kingly lube
And I’ll uncork her wrist from lady-tube.
Seyton: Right away.
Exeunt Doctor, Seyton.
Macbeth: Malcolm moves closer to my front, yet ‘tis
My front which stirs against what lies behind
That door. I’ll disrobe now and surprise her,
And bite with gentlest teeth the lobe of her right ear
‘Til from her vag drips free what spirit lies
Twisted dormant ‘neath her crazed hysteria
My love, what sorrow darkness must possess her!
Quickly will I with eyes and hands undress her.
MACBETH enters the ante-room where LADY MACBETH lies.
Lady Macbeth: Out damn spot
! O ut, I say!— One: two: why,
then, ’tis time to do’t—
Hell is murky!— Fie!
My lord! Who would have thought the old man
would have had so much blood in him…
Macbeth: He is full up with blood, anticipating
His lady’s four-lipped kiss to warm it
So that it may release from it’
s angry eye
The white nectar, the liquid moon, the medicine
That may surely cure all that ails thee.
Birnum Wood outside moves little, nay, not at all
T’ward Dunsinane. Yet there is another wood
Moving against thy person, and perhaps one
of thicker girth and veinier disposition at that.
Choose thy orifice and prepare for a stuffing!
LM: I shall open up my mouth once more before
I swallow your sword great gulped to the hilt
So it may tickle my poor heart: a question.
Do you trust me?
Macbeth: Trust you? What trickery is this?
I makest thou a queen and offer thusly
To fill thou with a King and spawn in you
A prince. —Y
ou ask me wild questions such as this.
It is a lucky thing your holes are still as tight
As when first I plugged them in your father’s garden
As now I do.
LM: Screw your courage to the sticking place.
LM: Come to my breasts and take my milk for gall!
Macbeth: Speak on the subject now I ask of thou –
Art thou still a little harlot?
LM: A little harlot I am my lord.
Macbeth: Of course this is the case! And thou enjoy
My kingly balls thumping hard against thy pelvic bone!
I knowest thou do!
LM: More than any other thumping thing m’lord!
Macbeth: Now remove your hands now clasped from round my neck
My windpipe is obstructed.
LM: I cannot hark my lord,
These throes of ecstasy seem to have
Unbalanced my hearing
Macbeth: Hear this then, I cannot breathe.
LM: Or maybe ‘tis the great Macbeth unbalanced
Which I hear now.
Macbeth: I have no words, my word is in my sword.
LM: And thy sword is in my cunt! You conspire
With witches to make me Queen and now
The blood stained on my hands must be removed.
Your Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Macbeth: Hold, enough!
LM: Thy blood razes my palms clean and thy seed
Enters my uncaring womb where now it turns
To dust. Your son sleeps here forever.
King, Cawdor, Glamis, all thou art betrayed.
Thou knowest this tale ends not another way.
Macbeth: Ooo! Fie! Alack! Now I am slain!
LM: Lie still, thou creamy hubris you have stuffed
Wastefully, all up here in my Macduff.
‘Tis safer to be that which we destroy
Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.