In honor of Shakespeare’s 450th birthday, the following Pop Culture Review was written in what this author assumes is traditional Shakespearian iambic pentameter. “Couldn’t you just spend 5-10 minutes and make sure you’re doing it right?” you ask, wantonly. To which I reply, “Yes, if I wasn’t too busy researching all this delicious pop culture news for you, heathen.” Then you, as the venomous creature you are, fire-back, “Well, the Gameboy turned 25 this week, and it had a much more profound impact on your life than Shakespeare. Are you at least going to litter this post with nostalgic Nintendo bits as well?” The answer to that question, however, is, “No.”

Let us begin.

“Though this be madness, yet there is method in ‘t” – Hamlet

Shakira’s hips doth lie no more, though mouth doth once expose,

The lips of sink, with a Voice on the brink, to angered crowds of the show.

Yet anger wanes when others elicit greater furor still,

And the crowds were placated

From a video slated

Of a sk8trboy lover in tow.

“She’s returned, at last!” said silence-still, for no singular fan could be found,

For the fabricated sensation, that’s racistly Asian, and maker of folk want to drown.

Yet despair not, fellow lover of culture, for the popping of quality sounds,

As HBO slashes and gashes with blades, for success and wellness abound.

Partake, dear reader, this Sunday’s premiere, of John Oliver’s new treasure,

“Last Week Tonight” for the news belated, and hated by none of mind’s right.

But still! They claim, with brandished steel, of more might than mortals feel,

Of renewed success, of Veep and Valley’s

Silicon, and gleaming with zeal.

What’s this?! They cry, still grinning with smite, of the blows not yet undone,

For a treaty with Prime, of Amazon’s line, of show streaming for all

for a price.

Yet vill’ny lingers, as wrenches oft wrought with jealousy, greed and knavery,

Raise the price of their streaming, unjustly, un-needing, so curse to it, “Netflix, the fraud!”

Yet confusion confuddles, as we ponder the dreaming of Hollywood executive suits,

Who’re starting to conjure the spirits of dollars, long dead, dormant and eternal.

Oh necromancy! Oh witchcraft! Why must they defile?! Our memories fond next to die,

Of Crouching Tiger’s and Doubtfire minstrels,

the sequels to us, death can’t hide.

But lo’! A sequel of justice, of love?! Of large Farva’s and Shnozeberry stupor,

For fortune favors the Highway Patrol, and a sequel for Troopers most Super.

Now in the spring of our content, the blossoms bud and bloom,

For King Whedon’s released a most interesting piece to be rented directly on Vimeo.

“What more? What next?” Oh what callous unrest! Doth this hunger know no end?

Yes there’s more to be had, and of course it’s not bad!

Unless we fail ourselves…

Keep focus strong, young soldiers of yon, and with pride we do know truly

To share everyday is the only way,

We’ll make it to #SixSeasonsAndAMovie

 So come to sense, oh fans of the good, for we must bear our arms and rally,

To make ourselves heard, above silence absurd, forced down the throat of the masses.

Do you not see? There is tyranny! And distaste corrupting pop culture,

On our screens, in our papers, living inside our neighbors, to steal away money and souls!

It’s with mediocrity, they muddy a clear comprehension.

Of what is good,

And not what we want,

But need in the bellies of beasts.

The most almost cool, oozingly mediocre trailer mine eyes hath ever lain. Coming this May to NBC.

Hold, let us not be distraught or dismayed,

Or yield the week to sk8terboy’s played.

Resist, dear one, to be interrupted,

by franchises hastily, greedily gutted.

By those silly in premise or likely to flounder,

As fools tend to do, lame and stunted.

Instead stand tall, galvanized soldiers all, of sequels both wanted and righteous,

Cheers and fists will rise through the mists from the clearly pop culturally pious.

Celebrations will reign and we’ll end how we played,

on Gameboy’s, most fair, and most honored.