If you are going to entertain a completely absurd notion like, “Shakespeare wasn’t really written by Shakespeare”, then you have to have some knowledge of the times and the context within which such a profoundly counter-intuitive thing could possibly be true. And it also helps to understand more precisely what the “writing of Shakespeare” actually means. Now, I know it is not particularly fair to confuse you, dear reader, right before I try to dazzle you with my complicated and over-thunk lackwit conspiracy theory, but that is, after all, what obfuscation actually means.
The plays, sonnets, and other poetry of William Shakespeare reveal the mind of a genius. Whoever wrote the works has to be a complicated man living a complicated life. He has to be a sensitive, empathetic, highly intelligent, observant, and troubled man. You don’t write the dark and deeply troubled suicidal tragedy of Hamlet without ever having thought of taking your own life. You cannot portray the madness of King Lear without ever having experienced the turmoil of the mind that threatens to tear your soul apart. And you don’t write about the complexities of love found in As You Like It or Romeo and Juliet without ever having experienced the massive thunderstorms of the mind that go along with falling in love. And we are talking true love, not necessarily the domestic love you have for the wife you are stuck with. You see what I did just there? I put you into the head of the writer, and started you thinking like you yourself are Shakespeare. As goofy a mental gymnastic exercise as that is, bear with me and keep thinking it.
At the time of Shakespeare’s ascendancy as the Bard Laureate of English Literature, England was not a safe place to be either a noble or a playwright. Queen Elizabeth’s mother had her head cut off for bad politics even though she was married to the King of England at the time. Lady Jane Gray, one of Elizabeth’s predecessors, lost her head when she was no more than a sixteen-year-old girl. During Elizabeth’s reign, one of her court favorites, Robert Devereaux, Earl of Essex, attempted to seize the queen herself after a riot fomented by a performance of Shakespeare’s play, Richard II, at which eleven of Essex’s noble supporters were said to be present stirring up the emotions of the crowd. It was a near thing for the writer of the play (about the life of a king whose reign ended in controversy about succession and which led eventually to the War of the Roses) to escape without also being caught up in the rebellion’s failure and round of executions that separated Essex from his head. Elizabeth banned numbers of plays with religious or political content, bans that never seemed to touch the writer of Shakespeare’s plays, even when they touched on political themes. You didn’t have to rebel against the Queen to lose your head either. Elizabeth was trying to reinstate Anglican Protestantism against the critical tides of Catholic Europe. You could be banished, put to death, or impressed by force into the English Navy for being suspected of ideas that were too Catholic. And witchcraft, or consulting with witches, as Macbeth depicts, earned you a nice warm fire in the public square to cleanse your immortal soul.

Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford
So, if one were to be both a playwright and a nobleman, known to and beloved by Queen Elizabeth, might there not be good reason to write under a pseudonym? And numerous people who write about Edward de Vere mention the fact that he wrote poetry and plays, and the plays were very popular. Some scraps of poetry by the Earl of Oxford still exist, but whatever happened to the manuscripts of his plays? It is a conspiracy theory so delicious, that I have to take at least one more bite. (You understand, I try to stick to a 500-word target for these posts, and even this 600+ is really too long. So that means there has to be an Earl of Oxford Part II at least.)

























Doom is Imminent, It’s Time to Sing!
**This is a repost of my prediction from 11/2/2016 that Trump would win the presidency in 2016, posted again because Pogo and I are concerned he is on track to do it again from prison in 2024.
Yessir, the Cubs have a chance to win their first World Series since 1908 tonight. They have not won the title since Tinker to Evers to Chance was the double-play combo of poetic proportions. They have never won in my lifetime, and I am quite old. So, there is proof positive the world is about to end.
Yes, I can even describe the mechanics of the thing. Donald Trump will be elected President of the United States thanks to Mr. Comey’s timely reveal of more scandalous emails that he has not read and chuckled about yet. You know, the ones that he couldn’t have actually read yet because they come from potential pedophile Anthony Weiner’s computer, and he had to have a separate warrant from a judge to read anything that may have to do with Hillary, even though probably none of them contain nude pictures from Hillary, and she probably didn’t even write those emails. The world had to know about that right before the election, especially members of the Republican House Committee for examining Hillary’s every boo-boo. So, the Donald will win, because nobody is doing any press conferences on the FBI investigation on his ties to the Russian government through the biggest bank in Russia. ‘Taint important, Pogo.
And once the great orange pumpkin-head is our next president, our health care will no longer be under the misguided protection of Obamacare. Instead, it will will be taken care of by “something terrific” that will make high profits for somebody, and make certain that I will never be able to pay another medical bill (since those who are deceased rarely do).
And, of course, President Pompadoodle will be able to declare that we no longer have to believe in the climate change hoax. The result being that we will soon be able to buy beachfront property in Iowa and Missouri, be able to purchase our breathable air in factory-made brick-form, and possibly grow a helpful third eye from the mutating effects of nuclear radiation.
And, lastly, I would like to thank the late great Walt Kelly for illustrating today’s post. One wonders how a cartoonist can look so far ahead from the 1960’s to do such a fine job of illustrating the problems of 2016? Will miracles never cease? I mean, really, we could probably do with a few less of these industrial grade miracles made out of recycled elephant poop.
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Tagged as Chicago Cubs, Donald Trump, doom, end of the world, Hillary Clinton, humor, politics, satire, Walt Kelly