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“And another thing,” screamed William Shakespeare, his face reddening. “Where the fuck was my chocolate?”

“I’m sorry, what chocolate?” said the man behind the desk.

“The fucking pillow chocolate,” said Shakespeare. “The fucking chocolate you put on the fucking pillow. Don’t you do that in Australia?”

“I’m sorry sir, that’s not something we do here.”

“Why the fuck not? Everyone likes a fucking chocolate. Is it too much to ask? Is it too much to fucking ask?”

Sophie Ellis-Bextor put a hand on his arm. “Just calm down a bit. Let’s keep things in perspective.”

The bard blanked her and continued abusing the man. “I suppose I should be glad you didn’t smear my bed in Vegemite, you depraved animals,” he cried.

“Just stop it,” said Ellis-Bextor firmly. “You’re starting to embarrass yourself.”

This time, Shakespeare reacted. “Oh I am, am I? How about now?” he said, pulling his penis out and hanging it over the top of his breeches. “Am I embarrassing myself now?”

“Well obviously,” said Ellis-Bextor with disgust.

“That’s funny,” said the playwright, bouncing his member up and down slightly. “Because I don’t feel embarrassed. I don’t feel any embarrassment whatsoever. Are you sure it isn’t you who’s feeling embarrassed?”

“Look at you,” spat the angular-jawed vocalist. “You’re a grown man waving his thingy around in a five-star hotel. Of course I’m embarrassed.”

Disgust registered in the form of Shakespeare’s curled lip before radiating across the rest of his face. “Oh you’re embarrassed, are you? I bet you wouldn’t be embarrassed if it were Chris Rea who were doing this. I bet you wouldn’t be embarrassed if Chris Rea’s big, tight balls were about to be revealed.”

“Chris would never get his balls out in a hotel lobby,” cried Ellis-Bextor at the top of her voice, whirling round as she did so.

Shakespeare watched her stumble away for a second and then growled under his breath: “I love it when you show some passion.”

When she was out of sight, Shakespeare calmly replaced his hairy knob inside his breeches and turned to face the man behind the desk. He was about to say something when his brow suddenly creased. He paused a moment.

“Sir?” said the man.

“Did she say ‘Chris Rea’ then or just ‘Chris’?”

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Posted by Alex On August - 23 - 2011

4 Responses to “The Hotel Windsor in Melbourne feels the bard’s wrath”

  1. Kevin Miles says:


  2. Alex says:

    Just slightly.

  3. Kevin Miles says:

    I like that. ‘Slightly.’ I like to think if I got my dick out in a hotel lobby I would be able to bounce it up and down slightly but I’m worried that if I was in that situation I would really go to town and throw it all over the place. I’m worried I would try and project to the corners of the lobby – a bit like a Bono live performance – whereas there is Shakespeare, more akin to Johnny Cash, standing backing, jiggling slightly, letting the people see him on his own terms – love him or loathe him – he doesn’t care. There is a lot of confidence portrayed in that slightly.

    And then I like how SEB accuses him of ‘waving’ it about. That’s how rows escalate. ‘I’m not waving it! I’m just about jiggling it!’

  4. Alex says:

    “It’s barely bobbling, you stuck-up slag!”

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