NARRATOR
Previously on Three Rambunctious Writers…
SHAKESPEARE
Some magic, the origin whereof I know not, didst force us, an ill-conceived triad of writers, to share an abode in early twenty-first century Portland, Oregon.
MRS. JONES
Welcome to the neighborhood! We’re having some construction done on my house. It’s not much—just some bulldozers and a few wrecking balls—all day long.
SHAKESPEARE
. Clearly, we must fine some satirist who, like us, hath been brought forward through time, and hire him to aid in our fight with the neighbors!
NARRATOR
And now … this week!
Once more, Oscar Wilde, William Shakespeare, and Jane Austen are sitting in their kitchen and chatting.
SHAKESPEARE
Oh cruel fates! Truly this is the lot of man, to be forever denied compassion and understanding by his own literary kindred! Wherefore hath none of the satirists answered my emails? Care they not for our cruel oppression by the noxious noise of the vicious shrew Mrs. Jones?
AUSTEN
Try to be cheerful, Mr. Shakespeare. The noise is not excessively terrible. Perhaps we can simply avoid any unpleasantness by leaving the house often.
WILDE
Our purpose, you seem to forget, is not comfort but revenge—a far more interesting prospect.
SHAKESPEARE
Yet it will all come to naught! What is the meaning of this hateful silence?
AUSTEN
Were you not still waiting to hear from Mr. Swift, sir? He seems, despite some vulgarity in his writings, to be gentleman enough to respond to your letter.
SHAKESPEARE
No, Jonathan Swift hath responded with a most grievous flame, declaring that he will have no association with a formerly great writer now reduced to insignificant internet postings. He is a toad-faced dunce and understandeth not the brilliant literary insights that I doth proclaim on my blog.
AUSTEN
Your blog, Mr. Shakespeare? I do believe we have discussed your internet problems before. Would you not prefer to spend your leisure time in reading? Perhaps you could read my books, which you have still not even opened, despite my repeated attendance at inferior productions of Hamlet whenever you desire my absence from the house!
SHAKESPEARE
Twice is hardly “repeated”!
WILDE
I hate to interrupt such a fascinating reasoned discussion, but I must say, my dear Will, that I am unsurprised that we’ve made an enemy out of Swift. You did invite him to come by for a supper of roasted babies.
SHAKESPEARE
How didst thou find the details of my private correspondence? Is this some witchery?
WILDE
Your email password is your name, but I really must continue to inquire about your strange invitation to Mr. Swift. It seems a odd sort of hospitality, though I suppose it is better than serving some vegetable dish.
SHAKESPEARE
I read a work of his in which he mentioned these cannibalistic tastes. I thought it seemed passing strange, but mayhap times and tastes hath changed since the fair sixteen hundreds.
WILDE
(sarcastically)
I do believe the article in question was sarcastic, Will, although these things are always difficult to determine.
SHAKESPEARE
Then mayhap I too was sarcastic! Thou comprehendest not my literary genius.
WILDE
Please, let us not further discuss such vile things as sarcasm with a lady present. It is most impolite.
AUSTEN
(sarcastically)
Indeed.
The doorbell rings
AUSTEN
I will not answer the door once more—one of you may greet our guest for once.
WILDE
Very well.
He opens the door. George Orwell stands outside!
WILDE
Good day sir, and welcome, though I must wonder why you are wearing such a large trenchcoat on such a warm day. Your mirrored sunglasses show that you are aware of the weather, so one must wonder at—
AUSTEN
Mr. Wilde, the gentleman knows what he is wearing; is it truly necessary to describe his own appearance to him?
WILDE
I’ve told you of the need for exposition before, my dear Jane. No novelist could ever understand—
ORWELL
Let me in, quickly! Before someone sees that I’m here! They’re everywhere! They’re always watching! Their cameras are trained on me now, because they’re following me, you see. In a few minutes the system will log my presence and they’ll send assassins to kill me!
WILDE
Then do come in, sir. Would you like some tea?
Orwell comes in and shuts the door.
ORWELL
No, thank you. I never eat or drink any food I haven’t prepared from scratch and repeatedly disinfected.
AUSTEN
Good day, sir. I am Jane … Smith, and these are my housemates Bill and Ernest, all of us born in the twenty-first century.
ORWELL
Pleasure. I’m George Orwell.
SHAKESPEARE
Oh, thou art one of us! In truth, we are—
ORWELL
No! Don’t reveal your true identities! I already know who you are from your email, there’s no need to say it out loud where it could be picked up by hidden microphones.
AUSTEN
Won’t you sit down, Mr. Orwell?
ORWELL
Don’t call me that. Call me Eric.
AUSTEN
(weirded out by Orwell)
Indeed. Eric.
SHAKESPEARE
(aside to Wilde)
Oscar, thinkest that this Orwell is mad?
WILDE
(aside to Shakespeare)
I haven’t the slightest idea, but he is certainly entertaining.
ORWELL
Perhaps you might consider that I have reasons to be so paranoid! Haven’t you ever thought that it’s extremely strange that we were brought forward through time so suddenly? Who do you think—
SHAKESPEARE
How didst thou hear that conversation? We didst discuss entirely within an aside!
ORWELL
But you talked at a normal conversational volume.
AUSTEN
I am never certain why it is the two of you seem to believe that you cannot be heard when you turn slightly away from the conversation.
SHAKESPEARE
Because it is an aside! Truly, novelists understand little of dialogue.
WILDE
Indeed. How you manage to properly convey your insults is beyond me.
ORWELL
Enough! You must put aside these interpersonal squabbles and listen to my message of freedom!
AUSTEN
We are listening, Mr. Orwell.
ORWELL
Eric! And please, don’t speak so close to the cabinet, it could easily hold a microphone.
WILDE
I could have sworn it held only teabags, but I suppose the difference is immaterial.
SHAKESPEARE
Sweet Eric, please tell us of your errand. Hath you come to aid us with your satire in the valiant struggle against the vicious Jones?
ORWELL
No, I don’t give a damn about this Jones. After I got your email, I realized that there were more writers in the area, clearly brought from the past by the same mysterious force as brought me, and that you were not following proper encryption procedures!
SHAKESPEARE
You knew not of the existence of the other writers? You must have been filled with loneliness like unto an empty megabyte of storage.
AUSTEN
Yes, seemingly every writer of importance throughout history is now living in Portland.
WILDE
We have some terribly exciting parties. I still remember when we went to a garden party at the home of the epic poets and the only refreshments were a disgusting yet alcoholic punch and biscuits.
SHAKESPEARE
Aye, and Virgil threw the punch bowl at Dante, screaming “I’m sick of hearing about your stupid vernacular fanfic!”
AUSTEN
And then they had a fight and the Romantics all starting shooting their pistols into the air for no reason, and it progressed into a huge drunken brawl!
SHAKESPEARE
And Oscar made out with Plato!
WILDE
Good times.
ORWELL
Have you made no effort to hide your secret identities? Unencrypted emails? Parties? Gunfights!? Don’t you realize that whatever secret government agency brought us forward through time could be spying on us at any minute? I came to warn you—and I suppose you must pass on my warnings to these other writers—that secrecy is of utmost importance!
SHAKESPEARE
Will you not then come to our aid in the matter of Mrs. Jones?
ORWELL
Who do you think I am? Some character-assassin-for-hire? I will use my satire only to demonstrate that all governments will inevitably lead to a cruel and stifling police state with no hope of change or freedom.
WILDE
I must say, that seems a slightly bleak view.
ORWELL
And now I must leave, before they know I’ve been here. Remember: follow safety procedures. Use false names. Never discuss anything openly. Good day!
Exit Orwell.
AUSTEN
I must confess myself to be perturbed by Mr. Orwell’s remarks. Perhaps it is time we should investigate how we came here.
SHAKESPEARE
Thou art correct, fair Jane, but first there is more urgent business: we must crush Mistress Jones.
The end.
Next week: The end of Mrs. Jones!
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