Listen up, you drunk fucks. It’s Chinaski, back from the brink of another hangover to pollute your eardrums with literary bullshit. Tonight’s poison? Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet.” Yeah, that pile of hormonal garbage your high school teacher got all wet over. Strap in and pour yourself a stiff one. You’re gonna need it.

(Sound of a bottle opening, liquid pouring)

This ain’t no love story. It’s a cautionary tale about two horny kids too stupid to keep their pants on. Shakespeare’s “masterpiece”? More like a teenage wet dream with a body count.

Let me break it down for you drunks. We’re in Verona. Hot sun, cheap wine, and family feuds that make trailer park brawls look civil. The Montagues and Capulets have been at each other’s throats so long they forgot why. Sound familiar? Yeah, like those two schmucks at the end of the bar still arguing about the ‘86 World Series.

Enter Romeo. This punk’s moping around like someone pissed in his corn flakes. Why? Some chick named Rosaline won’t fuck him. Boo-hoo. I’ve been turned down by more women than this kid’s had hot meals, but you don’t see me writing shitty poetry about it.

Romeo’s got two buddies. Benvolio, the voice of reason nobody listens to, and Mercutio, the kind of friend who’d talk you into robbing a liquor store for laughs. These geniuses decide crashing a Capulet party is a great idea. Sure, why not? What could go wrong?

At this shindig, Romeo spots Juliet. Rosaline who? This kid’s dick has the attention span of a coked-up squirrel. Juliet’s thirteen, for Christ’s sake. Thirteen! She should be playing with dolls, not getting hitched. But Romeo’s not thinking with his upstairs brain, if you know what I mean.

(Sound of a long gulp, satisfied exhale)

These two idiots lock eyes across the room and bam! It’s like watching two dogs in heat. They’re spouting poetry, making googly eyes, the whole nine yards. It’d be cute if it wasn’t so fucking stupid.

Fast forward. They get hitched in secret. Because nothing says “true love” like a shotgun wedding officiated by a half-wit friar. Then everything goes to shit. Romeo kills Juliet’s cousin, gets banished. Juliet’s folks try to marry her off to some other schmuck.

So what do our lovebirds do? They off themselves. Over a three-day relationship. I’ve had hangovers that lasted longer.

Here’s the kicker: everyone treats this like it’s some grand fucking tragedy. Like Romeo and Juliet are these noble heroes of love.

Bullshit.

They’re not heroes. They’re cautionary tales. They’re what happens when you let your hormones do the thinking. When you mistake a hard-on for true love.

Real love? It ain’t pretty. It ain’t poetic. It’s holding someone’s hair while they puke. It’s putting up with their shit day after day and still choosing them. It’s seeing all their ugly and staying anyway.

Romeo and Juliet never got there. They checked out before the real shit started. Died thinking love was all moonlight and roses, never knowing it’s more like a punch to the gut - painful, breathtaking, and utterly transformative.

(Sound of a cigarette being lit, deep inhale)

But let’s talk about the real tragedy. The waste. These kids had it all - looks, money, their whole lives ahead of them. And they threw it away faster than I can down a shot of cheap whiskey.

It’s not just them. Mercutio, Tybalt, Paris - all dead because two families couldn’t let go of some ancient bullshit. It’s like watching someone pour a bottle of 50-year-old scotch down the drain. Makes you want to cry, doesn’t it?

And the parents? Christ. Too busy measuring dicks to notice their kids are fucking suicidal. Father of the Year material right there.

The whole thing’s a clusterfuck of epic proportions. A reminder that humans are tribal animals at heart. We’ll always find reasons to hate each other. Always find ways to divide ourselves. It’s in our nature, as much as pissing and shitting.

Look around. We’re still doing it today. Red vs. Blue. Apple vs. Android. My god can beat up your god. Same shit, different century.

(Sound of liquid pouring, ice clinking in glass)

So what’s the moral of this story? Don’t be a Romeo or a Juliet. Don’t let your dick do your thinking. Don’t mistake infatuation for love. And for fuck’s sake, if you’re gonna kill yourself over someone, make sure you’ve known them longer than your last bender lasted.

Don’t be a Montague or a Capulet either. Holding onto hate’s like drinking poison and expecting the other guy to die. All you end up with is a fucked up liver and a life full of regrets.

In the end, “Romeo and Juliet” isn’t about love. It’s about consequences. It’s about the high cost of being a fucking idiot. It’s a reminder that life’s short, brutal, and often unfair. That the choices we make ripple out, fucking up not just our lives but everyone around us.

Real love? It’s hard work. It’s not grand gestures and flowery speeches. It’s the small shit. The everyday decisions to stick around even when everything in you is screaming to run.

So there you have it. “Romeo and Juliet,” stripped down and laid bare. A cautionary tale about thinking with your junk instead of your brain. A reminder that no matter how pretty you dress it up, stupid is as stupid does.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, this bottle ain’t gonna empty itself.

(Sound of a final swig, bottle slamming on table)

Class dismissed, you degenerates.