I’m Danish not Dutch you idiot!

Today at Manhattan Infidel I have the pleasure of Interviewing noted European political figure, Hamlet, Prince of the Danes.

MI: Good afternoon Hamlet.

H:  ‘Tis now the very witching time of night, when church yards yawn and hell itself breathes out contagion to this world. 

MI: Um, it’s afternoon pal.

H:  If it be now, ’tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all. 

MI: You Europeans are a strange breed.  So tell me what’s it like being a Prince?

H: It’s okay.

MI:You know I’ve never been to Holland but I understand you Dutch have a beautiful country.

H: I’m not Dutch I’m Danish!

MI: There’s a difference?

H: Yes. Do I always have to explain this to Americans?

MI: You seem depressed.

H:  I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth.

MI: I see.

H: Forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory.

MI: Um.

H: This most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o’erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire! Why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.

MI: Okay someone’s not getting any.

H: My love Ophelia is dead.

MI: Sorry to hear that.

H: I lov’d Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not with all their quantity of love make up my sum. 

MI: How’d she die?

H: She went insane and drowned herself. Some people think I’m to blame.

MI:I ‘m sure you’re just being hard on yourself.

H: No. I did tell her I’d give her a plague for her dowry and that she’ll make a monster of any man she’d marry. I then told her to get to a nunnery. I also said God had given her one face and she makes herself another. I also told her that, and I’m quoting, “You jig and amble, and you lisp, you nickname God’s creatures and make your wantonness your ignorance.”

MI: Wow. You really are an asshole.

H: Perhaps I am to blame for her death.

MI: No shit Sherlock.

H: Frailty thy name is woman!

MI: Let’s move along. Anything else bothering you?

H: My uncle killed my father and is sleeping with my mother. It’s got me pretty bummed.

MI: I can imagine. So what have you done about it?

H: Nothing. I’m prone to indecision and procrastination.

MI: Perfect qualities for the future King of the Dutch.

H: That’s the Danes you idiot!

MI: Calm down. Have you taken a vacation lately?

H: I have not.

MI: I usually go to a resort on the Adriatic. Nice, warm and sunny. I tell you I love the Baltics.

H: That’s the Balkans you jerk!

MI: Whatever. Boy you Europeans sure are sensitive. Anyway that’s about all the time we have.

H: To be, or not to be- that is the question: Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them. To die- to sleep- No more; and by a sleep to say we end the heartache, and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to.

MI: You Dutch talk funny.

H: Danish!  Danish!

MI: No thanks I’m on a diet.

And so ended my interview with the whiny, killed his girlfriend, indecisive future king of Dutchland.

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