With apologies to the Bard
[Sarahlet enters on a Harley with several bikers who deposit her and Todd on stage. The bikers exeunt, leaving Sarahlet center stage and Todd off to the right]
Sarahlet: To run, or not to run, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous late night comics,
Or to take arms against a sea of dwarves,
And by opposing end their chance to upstage me? To be quiet,
No more; and by an end to quiet we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
That is not being the center of attention: 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To be quiet;
To remain silent, perchance to shut my mouth – ay, there's the rub:
For in that quietude what outrageous impersonations will come from SNL,
When we have shuffled off this campaign trail,
Must give us pause – there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The Huntsman's wrong, the Pawlenty contumely,
The pangs of not having a monthly check from Fox, the law’s delay,
The insolence of Obama, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When she herself might her quietus make
With a bare bodice? Who would Romney bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of someone like Bachmann,
The undiscovered country from whose craziness
No candidate returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make quitters of us all,
And thus the naive hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of nearthought,
And enterprises of great pecuniary interest,
With this regard their currency turns awry,
And loses the profit of action. Soft you now,
The fair Todd! Satyr, in thy orisons
Be all my sins forgotten.