MacBryan

Behold the next page from my book of 285 Drawing Prompts. (The prior page appeared on June 13.) The prompt for this here drawing below was "Angel".

Dear diary,

I’ve become so dull. But it’s not my fault: the times have made me dull — the live part of me wants only to contemplate and create art, but everything in the outside world is kept in turmoil by the Powers that Be, who are all dullards; so this pulls me away from my dream. Dullness takes the stage and chases fancy away. Now all I can think about are timeworn problems like “rich versus poor”, and “physical strength versus mental strength”; but I don’t wanna write another whiny entry about how it’s in everyone’s best interest to meet ALL people’s basic needs. I’d rather goof off. So I’ll just close my eyes tight and try to demand that a new dream begin. Force the flower to blossom by holding a gun to its bud.

My sweetheart & I are still passing plague-time with Shakespeare. Last evening we finished The Tragedy of Macbeth. So this morning I’m in that state of mind where all the elements of the play are mischievously swimming around my faulty memory. And I sorta wanna copy them down and retell the plot, like how an annoying roommate will return home after seeing a movie that excited him and proceed to recount all its sound and fury to you in his scatterbrained and barely articulate way. But, as I said above, I also wanna dream a dream of my own...

So that’s what I’ll do today: Utter an incoherent prophecy that is heavily influenced by William Shakespeare’s Macbeth.

The Comedy of MacBryan

Instead of thunder and lightning, let’s have the dream open in a meeting room at the firm where we are employed. Someone’s flicking the fluorescent ceiling-lights rapidly on & off, to get the attention of the staff who are present but noisily mingling.

Three businessmen are gathered around the watercooler discussing future investments in the film industry. They decide that their next movie shall star MacBryan. He’s an actor we can relate to, because he’s always so nervous, and he sees dangerous events with the eye of his mind before they take place in reality. And most of the stuff that he envisions barely even comes true.

Businessman #1 presses the button on the intercom: “Sarah?”

“Yes?”

“Send MacBryan into the meeting room.”

“Sure thing.”

MacBryan is a large fellow, and he always wears a red fluffy bathrobe like Santa Claus.

“MacBryan here, reporting for the morning meeting. How are our stocks doing, fellas?”

The Businessmen exchange a lengthy look; then Businessman #2 makes the following announcement:

“MacBryan, we want you to play the love interest in our next production. In order to entice you to accept this offer, we are willing to grant you three magic wishes. Tell us what it is that you desire.”

Overjoyed at this info, MacBryan asks to be crowned the new King of Earth. Secondly he requests that no earthling should ever be able to kill him (only Martians can kill him). And I forgot the third wish.

“Guys?” the secretary interrupts the meeting over the intercom.

“Yes, Sarah?” sez Businessman #1.

“Sorry to bother you, but I’ve got some breaking news. MacBryan’s third wish has already been granted. So he can therefore trust that those other two wishes of his will come true as well. That is all. You may proceed with your gossiping now.”

“Thank you, Sarah,” sez Businessman #1.

“Well, what do you think about that, Monseigneur MacBryan?” sez Businessman #3.

MacBryan is apparently stunned speechless. He is looking down at his portable device & pressing its screen wildly with his two thumbs.

“MacBryan?” sez Businessman #2.

“Sorry,” MacBryan looks up; “I was just texting my sweetheart, to tell her the news.”

“Read it to us, if you don’t mind. We’re now contractually obliged to be interested,” sez Businessman #3.

“Alright, here’s the message that I just wrote: It sez, Lord MacBryan to Lady MacBryan, greetings. You will not believe what just occurred. I received a promotion from the Businessmen in the meeting room. They granted me wishes, and the third one already came true. The other two are that I shall become Planetary King, and no Earth-born person shall be able to kill me (only Martians). Yours Truly, MacBry.”

Then when Lord MacBryan arrives home later that night, he steps into the apartment and sees Lady MacBryan waiting for him in her finest dress; and there is a twinkle in her eye.

“I received your text message,” she sez. “This is going to require a lot of killing.”

“I know,” sez MacBryan.

“Do you think you’re up for it?”

“I’m game,” sez MacBryan.

So the MacBryans invite the current King of the Planet over for cocktails, and they all go deer-hunting. Now the problem is that the King of the Planet always has two cherubs that cover him with their wings everywhere that he goes, and their wings are bulletproof; therefore it’s hard to get a clear shot at him. So Lady MacBryan pulls her husband aside and whispers a clever plan in his ear:

“Listen carefully, MacBry.” (Her breath smells minty-fresh as she sez all this.) “If you are a man, you will go & offer each of the Planetary King’s covering cherubs a hunting rifle and some cocktails. This will draw them away from the King. Tell them to hold the rifle in one hand and the cocktail in the other. Then you yourself should retreat back a number of paces, and utilize the camera in your portable computing device to film the scene that appears before you. You’ll want to keep the King in the center of your frame, but include his cherubs in the periphery of the shot — one on either side, near the borders — and hold your camera at an angle so that it appears that the cherubs are both intoxicated (on account of the cocktails in their right hands), also try to make it look as tho they’re assassinating the King (due to the rifles in their left hands — again, if you frame the scene correctly, the barrels of their guns shall appear to be pointing at the King). Now, while still holding your phone-cam, use your free hand to retrieve the sniper rifle’s case from your oversize rucksack, enter the three-digit pass-code to open the case; then clutch the rifle, get the King between the crosshairs of your scope (don’t forget to press the ‘record’ button on your camera) and pull the trigger. What should happen is that the King of the Planet will fall; and although you yourself shall have done this dirty deed, your footage of the event shall be uploaded onto the Internet and picked up by all of the corporate news agencies. They will include your video in a report that shall be printed in all their newspapers the following morning; their editors will make it a front-page story & give it a sensational headline such as: ‘The Cherubs of the King have Murdered the Very Man they were Paid to Protect!!!’ This will appear to be the truth, because of the cinematography of your evidence. At this point, use your imagination to superimpose a knife upon the air, & follow this sight until you reach the King’s dead body. Drop to your knees and scream ‘I don’t understand why his own cherubs had to aim so poorly, for I’m sure that they were trying to hunt the deer that is nearby in the cemetery, but they accidentally hit the King instead!’ Then pan your camera to the right & focus on the deer that shall be standing still amid the tombs nearby. — I only suggest including this last detail to reinforce the claim that the Planetary King’s cherubs mistakenly shot him while we’re out here deer-hunting; and it’s also a good way to pay homage to our favorite film Wrong Cops (2013), whose final scene, as you know, also features a deer in a graveyard.”

“I like your plan,” MacBryan nods and smiles. “I really, really like your plan.”

So Lord MacBryan performs faithfully all the actions that his Lady recommended. He follows her instructions with exactitude. And when the bloody dagger appears in the air before him, he chases after it until he trips over the King’s fat corpse. Then he grabs the blade right out of his imagination and stabs the King in the gut about fifty times, thus getting blood all over his hands and up past his elbows (cuz he stabs the King really deep).

Now Lady MacBryan’s ears perk up when she hears the familiar sound of gratuitous stabbing, coupled with the passionate grunting that MacBryan emits while doing so, so she dashes forth & restrains her husband from further folly, by physically clutching his arms. Now she has blood on her hands as well.

So once the news of their King’s death reaches the world’s populace, a new election is held. And there are more than 99 other candidates who decide to run for this office, because they are all hungry for political power. But MacBryan runs a totally clean campaign; he refuses to resort to mudslinging; and he also promises publicly, numerous times, that, altho he hopes the Powers that Be will permit his own person to emerge victorious, he will support whoever steals the nomination, for he is an upstanding member of the One World Global Monarch Party, which is the only party in the Future Earth’s single-party system.

And it turns out that MacBryan wins not only the popular vote, but he is even the top choice among the thugs in the Electoral College! Moreover the multi-billionaires use all their dark money to support MacBryan’s bid for King of the Planet.

Against all odds, therefore, MacBryan becomes the darling of the Secret Government.

*

So Lord & Lady MacBryan, now Planetary King & Queen MacBryan, decide to throw a jamboree. And they invite everyone in the galaxy to attend:

All goes well until the Ghost of the Slain King shows up and takes a seat right next to New Planetary King MacBryan. So when MacBryan turns his head & recognizes the Ex-King by his bloody stab-wounds, he stands bolt upright (causing the DJ to cut the sound of the music, so all the dancers are shaken out of their bliss and forced to listen to the following dialogue) & MacBryan shouts:

“Dead former Planetary King, who invited you to this jamboree!?”

And the Ghost of the dead Ex-King replies: “You said yourself that everyone in the whole galaxy is invited — here’s my advert; it came in the junk-mail.” And he holds up a pamphlet.

MacBryan examines the flyer carefully, then cries aloud:

“Your invite seems legit. But you scared the life out of me just now. Go clean up your bloody wounds, and shave off your beard: for you’re no longer the King. I’m the exclusive King of the Planet now; so I’m the only one who can have a big beard. You’re gonna confuse the guests of my jamboree, and they’ll think that there are two Kings of Earth! they might even forget the true fact that your own cherubs accidentally shot you in that deer-hunting mix-up.

So the dead King rises from the table very sorrowfully & leaves the feast to go wash up and shave his beard.

“Now let the jambor recommence!” shouts King MacBryan.

So the DJ un-mutes the sound system, & the dancers start dancing again.

*

On the morrow, King MacBryan takes his gold helicopter to work and enters the meeting room where the three Businessmen from the opening scene remain gathered around the watercooler, gossiping.

“Howdy, underlings,” booms the royal voice of MacBryan.

“Well, well, well! if it isn’t the new Executive,” sez Businessman #3, who, glancing at his wristwatch, adds: “You’re late for the meeting. But hey, did you hear about the Ghost of the former King?”

“Hear about it? It damn near caused me to spit-take my martini at the festival: the fellow was sitting right next to me!” swears King MacBryan, with a wild look in his eyes.

“Well I think he looks a lot better without that ridiculous beard,” sez Businessman #1.

“Yes, and it was nice to see him without all the gore smeared all over his costume,” sez Businessman #2. “I was worried that he might be neglecting his personal hygiene, from being depressed after losing his position as Dictator of the Free World. But now that he’s cleaned himself up & put on a fresh suit, I’m convinced that he’ll be OK…”

“Yes, but he’s still not alive,” sez MacBryan, and he looks around to see if anyone might agree with him; “for a living dog is better than a dead lion — am I right? Ecclesiastes 9:4?”

“That’s correct, your Majesty,” sez Businesssman #2. “Nevertheless, I praise the dead which are already dead more than the living which are yet alive. Ecclesiastes 4:2.”

MacBryan rolls his eyes: “A proverb like that proves nothing. There’s always a counter-proverb that sez the opposite. My proverb is better. — But the point is that the previous King is dead, & I myself am the new, improved King. And there’s no other Kings but me, becuz, as it states in the official Constitution of Earth: the only prerequisite to serving as Planetary Despot is that the man must have a pulse. And that former King now LACKS a pulse. (Catch my drift? I’d say that this disqualifies him.) (Not to mention, I have the advantage of being beloved by all the billionaires of the Shadow Government.) So now all of you have to do what I say, and not the other way around.”

“Do you mean to imply that you no longer desire to hear our advice about your stock portfolios?” smirks Businessman #3.

“No, I’m not saying that,” sez King MacBryan. “Even Kings need counselors. And I’ve heard that you guys are wise. You come highly recommended.”

“Well we’ve been at this firm for more than sixty years now,” sez Businessman #1.

“Yes, and we know that there’s only one way to pet a cat—” adds Businessman #2, “and that is: gently, with your own hand.”

“Our point,” sez Businessman #3, “is the standard cliché: If you want something done right, ya gotta do it yourself. But be sweet & loving about it — no one likes a bully.”

Immediately after saying this line, Businessman #3 drops dead of a heart attack.

MacBryan rushes over to check the pulse of the man...

“He’s a goner,” announces King MacBryan. “Too much red meat clogged his widow-maker. (That’s the artery of the heart that most doctors think has something to do with...)”

“We know what the widow-maker is, O King,” Businessmen #1 interrupts MacBryan. “We’re hardworking businessmen, after all.”

“Sorry guys, I didn’t mean to encroach upon your areas of expertise,” sez King MacBryan. “Now what type of presentation do you have prepared for me today. I’m the Dictator of the Free World now, so you better inform me well about the minutiae of my subjects, so that I can micromanage everything.”

The remaining Businessmen therefore switch off the lights & deliver to MacBryan a presentation of slides, which are projected from their shared crystal laptop computing device. Businessman #2 clicks the “Next Image” button on his remote control whenever the pic needs to be changed, while Businessman #1 provides the narration for what follows...

Now parades before their eyes, on the pull-down screen before them, a series of paintings depicting bloody child-kings.

“These are your successors, O Planetary Tyrant MacBryan,” reads Businessman #1 from a notecard.

“But, but, but…” stammers MacBryan, “why are they all slaughtered & slain before they’ve even reached the legal smoking-age?”

“They’re non-smokers, one & all,” Businessman #1 continues to read from his handheld notecard; “for they were all UNFASHIONABLE RULERS, therefore their populacess voted for regicide. That’s what happens to Kings who can’t change with the times, go with the flow, roll with the punches: their own cherubs escort them from office.”

*

Meanwhile, Lady MacBryan is in the Royal Waiting Room, reading Minotaure magazine. Suddenly the door bursts open and the Royal Doctor appears.

“Can I help you?” the Royal Doctor barks.

“Yes, hello, my name is Queen MacBryan,” sez Queen MacBryan; “earlier I spoke with your secretary on the telephone & scheduled an appointment to see you today.”

“What’s your problem?” the Royal Doctor roars.

“Well, I’m worried about these bloodstains on my hands and forearms, here; I fear that they will never wash clean. I have tried scrubbing with soap and water, but they remain. They are extremely stubborn stains.”

“Hmm...” the Royal Doctor growls.

“This bothers me,” the Queen continues, “because I myself didn’t do any murdering on that fateful day of the deer-hunt. All I did is advise my husband how to eliminate the King while making it look like his own cherubs committed the offense. Then my husband MacBryan went nuts & grabbed a dagger that he imagined — right out of thin air! — and stabbed the King’s dead corpse down into hell. So I hugged my husband in an attempt to remind him of the importanter aspects of life; however, when I did so, I got the blood all over me too. (No good deed goes unpunished.) It’s mostly on my hands and lower arms, as you can see, and there are some blood-splatters up to my elbows, but not much higher. As I said, I’ve tried washing with various cleansers, but the red just doesn’t come off.”

The Royal Doctor takes a closer look at the Queen’s hands, while squinting & snarling & breathing heavily & hard... & then at last he explains:

“These bloodstains are not normal bloodstains – they are permanent tattoos. I suspect foul play. My guess is that someone in the costume-and-makeup department of your movie’s production team has played a practical joke upon you. Removal of these stains will require laser treatment. Water alone will not wash away this sin. Not even the sacred blood of Christ, the Lamb of God, could have so tediously inconvenienced you.”

Thus Queen MacBryan decides to take an overdose of laudanum, since that is cheaper & less painful than going thru laser-treatment for tattoo removal.

*

Now, at last, by a natural progression of events, the murdered Ex-King-of-the-Planet learns the truth about MacBryan’s evil deception. Here’s what happened:

The King’s former cherubs die peacefully of old age in their sleep. Once dead, they reunite in the afterlife with the Ex-Planetary-King, who’s been demoted & is now only the King of the Jungle of Birnam. (There’s nothing that anyone can do about this — that’s just where Dante chose to put him.) When the cherubs show him the data from their soul-cameras, proving that they are innocent while MacBryan is truly guilty, the Ex-King commands his cherubs to ascend the stairway to heaven & try to recruit as many as possible of their type away from Jehovah. They are then to return to Birnam Jungle, chop down some fig trees from the surrounding greenery, and use the leaves to tailor business suits for themselves. The idea is to disguise themselves as a forest. (For they’re sure to attract a lot of unwanted attention if they go about the afterlife looking like a band of vengeful cherubim.)

“Then we will move to attack MacBryan where he reigns, on his Golf Course in Scotland,” explains the Ex-King. “We will take back our Planet, eliminate the Global Monarchy forever, & make Earth great again for the wheeling & dealing of us multinational entrepreneurs.”

So the two former cherubs of the Ex-King are able to persuade about a third of the heavenly host to join their movement; and they form a commune & engage in nightly meetings. Then they don their fig-leaf aprons and advance upon MacBryan:

MacBryan is posing nearly motionless, for he is concentrating on a putt that he’s trying to make (this is the 17th hole, and he is down by just one stroke), when Birnam Jungle begins to encircle him. He notices the sneak attack because the ferns that were once in the background have come into focus and are now part of the middle foreground (plus they’re standing on the green). So MacBryan taps the golf ball with his club, and it almost lands in the hole; then he marks down a fake lying score that does not accurately represent his performance, and he raises his hands up and shouts:

“I AM THE WINNER!”

Here the Jungle ambushes him (no intended pun on “bush”: please refrain from noticing that connection): the fig leaves drop, and the cherubic army slays MacBryan. (The oligarchs of Mars vanquish Earth’s King once again.) MacBryan thus becomes the first-fruits of a long line of dead & bloody Teenage Heartthrob Monarchs (from Caesar to Jesus) who all are awarded, as a consolation prize, their own spinoff miniseries, available for binge-streaming online; yet the final insult-added-to-injury is that their shows are all locked behind an insurmountable paywall.

Epilogue

Eons later, in a documentary feature about the making of this movie, Planetary KING OF KINGS MacBryan, who starred as himself in the original production, admits that he intensely regrets not biting the neck of the previous King, Mr. Claus, when he had the chance, in that key scene above (which was filmed on location in the land of the living): “O, how I’d love to pierce my fangs thru that fat flesh!”