Shakespeare, Sister

I assure you there is nothing very Shakespearian about modern Denmark, or indeed me in modern Denmark. (Anyway, I don't buy the whole Shakespeare thing. Sure, I muddled through a handful of his plays at school, and kinda pretended that I thought they were deep. But, are they really? Really? And I don't buy whole Shakespeare wrote the only eight stories that ever need telling. Did he write the screenplay to 28 Days Later? No. Did he author The Diggingest Dog In The World? Er, no. Purple Rain script? N[o]. Any of the Hitchcock movies? NO. Did he ever drag his bearded little ass over to his desk to engage in anything on modern man and his struggle with his ipod? Or addiction? Or man on man lurve? Or religious war? [Sorry, just been reading The Second Plane.] Or living with wolves? [Or anything on animals come to think of it.] Or detectives? Or serial killing? Or the dilemmas facing a band forced to reform in order to make money although they hate each other? Or being unable to cope with winning the lottery? Or having cosmetic surgery and marrying a computer hacker who has overextended on his property portfolio? Er...no, no, no and...no. He didn't even know how to spell his own name. And a good line here and there does not make for eternal fame. If that was the case, we could/should be studying Howard Devoto. I'd go with Marlowe. And anyway, Shakespeare has kept a lot of actors in work for far too long, treading the boards with big balloon pants and billowing white shirts thinking they are up to something profound, rather than just making tits of themselves and boring the arses off of the groups of sixth formers forced to watch their plays when they would much prefer to be reading manga or playing Xbox or getting off with girls/boys.)