Bromeo and Juliet

A line for line translation of Romeo and Juliet into bro-speak. Written by Bill "The Broet" Shakespeare

Act 3. Scene One. (Part One)

Enter BENVOLIO, MERCUTIO, MERCUTIO’s PAGE, and OTHER FRAT BROS

BENVOLIO. Fucking hell let’s call it quits Mercutio. Can’t we just go to IHOP and eat big stacks of pancakes and eggs like every other hungover bitch? It’s hotter than hell, and the Capulet bros are wandering around like a bunch of fucking tools. I have this theory that I’m writing my thesis on, that when it’s hot out, our blood becomes hot, and that’s why we like to fight.

MERCUTIO. Jesus fuck, Benny! You’re like one of those drunk bastards who dropped out of college four years ago but still lives in the college town because they think the frat house is still open to them. You walk into the frat house, whip your dick out, and scream “Oh fuck I hope I don’t have to use this massive wang.” By your second drink, your cock slapping anyone who gets near.

BENVOLIO. Am I really like those guys?

MERCUTIO. Well shit Ben, when you want to get in a brawl, you find the smallest bullshit to fight about. Like when someone said Leo was still dreaming at the end of Inception. You fucked that guy’s shit up.

BENVOLIO. He was reunited with his kids! Why would he go and ruin that!?

MERCUTIO. I learned this in my sociology class: If there were only two Benvolio’s in the whole world, you would surely kill the other one at the same time as he killed you. You’re the fucker that would smack a bitch they were using a nutcracker (at Christmastime no less, you Jesus hating fuck) because your eyes are colored like a hazelnut. You’re the douche that would kick the arms out of a guy about to finish a kegstand because you did a kegstand earlier at the same party. You’re the guy that would slash the kiddie pool full of lube because you lost to the two Alpha Phi babes. And you’re the bitch that wants to teach me how to hold myself back when a fight is about to break out?

Act 2. Scene Six.

FRIAR LAWRENCE and ROMEO enter.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. Well shit, let’s hope God and the heavens and whatever horrendously disgusting brogods you serve Romeo are pleased with you and Juliet getting married and making the sex, so that nothing bad happens after this.

ROMEO. Word. But no matter how much bullshit hits how many giant ass fans and spray in my eyes, I’ll always find Juliet to be the smokiest and hottest chick in the world.  All you’ve gotta do is join us in marriage like a fucking marriage champ, and then I can stick my long dick in the eye socket of death and evil. Calling Juliet mine gives me the strength of Dolf Lundgren from Rocky IV.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. Remember Romeo, like sex, sudden joy has sudden endings, and the ending is always messy and sticky and involves more cleanup than you thought possible.  Put it this way, a shitload of Coors Light may be like drinking golden honey (fucking delicious), but you’ll only be keeled over a toilet in the next few hours wishing you had just stuck to the vodka cranberries like a bitch.  Avoid the Coors Light, it’s only good in excess.  Love in moderation, like vodka cranberries.  

JULIET rushes in and embraces ROMEO.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. Ah fucking hell, Juliet is here. Let’s do this shit.  She’s much too small to deal with the road of life, the road that is paved with razor shape, small, and annoying as fuck pebbles.  They love like a Natty Ice, lighter than anything.  Is it water?  Is it beer?  What the fuck is it?  That’s their pleasure, lighter than water but still gets you fucking wasted during the Giants game. Fuck.

JULIET. Hello my favorite friar.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. Romeo will be doing all the thanking tonight, if you know what I mean.

JULIET. I’ll thank him equally, so that we’re even. If you know what I mean.

ROMEO. I’m not sure I know what either of you mean, but I’m pumped that you’re as jacked for this as I am.  It’s gonna be baller as fucking shit getting married.  Kind of like when Aragorn and that fucking hot elf lady got married on a fucking castle, overlooking the burning kingdom of that douche Sauron.  

JULIET. I feel like someone who just won the lottery, and the IRS forgot to apply the taxes. I’m rich with love to the point that I’m not even sure how rich I am.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. Come on, come on! Jesus Christ let’s get this done quickly.  If I leave you two alone for a second you’re going to fuck all over my office.  And while this office doesn’t see as much action as it could, I’d rather not have to get my Formula 409 out to scrub down the nativity scene.

Act 2. Scene Five. (Part Three)

JULIET. No I’m not hungry! How can I be hungry when all you’re doing is telling me shit I already know! What does he say about us getting married and banging? What about that shit!?

HOUSE MOTHER. I’ve got a worse headache than you did this morning.  My head is on fire, I feel like it’s going to split like a bro who finds out his girl is preggers. Not to mention my back - 

JULIET rubs her back like a tool during pledge week.

- Oh get the other side. You should be feel ashamed of yourself. And actually ashamed of yourself, not that obviously fake ashamed noise you make on the phone with your boyfriend when he calls wondering why there are facebook pics of you grinding on some stranger at a raging house party. I could die you know, being made to run all over campus at my age.

JULIET. Believe me, I’m sorry you’re in pain, but sweet, beautiful, and attractive House Mother, can’t you just quit bitching for two seconds and tell me what the fuck it was he fucking said?

HOUSE MOTHER. Your handsome, chiseled, and raw bro-love says like an honorable, almost-honor-roll-almost-Dean’s-List-but-still-viewed-as-the-light-of-the-world-by-his-parents-man that - where in the hell is the Capulet president?

JULIET. What!? What kind of an answer is that? You sound like those bitches (grad students) during class who don’t contribute to the conversation but insist on speaking anyway.  What do you mean “Where in the hell is the Capulet president?”

HOUSE MOTHER. You have no right to talk to me like that!  I have three mail-in PhD’s.  You’re getting a B.A. in god knows what!  If you’re this impatient, you can just be your own courier for your own sappy messages!

JULIET. You’re making such an obnoxious fuss.  Why can’t you just grow a pair and tell me what Romeo said?

HOUSE MOTHER. Do you pass by the chapel on your walk to class?

JULIET. Duh.

HOUSE MOTHER. Then hurry your ass up, walk to class but instead cut class and walk right into that chapel and find Friar Lawrence.  There you will find a man who plans on being your husband. Oh, have I got your attention now?  Get going get going.  I have to go find a ladder or Batman-esque grappling hook for Romeo to climb up into your room tonight.  I do all the hard work, like always, so that you can keep up the whole house with your screams and moans that are sometimes mistaken for the sacrificing of a goat.   Hurry up!  You need to be married to do wife’s work tonight.  

Act 2. Scene Five. (Part Two)

HOUSE MOTHER. Oh leave me alone.  Your television references exhaust me.  I don’t know anything about Game of Hoarders or Mad Housewives or anything on the tube.  My bones ache.  I just want to sit and watch some Dr. Phil.

JULIET. Oh good God, I’ll give you my youthful, vitamin D enriched bones (just learned about that in my nutrition class today.  First time I’ve been all semester.  Turns out there’s a midterm tomorrow) if you give me the news you have.  I haven’t seen any tweets, scrobbles, tumbls, status updates, check-in tips or anything else. 

HOUSE MOTHER. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph will you get off my ass?  Can’t you tell that I have no breath left to speak?

JULIET. How can you fucking be out of breath if you have enough fucking breath to tell me you’re out of fucking breath (I also went to philosophy class today.  Did you know they ask questions like that? Weird).  If you just chilled out with your bullshit, you would have already explained the news.  Is the news good or bad?  Is it awesome or shitty?  Is it the party at 1:30am and the music is bumping and the hoes are hittin’ the flo’, or is it 8:30am the next morning and we have to clean up the party and find those who passed out on the floor?

HOUSE MOTHER. I just don’t understand why you would ever let yourself look at the man-boy Romeo.  Stupid choice.  Look at your life, look at your choices.  Romeo!? Romeo!?  Sure his jaw is like an anvil and his ass is like Achilles and his dong is probably King Kong, but he is just rude and not polite.  He’s gentle like a lamb.  What a bitch.  Do whatever the hell you want.  I don’t even care anymore.  Are you hungry?  I’m starving.

Act 2. Scene Five. (Part One)

JULIET. I had just woken up with a hangover, and since I usually sleep through those, it must have early morning when I sent that stanky old House Mother out.  Maybe her eyes are too dried out like my little’s sex life to see him.  She’s slower than that show Mad Men.  Love’s messengers should be more like Breaking Bad, which is at least ten times better and faster than Mad Men.  It’s been at least three hours since I sent her because my hangover is almost gone.  If the House Mother were young and passionate and liked really good shows about love like Entourage and Game of Thrones, and not a stupid old hag that  watches tired reruns of Hallmark specials, she would have found him by now.  It’s as if she wants to be in Mad Men so that she can move really slow and put me to sleep.  

The NURSE and PETER enter.

Oh my God here she’s finally dragged her stanky ass back.  House Mother, what’s the deal?  Did you talk with him?  Or did you forget where you were again and try to take a bus to Canada to get cheap meds?  Send this boy-tool away.

HOUSE MOTHER. Peter, wait outside like a good lap dog.

PETER whimpers off.

JULIET. Okay so?  Oh shitty mcshit stained pants, why do you look so depressed and uglier-than-usual?  If you’re bringing me sad news, such as Community has been cancelled forever, tell me with a smile so that it doesn’t sting so much.  But if your news is good, like Arrested Development is returning sooner-than-expected, then stop frowning like an old woman who just had a lemon after syrup-soaked pancakes.  

Act 2. Scene Four. (Part Seven)

ROMEO. We’ll fucking get married.  So… now. What?  Do you want a tip or something for relaying these messages?  Here’s a few bucks.

He pulls a crumpled, sweaty dollar out of his sock.

HOUSE MOTHER. No, no, it’s okay.

ROMEO. No go on. Take it.

HOUSE MOTHER. Well. Okay.  So Juliet is going to meet you there this afternoon?  Sounds just heavenly.

ROMEO. So here’s the plan.  I made this ish up myself so get your crinkly deaf-ass ears close to hear this shit.  I’m gonna like, sneak up to the Capulet house with my bad ass wolverine climbing boots from REI, then I’m gonna climb over the walls.  I’ve got the core strength of a motherfucker.  Then I’ll meet up with Juliet like a BAMF and plow that pussy ‘til all the soil is churned. You feel me?  I’ll hit you up later, but don’t forget to tell Juliet all about my bro-tastic charms.

HOUSE MOTHER. May the lord bless and keep you young one.  NOW LISTEN HERE!

ROMEO. Fucking what?

HOUSE MOTHER. Can your bro keep a secret?  Haven’t you ever heard the saying about two conspirators who put one in jail.  I can’t remember it.

ROMEO. My bro is Superman. The man of steel.

HOUSE MOTHER. Then listen here.  I’ve been telling that wannabe slut Juliet that if she should really marry that business major Paris.  After all, unlike you, he is good looking, going to make a shit load of money, and so what if he has the personality or sexiness-potential of a chronic PBR drinker?  Tell me, young educated one.  Doesn’t Rolling Rock and Romeo both start with an R?

ROMEO. Yeah no shit Sherlock.

HOUSE MOTHER. No you jokester, Sherlock’s the name of the dog.  R stands for- ah shit I forgot. Well Juliet just says wonderful, beautiful, sometimes naughty, sometimes profane, things about you and Rolling Rock.

ROMEO. Okay. This scene has taken a new direction and no one is quite sure why.  I’m going to employ some liberties and cut this shit short.  Sorry Bill (Shakespeare).  Give my love this picture of myself in my bathroom flexing and wearing white sunglasses.

HOUSE MOTHER. Yes, I shall look at it a thousand times. Peter!

PETER.  Right here. Didn’t go anywhere.  Apparently forgotten though.

HOUSE MOTHER. Let’s move. Get your fat ass in motion and don’t be jerking off to the picture of Romeo!

Act 2. Scene Four. (Part Six)

HOUSE MOTHER. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, who was the supremely foul-mouthed, disgusting, repulsive, young man?

ROMEO. He’s the reigning beer pong tournament champion and is minoring in Philosophy, so he likes to hear himself talk about nerdy ass, book-smart, topics like Entourage and baseball statistics.

HOUSE MOTHER. Oh, his words really got to me.  If he even tries to say anything against me or bad about me, so help me heaven, I’ll smack that boy across his ears! Or, if I can’t do that, I’ll find someone who can.  Maybe one of ZBT boys, they’ll do anything for a quick buck.  I’m not like one of you lowlifes who carries around whatever weapons you arm yourselves with, knives, guns, broken bottles, brass knuckles, frozen used condoms, or whatever it is you use.  

(To PETER)

And you! You just stand there like a wimpy little bitch! You don’t say anything!  You don’t do anything!  You’re no better than Wes Mantooth’s posse!

ROMEO. He had no reason to rise up.  By my love for my own penis and whatever diseases, benign or otherwise, it may carry, if anyone had been giving you shit I woulda smacked dat ho around with my wicked backhand.  Believe me, I’m the first to start a shot contest or to do a kegstand if I see the opportunity for it.

HOUSE MOTHER. Now I’m so angry that I’m shaking all over! May we please have a conversation young man?  Now, a young, upstanding, and intelligent woman in the house I live in has asked me to find you and deliver a message.  What the message is. I shall not tell you.  Instead, I’ll tell you this.  If you try any of your usual tricks - roofies, everclear, jungle juice, hallucinogenics, baby making dubstep, or the promise of buying her gifts because of your inheritance from your father’s consulting firm - in order to have carnal relations with her, I swear it will be an obscene crime and I will report you to campus authorities.

ROMEO. Listen to me, tell that beautiful and incredibly in shape beauty that I will see her soon.

HOUSE MOTHER. Well, that one sentence has persuaded me that you are a kind and gentle man.  I will her that, and I know she will be very excited.

ROMEO. Hold up. Wait. I’m confused. Are you mocking me? What are you actually going to tell her?

HOUSE MOTHER. I’ll tell her that you wish to protest to her.

ROMEO. Goddamnit woman say what you mean! Do you mean ‘propose’, or do you mean ‘protest’?  Shit I’m no linguistics major I can’t deal with this shit right now. Just tell her to cut class today and meet me at the chaplain’s place this afternoon.  We’ll do what I swore, as part of the bro-code, I would never do. We’ll defy all rules of fraternity-sorority engagement.  We’ll fucking get married.

Act 2. Scene Four. (Part Five)

ROMEO. I suppose I could give you some info on that brohemeth Romeo’s whereabouts. But, by the time you find him, he will be more schwasted than he was when you finally got your fat ass around to looking for him for he will be downing tequila shots like a BAMF. I am currently the most sober by that name.

HOUSE MOTHER. You speak like you have actually been to your classes.

MERCUTIO. Apt observation. Fucking astute.  

HOUSE MOTHER. (To Romeo) If you’re the Romeo I’m actually looking for. Follow me, I need to have a word with you.

BENVOLIO. She’s trying to suck his dick, probably by taking him to a kick ass dinner of Mickey D’s.

MERCUTIO. She’s a pimp! No, he’s a pimp! Or a gigolo? Either way, shit yeah Romeo!

ROMEO. What? What’s the deal with this crusty chick?

MERCUTIO. Well she’s probably not a whore, unless she’s using her fugliness to conceal a smokin’ hot whore’s bod.

(Singing)

Cutie the bomb
Met her at a beauty salon
With a baby Louis Vuitton
Under her underarm
She said I can tell you ROC
I can tell by your charm
Far as girls you got a flock
I can tell by your charm and your arm
but I’m looking for the one
have you seen her?

Yo Bromeo, you gonna grub out at the frat house?

ROMEO. I’ll meet you there Brosef Stalin.

MERCUTIO. See you around town honey. I don’t think you’re too old… at least for Benvolio.

BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO exit.


Act 2. Scene Four. (Part Four)

Enter THE HOUSE MOTHER and her servant PETER.

ROMEO. Well this should be hilarious.

BENVOLIO. Good Lord! A beached whale is approaching!

MERCUTIO. Woah shit, I didn’t even see the little bitch next to her.

HOUSE MOTHER. Peter!

PETER. ‘Sup I’m right here.

HOUSE MOTHER. Hand me my fan.

MERCUTIO. Quickly Peter! Give her the fan so I don’t have to see that nasty ass face staring at me.

HOUSE MOTHER. Good day, gentlemen.

MERCUTIO. A most pleasant afternoon’s greetings to you too fair gentlewoman.

HOUSE MOTHER. Is it already the afternoon?

MERCUTIO. It must be, because the clock’s mighty cock is deep in noon.

HOUSE MOTHER. Ugh. Your language is disgusting! What kind of man would talk like you?

MERCUTIO. I’m a true and chill bro. Made in the Bro-God’s image, rockin’ hard in abs and in sexual awesomeness. 

HOUSE MOTHER. Of course, you tell yourself that. Does anyone know where in the Holy Lord’s name Romeo is?

Act 2. Scene Four. (Part Three)

MERCUTIO. If by bizn-ass you mean, spreading your cheeks.

ROMEO. You trying to say I bent over bro?

MERCUTIO. Ah, you’re not as much of a dumbass as I thought.

ROMEO. Well that’s a charming way of you to describe me asshole.

MERCUTIO. Well, I am the most gentlemanly, chivalrous, and torn of all bros.

ROMEO. Well then, I’m nothing but one of those fatty musical theater kids compared to your All-State quarterback body obviously.

MERCUTIO. We’re missing the point of those jokes behind the man boobs and muffin tops of your attempted wit.

ROMEO. I’m actually starting to get pissed off, this joke is wearing me thin. It’s like trying to reuse a condom to save money.

MERCUTIO. Benvolio, please make this stop.

ROMEO. Don’t quit now or Imma say I’m the smarter one.

MERCUTIO. Oh goddamnit, this shit is exhausting.  I’m too hungover for this bullshit. Can’t we just call it good here? I feel like if this was a k9 lube wrestling contest, I’d be the one pinned down and drowning in the inflatable kiddie pool.

ROMEO. If this was a K9 gel wrestling contest I’d be wrestling in the championship while you’re still outside the frat house getting pushed away by the bouncers.

MERCUTIO. Yo bro, I’m gonna knock your shit out for making a joke like that.

ROMEO. Oh no, please don’t try and hit me, I’m afraid your pussy ass hands might brush by my head.

MERCUTIO. Oh ho you’re so fucking funny. I’m laughing so hard you fucking asshole.

ROMEO. I might as well headline the Garden at this point I’m so funny.

MERCUTIO. Okay, I know you think you’re so funny but this joke is tiring me out. Can we please stop?