This is the story of Hamlet, William Shakespeare's most notable play, a magnificent, dignified work of art. But for you, Buster, I guess I ought to tell it this way. Hamlet was the prince of a spot called Denmark. There never was such a frantic guy, either before or since. He was a dream boy, and like a hole in the head, Denmark needed that friend. He bumped off his uncle and a mega friend of his mother, and he drove his girl to suicide and stabbed her big brother because he didn't want nobody else but himself should live. He was what you might call uncooperative. Hamlet had a lighty friend named Ophelia. She was a cool put-together chick that made men thrill. But Hamlet, he thought, she was from Uglyville. He didn't seem to get the message. He chopped down her father just to teach the girl a lesson. Yes, he caught him up and sliced him like a pound of delicatessen. Murder was one thing Hamlet sure did enjoy, sure did enjoy. He was what you might call quite the mischievous boy. Ophelia, overcome with such grief and sorrow, she went and flipped her lid, she popped her cork, she jumped the track. And her intelligent mind developed a permanent crack. Things went black. Ophelia had a six-and-a-half-foot brother. He thought that Hamlet had been a trifle too impolite. So in the third act, he challenged him to a fight. What a night! It was dog-eat-dog-eat-dog in Denmark. Yes, it was dog-eat-dog-eat-dog in Denmark. The moral of my story is very plain. You better get a muzzle if you got a great dane. And the name of this omelet is Hamlet!