It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
By which I mean, it was a time when the third installments of profitable movie franchises were all coming out around the same time, making huge sums of money despite disappointing audiences and critics alike. Spider-Man 3, with its bloated plot and Eric Foreman as the villain, was the first sign of trouble. This was followed shortly thereafter by Shrek the Third, a film with an awkward title resulting from the previous "Shrek 3-D" attraction at Universal Studios that, like the movie itself and cast member Justin Timberlake's music, most of the more intelligent crowd did their best to avoid.
And then there's this story.
Because you're reading it, I won't spoil how it goes for you, suffice to say, don't say the previous examples didn't give you fair warning.
The same can be said to the terrorists, who were about to endure severe punishment on a lovely island in the Caribbean whilst surrounded by beautiful people and gorgeous weather. Wait, what.
That's right. By illegally downloading music and movies for free these filthy, lowly pirates were directly funding the cause of terrorism. Wait, what.
Punishment…in the Caribbean? Free media…that funds terrorism? Quality storytelling…in the third movie? Yes, folks, we're in the right place.
The East India Trading Company flag, white with a black triad of T's separating "E", "I", and "Co." (the latter there because a mere "C" could mean anything), was blowing in the wind, along with the answer, my friend.
Badly-dressed, poorly hygienic people were being led to the gallows several at a time by the comparatively much better-clothed officers of the aforementioned company, who also wore funny hats and white wigs because that's what people in the seventeenth century did, and also Sarah McLachlan was there for some reason. As the unfortunate sympathy ploys had nooses placed around their necks and were killed en masse a minute later by an imposing executioner straight out of the cover of A Night In Terror Tower, one EITC officer read, for expository convenience, the crimes these obviously innocent people were being executed for and the reasons to hate the man in charge.
"In order to effect a timely halt to deteriorating conditions, and to ensure the common good, a state of emergency is declared for these territories, by decree of Lord Cutler Beckett, duly appointed representative of His Majesty the King." Switch a few names around, and look: you can create your very own Patriot Act! "By decree, according to martial law, the following statutes are suspended: right to online privacy, suspended." Death! "Right to DRM-free media, suspended." Death! "Right to visit Sweden, suspended." Death! "Right to skip through our commercials on DVDs, suspended." Death! "All persons convicted of piracy, or aiding a person convicted of piracy, or associating with a person convicted of piracy, shall be sentenced to hang by the neck until dead." Obvious loophole missed by the legislature: those who enforce legal action against said pirates are technically associating with the pirates themselves, meaning they, too, would have to be hanged. The lawyers would have noticed this technicality, but since this corporation took its cues from Shakespeare, there were no longer any lawyers to speak of. The only law now was the hangman, and Chuck Norris.
A young child was then brought up to the gallows. Staring up at the noose above him, he could see why they might react this way to his downloading of that "…Baby One More Time" mp3, but even with this in mind it still seemed a tad extreme.
After tying up the others for this round of victims, the executioner noticed the boy's pint size, and in order to facilitate the dying process and get his job done quicker so he could go home and have that steak the wife promised for tonight after a cold beer on the couch with the game on, he grabbed a nearby barrel (no doubt the former home of rum) and forced the boy onto it. Only then could the noose be properly placed around the child's neck.
Ignoring his imminent death, the boy, no older than twelve years (which was practically middle age back then), decided to try and lighten the mood as best he could for himself and his fellow sympathy ploys by—what else—singing! Slowly, he began, "She was more like a beauty queen, from a movie scene…I said don't mind but what do you mean I am the one…."
The neighboring black man continued the verse while at the same time giving the filmmakers proof to others that they weren't biased towards white actors because, look, we gave this minority a speaking role: "Who will dance on the floor in the round."
Apparently this was inspiring enough to get everybody singing, in spite of the irony that a child was singing a song made famous by an alleged child molester. Those still waiting in line to be executed, and even a few of the dead (who must have confused this song for another by that same artist), joined in the chorus. Yes, they knew they had limited time, like a clothing sale at JCPenney, and they had to take advantage of it, so they skipped through the second verse and bridge and went straight to the chorus. "Billie Jean is not my lover. She's just a girl who claims that I am the one."
One of the Trading Company's officers ran to his boss, the short, portly gray-haired man sitting idly by at a table, his back to the crowd and his face implying that he was absorbed in deep thought, some of which was undoubtedly cosmic questioning about his poor genes. "Lord Beckett," the officer said to the mastermind of this fiendish Plotz, "they've started to sing, sir."
"Finally," Beckett replied smugly, slamming his coin-beholding hand down onto the table. In a small taste of forthcoming karma, he received a slight splinter from the rough wood of the furniture, but he did his best to hold back the tear it caused.
"But the kid is not my son," the crowd echoed.
The executioner briefly considered the higher philosophical significance of what he was about to do—murdering by royalty-ordered decree an innocent child—but in the end decided the paycheck was more important in the long run, and with that the boy's feet dropped. Then a coin fell, and the title of this story appeared onscreen. Unfortunately for those not getting paychecks out of it, the curtain did not fall here.
And yet, I keep on writing.
