Do porn, or not do porn: that is the question:
Whether 'tis better for the career to suffer
The wooden acting and outrageous plot lines,
And two bare arms against a sea of bodies,
And more imposing ends, then? To wit: to woo;
If wooing lacketh wit, then partake not
The ball-ache and the large unnatural rocks.
That flesh is bare too, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To lie, to sleep;
Sleep with: perchance to cream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleeping with, what dreams may come
When she has nuzzled off this vorpal blade,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes celebrity of so long a knife;
For who would wield his weapon scores of times,
In celluloid, stands proud the man's contumely,
The video, the DVD that may
The insolence of tabloids and the press
Who print when merit shows and with fame endowed
When ev'ry page doth show photos they take
With a bare bodkin? who would condoms wear,
To grunt and sweat under a leary wife,
But that the dread of something infectious
The undiscover'd spirochete from whose bed
No traveller returns, the whole unharmed
And makes us show when bare those ills we have
Then finding others that we know not of?
Thus syphilis makes cowards of us all;
And yet the highly-defined resolution,
Lets loose the driving hormones' rush, past all thought,
And promised vistas of great piles of money
With this regard then heads are turned awry,
And in the name of action. - Soft it ain't!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in technicolor
Be all my sins remember'd.