Haddonfield Merchant of Phenyl

Adaptation of the controversial/tasty Shakespeare-work of incomplete-distances readings of fortune, law, trust, and compact distance.

A modern adaptation of The Merchant of Venice (Shakespeare). Thanks so much for reading, 

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I was helping a very-special client who was in a very-special trouble-spot as a merchant and consultant of food-product quality for distribution in Haddonfield (NJ/USA) and knew that her accuser required a pint of blood for her fatal instinct, in my Selfie-age of life/commerce/customs exchanges hyperbole. Follow along. My name's Amlan Satan, and my client's name's Portia, and her accuser is a Jewish merchant from London named Seth (all Selfie-like!).

SETH: You accuse; my Irish butter product, in contour for English muffins (here)?

PORTIA: Fare-sir; this shopping complex view's of uncertainty; I need only biases!

SETH: Hath not a merchant of the UK expression for examination, wayward girl?

PORTIA: I certainly proclaim my suspect-IQ that this Irish-butter is clouded.

SETH: You make street-gossip magnification of production's yield only politics.

PORTIA: I dare say your English muffin proposition-eye is one of Jersey-stretch!

SETH: I take you to court, fool-girl; Haddonfield's mine; this butter-muffin's IQ.

PORTIA: This is a time of leviathan (no-doubt).

SETH: Selfie-like?

Portia came running to me, as a good lawyer I'd become in fare-rich Haddonfield. I became her special public-court legal expert-aide. I knew I'd want to rescue this fare-damsel of an Earth of bad-sportsmanship superstitions and the 'natural' bloody-murder surfaced from eschewed street-relations of the evil variety (sure!). This was my time to help her shine, for her own Selfie-age of capitalism intelligence pages of life...and medicine (ha). Seth was no minor league naysayer (Facebook-like).

SETH: Portia owes me millions, and this public art is one of her ignominy, Satan!

ME: I'm a fare-lawyer and expert in street-chats for fortune's ears, Seth (ok)?

SETH: What's this right-turn she may make in 'fare' Haddonfield for butter/bread?

ME: It's a cute-and-quaint solution to a horrid gel-electrocution we've arrived, eh?

SETH: Explicate, law-man of Jersey times and capitalism butter (damn).

ME: You permit Portia to market/hype her own Irish-butter; you gift the muffin.

SETH: From London, law-man?

ME: Selfie-like!

SETH: Fare...she's lucky (Facebook-like).

What I negotiated was street-prestige for the fair-aura of dear Haddonfield lady of butter/bread (Portia). Seth conceded to a fare-exchange, and he returned to his pronounced English-muffins theater, and Portia and I became loud cyber-advocates of personalized bias for Irish-butter in the American Homeland. This was one for the cinema-books (if only for a Selfie-like).

PORTIA: Thanx, wise Satan.

ME: Hey, you play Reversi like you acted quietly as a fortunate client for us, lady!

PORTIA: You flirt with a damsel now?

ME: Without qualification, Portia...Haddonfield's butter and toast (ha).

PORTIA: Thanx.

Portia was ever-restored to her kindness, and I was on my way well to Harvard Square, for a social gathering about novel concept adaptation for everyday law-men/women intelligence for the rescue of capitalism's toy-men and bishops (and queens!) of Earth's field goals (wow). I decided I would think of myself not as a simplified lawyer...but a fashion sweetie (for the books).

"Doing well is the result of doing good. That's what capitalism is all about" (Ralph Waldo Emerson).

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"Money is everything" (Ecclesiastes)