THE HAPPY QUEEN
Despite faring poorly at the charts, the Beatles were always welcome at the Buckingham palace. They played at every party there and were always paid five quid each for their troubles. Every time the servants heard a lot of noise and smelled ganja in the hallways, they knew: the Beatles were here. But one day Black Sabbath, who fared at the charts even worse than the Beatles, kidnapped the Fab Four, put on their clothes and wigs and sneaked into the Palace. Once inside they took their guns out of guitar cases and kidnapped the Queen and her relatives at the gunpoint. They took them to an undisclosed location across the road and kept them there hoping to raise some funds. But nobody cared to pay the ransom. Even when Black Sabbath reduced the amount from £1 million to £24.99, there were still no takers. Three years later the Royal family was set free for free, but when Her Majesty and the rest returned to the palace, they found that it had been turned into a hospital, and they were refused entry because they were in perfect health. Oh, yes, and the ground floor had been turned into a daycare centre.
If you’re thinking this is going to be one of those heart-wrenching stories about people who have lost everything only to embark on a painful journey to spiritual redemption, you are quite mistaken. Oh, no, wait, you’re right. This is actually a heart-wrenching story about people who have lost everything only to embark on a painful journey to spiritual redemption. But it has a happy ending, sort of. The queen found a job as a cleaner at the daycare centre, and her husband became a night guard at Harrod’s. They were scraping by, but they were happy. Their children were too young to work – they were only 47 – but they helped out a lot, doing dishes, washing, ironing and so on, except sometimes they could do no ironing because their dad would drink away the iron. But they were happy.
“You know, Bobby,” the queen would say to her husband. “I think we are happier now that we earn our own bread than when we lived in a gilded cage in that blasted palace.”
“Watch your language, Tracy dear,” the duke would implore.
“No, Bobby, I mean it. How can one possibly miss that goddamn life, that flippin’ royal protocol, court bastards constantly using us to their advantage, having to smile at Vladimir Putin, the bloody Beatles giving us headache and second-hand ganja poisoning, all that meaningless pompous routine, tabloids giving us hell, the bloody Corgis pooping everywhere, having to visit freakin’ Canada every ten years? Now at last I can read the book I’ve wanted to read all my life, but was afraid the servants would notice – Lady Chatterley’s Lover by DH Lawrence. Now we can order pizza, go to the movies, have fun. Isn’t it what life is about, Bobby?”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
At this very moment across the ocean Black Sabbath were kidnapping Patty Hearst.
If you’re thinking this is going to be one of those heart-wrenching stories about people who have lost everything only to embark on a painful journey to spiritual redemption, you are quite mistaken. Oh, no, wait, you’re right. This is actually a heart-wrenching story about people who have lost everything only to embark on a painful journey to spiritual redemption. But it has a happy ending, sort of. The queen found a job as a cleaner at the daycare centre, and her husband became a night guard at Harrod’s. They were scraping by, but they were happy. Their children were too young to work – they were only 47 – but they helped out a lot, doing dishes, washing, ironing and so on, except sometimes they could do no ironing because their dad would drink away the iron. But they were happy.
“You know, Bobby,” the queen would say to her husband. “I think we are happier now that we earn our own bread than when we lived in a gilded cage in that blasted palace.”
“Watch your language, Tracy dear,” the duke would implore.
“No, Bobby, I mean it. How can one possibly miss that goddamn life, that flippin’ royal protocol, court bastards constantly using us to their advantage, having to smile at Vladimir Putin, the bloody Beatles giving us headache and second-hand ganja poisoning, all that meaningless pompous routine, tabloids giving us hell, the bloody Corgis pooping everywhere, having to visit freakin’ Canada every ten years? Now at last I can read the book I’ve wanted to read all my life, but was afraid the servants would notice – Lady Chatterley’s Lover by DH Lawrence. Now we can order pizza, go to the movies, have fun. Isn’t it what life is about, Bobby?”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
At this very moment across the ocean Black Sabbath were kidnapping Patty Hearst.
posted by Surge Levene at 4:49 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home