Monday, June 22, 2009

Queen Margrethe regrets

"Bhakk... Bhakk..
. Enough, somebody get me a glass of brandy, pronto," said Denmark's Queen Margrethe, exhaling a cloud of bluish smoke from her unfiltered 'Queen's Original'. "I've got to quit smoking these things, they are completely brutal. Jeeves, run down to the market and get me a carton of Snowflake Menthols."

"You know, House of Prince introduced this brand of cigarette in honor of my ascendancy to the throne, and for the life of me I cannot fathom what they were thinking about. They most assuredly are not at all regal; even the common people insist on filters these days. And they taste like horseshit."

The Queen is in a beastly mood today, and with good reason. The once mighty Danish Empire, already a mere shadow of itself, has now melted away to nothingness, as Greenland wings it's way to total independence.

"God, we've fallen a long way from the days of Canute the Great," moans Queen Margrethe, swatting away the snifter of Carlosi Grande Reserva and opting for the bottle instead. "But the thought that we would lose Greenland... On my watch... It's almost more than I can bear."

"The thing about Greenland, or perhaps I should say, the thing about Naala... Naalukhu... Naalakerak... Whatever the fuck they're calling it now... Oh Christ, I can't even pronounce the name of my old colony any more." The Queen bursts into a torrent of frustrated tears, which is understandable when one considers that her former prized possession has just rechristened itself as Naalakkersuisut.

Regaining her composure as Jeeves returns bearing Snowflake Menthols and a handkerchief, Margrethe soldiers on. "The point I was trying to make, before I stumbled on that awful name, is that our former colony was quite large. Populous, no. Rich, heavens no - we had to give them 3.4 billion kroners a year just to keep them in snowshoes. The godforsaken land wasn't even green. But for an island, it was really quite large."

The soothing relaxation that's in every pack of Snowflake Menthols begins to cast it's spell, and the Queen settles into a mood of hopeful resignation.

"Oh well," she sighs, "at least we still have the Faroe Islands."

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