Royals in distress

"Oh my God, Charles, the peasants are revolting!"   "Yes, they certainly are, Camilla. Of course it's no coincidence that they're referred to as peasants. My mother always used to say that you could take a scrubber out of the streets, but you couldn't take the streets out of the..."   "They are in the streets, Charles! I believe they're attempting to halt our automobile!"   "Not much of a chance of that occurring. The Rolls Royce Phantom VI is one of the most powerful automobiles in the world. Do you know how many horsepower this..."   "Heavens! They're right outside our window making lewd gestures and yelling... Well, I can't be completely sure what it is that they're yelling."   "Oh, the usual, Camilla, 'Off with their heads'. That's so cliché. I believe I hear a few shouting 'bugger the Queen', and... Oh, that was so rude. I shan't tell you what they're yelling about you. Completely disrespectful."   "Why on earth are these young people behaving in such a disgraceful manner?"   "Personal grievances, Camilla. Parliament just announced a plan to triple university fees, and they're probably upset over the possibility that they may have to drop out of school and join the work force. Not that the work force really has any more room for someone without a proper education, but the fact is..."   "Bloody hell, they're gobbing on our windows. Why isn't our security stopping these ruffians?"   "Mmm, it looks to me as though they've got their hands full fighting back the rabble... You know, perhaps it wasn't a good idea for us to take the Rolls out through this part of town tonight."   "Don't be a twit, Charles. What's the point of owning a nice car like this if you're not going to use it?"   "Valid point, Camilla, although I could have done without the twit reference. After all, I was kind enough to spare you from hearing about the shouts of horse-faced minger that were directed towards you."   "That was very gentlemanly of you, Charles. I would have been quite shocked to hear such a thing."   "I know that I was disturbed by it, which is why I chose to keep it to myself. I think that... Damn. Was that paint? Camilla, they just threw white paint on the Rolls."   "White? Oh my God, that's going to look completely dreadful! Let's go home, Charles. I find that I've suddenly lost my appetite for going out tonight."   "Just as well. They're trying to roll us over anyway."

Brits getting all twitty on us

"It may seem like a big deal to you," sniffed London's Mayor Boris Johnson, growing a little hot under the collar, "But then, America has never had to live through anything like the Blitz. I was only a wee lad of two back then, but how well I remember the fear and the fury. Even at that young age I understood the feeling that life had changed inextricably, leaving me a wiser but infinitely more solemn wee lad. So when I see you Yankee plonkers acting all gobsmacked just because someone sloshed a little wine on their fancy lace tablecloth, I feel like telling them 'bugger off, you whining wankers'. Really, that's the truth of it." Yes, it may be hard for most Americans to understand, but the Brits are getting sick and tired of hearing us talk trash about their beloved British Petroleum, the corporation responsible for 13 percent of all dividends paid to pension funds and investors. "When you consider the huge exposure of British pension funds to BP, it starts to be a bit of a concern if a great British company is being continually chundered on by vulgar American politicians and the barmy twaddle in their media. You know, when I was only a wee lad of two during the Blitz, my mother had her left foot blown off by a bloody V2 rocket one morning when she ventured out of the flat in an effort to procure a bottle of milk for my nourishment, and she returned with that milk, never spilling a drop. How do you compare that to a little oil in the water? You can't, now can you. I'm afraid that I'll have to agree with Lord Norman Tebbit who called the American response a crude, bigoted, xenophobic display of partisan, political, presidential petulance against a multinational company." "Well, I didn't actually say that," replied Lord Tebbit, "I wrote it. On deadline for the Telegraph, you can tell it was a bit rushed because I didn't follow through on my alliteration. Right after I filed that bit of commentary it occurred to me that I could have written that the American response was a petty, pretentious, prejudiced presentation of partisan, political, presidential petulance. That packs a wallop, doesn't it? Oh well, no use crying over spilled milk, and you can follow that metaphor wherever you wish." "At any rate, I hope you do understand that the survival of BP is of vital importance to England, even though I personally dropped it from my portfolio back when this bloody mess began, so you might want to be a tad more sensitive in your rhetoric. But if it will make you feel any better, I am willing to talk badly about Boris Johnson. First off, I call him Boorish Johnson. Funny bit, that, never fails to get a rise out of the old sod. Secondly, he's really not that old. He was born in 1962, so he most assuredly does not remember anything about the Blitz other than what he's seen on the telly. And it was his grandmother Millie, a ten-shilling tart, who was hit by the V2, and her left foot was the only part of the old girl that they ever found. Hope that brightens your day."

the unity government begins

"Well, here we are Mister Clegg." "Yes, here we are Mister Cameron, 10 Downing Street, one of the most famous addresses in all of merry olde England." "Right up there with Buckingham Palace. Give the cameras one last wave of unity, if you don't mind, Mister Clegg." "Indeed I will, Mister Cameron, my special Sarah Palin wave, although I doubt the press will get the humor of it all." "No, the press never does, do they? Still, I think it's a hoot. You know, Mister Clegg, it's a good thing that you're left handed and I'm right handed. It give us a nice symmetrical look when we wave to the cameras." "Very aesthetically pleasing, Mister Cameron, although I suppose it means that I'll always have to stand to your left." "An amusing observation, Mister Clegg, and politically spot on. Although another way of looking at it is that I'll always have to stand to your right. At any rate, we're quite balanced." "The very picture of unity, Mister Cameron, and I suppose unity is the name of the game at this point, if you know what I mean." "So sayeth the Queen. Let's go inside and have a drink, Mister Clegg, I'm tired of all this bloody waving." "I'll gladly second that motion, Mister Cameron, my waving arm is dying for a rest." "10 Downing Street... You know, Mister Clegg, I really never dreamed that one day I would actually live here." "Neither did I, Mister Cameron, although I suppose that it is plenty big enough for the both of us. Bit of an odd demand from the Queen, don't you think?" "Well, I understand her premise, Mister Clegg, it's part of the whole unity concept. I'm afraid the old girl has gotten a bit fixated on that as of late." "I'd say more than a bit, Mister Cameron, what with telling us to wear matching suits and all that." "Still, Mister Clegg, you must admit that it was generous of her majesty to say that we could select our own neckties." "As long as they were solid colors and nothing too garish. Come on, Mister Cameron, let's check out our new flat. I have an overpowering craving for a tumbler of Glenfiddich single malt." "Oh, so you're a Glenfiddich single malt drinker as well, Mister Clegg? Splendid."