The Royals: A Lot Like Us, Really.

This post will have the most relevance to my two readers who happen to be from the colonies. There is much debate in this country over whether or not we should sever all ties with the British Monarchy once and for all. Any Americans (also, Albertans and Quebecers and other quasi-Americans) who might happen to read this will understand all too well the desire to distance themselves from the oppressive British and their Crusades, Viral Exports (see Simon Cowell and the BeckHams), and Fish and Chips (they’re called fries, for Christ’s sake!). Why, the Americans already rode those bloody British out once when they all threw their tampons into the bay and had something called the Boston Vampire Tea Party or whatever the hell it was. I can sort of see why the British left, if someone threw their tampon at me I would probably take the hint too. It would also officially make it my sixth worst date ever (don’t ask).

It is true that Her Royal Highness Queen Elizabeth the Second (or HRH Lizzy Deuce as I like to call her) has visited Canada on 23 occasions, and that’s pretty friggin’ annoying considering all the schoolchildren that have been forever scarred by cyborg nightmares after witnessing her robotic rotating wave-like hand gesture. We are also burdened with the expense and hassle of having something called a Governor General, an appointed person who is supposedly the Queen’s representative in Canada. The Governor General’s main duties appear to consist of ribbon cutting, medal hanging (draping?), Throne Speech reading, hobnobbing with visiting dignitaries (or in Obama’s case, drooling), and wasting vast sums of government money even existing. Thank goodness she is saving the Queen the trouble of having to do all that stuff here!

After all is said and done, however, I don’t think we ever take much time to think about what we all have in common with our Royal Family, and for that matter, other royal families around the world. Let’s look at a few examples of some of the day to day activities and situations Royals find themselves in that might strike a familiar chord with us, the little people:

“Do you ‘ear a rustlin’? I swear I can ‘ear an eerie kind of rustlin’, and it sounds like it’s comin’ from right near me ‘ead.”

Here we see Princess Beatrice of York, daughter of Fergie, Douchess of York, and Randy Andy, Pimp Daddy of York battling an all-too-common childhood problem. Let’s face it, you had head lice in school, your friends had head lice in school, and lots of people you knew had head lice in school. Hell, you probably have lice a little further south these days for all I know.I didn’t have head lice in school mind you, but I never was much of a follower. The only difference between us and the Royals is that they occasionally suffer from an attack of neon butterflies that have escaped from Her Royal Majesty’s Personal Genetic Engineericist. Sadly, in their frantic effort to copulate before dying, they often accidentally lobotomize their Royal Host, explaining the look on Beatrice’s face in the above photo.

“No, really, if the rice looks dry in the buffet, I can totally hook you up. Psst. FYI, it’s in my hat.”

If you had a nickel for all the times you wore that worn out backwards baseball cap on a first date or to meet your future wife’s parents, you would probably be rich. Royals make headwear gaffes, too. Here we can see Queen Beatrix of the Netherworldlands making the poor choice of a rice steamer as a hat at a function that is obviously more suited to a wok or George Foreman grill. Okay, I have to confess. Not even the most retarded peasant would wear a bamboo steamer to a gala ball. That’s nastay, Beeyatchtrix!

“Hello out there in peasant land! Would you like to come for a ride? Of course I’m joking, you filthy serf! Get away from my carriage before I have my Royal Stallions trample you to death. Guards, remove that insolent miscreant’s right hand for my personal collection. A strong message is needed here.”

Royals are also concerned about the environment, and issues such as Climate Change © and Global Warming (tm), just like you. Queen Beatrix hopes to have a Prius one day, but for now she is making do with her jewel and gold encrusted horse drawn carriage, much as you are making do with your doorless ‘76 Impala until your credit improves enough to lease a Prius too. There’s that hat again! In platinum! How trendy! I guess it’s better than the fucking napkin holders the two portly doormen are forced to wear on their noggins. Every time I see that hat I picture Wile E. Coyote smashing her right over the top of the head with a giant cartoon mallet. How else could you make a hat like that?

“Look, Lizzy, that stupid Git crashed ‘is ‘orse, and now they’ll ‘ave to shoot it!” “Oh, goody goody, Phillip. You know how much I love to be startled by the sharp crack of a rifle! Delightful!”

Just like you enjoy watching the UFC on pay-per-view so you can be in awe of the athletes’ abilities and skills as well as their willingness to kick the living shit out of one another for your amusement, the Royals enjoy a lovely morning of carnage at the racetrack. Why the Queen even has a race named after her, the Queen’s Plate, held every year at West Amblyshire Dunston-on-the-Mews By Wembleyford Royal Racetrack and ‘Ouse of Bettin’. It is said that when the Queen’s Plate race was initially proposed, the Queen herself insisted that at each running of the race “No less than one (1) thoroughbred filly or mare, or the other one that isn’t the filly or the mare shall suffer an injury so unsightly and disturbing as to require immediate dispatching upon the mews with the nearest sidearm or long gun at hand and in a fashion that is most pleasing to the gathered throngs of loyal Royal Subjects, including, but not limited to: the British, the Scots, visiting dirty colonial immigrants and the (sigh) Irish.”

As you can plainly see, we have more in common with the Royals than maybe we thought at first blush. Maybe that’s why they call us commoners! Ha Ha. Ha Ha….umm, actually I think it’s a term of disdain. Oh, well, we still love them!

Great Moments in Scientific Achievement, Part Un (French for “Uhh…”)

Every once in a while scientists conduct a study that proves to be a watershed moment in the history of scientific achievement. These hard working nerd-people dig deep into the mysteries of our world in their never ending quest for knowledge. They seek to increase our collective understanding of the world through intensive and rigorous testing, study, and experimentation. These people aren’t in it for the glory, or the fame. They don’t care that nobody knows they were the Captain of their college Dungeons and Dragons team, or that they were the only one out of the sixteen people dressed as Klingons at the Science Department Halloween party that could actually speak Klingon.

Why just last night on NOVA: Science Now (yeah, yeah, I know. Paris Hilton’s New BFF wasn’t on yet), I learned from one delightful scientist fellow that Leeches have many roles to play in the medical field, some of them quite helpful. I had previously thought that Leeches’ roles in the medical field were confined to the ambulance-chasing malpractice lawyer and the health-care reform pushing politician. Turns out they have other uses, like sucking pus and blood and rotten shit out of gangrenous wounds. A less glamorous, but eerily similar role to that of the lawyers and politicians. I also learned from some other astronomer-scientist types that the people involved in the SETI search for intelligent life in the universe project are now composed of under 80% Trekkies, a startling achievement on the road to acceptance by the public at large. It was also interesting to learn that in order to set a baseline for the intelligence detecting instrument, the scientists trained it on the US Congress, and were able to calibrate the machine to absolute zero! Good thinking, geeks!

Seeing some of the great work being done out in the world of scientific investigation made it all the more worrisome when I stumbled across the following headline; not exactly one of those watershed moments in scientific history:

“Study Suggests Binge Drinking Affects Memory”

Well I guess this is where the rubber meets the road, so to speak. If the nerds that conducted this particular study had spent more time at frat parties and less time signing up for Psyc Department studies as guinea pigs, they wouldn’t have needed to conduct this study at all. Those of us who have undertaken “binge drinking” (or as we used to call it “drinking”) could have told anyone that would listen that of course binge drinking affects memory. It is simple mental self preservation. If it didn’t affect memory, how the hell would we have been able to live through this:

Without binge drinking affecting our memory, imagine our embarrassment when people found out our parents had never shown us how to sit properly on a bench? Thank God our friends were nice enough to be respectful about our disability and not point out that we had shown our handicap while under the influence of binge drink.

The memory-affecting qualities of binge drinking cushioned this poor girl from having to remember her sudden bout of narcolepsy at her Grandparents’ garden party. She was probably better off not knowing that she had dozed off in the middle of Grandma’s “Tour of the Tulips.”

Luckily for this happily dozing binge drinker, his lack of memory of the evening’s events should prevent him from having to deal with the triple mental trauma of the memories of pissing himself, wearing a Hulkamania T-Shirt, and being caught on camera drinking a Miller Lite.

Now here’s a perfect example of binge drinking’s ability to take a potentially reputation-smearing, life-altering event and turn it into a hazy, imperceptible, shadowy memory that is almost impossible to recall, if it can be recalled at all. The poor fellow on the left has probably battled car sickness since he was a small child, or perhaps he had a bad prawn at dinner that night. Either way, he can’t be blamed for the action occurring in the photo above. If he had any sense at all, he would have begun binge-drinking immediately after this photo was taken, and not stopped until the incident was buried deeply in his subconscious. It would probably be recommended that his somewhat startled companions might also want to binge-drink this particular memory away as well.

Despite all of the good work being done by scientists around the world, they didn’t exactly hit one out of the park with this study. They could have saved a lot of time and money by just doing a little binge-drinking, blacking out, waking up, looking at their vomit stained shirt and piss-soaked pants, and saying to themselves “Ahhh…I see.”

100 days, the diary update.

Dear Diary,

I’m sorry it has been so long since we talked, but a lot has been happening! I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m the President of the United States of America now! For real!

“Gosh, look at all the nice people, Golly, this is fun!”

I’ve really met a lot of nice and interesting people along the way, and I think I’ve made a new friend or two as well!

“Could you please step back? You smell like Metamucil and Absorbine Jr. I just really need you to step back right now.”

Since Washington is such a big ol’ scary place, I’m gonna need some help to get everything figured out around there. So I decided to bring along a couple of old, rich, non-threatening white people with me to show me the ropes. They’ve only been there, like, forever!

“This one’s for you racist dicks down there in Dixie…

….and this one’s for you uptight Real Housewives of New York City douchebags.”

Swearing in was way easier than I thought it would be!

“Repeat after me: ‘High Five!’” “No! Like Borat! ‘Hiiggh Fiiive’!'”

Then I got some bad news. My other good non-threatening rich white BFF Ben Bernanke came and told me that these two fellas had been cornholing each other for years! Everybody knew about it and no one did anything to stop it, he said! They were all too busy packing their golden parachutes, he said!

“You are lookin’ good! " “No. You. YOU are lookin’ good”

"Those suspenders…my stars!”

Then my good non-threatening BFF Ben told me the worst news of all! These two had an illegitimate bastard lovechild! And I have to raise it! And it’s not even cute! What kind of a name is “Recession” anyway?!!

“Can anyone ever truly love me for who I am, not who they want me to be?”

I’m beginning to get a little scared. I mean, OMG, I’ve never raised an economy-sucking black hole of a bastard lovechild before! I don’t even know if I’ll be any good at it! I’m a little worried, that’s for sure. Oh, well, talk to you soon.

Love, Barack

“What in the fuck have I gotten myself into?”