King Hilaire IX
I'm afraid the English government has taken some of the fun out of
being King. Once the King's word was law; now the King must follow
the law. This is bad. What is the point of being King if you can't do
exactly what you want to do? No more cutting off the heads of people
who annoy you, no more invading France when you're in the mood for
a little fun. But the best thing about being King still remains:
You get to be filthy rich simply by passing down the
birth canal of the right woman !
Unfortunately my dear Mother was not the right woman, but still...
If I Were King.
First I would need a Castle to live in.|
I like this German model.
I would have it taken apart and put
back together again in some nice
location, perhaps England. It's not too
big and it's not too small, but just right
for a King and his five wives,
one hundred chambermaids and
various other female servants.
Then I would need a Cause to support. Sadly the
very best ones have been taken by other celebrities.
I was thinking of children with some fashionable
disease, nothing contagious of course, as I will need
to have photos taken sitting near or even touching
them. I will have my public relations people find
something along those lines, something that I can
do in three or four hours a week. For some reason
the people of England require their Royals to do
some sort of seemingly important social work.
Now that I have my Castle and my Cause I can
get down to the real business of being King:
Living the good life on the backs of my brainless and adoring subjects!
Shall I describe a day in
the life of King Hilaire?
"Oh please do!"
Around noon I will be awakened
in a most unusual manner by a
chambermaid. She will then carry
me to the Royal Bathroom where I
will be bathed, then brushed and
polished to a fine sheen. I will then
be carried to the rooftop veranda
for my Champagne Breakfast.
If the weather is fine I will remain on the veranda and have the
gossip magazines read to me while I practice my hunting skills
by shooting sparrows off the battlements with my pellet gun.
Around this time the Royal Physician arrives for my daily
'vitamin' injection. I don't know what's in his marvelous potion,
but it uplifts my spirits and makes me ready to tackle the day.
Now is a good time for one of my many Royal Hobbies. I think
today I will add new items to my scrapbook collection. Samantha
the chambermaid carries me to the library, then fills my pipe
with my Special Mixture and fetches another bottle of
champagne. After several hours of watching Samantha adding
clippings into my Hugh Grant Scrapbook I am feeling a little
I enjoy a Royal Hamburger while I
watch a little television. Drat! Some
fellow is making snide remarks
about me! I hope he isn't in some
horrible car 'accident'. I make a
phone call, and finish my meal. I
wasn't planning on working today,
but I am informed that I must cut
the ribbon at a new Pizza Hut
opening in London. I won't tell you
the horrors of my trip to London.
I must look into banning American fast food in England. My
pizza slice was cold!
Oh no, Elton John is on the phone:
"Your Majesty, I've written a new song about you! It's called..."
"Elton, take that song and jam it up your ass."
I hang up. Now I'm really exhausted. I cancel my usual round of
dinner parties and orgies. I decide to spend the evening with
several of my wives watching television, but they start chattering
on about the things they bought today and the uninteresting
people they met. Oh God, I'm bored. Where's that Royal
Betty Sandra Alice Jane Laura