Royal flush

What in the world are the English thinking?

If you’ve been reading the headlines recently, you may have heard some captivating tidbits about the House of Windsor, such as the alleged rape of a footman and Prince Charles panning off unwanted gifts through an intermediary. Heck, a rumor floats around that Lady Di even visited her lover wearing nothing but a fur coat. Spicy stuff, eh?

In 1588, the English navy defeated the Spanish Armada, making England the most powerful country in the world, because it took control of the seas.

Then things soiled faster than a tuna sandwich in the Texas summer sun. Okay, maybe not that fast, but right quickly.

When you think about it, things have been utterly disastrous for the royals since roughly 1776. Imagine what the United States has become since that time. Now imagine losing it. See what I mean?

After World War II, the English realized they had no business holding onto India and several other countries that made up the empire on which the sun never set. They couldn’t keep that stuff, being that Germany was defeated for attempting similar takeovers, so they gave it all back.

And, sadly for the Brits, they were left with a small island where it’s horribly cold, the people are not generally attractive and the food sucks. Pretty grim.

And so they were left with a tradition of monarchy that lasted several hundred years, including such good times as the War of the Roses and a beheading, religion-swapping king.

My question, then, is why would the citizens of England continue to support this royal family? Prince Charles’ annual income is a gaudy $12 million. For what? I realize the guy bears a similar resemblance to Alfred E. Newman of MAD magazine fame, but so does George W. Bush. The money to support all the hoopla and fuzzy hat fellows comes from taxes levied on the people. Why would they support this nonsense? Then, naturally, my second question is where does one sign up to become royal?

So here it comes. Now, anyone familiar with the solipsistic world of my column should have seen this statement coming long ago.

I officially offer my services to the British people. What role, you ask?

I shall be king – King Chris I. Has a nice ring to it, does it not? The alliterative name has long been overlooked by royal types, I think, so I’d be the perfect trend setter in said region. I’ll become the first American citizen to wear the crown since John Goodman of King Ralph fame.

As king, I’d make a few changes right off the bat . . . er, the stick thing they use in cricket. First and foremost would deal with Guy Ritchie. You may know his films: Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels and Snatch. Oh yes, and the flop of all flops, the latest Madonna disaster that made less in theaters than the comedy team of Greenspan and Gore grossed in their lifetime. He would no longer be allowed to make films that starred his wife Madonna. He would stick with cockney cinema, which we all truly enjoy.

Next on my kingly agenda would be Tony Blair. He, in the king’s opinion, seems to be the smoothest and smartest politician since, well, no one. I like him. He gets the big bucks.

The Spice Girls, fish and chips and “football,” however, shall heretofore be deemed unsafe for human consumption and banned. Also, we’ll have to perpetuate the strength of the British accent, because anyone who speaks in that fashion sounds both articulate and learned.

I saw an interview with the kid who plays Harry Potter, and he sounded like a Harvard professor. Tea and crumpets? Pshaw and Phooey. Guinness and jalapeño peppers for all!

Now bow before me, my loyal subjects.