So I gotta figure out how to be knighted by the queen. And this is
serious, because I have no earthly idea how to get this accomplished. I
did exactly 97 seconds of research on the internet (a new personal
record), and I think the information I found may be outdated. For
example, Sir Elton John: I’m pretty sure he’s never owned a sword, or
rescued a fair maiden. (So in order to get knighted, I have to write
“Crocodile Rock”?)
And “Sir Paul McCartney”? OH, GIVE ME AN EFFING BREAK! Is that what
it takes to impress the queen of England these days? Writing a bunch
of crappy pop songs, growing your hair, and smoking a truckload of
dope? Why doesn’t she knight freaking Cheech and Chong?
Don’t get me wrong–some people deserve to be knighted, like
Sir Anthony Hopkins. He’s not only super cool, but any knight would
crap his metal pants after seeing The Silence of the Lambs.
(Even knights are deathly afraid of having their faces chewed off.) And
then there’s the greatest singer/entertainer that’s ever lived, Sir Tom
Jones, who makes Sir Paul McCartney look like a bucket of moldy mule
testicles.
Then there are the “weird” knights, like director Paul Verhoeven.
He’s been knighted… and HE DIRECTED SHOWGIRLS! (Although to be
fair, he also directed Starship Troopers and
RoboCop–which of course raises the question, why hasn’t
RoboCop been knighted?) And what about Sir Salman Rushdie, who
hasn’t done ANYTHING except write stuff that pisses people
off–AND I DO THAT EVERY FREAKING WEEK!
So anyway, in order to get knighted, I’ve decided to take matters
into my own hands with a fiendishly clever plan entitled “suck up to
the queen.” Here’s how it works: I give the queen the impression I give
two craps about England by expressing enthusiastic interest in the
country’s television shows. And since the British are nothing if not
gullible, my plan will surely succeed, and my knighthood should be
in the mail by early next week. Okay… here we go.
OY THERE, QUEENIE! It’s yer old chum, Wm. Steven ‘Umpy, with this
week’s “Top o’ the Telly!” Pip, pip! And bloody ‘ell, what a corker of
a programme we ‘ave for you. It’s a cracking good documentary entitled
Britain’s Worst Teeth (BBC America, 10 pm, Sun June 15), which
spotlights… well… Britain’s worst teeth! Crikey, your majesty!
Your royal intestines will dissolve into marmalade when you see the
grotesque spectacle of rotten, broken teeth and bleeding gums on
display. According to statistics, one in five Brits ‘ave never ‘ad
their teeth examined, so in this special, England’s most talented
dentists attempt to ‘elp four patients with the most disgusting set of
choppers you’ve ever laid eyes on, Your ‘Ighness! (And since the royal
family is a bunch of inbreds, I bet you’ve seen some doozies!)
So, there ya ‘ave it, Queenie! Now I’m off for a spot of fish and
chips, and then a wank in the loo! Bollocks, you dishy bird! Cheeky
bugger! Knackered rumpy-pumpy shag squiffy cheerio and a
tickety-boo!
(Ahhh. I can almost feel the queen’s sword on my neck!) 