The Queen and I

When I tell American tourists that I used to live in England, they often ask me whether I ever met Queen Elizabeth II. Sadly we were never formally introduced, although our paths did once cross on the day of the Epsom Derby. On her way back home from the races, her car stopped alongside my car at the traffic lights. As our eyes met, I licked my thumbnail and rubbed it on my chin in a circular motion. The alpha females all know what it means, and Her Majesty gave me the biggest ear-to-ear grin you could ever wish to see on the face of a reigning monarch. I later received a jar of royal jelly from Buckingham Palace with a card signed “ERxxx”.

Yes, indeed, the Queen gazed into my soul and evidently liked what she saw. I think she sensed we were kindred spirits, both being expected to perform in public, albeit in very different ways. Her job was the harder by far. I never needed to worry about making a fool of myself because people always assumed it was part of my act. But the Queen had to be constantly in control of her emotions lest she was photographed making a silly face. That’s not easy given the number of people she meets, some of whom will inevitably scratch their crotch in her presence.

The latest attempt to embarrass England’s gracious monarch occurred when a couple were
caught dogging on the lawn outside Windsor Castle. Apparently it was a spur-of-the-moment thing which they later much regretted. As the Queen was in residence, the royal security police had no option but to pounce on the pair while excited Japanese tourists clicked their cameras. Her Majesty, of course, remained impassive during the whole fracas. People sometimes forget that she is an accomplished horse breeder who has watched hot pumping stallions cover countless mares. For those who have witnessed such deeds, human coitus is a spectacle no more shocking than gerbils having a cuddle.

Much less impressive than Queen Elizabeth are her immediate family. The fogeyish Prince of Wales continues to denounce his pet hates in front of audiences who grin sheepishly at his fixations. One thing I know as a gorilla is that you should never complain about architecture. Human erections are part of the landscape and no more worthy of condemnation than the mountains and trees. One should especially avoid criticising tall buildings in case people think you have a penile complex. From the way Wally Prince Charlie goes on about these edifices you’d think they were giant dildos inserted half-way up his celestial butt-hole.

A lot of Americans seem envious of the British monarchy, but there’s nothing to stop them having their own titular sovereign. Mrs Obama is too tall for the job and the base of her neck looks inappropriately sturdy – a warrior princess perhaps, but a queen definitely not. Hilldog, on the other hand, is naturally regal in her demeanour and full of queenly qualities. Her only demerit is to have been repeatedly cuckolded without retaliating, which is not in the spirit of Catherine the Great. She won’t be worthy of her nation’s crown until she gets out of the hen coop and sows some royal oats. Assuming, of course, there is still a man bold enough to pin her to the bed.

You have read this article dogging / Hilldog / Prince Charles / The Queen with the title The Queen and I. You can bookmark this page URL Thanks!