Come on, this isn't going to start a riot!

If you are anything like me, you’re hiding in a display tent in the Walmart sporting goods department, drinking beer and eating Funyuns by the metric ton. You’re also insanely excited about the upcoming birth of the Royal Baby which, according to the Huffington Post is “looming”. That doesn’t sound right, if you ask me. This is a baby who is destined to be born into obscene luxury, not the spawn of Satan. The Huffington Post needs to stop being so inappropriate OR I WILL HAVE THEM BEHEADED AND PLACE THEIR BLOODY NOGGINS ON A PIKE, I WILL!

Sorry, I’ve got Royal Baby Fever, and find myself getting carried away rather easily. Last week I addressed everyone at work as either “Mum” or “Governor” for an entire day, which surprisingly didn’t annoy people that much although maybe that’s because they were too busy being upset about the fact that I was drinking stout in my cube all day long. Also I may have offered to “roger” a coworker. Anyway, the point is, stout gets you really fucked up if you’ve eaten nothing but fish and chips (and more stout) all day.

Since the sex, and hence the name of the Royal Baby is still unknown, people all across the globe are wondering, “Will it be a boy? Or a girl? What will they name the Royal Baby?” It’s exciting, sure, but everyone is forgetting the important things: That the baby is born with ten fingers, ten toes, and comes out darker than Whoopi Goldberg. Oh my God, can you imagine how fucking awesome it would be if the Royal Baby was born black? It would be the best scandal in the history of the universe. I WANT IT TO HAPPEN SO FUCKING BAD!

First of all, half of the Royal Family would instantly die of explosive decapitation. Their brains would just erupt. There would be a short, “Oh, dear!” followed by an explosion of brain matter, and the footage would instantly become the most watched clip on Youtube in the history of the internet, racking up 42 trillion hits in an hour, half of them coming from my house.

I say!

I say!

Then the British tabloids would kick into overdrive, resulting in horrifically racist headlines such as “Royal Jigaboo!”, which in turn would ignite another scandal, this one about how fucking repugnant the British tabloids are. In fact, the spin-off scandals would be almost endless, which would be half of the fun. Every day you’d turn on the news to find people somehow, impossibly, acting even more stupidly than they were the day before, ultimately resulting in crazy shit like the Royal Guard awkwardly breakdancing in front of Buckingham Palace to show sympathy for the very people the Queen Mum told them to shoot on sight just 48 hours before.

While discussing this dream scenario with a coworker today, he raised a very real possibility. “If the Royal Baby was born black, do you think we’d ever find out about it?” I’ve got to admit, he’s probably right. Seeking to avoid the Mother of All Scandals, the Royal Family would swap that baby out with the first buck-toothed, jug-eared baby they could get their inbred hands on. And they wouldn’t have to be very picky either. Take a look at Prince Charles and try telling me that they could do worse.

And then there’s the fact that Kate Middleton is a “commoner”. Wave after wave of “I told you so” would emanate from the ornate drawing rooms of the English upper crust, followed by a lot of sputtering, harumphing, and finally an ill-advised plan to “rid the empire of these brutes altogether” that would quickly backfire and result in the entire Royal Family and House of Lords being chased off the white cliffs of Dover to their doom. How fucking awesome would that be in HD?

Answer: 3 billion. It would be 3 billion awesome.

Answer: 3 billion. It would be 3 billion awesome.

How many hours a day would you devote to watching this ridiculous shitstorm on TV? If you answered anything less than a million, then you are a fucking liar, because it would be like a comedy version of the OJ trial times infinity. There would be no avoiding it. It would be so awesomely addictive that footage would be routinely beamed into operating rooms and funerals.

Look, I know that I’m not an English subject, and I tend to refer to them in less than flattering terms (“non-forking family tree, blue blooded Limey fucktards” comes to mind), but I ask so very little of the Royal Family. Is this too much to ask? No, as it turns out. Asking isn’t the problem. Getting a response is.

From: Greg
Subject: Suggestion
Date: July 9th, 9:17 PM
To: The Queen of England

Your Majesty,

Please ask Kate Middleton to start fucking black dudes on the down-low.

I am not a nut.


Kennel Master,
Dogs on Drugs