I just found out the other day that Queen Elizabeth has a husband! I never knew that. The other weird thing was that he's not the King. I thought that was pretty much mandatory: if you marry a Queen, you get to be a King, or at least a full partner in a drag club.
That was a "Birdcage" joke.
I want to be a King. Not a King like that creepy Burger King guy, but a real King. It seems like a pretty good job. First off, I'd be a billionaire and that's cool. Plus my face would be on the money, which would make it easy for everyone to recognize me. On the downside, I couldn't slouch in public or be rude, and I'd have to smile politely to everyone I meet in a way that makes it obvious I don't like them. That would suck. Still, being King is mostly about showing up places and waving, and I can do that for a billion bucks. Having to put on pants to get the mail is a small tradeoff.
Still, being King in the 21st Century wouldn't be nearly as fun as it used to be. For instance, I couldn't just have someone beheaded anymore and that would suck. I mean, I'd totally take the job if I could be rude to people and behead my enemies. Otherwise, why bother with it in the first place?
Since it’s okay for Rush Limbaugh to resort to name-calling and over the air identify a young woman who testified before Congress in favor of contraceptive coverage as a “slut,” it’s okay for me to use this space to call Limbaugh a “pig.”
No wait! I’m not gonna do that, sink to his level. I will use the more dignified word “porker.”
The porker has made a career out of sitting before a microphone and issuing invective, venom and charges of disloyalty, dishonesty, slander, name calling, all in the name of bogus patriotism----in other words-----an angry conservative oink!
Let’s get something straight right now. I’m not against the porker’s right to broadcast, because he’s essentially an entertainer who insults much like Don Rickles used to before he mellowed. There maybe is even a kernel of truth once in awhile in some of what Limbaugh says. What’s perhaps unfortunate is that so many people take him seriously, because, other than moving his lips and puffing forth inanities and insanities and un-sanitized vulgarities, what has he done—other than add gross layers of fat to his always swollen protuberances?
The contents of a newly revealed diary show that George Romney, former governor of Michigan, was so obsessed with the game of baseball that he named his son after a baseball mitt.
"I know I am perhaps dooming my son to a life of failure and frustration naming him Mitt, but I’m hoping that he will be inspired and become a relief pitcher for the Detroit Tigers," the elder Romney said in the diary, dated 1958.
Romney, who passed away in 1995, was governor of Michigan from 1963 to 1969, and is the father of current Republican presidential candidate, Mitt Romney.
In the diary, Romney confessed to neglecting his wife and family by attending baseball games, and that he had asked his wife for an "open marriage," in which she would understand his long absences at Tiger Stadium.