Get out your hankies and tune up the violins: Queen Elizabeth and England's other royal freeloaders have fallen on hard times.
It's reported that Queen Liz has only a couple million left in her publicly-funded piggy bank. Her highness is feeling low. She's just a couple mil from becoming the Royal Bag Lady.
I've been accused of dissing the Brits' mooching monarchs, to which I plead guilty. So draw and quarter me. Boil me in oil. Or -- worse yet -- force me to look at photos of Camilla Parker Boyles in a bikini.
I've always been intrigued with the British, from Beowulf to the Beatles. It could be because my serf ancestors harkened from Jolly Olde England. They were deported for poaching the King's muskrats.
England historically has had two classes of people: subjects and predicates.
If you're a British subject, or commoner, you're stuck with the short end of the genetic stick. If you're born to royalty, however, your permanent address is Easy Street.
Take Queen Elizabeth, for example. She's 400 years old and hasn't hit a lick at a snake in her entire life. (I'm kidding about her age. Queen Liz doesn't look a day over 200.)
I've never understood what, exactly, a king and queen are good for other than filling an inside straight.
Her Royal Highness lives in Buckingham Palace -- the ultimate public housing -- where she is attended to 'round the clock by a staff of servants, including her personal toenail trimmer.
She gets to wear funny hats in parades, and anybody who snickers gets their head chopped off. At least that's how it used to work back in the Good Olde Days.
In addition to free food, lodging and the ESPN Channel, Her Majesty receives about $2 million a year in walking-around change.
Her job? Riding in a carriage, grinning, and waving. Talk about a sweet gig.
Every time I poke fun at Queen Liz I get nasty letters, like this one from some guy named Geoffrey with a Canterbury address: "Woode, whan art thou gwine to cease to maketh funne of ye olde queene? Forsooth! Thou shouldeth bee asham-eed! If t'wre up to mee, t'would be off with thy knavish noggin!"
I suppose the critics are right. It’s not nice to poke fun at a frumpy old biddy who goes around draped in the skins of dead weasels and flashing more bling than Snoop Dogg.
So from now on I'll make fun of other members of England's Bums of Buckingham. The current most-famous member is Princess Kate, a former Waffle House waitress who met Prince William when he came over one night to unclog the septic tank in her trailer park.
(I may be hazy about some of the details of their Fairy Tale romance, but the bottom line is that since hooking up with Willie, Kate has slung her last hash.)
Kate has given birth to a Royal Toddler, assuring the lineage of Buckingham Palace's freeloaders. The Changing of the Royal Guard has been replaced in tourist popularity by the Changing of the Royal Diaper.
The Brits are giddy over their royal rulers, as they have been for centuries. I'd say they tend to lose their heads over them, but that might bring back unpleasant memories of some of their dearly departed ancestors.