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11/18/08 - (1)
The Rigors of the King
The word went out, throughout the kingdom, That the queen had died, Deceased, suddenly, overnight, from a bout with "the gout," She apparently having suffered a seizure, from overeating, ODing on her regal cats' dog food.
Within hours, minutes, seconds, Eligible females from every bailiwick lined up at the main gate, Forming a five-circle spiral, around the castle — Thousands, bedizened in provocative colors and plumage, Many dressed down to the naked nines,
Each intent on working her charms, on the distressed king, Providing whatever services he might require (References supplied on command), All ready, eager, and willing to fill Her Highness's shoes, Despite their bunions, corns, severely deformed big toes.
After what turned out to be a five-year interview process, Replete with hands-on vetting of the most intimate nature (Based on the ancient Hollywood casting-couch technique), The surfeited king settled upon a suitable replacement For the beloved queen he'd secretly had poisoned.
But not three weeks after the installation celebration, The word went out, throughout the kingdom, That the new queen had been caught, dead to red-handed rights, Cavorting, consorting, with the eight-year-old crown prince. She was executed — beheaded, drawn, quartered, raped. Once again, throngs of eligible ladies, from hither and yon, Circled the castle, to submit themselves for royal consideration. And once again, the king, reinvigorated, Resigned himself to the rigors of selecting a comely mate, Which he conveniently prolonged for thirty years.
11/18/08 - (1)
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