Royal Pain

Now that the wedding is over, I’m hoping all this fuss over the British royal family can go away. Over the past two weeks, we Americans have been bombarded by the British like it was 1776. News coverage of the royal wedding flooded pert near every channel on my TV. They were even gabbing about it on ESPN. What in tarnation is so great about the British royalty and them getting hitched? I just don’t get it.

Just last year, Princess Marie-Gabrielle of Nassau, daughter of Prince Jean of Luxembourg, and some fella named Antonius Wilms got married, but I don’t recall the gals from the Today show going gaga over that wedding. Why are Americans so infatuated about the British royalty tying the knot? Personally, I don’t give a rat’s arse who gets married over in England these days. My interest in the Crown ended after the death of King Arthur.

I’m curious, how many of y’all got up early last Saturday to watch the royal wedding? Hey, if I’m getting up at 4 a.m. on a Saturday, you’ll find me out hunting feral hogs, not watching TV and eating scones.

I’m sorry, but I’m just not a fan of anything British. The only time I’m excited over seeing the king and queen is when they are sitting next to the ace, jack and 10. And the only Queen I’ll listen to sings “Bohemian Rhapsody”. I don’t watch British television shows or British movies because I don’t speak their language. Them folks ‘spose to be talkin’ English, but dag-nabbit, I can’t cipher half the stuff they say. I reckon havin’ those wide gaps in their chompers make ‘em talk funny.

I’m not right sure what a spot of tea is. Here in Texas, a spot of tea is a stain on your T-shirt from sloshing down a big glass of Lipton. And have y’all seen those little bitty cups the Brits sip tea from? Heck, that’s not enough tea to wash the dust off your tongue. Dang, when I come in from sittin’ on my tractor all day, I need at least a quart of sweet tea just to refill my sweat glands. A spot of tea can’t quench the thirst of a hard-workin’ country boy.

I don’t eat British vittles neither. There’s some dish called Shepherd’s Pie. I don’t know what that is, but I do know what a cow pie is, and no matter how hungry I might be, I’m not eatin’ that. The Brits also are fond of jellied eels. I’m sorry, but I put jelly in a fluffy biscuit or on top of peanut butter. Ain’t no way I’m eating a slimy eel.

I hear the Brits have something called bangers. I don’t know what that is ‘cross the pond, but here in Texas, it’s what we call cows with brucellosis. Maybe England is where we ship all our sick cattle. You think the Brits put jelly on their T-bone steaks? They also serve something called a kidney pie. Again, I’ll pass on this dish. I like my pies to contain apples or pecans, not an organ from some imported diseased longhorn.

Now, I do like English muffins. They’re not bad, but for my breakfast, I’d rather have a Round Rock donut and a pile of bacon. If I ever visit England, I sure hope they have a Denny’s somewhere nearby.

Well, I do hope Harry and Meghan had themselves a fairy tale wedding and best of luck in the future. It’s good that the royal family has some American blood to create some hybrid vigor in their clan. And, just to show that I don’t hold any grudge over that incident at Bunker Hill, I will offer some suggestions for a name for their first-born son, something appropriate for a trans-Atlantic union. How ‘bout Bubba Jeeves? Not very royal, you say? Okay then, what about Benedict Arnold? Ta-ta, y’all!

Clint Younts might have some English blood in his background, but he certainly won’t admit to it. What’s his tea brand? Around here we call it Lone Star. It’s made with hops.

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