Her Majesty Interpreted

Her Majesty The Queen is quite possibly one of the most documented people in history. She has spent virtually her entire life, and certainly her entire sixty-two-year reign, in front of the camera. It's not surprizing, then, that occasionally, the lens captures the Sovereign in a moment of candid reflection, of disapproval, of bewilderment.

Constitutionally, Her Majesty is not permitted a public opinion, which I think must be one of the greatest drawbacks to being a Royal. All of The Queen's thoughts and feelings must be kept private--in public, in front of the ever-present camera and throngs of observers, Elizabeth II must appear to be interested, entertained and engaged by whatever is happening around her.

But what is she *really* thinking? Freed from the constitutional fetters of duty and service, what would Her Majesty say, given half the chance?

(click the photos to embiggen)

"Oh, you athletic types think you're so relevant, standing around punching a phallus bag. All of you need a ladder to get over yourselves. Why don't you go take a shower and volunteer at a shelter?"

"People climbing the wall. How banal. If you want to know what it's like to climb the wall, why don't you spent ten minutes with Philip sometime when he's on a rant about the working class? You won't need special shoes or divots in the plaster, One can assure you of that."

"Philip, One is sorry that you don't feel well, but no, you may not have One's hat. Perhaps you shouldn't have had that fifth cocktail--what did you call it? Hippo Laxative?-- before we left the Palace this morning."

And finally in this one, I like how Philip is careful to be looking somewhere else.

HM: Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr........
DOE: Nothing to see here, eh, Cabbage? Fancy a gin? How about those Hotspurs? Goodness, these pants are tight.
HM: Shut up, Philip. One is praying for a lightning storm. Fucking Canadians.

Update (A Day In the Life of Dids)

Sorry for my radio silence. I’ve been wickedly busy and rather than just call it in, I like to take a little bit of trouble with my updates, since some of you seem to like coming here and I want to make it worth your while.

A quick update based on past posts—I am pain free due to a new medication called Simponi and, as a result, have returned to fencing and archery and other activities. Also, the asshole raisin two doors down died (or was killed, but not by me) over the winter and has been replaced with a nice Aboriginal family who are not even remotely interested in being friends with the Fragrant Missus and I. It’s okay, I don’t take it personally; if I were them, I wouldn’t be friends with me either, just on principle.

The Three Didiots continue to amaze with their unique blend of stupidity and neurosis. Scooter never fails to disappoint. He spent all weekend trying to catch a fly that got into the house. He’d be standing around looking stupid as usual, and then race across the room, snapping at something invisible. Yesterday morning while dressing for work, I discovered the fly crawling across the bedroom floor, so I knew it was done. I called Scooter over and pointed it out. He didn’t know what to do—he sniffed it, licked it, spat it out, pawed at it, circled it…he did everything except eat it, which I thought was the point. Apparently not. He ate it when I told him to, but then he gave me a look of extreme dissatisfaction, as if to say, “I didn’t like the texture.”

Freak. I swear if he could talk, he’d sound like Bobcat Goldthwaite.

Dieter has taught the other two how to sing. When the Fragrant Missus and I leave the house in the morning, we can hear the song of their people, lamenting their loss and abandonment. It is clearly audible all the way to the garage, although I expect it only lasts as long as they can hear the car engine. Then they get down to the real business of napping, chewing on things, wrestling, and licking the varnish off the hardwood floors.

With the arrival of summer, they are spending a lot more time outside. Aside from the weather, one of the exciting backyard attractions is the Kitty Next Door. She is a lovely, long-haired ginger creature, and her appearance in the neighbour’s yard makes all three of them absolutely mental. 

There used to be a building downtown that advertised 25 cent peep shows. Of course, I never went near the place, but one can imagine the sordid scenes within—a bunch of loser assholes, plugging the machine with quarters and wanking mightily to whatever they see though the hole in the wall.

This is very much the scene when KND shows up; all three of them immediately abandon what they’re doing (wrestling, sniffing poop, grazing) to stand peering through the narrow gaps in the fence while Kitty grooms herself or lolls about luxuriantly in the sun. And although they make a lot of noise and jostle for the best view, she ignores them utterly. And Nipper is in on it, too, because if Nipper was a person, she’d be Little Boo on Orange Is the New Black, played by Lea Delaria.

One can almost hear the dialogue:

Dieter: PUSSY!!! PUSSY!!!

Nipper: Oh, yeah, baby. Work it!

Scooter: *whines anxiously and shifts on his front paws*

Nipper: Hey, kitty—I got a bone. You wanna see my bone?

Dieter: I got a bone, too. I chewed the end off.

Nipper: (looking at Dieter) What?

Dieter: I chewed the end off the bone.

Nipper: You don’t really get this flirting thing, do you?

But by then, Dieter is distracted by an ant on the sidewalk, which he is sniffing, and then he’ll say something completely random like, “Why is France so far away?”

Scooter: What’s France? Is it near the park?

Nipper: Who gives a fuck about France? The pussy is licking her pussy!

And then they crowd around the fence and get all excited and growly, and really, the only thing missing is the slot for quarters. And because they are terriers of one description or another, their attention is laser fine and constant until KND either goes inside or goes away.

And lately, I’ve had to tell Scooter to stop nailing Nipper in the ass on a more or less regular basis. Humping isn’t always an indication of dominance with dogs—sometimes it’s a way for dogs to say, rather clumsily, “You still like me, don’t you?” He never used to do that before Dieter came along. Scooter has always been anxiety-prone, but since Dieter joined us, Scooter is uncertain as to whether or not Nipper still likes him (she does).

Dogs—they’re like every boyfriend you ever had in high school.

Scooter Pot Pie

Scooter