"Especially after the way he treated poor Princess Diana." says Jeffrey, becoming just a bit too cloyingly upper class British twit for my stomach.
"Especially the way he dumped a dish like her for Camilla", says Carl.
"Ugh! The Royal Horseface", moans George. "And to think that trashy old bitch will one day be the queen."
"Which is to say", says Carl, "If his mummy doesn't end up outliving hm. She's, what, ninety-five now, and still doing her job?"
"She's getting pretty frail now especially with the death of Philip last month, and he was just a month or two shy of turning one hundred", say I, my usually dormant interest in the British monarchy now starting to stir awake.
Says Carl, "So do you know what Elizabeth said to Philip on their wedding night?"
"What", says François.
"Mount, Batten."
"Oh, please help me to unthink that!" groans George.
"No more disgusting or less disgusting a visual than the Royal Tampax", quips Carl.
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