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02-06-2013, 07:08 PM
Post: #1

"Printing Utter Rubbish for Pretentious Fools Since 2013"

6 February 2013

The Mystery of the King's Incapacitation

Last week the nation was stunned by announcements from Marchmain Palace that King James II had decided to abdicate in May and to appoint a regent to rule in his place between now and then. These sudden announcements have fueled intense public speculation about what on earth has happened to the monarch. What, precisely, is the nature of his reported incapacitation and why has there been not so much as a whisper or a rumour of anything before now?

While some have voiced their concerns for the King's health, others are suspicious that there is a conspiracy afoot. A number of Oxbridge residents have pointed to the mysterious Hound & Quarry Tavern, said to be the headquarters of a clandestine fraternal order. Conspiracy theorists charge that the secret fraternity that haunts the members-only Tavern (which some Oxbridgers have dubbed "The Lodge") has actually usurped the government and has been secretly ruling Glennain for over a year.

"What's all this 'Glennain' crap, anyhow?" asked Oxbridge resident Scotty McAllister, bartender at the HaNgOvEr Pub. "What about changing the name of our bloody city from Bergen to Oxbridge all of a sudden? Where'd all that come from? I'll tell you where: it came from that bloody tavern across the street, that's where. Right out of the blue. Nobody asked any of us about it. Nobody said to us, 'Hey, Hanover; hey City of Bergen...mind if we completely change everything around here on you?' No. They just up and done it. And how come you never see anyone come in or outta that place, hey? I'll tell you why: because they got some kind of a secret tunnel from there to Huntington...excuse me, 'Wealdstonbury'...that 'they' built after they went and shut down our bloody Parliament. Aye. They're a shadow government, those blokes; that's what they are. There ain't no democracy anymore. There ain't no king, there ain't no government. Just that bloody Lodge rulin' everything."

Mr. McAllister also indicated that he was a fan of David Ickes and admitted to believing in UFOs, shape-shifters, werewolves, and the Boogeyman.

In Sconeland (formery Varennes), the angst was palpable in the streets of the Sconnish capital of Tartannac (formerly Portreal). Monsieur Emil Bourmaud, senior sales associate in the ladies' shoes department at the upscale downtown department store "You Can't Afford It" echoed the suspicions that some sort of a coup d' etat had occurred. "What zay sink we are? Fools?" asked Bourmaud. "Donc. Zay change, completely, ze name of our cunn-twee to 'Zzcone-land'? 'Zzcone-land'??? Bon, geev me a bwake. Wut ze hell eez dat, huh? 'Zzcone-land'. Pfft. And zen, zay tell us we all have to put on kilts and learn to play zose bagpipes? Ah, mayerd! Don't you tell me somessing strange isn't going on over zare in zat capital in Hanover...zat Bridge for le Oxes. Those damn Germans and their damn Anglish kings ruin evwyssing! Donc. I say to 'ell with ze king! got a cigarette, my friend?"

Whilst conspiratorial accusations float about Oxbridge and anti-Anglo-Saxon sentiment rages in Sconeland, a handful of palace insiders have come foward, anonymously, to share their own insights about what might be going on. One low-level functionary at Marchmain Palace intimates that she began to have concerns for the King when she noticed he had begun to refer to the palace as "The White House" and repeatedly referred to the Lord Chancellor as "Haldeman". Another palace aide began to have concerns when His Majesty was seen pointing to the moon and commanding Neil Armstrong to come down and buckle his shoe, becoming indignant when the late astronaut defied his command by remaining in outer space.

Coincidentally, the announcement of the King's abdication and incapacitation came on the very day of his birthday celebrations. At the King's annual birthday banquet hosted at Sudbury Castle, guests commented that His Majesty seemed fine until time came for the Lord Chamberlain to propose the loyal toast. According to one guest interviewed, when the Lord Chamberlain arose to make the toast, the King ordered him to "sit down" addressing him as "Checkers". The King then stood up, himself, to propose a toast of his own. "He arose unexpectedly," reported a footman on duty that night, "and looking very pleased with himself, said...I can remember exactly what he said, do you want me to tell you?" The anonymous footman was able to recite the entire toast, verbatim, mimicking the toffee-nosed monarch's aristocratic Glennish accent as he did so:

"Good evening. the King. And my birthday. And my palace. It's not the one I like, mind you; it's this other one. But this one is bigger than the one I like and will fit all of you. And all of you are inside of this rambling, grotesquely-designed fortress of nonsense in order to celebrate my birthday with me today. I thank you, all. All of you, that is, except those of you who are here from that infernal House of Jollies at Wealdstonbury that plagues me so." Then he turned to Princess Shannon Alexandra and said, "That lady with the tiara sitting just there is my estimable brother! She's Polynesian, you know, and one day, she will be your President...I mean...your Emperor. She will be your King and I will be your usher. And all of you will bow down before her and make circles in the air while you do it. She will be a splendid Maharajah, and I will be an excellent railroad conductor, with two shovels, a flashlight, and some gum. And when that young lady becomes your National Anthem, this palace will be even bigger than it already is, but it will be darker and smell of incense and cabbage. And yellow. It will be yellow."

Then the King suddenly began to look annoyed and pointed to an empty chair next to the fireplace, saying, "There is here at this banquet tonight a woman, right there, whom I cannot abide...and who cannot behave appropriately in the station in which she has been placed! I have been insulted! Grossly and continually insulted, by that pernicious imposter who, with that Irish jackanapes she spends her days with, goes about stealing all of my rooms! I will have her know that I have grown tired of her unrepentant disobedience and her endless Frenchifications of my clocks, and today she will learn that I am the King! How dare she sit there, silent, next to my pet dancing fires and give me that impertinent look! That woman is utterly and completely without shame! Let me ask you, madam, do you coun't packing bags among your very favorite hobbies? She...ohhhh...she will rue the day she ever found her way to my Court, I'll tell you that much! You, madam, are insufferable, and I will have no more of it! How dare you offend my ears with your never-ending blasphemies! I will draft an Act of Parliament, madam, abolishing your mouth!"

"Then he drank his champagne," the footman reported, "sat down again, and that was that. Not another peep out of him the rest of the meal. The offending chair was quietly removed from the room. Once the dessert course was over, the Lord Chancellor rounded-up some of the King's gentlemen-in-waiting to escort the King upstairs and off he went, laughing the whole way up the staircase as all the guests stood while the orchestra softly played 'God save the King'. Nobody's seen hide nor hair of him since."

Has our Sovereign been 'abdicated' by sinister agents of change from the secretive Hound & Quarry Tavern? Or has he just plain lost his marbles? Some fear that the King's references to the "White House" were not insane mutterings, at all, but rather a coded warning that the nation would be usurped by Erik White, soon to reign in James' place as Prince Regent. And a few interesting fellows think that neither King James nor any of his predecessors ever existed to begin with, and that the nation is still being ruled by Morovia's King Vincent III.

Most Glennish subjects, however, think that this nonsensical article is twice as long as it needed to be and that a period should be put on it right here.
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