Angry Cowboy – The Wedding
OK, the Royal Wedding is history, tho the media will continue to milk it for weeks to come. I’m sure the unemployed, the students who can no longer afford college, and all the poor of Britain were thrilled by a public spectacle that cost the British taxpayers about 45 million bucks during a severe resession.
As for the “royals”, what a homely family! The groom’s brother, Andy, Harry, whatever his name is. He looked like a drunken football hooligan wearing an outfit designed by Mommar Ghadafi. That idiot grin. (I recognize it from a video of me standing best man for my friend, Tom Mix at his 2nd or third wedding in the cathedral at Gonzaga University. I’m pretty sure he was stoned. I certainly was.) Why shouldn’t he be grinning? He gets the best of both worlds. He gets all the money and priveliges but doesn’t have to face a lifetime of being trotted out for public spectacles like some poorly dressed, superannuated mummy until he dies.
The men needed only a few frizzy wigs, some David Lee Roth hats and some shades to look like the Libyan dictator. The “uniforms”. How can they be uniforms, when they’re one of a kind? If Jacko were alive, he’d have been green with envy. And the “fruit salad” on the manly breasts! Pretty heroic for a bunch of guys who have never heard a shot fired in anger. Tasteful buggers, tho; they didn’t wear white socks or sequined gloves.
I know this sounds snarky, but I don’t think it was much of a challenge for Kate to nab William, being one of only a few dozen women in the country with good teeth. The women’s hats set a record for tackiness unequaled since the reign of Louis the XIV. Former Spice Girl, Victoria Beckham wore a corkscrew thing that threatened to blind anyone who got too close but, no doubt, came in handy at the reception.
Elton John sang but didn’t seem to know the words. (they weren’t written by Bernie Taupin) I was disapointed that he wore a morning suit , instead of the chicken outfit. Who’da thought he’d ever be outshown in the outrageous costume dept. by white trash with titles? Considering the taxes he’s paid over the years, he should have his own wing in Buckinham Palace.
If anyone but a cleric wore some of those outfits he’d be laughed out of the vestry. Did you notice the eyebrows on the Lord Bishop of London? He actually combed them over his bald spot! I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that there’s a fine line between the Archbishop of Canterbury and Jim Bakker. Even Tammy Faye wouldn’t have been caught dead in some of the outfits those jack leg preachers wore.
Speaking of Tammy Faye, the queen definitely needs a wardrobe advisor. But then, if I had her bucks, I might wear a canary yellow ensemble and tell the world to kiss my elderly ass too. A lot of lip reading went on by the media. “Wow!”, said the new Duchess of Cambridge, “Shall we kiss?”, said the Prince/Duke, etc. I seem to be the only one who caught what the Queen whispered to Phillip. “Jesus, I hope this one behaves better than that dumb slut Charlie married the first time. If this one runs off with an A-rab, I swear to God, I’m abdicating and moving to Greenland!”
In the beloved, immortal Princess Di’s defense, she did have better legs than Wallis Simpson. She simply failed to follow Dr. Thompsons dictum; “Buy the ticket, take the ride.” Despite her priveliged upbringing, she apparently didn’t know the difference between Balmoral and Beverly Hills.
I dispise and take every opportunity to mock the idea of “royalty”. Originally, in the mists of pre-history, the king was the biggest/trickiest/meanest guy in the tribe. The baddest motherfucker in the neighborhood. He led his troops into wars. He killed off any possible competitors (including close relatives). He manipulated the nobles and the masses like Carl Rove on steroids. Somehow the idea of “bloodlines” got into the political mix, no doubt because of their addiction to horse racing/breeding. Next thing you know you have a few inbred, hemophiliac families (like hillbillies with money) who run the world and seldom even leave the house.
Despite ernest efforts by our founding fathers Americans seem to crave some kind of royalty. In politics we’ve had the Adamses, the Cabot-Lodges, the Kennedy’s, the Daleys, the Bushes, etc. Our celebrities are the Barrymores, Fairbanks, Sheens, Baldwins, Arquettes, Carradines, on and on. Even folkies have their Guthries, Seegers, Chapins and dozens of other nepots. Good God! How pathetic is that?
In the weeks long buildup to the Wedding, I’ve steadfastly refused to watch or even hear anything about this pointless spectacle, like I avoid Marie Osmond’s weight loss commercials or anything involving Reba McIntire. JoAnn, being a more stable personality, doesn’t go apoplectic at the slightest excuse and has a normal curiosity about these things, so last night we watched the coverage of the drunken wingding, and that’s why I’m so well informed.
Holy shit! I’m starting to sound like Chelsea Handler. Someone shoot me!