“Who’s that, then?”
“I dunno. Must be a king.”
“Why?”
“ ‘e doesn’t got shit all over ‘im.”
-from ‘Monty Python and the Holy Grail’
His Majesty looked at himself in the mirror. The royal visage peered back, shirtless, pale, a little out of shape. The royal right hand held the royal toothbrush, which in turn was scrubbing the royal pearly whites. It would not do for the King to have less than shiny, clean choppers. His Majesty continued to brush, his royal gob all fresh and minty.
The King grew thoughtful as he stared at himself in the mirror. A faint gray field of stubble was across the regal cheeks. Time to shave. His Majesty was not prone to that belief that a beard was essential to the royal presence. Too much trouble to maintain, and he had never liked all the crumbs and vermin that took up residence in a beard. “I suppose I could cut back on the number of royal feasts if I decide to grow another beard” he said to the fellow in the mirror. He slapped the slight flab girding his stomach with both hands. “Ha! That would probably do some good for the royal gut, as well. Yes, it shall be so. We shall eat less in the coming year!” No mention was made on the amount of beer to be consumed. The royal conscience told His Majesty that we shall wait and see. A lot to be said for the nutritive value of a fine stout.
His Majesty picked up the King’s razor to shave. The metal was cool against his cheek as the tiny blades munched their way through the salt and pepper stubble. The regal cheeks began to shine under the ministrations of the razor. As he scraped and pushed, a thought occurred to the King.
What, then, is that which made him a King?
Was it divine right? The King grunted, half laugh and half cough. No, it couldn’t be that. The King appreciated that God may had something to do with his ascension, but given the number of times they had butted heads, the King didn’t think so.
Was it the number of subjects? The King sighed. Subjects? What subjects? A Queen who would bristle at the notion of his being King, a Princess who wasn’t yet fully aware that she was really the one in charge, and two cats of neutral gender who cared not a fig who was running the kingdom as long as the food bowl was filled every day? Subjects, my royal left nut.
Perhaps it was His Majesty’s professed vocation. Yes, a career, a daily investment of time and energy in the noble pursuit of making buildings! Not for nothing that Architect was derived from ‘Master Builder’, he who is charge of all details great and small. Mind and hands that shaped the very fabric of the towns and cities of this fair land! Yes, that’s it…..
The King sighed. No, that would not be it. Recent events had shown otherwise. Barbarians spilling over the borders, marauders from far distant lands had rendered His Majesty incapable of pursuing his craft. It didn’t help that the border provinces had been in mild revolt, combining forces with the invaders. Another heavy sigh, and the King admitted to himself that maybe, maybe that was a sign that he need not be, nor could he be, a Master Builder anymore.
Shaving complete, His Majesty placed the razor back in its cradle. The royal cheeks gleamed, pink and soft as the proverbial baby’s bottom; presumably, they smelled better. The King assumed so, it not being easy to sniff one’s own cheeks. He felt a slight twinge in his lower abdomen. Hmm, time to void the Royal Bladder, he thought. He strode over to the gleaming white toilet in the corner of the room, unzipping the regal fly on the way.
“Your Majesty, your are like a stream of bat’s piss.”
“What?!”
“I, um, I, ah, I merely meant, Your Majesty, that, ah, you shine out like a shaft of gold when all around is dark.”
-from ‘Oscar Wilde’ by Monty Python
The King laughed, the Python skit playing in his head as he maintained aim on the bowl. The Royal Cleaning Crew was good, but pee is pee, regardless of pedigree. As he stood there, whistling ‘Londonderry Air’, a new thought dawned on him.
In his house there are three rooms dedicated to personal hygiene and sanitation. In each of those rooms, there is a toilet: a white porcelain toilet complete with a fuzzy little cover on the lid. Three toilets. In the context of his country, this was perhaps not so remarkable. After all, toilets were commonplace. But when the King considered that there are many places in the world that do not have the blessing of indoor plumbing and public sanitation, three toilets seemed unusual. For that matter, there were many places in the world that probably had no special room for a toilet, much less THREE of them. The King wondered, amazed at all this luxury.
Three toilets, all there for him to park the royal bum on whilst contemplating the news of the day. It wasn’t exactly money in the royal coffers, but the King could not help but feel that in some ways, he was a very rich man indeed. Some might even consider him to be divinely graced because of those toilets.
The King knows however, that he is really just a lucky man, to have an empire the size of a three toilet house.
“I dunno. Must be a king.”
“Why?”
“ ‘e doesn’t got shit all over ‘im.”
-from ‘Monty Python and the Holy Grail’
His Majesty looked at himself in the mirror. The royal visage peered back, shirtless, pale, a little out of shape. The royal right hand held the royal toothbrush, which in turn was scrubbing the royal pearly whites. It would not do for the King to have less than shiny, clean choppers. His Majesty continued to brush, his royal gob all fresh and minty.
The King grew thoughtful as he stared at himself in the mirror. A faint gray field of stubble was across the regal cheeks. Time to shave. His Majesty was not prone to that belief that a beard was essential to the royal presence. Too much trouble to maintain, and he had never liked all the crumbs and vermin that took up residence in a beard. “I suppose I could cut back on the number of royal feasts if I decide to grow another beard” he said to the fellow in the mirror. He slapped the slight flab girding his stomach with both hands. “Ha! That would probably do some good for the royal gut, as well. Yes, it shall be so. We shall eat less in the coming year!” No mention was made on the amount of beer to be consumed. The royal conscience told His Majesty that we shall wait and see. A lot to be said for the nutritive value of a fine stout.
His Majesty picked up the King’s razor to shave. The metal was cool against his cheek as the tiny blades munched their way through the salt and pepper stubble. The regal cheeks began to shine under the ministrations of the razor. As he scraped and pushed, a thought occurred to the King.
What, then, is that which made him a King?
Was it divine right? The King grunted, half laugh and half cough. No, it couldn’t be that. The King appreciated that God may had something to do with his ascension, but given the number of times they had butted heads, the King didn’t think so.
Was it the number of subjects? The King sighed. Subjects? What subjects? A Queen who would bristle at the notion of his being King, a Princess who wasn’t yet fully aware that she was really the one in charge, and two cats of neutral gender who cared not a fig who was running the kingdom as long as the food bowl was filled every day? Subjects, my royal left nut.
Perhaps it was His Majesty’s professed vocation. Yes, a career, a daily investment of time and energy in the noble pursuit of making buildings! Not for nothing that Architect was derived from ‘Master Builder’, he who is charge of all details great and small. Mind and hands that shaped the very fabric of the towns and cities of this fair land! Yes, that’s it…..
The King sighed. No, that would not be it. Recent events had shown otherwise. Barbarians spilling over the borders, marauders from far distant lands had rendered His Majesty incapable of pursuing his craft. It didn’t help that the border provinces had been in mild revolt, combining forces with the invaders. Another heavy sigh, and the King admitted to himself that maybe, maybe that was a sign that he need not be, nor could he be, a Master Builder anymore.
Shaving complete, His Majesty placed the razor back in its cradle. The royal cheeks gleamed, pink and soft as the proverbial baby’s bottom; presumably, they smelled better. The King assumed so, it not being easy to sniff one’s own cheeks. He felt a slight twinge in his lower abdomen. Hmm, time to void the Royal Bladder, he thought. He strode over to the gleaming white toilet in the corner of the room, unzipping the regal fly on the way.
“Your Majesty, your are like a stream of bat’s piss.”
“What?!”
“I, um, I, ah, I merely meant, Your Majesty, that, ah, you shine out like a shaft of gold when all around is dark.”
-from ‘Oscar Wilde’ by Monty Python
The King laughed, the Python skit playing in his head as he maintained aim on the bowl. The Royal Cleaning Crew was good, but pee is pee, regardless of pedigree. As he stood there, whistling ‘Londonderry Air’, a new thought dawned on him.
In his house there are three rooms dedicated to personal hygiene and sanitation. In each of those rooms, there is a toilet: a white porcelain toilet complete with a fuzzy little cover on the lid. Three toilets. In the context of his country, this was perhaps not so remarkable. After all, toilets were commonplace. But when the King considered that there are many places in the world that do not have the blessing of indoor plumbing and public sanitation, three toilets seemed unusual. For that matter, there were many places in the world that probably had no special room for a toilet, much less THREE of them. The King wondered, amazed at all this luxury.
Three toilets, all there for him to park the royal bum on whilst contemplating the news of the day. It wasn’t exactly money in the royal coffers, but the King could not help but feel that in some ways, he was a very rich man indeed. Some might even consider him to be divinely graced because of those toilets.
The King knows however, that he is really just a lucky man, to have an empire the size of a three toilet house.
Posts
Stands to reason that poverty is often described as not having a pot to piss in...
ReplyDeletePS-If thee left nut is royal, than the right would be.....? she wonders.
That was fantastic.
ReplyDelete(and, I LOVE Monty......)
I'm not a Monty fan, but I love what you wrote!
ReplyDelete::raises glass::
ReplyDeleteTo the King!
You've gone all Lordy and Kingy.
ReplyDelete"Amusing" the Queen said.
Three toilet house = castle.
ReplyDeletePerhaps your next job can be royal scribe . Well done, Gumby.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteWell, I've got two toilets...so does that make me princess-y? And if so, should I wear my crown when I visit the Le crapper?
ReplyDeleteI heart you IG. When I saw the quote, I immediately recognized it and knew this post would be a winner.
ReplyDeleteAnd I was right!
Love love love Monty Python! We all have the intrinsic value to be King!!How lovely that you can see that when so many can't! Love the post!
ReplyDeleteThe evidence of your kingliness lies not in the having of the three toilet empire, but in being able to take a piss all by yourveryownself.
ReplyDeleteif you have ever been hospitalized and catheterized, you know the sweet joy that the good pee is....Here's to the thrones we all take for granted!!
ReplyDelete"I fart in your general direction!"
ReplyDeleteWell, I've got toilets everywhere. I've got a garden surrounded by them. Perhaps twenty or thirty. I try and pee on them all, sometimes. Mum and Uncle Hugh, however, have only two so I guess they aren't as rich as you;)
ReplyDeleteIrish,
ReplyDeleteFunny and very well written.
If the King-thing doesn't work out, a competent Court Jester you would be.
IB
My mantra for 09 is: I love what I have. Come over to my blog, I have something for you!
ReplyDeleteRobin: So true. As to your question, His Majesty perhaps now realizes that “my royal nards” may have been a better turn of phrase, as they are indeed both royal. His Majesty regrets the confusion, and will have a stable boy beaten as penance.
ReplyDeleteVM: Thank you. Say, that wouldn’t be the FULL Monty, would it? ;)
Marinka: *blush* Thank you. And may I say, that photo I find intriguing, it’s lovely and mysterious…
Michelle: *clink* Slainte!
Braja: We are glad that the Queen finds us amusing!
OAM: Oh, that would be great :)
Sweet Cheeks: A Duchess at the very least.
MD: *blush* Thank you :)
Sarah: And a very good insight on your part. Salute the royalty within (just don’t get it on the seat…)
Pamela: (jaw dropping, hits table) I didn’t think of it that way, but that’s GOLD! Bravo!
SSP: I have been down that path, many years ago. Fortunately, it was a pretty lady nurse who, uh, hooked me up. She had very nice hands…
Captain Dumbass: “I wave my private parts at your aunties!”
Henry: By that measure, you are an emperor! Truth be known, I’d be rich if I had only one.
Kat: His Majesty will take that as a compliment. You may go…;)
IB: Jester it is! I have always wanted to speak truth to power, without fear of retribution. Plus, I am a bit of a fool…
CG: Excellent motto! And something pour moi? I’m on my way…
Oh, how I love Monty Python!
ReplyDeleteCongratulations on your appointment as King. I'm assuming a waterlogged bint tossed a scimitar at you? (or something like that -- had large amounts of the Holy Grail memorized at one time!).
Pearl
No worries, friend.. 'tis only a flesh wound!' :)
ReplyDeleteYou'll be right as rain in no time. ;)
In the mean time, here's to our fine 3 toilet abodes! (and to think, mine was originally *built* with not a single one!)
"Park the royal bum". I heart you, Irish.
ReplyDeleteI'm gonna find a way to use that phrase tomorrow!
Yes, but does the Good King get to leave the seat up on his three toilets?
ReplyDeleteMister: Well said, good sir! One of His Majesty’s favorites.
ReplyDeletePearl: “Her arm clad in shimmering samite…” “Moist women lying in ponds distributin’ scimitars is no basis for a system of government!” :)
CPM: Not a single one? What did you do for a loo?
Sprite’s Keeper: *blush* His Majesty would be flattered. Make me proud!
Casey: His Majesty has the Keeper of The Seats take care of that; the Queen has seen to that!
Comedic it was for sure, but I really appreciated the philosophical message and reflective nature of this post. Excellent.
ReplyDeleteYours blog yanks my chain Gumbo. Intriguing and open. I shall return.
ReplyDeleteJune in Oz
Robert: Thank you for the kind words. Comedy and philosophy make a good combination, and some days I am not sure there is much difference between the two.
ReplyDeleteJune: Pleased to know it yanks the chain in a good way! I look forward to hearing from you. Thank you for the follow!