Being Mr. Kenny

“Tony,” said the Queen, talking to Tony Blair during Chambers, or whatever it’s called when the Prime Minister meets the Queen. “Know what I hate?“
“No,” he replied. “What’s that?“
“When authors pause what the characters are saying,” and here she took a breath, “just to put some stupid random bollocks in the middle. You know, like plot development or something.“
“Your Majesty!” gasped the Prime Minister, “I didn’t know you could say ‘random bollocks’”.

Immediately the Prime Minister said that, the Queen stomped across the room. She stomped for about 15 minutes — it was a big room — but lost no dramatic effect. The Prime Minister looked at her and loved her, and thought how beautiful she was when she was angry.

She arrived at the Prime Minister at a quarter to three, and took him by the lapels.
“Sir,” she breathed heavily into his face, “I invented random bollocks!“
The Prime Minister couldn’t help but laugh a little bit. He disrespected everything else about the country, why not the Queen?

Political.

“Your Majesty,” he began, “it escapes me as to what you are talking about.“
“Let me,” she said, “explain,” she continued to say, “for you.“
“O,” said the Prime Minister. “K.”

“It’s when the speech of a character,” and here she leapt into the air and did a little dance, “is interrupted so as to create some suspense…” She walked over to a nearby table, picked up the megaphone that was lying there, and pointed it directly at the Prime Minister’s face.
“…Or whatever!” She shouted, in an American accent, and a pane of glass fell out of a nearby window.

The Prime Minister’s ears were ringing. He opened his mouth.
“–” he didn’t say, as he hadn’t started talking yet, but then began his sentence. “Yes, your Majesty, I can see what–” and he lay down on the floor, lying very still for about five minutes before continuing. The Queen took out a little pad of paper, “Keep,” she cried, “that pose!” and she quickly drew the Prime Minister as he lay there.

“–you mean.” He finished his sentence.

The Queen picked up a pot of tea.
“Fancy some t–” and suddenly she hurled the pot at the back of the room, where it smashed into a million pieces and hot brown tea went everywhere, all over the Georgian furniture and everything. “–ea?” She frowned and looked confused for a moment before sitting down.

“No,” The Prime Minister, on a whim, took a cup and threw it through the gap left by the pane of glass that had fallen out. “thanks.”

“So tell me,” asked the Queen. “What’s your latest project?“
“Well,” replied the Prime Minister, “it’s a personal one, actually. I’m joining the ranks of the disillusioned and apathetic”
“Oh,” she prompted him “?“
“Yes, it’s a little organisation I’m setting up,” he said, “called ‘Bollocks to Britain’ but I think it’s missing something.
The Queen, at that moment, was wide-eyed. She’d just had the best idea. She had her hands slightly raised.
“I have it,” she said, excitedly. “… Comma … Bastards!“
The Prime Minister played that over in his head, “Bollocks to Britain, Bastards.”

And they both laughed so hard they nearly fell off their chairs.

Just then a butler arrived. He glanced at the tea at the back of the room. ‘Perfectly normal,’ he thought, ‘perfectly normal.’

But of course it was not normal!

‘I am, like, the most ironic butler in the world,’ he thought to himself, ‘check me out’.

“Ma’am,” he began, but suddenly the author got bored with the concept so he inserted the most unimpeachable pause possible and abruptly ended the story.