Cards, Beer And Cigars Are Allowed In The Kingdom With The Queens Permission

There was a last minute testosterone-fest at the castle. A long, long time ago…like, last night.
The King, after informing the Queen that this card playing, beer drinking, cigar smoking party, was going to be canceled…
He re-informed the Queen that this card playing, beer drinking, cigar smoking party, was a go.
And he only had 20 minutes for the QUEEN to get the castle in order.
To this instruction, the Queen responded with an appropiate…fuck you. Clean it yourself, bitch.
And she scowled.
And she grumbled.
And she furrowed her brows.
And she angrily stomped her feet.
But, did NOT clean.
She REFUSED to remove the abundant amounts of laundry from the dining room table.
She REFUSED to remove all the effects recently purchased for the upcoming affair from the kitchen table.
She REFUSED to be any use at all.
Because the Queen was displeased.
The Queen doesn’t appreciate being told something is going to be canceled, only to find out it is going to come about, without any regard to how the selfish Queen feels about this.
She gets…irritated. And…crabby.
Because really, the Queen lives in a perpetual state of irritation and crabbiness. Which she tries really hard to repress. But when the King throws a wrench in it, the irritated crab surfaces.
And the Queen can be a testy biatch.
The Queen figured that the King would just have to use a fold out card table and chairs. And THAT was just how it was going to be. Kissmyassthankyouverymuch.

The King hadn’t arrived home yet from the middle princes baseball game when the first guest arrived.
The Queen tried to ignore the knocking at the door. But with the dog barking incessantly. Jumping against the screen door which threatened to fall from its brackets, every time this guest knocked. The Queen felt she must greet this visitor at the door. Or kill the dog. And seeing the Queen isn’t a murderer…yet, she let this beer toting, cigar toting, testosterone toting person into the castle.
And then, the next guest arrived.
It’s this guest that the Queen sort of wished she NEVER let into her castle.
You see, my royal reader friends…
This particular person.
This dear friend of the King, who he has known since childhood…
Is a card playing, POT smoking character.
And he stunk.
When the Queen tells you that a contact buzz was significant and instantaneous when this person came into the kitchen…she is NOT kidding.
The Queen got high last night.
She didn’t even have to smoke pot which, by the way, she hadn’t done is almost 20 years.
Because just being near this person was enough.
And you my beloved subjects…should know how much the Queen hates, despises, and finds absolutely repulsive…
A grown man who wreaks of pot like a hooker, heavy handed with a bottle of cheap perfume.
A grown man who smokes pot like an over-eater on a fast food frenzy.
A grown man who smokes pot…at all.
Is immature. Ridiculous. And stupid.
A MAJOR turn-off.

This man…
After arriving to the Kingdom, freshly over-baked.
After playing the first round of the Kings version of the World Poker Tour, the Royal Edition.
After satisfying his munchies on Hungry Howies Italian sausage pizza with butter and parmesan crust…
He pulled…
Out of his pocket…
MORE pot.
And papers.
And rolled a big, fat, stinky joint.
Right there on the cracked Corian counter of the royal kitchen.
With the Queen standing there, arms crossed over her chest, aghast.
Mortified that this person, who has children of his own, would be brazen enough to risk exposing the royal children to this illicit act.
The Queen made it known that her children were awake.
And that just because his children were aware of his disgusting habit, that this was NOT OK to do in the kitchen of her castle in her Kingdom.
So…
He grabbed his skunk smelling fatty.
Left the kitchen, which was left with the residual odor of his activities…
And headed outside.
To pollute the Kingdoms air supply.

And the Queen…
who was already irritated and crabby from this card playing, beer drinking, cigar smoking, testosterone-fest…
Made a royal mental note to herself.
To let the King know.
That if he EVER wanted to have his peeps over again.
For this little poker playing party.
Where it’s OK to smoke cigars…
And it’s fine to drink beer…
It’s NOT OK. At all.
To have the pot smelling, pot toting, pot rolling friend over. EVER AGAIN…
If he can’t play by the rules…
Cards.
Cigars.
Beer.
Queens permission.
Then no card playing, beer drinking, cigar smoking, testosterone-fest at all!

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