It's an Odd Thing

I was sitting around polishing the knobs on Great-Great-Great-Great-Grand-dad Metro's coronet , when an article caught my eye.

It appears that someone in Britain is seeking the True Heir to the throne.

And quite right too. Those upstart Windsors--sorry, I meant to say "Saxe-Cobourg von Gothas"--have been in charge for far too long.

I looked at the ancient signet ring on my finger and thought: If great-umpeenths-great-Grand-dad Edgar were here now, what would he want?

Should I raise an army? Has the time come to march on London and claim for the sake of the people of England what is rightfully mine?

I could do so much good ...
Once I booted that pretender Elizabeth off the throne, I could send the army to reclaim the United States and place her sorrowing people under the loving protection of the Crown. Bush the Lesser would be politely exiled to Bagdhad or somewhere.

But then it seemed to me I heard the voices of my forefathers speak:
Remember: With great power comes great responsibility.

So I said the hell with it and sparked up a joint. I've never been very responsible. Besides, consider the misery wrought by wars of succession: that squabble between Lancaster and York, for example, or the 2000 US Elections. Better to await a clear signal, perhaps a beacon in the sky or something. I got up and went in to my wife.

"Get out!" she cried "How many times have I told you to leave that bloody great sword outside?"

Rolling my eyes I stepped out onto the porch.
"Off with her head!" I declared, flourishing it as I thrust it back into the stone.

But only under my breath.