Between broken bones, food poisoning, a fake kidnapping, a fake ransom note, a missing Princess (PWT), enough Mardi Gras beads collected to make every goddamn Drag Queen in America happy, and the realization that the Queen and I were embarking on a blogging milestone, it became apparent that it was time to rally the buses and hookers, and head home. (How's THAT for a giant run on sentence? BOO-YA motherfuckers!)
What is the milestone the Queen and I are approaching? Well, you nosey asshats, we are celebrating our 10th anniversary of finding each other, and blogging together.
Yes, that's right. Queenie and I have been
Ok, so that up there was a post I started a while ago, and right in the middle of composing it, Blogger Duct taped Momma Duck . All Royals were called to action, and by the time I got back to my post,
Fuck off! I'm old, my memory isn't what it use to be. Onward and upward
Now I want to address something...something I think is damn near as evil as that goddamn Facebook... It's called Swagging. That's right, I said Swagging. The drunken Queen stumbled across this site one evening while hopping around the Internet.
I showed up at the castle for our weekly business meeting and found her almost manic. She was all "Free Money!" and "Gift Cards!" and "EASIEST SHIT EVER TO PAD THE GIN SUPPLY!"
I watched her cackling like a mad woman, filling out surveys, searching with their engine, and collecting points. Her bony little fingers were flying so fast over the goddamn keyboard, I swear I saw smoke. She was starting to scare me, so I told her we would postpone the meeting and to call me in the morning. I went home.
After a couple days without a blog post or a peep from the Queen, I began to get concerned. A couple days later, we all got an e-mail from the Queen. In the e-mail, she never mentioned gin, hookers, gators or Willie. It was a call to Swag. She talked of silver, gold, and Amazon Gift Cards. Most of the Royals,
Not me. No-fucking-siree. I was alarmed. When the Queen doesn't mention gin in an e-mail, something is defiantly not right. I knew I had to head over to her castle.
Along the way, it dawned on me that all kinds of things were amiss. No Royals were posting on the blogs, except PWT , and her posts were more like a fucking Swag survey instead of her usual brilliance.
All of our best hookers were MIA from their corner. I noticed the grass needed mowing at the Retirement Home, and I swear I heard a baby crying from the back room.
I noticed the The Royal Prison was being run by the fucking inmates, The Royal Newspaper hadn't been published in over a week, and The Ogre Child hasn't been heard from in over a month! Holy fuck! This is not good.
When I arrived at Queenie's, I noticed the gators were almost dead, the pool was dirty, and the bartender had a sign on the bar that said "Be Back...Whenever". WTF?
All of a sudden, I rounded the corner, and there she was. She was sitting at the computer, in a ratty ass bathrobe, her hair sticking up in every direction, the ashtray was over flowing, and her glass was EMPTY! I shit you not people.
As I slowly approached her, I noticed her eyes were glazed over, there was drool coming out one side of her mouth, her fingers were gnarled over the keyboard and she was mumbling about gift cards and only a few more pooooiiiinnttts!!!
What. The. Hell. Then it dawned on me. This Swag shit is a mother fucking cult! A David Korech and the Branch Davidian type, mother fucking cult!
People are sucked in, brainwashed, and then just shut out the rest of the damn world. No blogging, no wild partying, no blog smack downs, no nothing! Their entire existence seems to become clicking, swagging, and points.
We've got to figure out how to save the Monarchy from this Jim Jones like madness before the entire fucking kingdom falls apart!
It's time to come up with a plan. Put on your thinking cap, asshats, and for fuck sake, DO NOT DRINK ANY GODDAMN KOOL-AID!