Prince Charles and Camilla Parker-Bowles stand center stage. A Buckingham Palace guard stands behind them, stone-faced. Camilla shows off a sparkling engagement ring on her finger.
CAMILLA: Oh, Charles. I’m so happy we’re finally engaged!
CHARLES: Me, too, my darling! I’ve waited so many, many years to make you my wife.
CAMILLA: And one day soon, you shall be King of England and I, Queen Camilla!
As she moves to embrace him, he holds up a protesting hand.
CHARLES: Hold the phone there, love.
CAMILLA: You mean you won’t be King?
CHARLES: Oh, I’ll be King. Once that old lady with the ghastly hats finally kicks it. No, what I mean is, you shall never have the title of “Queen”, mon petit chou.
CAMILLA: But, but…I’ve been your mistress for 30 years! I’ve waited patiently, Charles! I turned down Ringo Starr for you! Why can’t I be Queen?
He embraces her.
CHARLES: My darling, my darling, my darling. Because the people of England detest you, my darling.
CAMILLA: But, why? I’m educated.
CAMILLA: I’m cultured.
CAMILLA: I’m pretty.
CHARLES: Ah, not so much, that. What I mean, lovey-dovey, is that while I think you’re gorgeous and sexy, the hoi-polloi see you as more of a turkey-necked dowager in need of a good shave.
CAMILLA: Charles! If I were capable of expressing emotion, I’d be aghast.
CHARLES: You see, sweetheart, if you were queen, we’d have to put your wrinkly old horse face on our money, and then Britain’s economy would crash because nobody would want to touch it.
CAMILLA: Well, it’s not like you’re Tom Jones, sugarlumps. You look like a ’72 Ford Pinto with the doors wide open.
He grabs his ears.
CHARLES: Humph! Well, maybe you should move to America, sweet potato. Sir Elton John’s told me for years that you look like a New Jersey queen.
She glares at him.
CAMILLA: Shriveled wanker!
CHARLES: Titless harpy!
CAMILLA: Skanky pants!
Camilla gets ghetto in Charles’ face.
CAMILLA:You polo-playin’, ascot wearin’, bad dental hygiene havin’, inbred DAWG. You can just pucker up and kiss my big white shiny ass, you hear?
Charles stares at her, enthralled.
CHARLES: Oh, Camilla! Get over here and mash my bangers!
They embrace passionately.
CHARLES: Hurry! To the palace! My mum’s not home.
They run off stage together. The Palace Guard follows, but remains on the side of the stage looking stone-faced in their direction.
CAMILLA (off-stage): Bloody hell, Charles, let’s just shag right here!
CHARLES (off-stage): Just close your eyes and think of England, Camilla!
We hear sounds of their make-out session.
Without changing expression, the Guard matter-of-factly takes off his tall, black hat, holds it a few seconds, then repeatedly vomits into it. He then pauses for a moment before placing it back on his head and goose-stepping off stage.
(My sincere apologies to the wonderful people of Great Britain for this sketch. I’m pretty sure it’s a lot more funny in Texas.)