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by Rick Walton
I read the other day that some commoner kid nailed Prince William on the noggin with a golf club. The official report said it was an accident, but I suspect different. I suspect that William was dancing around in his short pants, shouting, "My daddy's going to be king someday, and when he is, I'm going to have him chop off your daddy's head!"
Well, kids are kids, and you can't blame a kid, even a commoner, for sticking up for his daddy. So this commoner kid probably thinks--Hmmm, it could happen you know. Better kill this brat now before he hauls Pops up to the chopping block.
So he looks around and sees this golf club, just laying there like no one would think of using it as a murder weapon. Then he points off in the distance and says, "Hey William, look! It's Monty Python!" And when William turns and looks, the kid picks up the club and clobbers the young princeling.
But when William's escorts see William out cold on the ground, the commoner panics. Ouch, he thinks, it just might be my own head on the chopping block for this. So when the escorts ask what happened, the boy says, "A meteor, sirs. The young prince was hit by a meteor."
"And where might this meteor be?" the escorts ask.
"In the bushes, sirs. It bounced into the bushes." And he points to a clump of trees a mile away.
"Seems rather unlikely," the escorts say. "The dent in his head looks like it was made by a golf club. Perhaps this one with the blood on it?"
"Uh, right!" the commoner says. "The meteor hit the golf club handle, the club flipped up and bashed in the prince's skull. Then the meteor bounced into the bushes."
Now you have to have a certain amount of brains to have the future of the realm entrusted to your care, so the escorts become suspicious.
"Are you sure a meteor fell?" they ask.
"Of course," the boy says.
"Do you know that lying about this could get you sent to the tower for life, where you'd be fed on Spam the rest of your days?"
"No! Not--Spam!" This threat is too much for the commoner, who finally confesses that William had accidentally tripped on a butterfly and landed on the golf club. He explains to the escorts that he didn't think it proper to let the world know that the prince could be tripped by butterflies.
By now the prince is starting to stir. He rubs his head, groans, and says, "What happened! Tell me, now! That's a royal order! Off with their heads!"
The escorts then explain to the prince what the commoner boy has told them. And immediately, the prince, not having received much brain damage by the blow, recognizes the lie, and figures out the truth.
But will he snitch on the boy? Will he have him sent to the tower of London? Will he chop off his daddy's head? No, not yet.
"This is my royal command," the prince says. "My public will want to know what happened to my royal skull. Telling them that I tripped on a butterfly would not be proper. Therefore, we shall tell the world that this dear friend of mine accidentally hit me with this golf club. He meant no harm by it, and little damage was done."
And the prince smiles wickedly at the commoner.
And all is well--for the time being.
But someday, mark my word, in forty years or so, King William of England, newly crowned, will quietly issue an order that a certain unknown commoner be imprisoned in the Tower of London, and fed only on Spam for the rest of his days.
The royal can be patient for their revenge.
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