KINGSTON -- Last week, the disappointing issue of Her Majesty's royal uterus took a break from finger-popping VIPs when he whisked his horse-hipped mannish wife off to a tour of Bob Marley's house in Jamaica. After sharing a generously rolled spliff with the rastafarians, the royals jammed in a reggae drum circle, their puss-colored complexions in stark contrast to their surrounding dredlocked companions. A covert spy was on hand to record the following exchange:
PRINCE CHARLES (to CAMILLA): I say, this is some chronic doobage!
RASTA 1 (to RASTA 2): Him be batty-man. Boom bye bye.
CAMILLA (to CHARLES): How deliciously pagan!
RASTA 2 (to RASTA 1): We canna be poppin da fairyboy, mon. Him gunna be da queen a da Englishland.
PRINCE CHARLES: That ganja sure was primo, as you smelly negros like to say.
CAMILLA: Indeed, Charles. I feel the drumbeats vibrating in my finger oven, if you know what I mean.
RASTA 1: I gunna be poppin da batty-man in da dress, mon. Him be da 'bomination, da maker dunna luv him no ugly batty-boy inna girlie dress.
PRINCE CHARLES: My dear, we are of the same mind. These savage rhythms have awaked the royal trouser beast.
RASTA 2: Dat be no batty-boy, mon. Her be da batty-boy's woman.
CAMILLA: Uncage that beast, sir! Send it spelunking up my barren lady-cave!
RASTA 1: Him dinna be no woman! Dat batty-boy be packin da bananas in da hammock!
PRINCE CHARLES: I shall take you right here, you saucy wench. My be-pimpled posterior glistening in clammy sweat as it awkwardly quivers and thrusts to the drumbeat in as close a semblance to rhythm as a Windsor can emmulate.
RASTA 2: Her be lookin like da Don Imus go shoppin inna da Dress Barn, dat be da trut. But her be da lady-girl, mon.
CAMILLA: What is it about ethnic co-mingling that turns you into a gutteral, brainless, lust-crazed monkey?
RASTA 1: Him be batty-boy. Him be havin da adam's apple.
PRINCE CHARLES: When in Rome, pet. Have you forgotten Jewish Christmas?
RASTA 2: I tellin you mon. She looka like she bring-a da tartar sauce but she really be bring-a da fish.
CAMILLA: You mean that cute cha-nookah event with the beanies and the candelabra? That was divine. We got frisky that evening and you dripped hot wax on my breasts from the minorah and made me call you Shlomo Windsorstein as you chided me for shopping retail. What an animal you are.
RASTA 1: Well her be an butt-ugly woman.
PRINCE CHARLES: RAWR!!!
RASTA 2: Yeah, mon. She be ugly. But me like to be tappin dat sh*t anyways.
RASTA 1: Tie up da skinny one, mon. I get da bag for hiding da ugly woman head.