It has come to One's attention that the unruly pair who were nabbed whilst engaging in a distastefully public hippity-dippity session on Our Royal Lawn has been identified as Joy Taylor and Phil Cardon.
Imagine Our shock when the Royal Corgis started barking and We dashed to the window with Our Royal Binoculars, only to be confronted by the ghastly sight of you, Mr. Cardon, heaving and grunting as your pimple-afflicted buttocks quivered and bobbed in the sun whilst you piston-pumped Ms. Taylor as if she were a bronco in the pasty twit rodeo. We can assure you we were not the least bit impressed when you pushed Ms. Taylor's ankles behind her ears and re-enacted both pages of the British Kama Sutra (and, oddly, page 67 of this month's Popular Mechanics), as a crowd of befuddled Japanese tourists snapped photos of your rude display. And when the Royal Guard approached and demanded that you immediately cease jabbing your unimpressive snag into Ms. Taylor's indiscriminate meat pie, the grass stains on your knees and Ms. Taylor's back spoke volumes about your unfortunate lack of breeding.
One understands you've both been cautioned for outraging public decency. Were it up to Us, you'd also be charged with poor rhythm, flawed technique, premature ejaculation and a clumsy dismount, the penalty of which is having your severed heads mounted on a pike outside the Tower of London.
One feels compelled to inform you that you shan't be welcome at Windsor Castle going forward. Humping, fisting, donkey-punching, bukkake, rusty tromboning and all other violations of Leviticus are not permitted on Our Royal Lawn. Such lascivious activities are firmly restricted to private quarters, back stairs with a coquettish maid or robust manservant, or in the a horse stall with a surly stable boy. But the presence of a mattress (preferably queen-sized) is a sign of superior etiquette.
Finally, One seems to detect a distressing trend. First, Emma Modrate gave her bloke's skin flute a mouth hug in front of a pub. Not to be outdone, Ben Whelan and Rebekah James porked each other stupid in a public phone box. Finally, Susan Boyle waddled into prime time and sang a show-tune. If these brazen displays of bad manners and public vulgarity continue unabated, we are likely to snap our crown and get all medieval on you. We are a Windsor, after all; Windsors been getting medieval on unruly subjects since medieval times. We invented getting medieval and We have an irresistible itch to to bust out the thumb screws and iron maidens and put them to their long overdue good use.
HRM Queen Elizabeth II
Liz sez: "One would trade a Royal Corgi to a Korean dog sausage factory for a subscription to this blog's feed."