Can O' Whup-Ass: Eavesdropper: The Obamas and HRM Queen Elizabeth II

BARACK OBAMA: Pleasure to meet you, Queen-bitch.
QUEEN ELIZABETH II: One is delighted. You might start with the floors, after which you may scrub the Royal Loo.
BO: I'm the President, foo.
QE2: Oh my, our face is red. We heard a nasty rumour that the colonies elected a negro.
BO: Fist bump a brovah.
MICHELLE OBAMA: Foo, da Lizziebiff don't be fist-bumpin' nobody.
BO: True dat. Fist bump dis ho an' you like to bust every finger in her bony-azz hand.
QE2: And you are...?
MO: I'm da first ho. Respeck.
QE2: One hopes staff remembered to hide the Royal silver.
MO: So who pimped your crib, dawg? This place be off-da-motherf*ckin-hook!
QE2: Did the Royal Guard inspect your pocket book?
MO: Why you axin a sistah so many queshins? Do I look like Alex F*ckin Trebek?
QE2: One only wants to determine whether you're packing a blade. We simply hope you are not fixing to shank a bitch.
MO: You da whitest ho since Doris F*ckin' Day.
BO: She all old and midget-y too.
MO: Yo, I gots a queshin to lay on yo royal azz.
QE2: One wishes you'd lay that shizzle on a sister.
MO: Who be dat fruity brovah lurkin about tryin to poke his bony finger up a lady's poo hole?
QE2: That's our Charles. One was under the impression he'd kicked that distasteful habit.
BO: Dat punk be da prince? Dayum, bitch. I just told my Secret Service posse to take him outback and show him wassup.
QE2: Oh dear. Well, one supposes we should pose for a photograph.
MO: Ooo! I'm glad I got my hair did!
QE2: Before you draw too close to our Royal person, we feel we ought to inform you that we've nothing but Kleenex and a bottle of pepper spray in our Royal handbag.
MO: Whatevah, ho.
QE2: While we're awkwardly standing like we've got sticks up our collective arse with insincere smiles pasted on our faces, might I ask a Royal favor?
BO: Hell yeah, Queen-bitch. Axe a brovah anyfing you want.
QE2: We don't suppose you'd consider laying any of that bailout green on a royal ho. We've been reduced to eating at McDonald's, and one finds it terribly demoralizing to holler into the mouth of a clown every time we experience an unforeseen big mac attack.
BO: Hell no, bitch. I give all dat green to the CEO brovahs.
QE2: We suspected as much. Oh well, can't blame a queen for trying.
MO: Respeck.
QE2: One wishes they'd snap the damn picture already.
BO: Cheese!
QE2: On your way out, one shall be pleased to present you with a pair of darling golliwogs from our Royal Gift Shop.