A fairy tale that involves the tragic death of a mildly insane anorexic; as all good fairy tales should, I suppose.
Some of the peons (we are all peons, by the way) in my little wing of the Global Media Conspiracy had a long and totally unnecessary discussion, rooted in Ugly American ignorance, that centered on the question of whether Camilla should be queen. It went in pointless directions and was never properly resolved but the end result was that I growled, very loudly: "Don't try to fucking out-British me!"
I know everything about Charles and Camilla, dude. Interesting fact -- Camilla's great-grandmother had an affair with Edward VII. Camilla reportedly once joked to Charles: "My great-grandmother was your great-great-grandfather's mistress, so how about it?"
Come on, how can you not appreciate a woman like that? Sure, they're both socially awkward and generally unpleasant on the eyes, but how can you really be against their marriage? Get me drunk sometime and I'll give you my long and tedious explanation of why I think the British royal family is still relevant.
As soon as I figure out when Whorehouse Days actually takes place, I am taking a road trip!
I am very upset that my friends and I never came up with this idea.