Vignette One: Charlie knocks up the Queen of England and almost starts WW3
Charlie knocks up the Queen of England and almost starts WW3
Written by: Nathan Truzzolino
Charlie
Yeah so I got Queen Anne pregnant. I tell ya, the timing could not have been worse. I could have blown my load in that crazy Brit in a fourteen million different realities and I still wouldn’t have picked a worse fucking time.
Queen Anne was all intensive purposes set to marry Viktor Osvchecv, the newly crowned King of Russia. If you are not familiar with the new monarchy that is Russia Major, well let me school ya for spell.
The pandemic unequivocally and discriminately targeted and fucked Russia worse than any other country on the planet. To call it racist or xenophobic would be crazy because how in tarnation is a virus racists? Well, it turns out it can be, or as the Banana Party calls it, inherent racism.
Turns out this sunofabitch virus has an odd, rare and extremely transferable protein that attacks humans with a certain genome in their DNA. That Genome is from one individual who just so happened to have had a shit ton of offspring a few centuries back. The one and only Artila the Hun. Anyone with his DNA was more or less given a death sentence if this contracted the COUGH. This virus was not only here to play but it was here to win. And win it did. It won 99% of it’s matchups versus people with this gene. Nice match, see you next time.
Most dependents of Hun live in Asia Major (China mostly) and Russia. Well in High School, China was voted to be most likely a tyrannical dictatorship disguised as a communist state, therefor Chinawood had and executed their ability to completely shut down borders, transportation, commerce and life in general for six months. Effectively burning out the COUGH in their country. Russia did not take these precautions.
Seventy nine percent of their population contracted the COUGH. Of that seventy nine percent, ninety three precent of them were hospitalized for more than two days. Of the ninety three percent sent to the hospital, ninety one of them did not return home.
Nine point three million Russians died in a year. Leaving a country of depleted and desperate people scrambling to keep their country from collapsing onto itself. The Kremlin sent out word for help. No one came.
Germany thought about it but then was like SYKE! The US batted it around for a bit before me and Shooter took office but there was a snowballs chance in my shorts in Texas chance of getting that passed through congress.
The only country of any stature and resources who could help was Great Britain - credit being given to King William and his best friend, the Prime Minister of England, Sherp Magree. Both chaps saw an opportunity to make an offer Russia couldn’t refuse.
The pitch was made to create a monarchy in Russia under the government of a new King and Queen. Russia had a new favorite politician named Viktor Osvchecv who was a real son of a bitch. This tool is the opposite of Shooter and I. Privileged, educated, pompous and outspoken. I fucking hate the guy. Yet I couldn’t be mad at the decision to put him on the crown. The opportunity for England was to gain some control over a super power of yore, strengthening their own situation in Europe and possibly matching the US in power, might and economic strength.
The offer that Russian could not refuse was Queen Anne. Holy shit was this skirt breathtaking in the most regal and homely kind of way. It was like she was adopted or something because looking at her father, the King and the Queen Kate, there was no way someone like her came from those embred loins. Queen Anne, or Princess Charlotte, people called her Queen like how the gays in America call Beyonce and Lady Gaga Queen.
William offered Viktor Anne in marriage, coupling these two great nations forever in holy matrimony.
The official motto within in the walls of the White House was this.
WE WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS UNHOLY UNION
SHOOTER
I suggested we hang the Commy bastard. That got shot down.
Charlie said he would take to the King.
No fucking way I said. King has his mind made.
It was suggested to talk to Viktor. Maybe, it’s on the table.
Then it came to me. The preverbal lightbulb.
We get to Anne first.
Charlie is the charmer. He has to do it. I cant stand foreign broads. I can’t be with someone I need a decoder ring to understand what the fuck they are saying.
We knew this was a long shot and possibly a loveless relationship for Charlie but it had to be done. No way in fucking hell I’m being greeted by my grandfather Richard at the pearly gates just to be roasted by him for letting Team Dancing Bear and Pussy Lion beat Uncle Sam’s America. No sir.
Charlie left for England incognito while I stayed back and took care of what’s really important, America.
Charlie
If Shooter wasn’t going to come with me to Buckingham Palace, I was going to need someone reliable to accompany me. Our visit was to be kept under wraps to the media but the Palace was buzzing when they heard President Wallace was coming for dinner.
Naturally I brought along our best friend from childhood, the one and only Flynn Griffin, aka Stiff MaGriff, aka the newest special advisor to the NFTA according to a quietly circulated WH press memo (to hide Griff’s memo, the CIA planted drugs in the car of a mega church pastor to gin up a scandal, don’t worry he deserved it).
Flynn is a wild card. Imagine a chimp being shot up with testosterone while smoking the occasional toot of meth. Thats Flynn. Flynn is 220lbs of pure muscle hiding under a thick layer of baby fat harboring a stewing rage fueled by daddy issues. If not loitering at the Knights of Columbus free gym watching professional wrestling, Flynn is spending the majority of his day at his small storage unit near his apartment. While at the storage unit, this is his routine:
Get to storage unit. - Take out his mom’s urn so she can get some fresh air - return Mom urn to storage unit - proceed to take every item out of the storage unit other than his mothers urn - grab two homemade bullwhips - violently whip said whips at storage unit junk until the whips have whipped the junk into dust - Throw everything back into the storage unit, lock up, go back to the gym before going home. Oh and in between each of these steps he is hitting a ‘kiddy’ size dose of meth. He calls them toots. It’s adorable.
Flynn is with me on Air Force One, his first plane ride overseas. He has already made my secret service very nervous by pestering them about their weapons and if they have hidden guns on them and if one of their hidden guns is in their ass cavity just in case they are compromised and need a tiny gun to defend his best friends.
Then Flynn made the flight crew nervous by hovering around the emergency doors saying he’s probably the only person on the plane strong enough to hold the door shut if he were to open it mid-flight.
Flynn was eventually sequestered to the ‘containment’ section of the plane and thrashed around in a plexiglass cell until he eventually cried himself to sleep. London was a long flight.
SHOOTER
I told Chuck bringing Flynn was a bad idea but Stiff McGriff was due to get out of the house for a while. Poor guy is convinced his Mom’s ashes are residing within an urn at his storage unit for which he performs bull whip trick every single day. His Mom is alive and well living in southern Utah near the border. He’s been told this many times and he refused to believe it. Just says “Nope, she’s dead”. I asked how he was for sure his Mom was in the urn of ashes and he simply said to me, “Look at her!” as he held it up to me. “Looks like her don’t it?” he says lifting the lid.
“Spose it does” I say nodding.
Flynn is a fucking hoot.
Charlie
Buckingham Palace stinks. Literally it smells…old. Like decades of blotchy pale skin and racism old.
Queen Anne is actually Charlotte of Windsor but since she is the Simba to King Mufasa she has already chosen her new name when she is to be crowned so the commonwealth decided to just start calling her Anne starting now.
She accepted our party (Flynn, myself, my personal secretary Shine and Secretary of State, JoJo) in some huge parlor room that was covered in paintings bigger than my first apartment. Most were painted in the classic realism style, depicting great men and women doing courageous things like dining at a cafe, laying carelessly on a chaise lounge and standing next to giant horses with their hand on the butt of their sword. I must admit they were stunning pieces of art but they did not compare to the bombshell that was sipping tea and brandy next to a two story tall multi-paned window. Anne was breathtaking. I can say this for sure, I have never in the history of my life considered any of the Royal Windsors to be handsome or beautiful. Diana was cute but she reminded me of a sad, wine drunk mom. I would later find out that Buckingham Palace is famous for emitting a halo effect onto its residents, making everyone who lives inside insanely desirable.
The radiant beauty of this room rubbed off tremendously on our fair skinned, big nosed, beety eyed Anne so much that all I saw in the moment was a pixie fairy with flowing hair and a seductive smile that tented my thousand dollar trousers. I was smitten.
“She’s a peeeeeeeeeeccce” Flynn omitted. Jojo and Shine coughed in embarrassment.
Anne blushed and strode over to us and extended her royal hand. She presented it to Flynn first.
“Charmed” she said in a heavy British accent and winked at Flynn. He held her hand for a second too long and he knew it. Flynn was now blushing.
“Mum” I say taking her hand now and kissing it.
“Oh come now Mr. President. You can call me Anne. I am no queen yet.” She condescendingly squeaks. Anne takes her hand back and places it on her clutch above her navel which is resting peacefully in her other hand.
Leading us by our noses, Flynn and I get a royal tour of the Palace from Anne while the other buzz kills stay back to take an urgent call about some shit storm in North Korea. The tour takes around an hour. She doesn’t loose energy or momentum as she narrates and describes every room, shelf, book, bannister, curtain, molding, carpet and door knob in the entire fucking place.
She so elegantly and easily now had Flynn and I wrapped around her dainty finger.
“Now you must excuse me Mr. President and Agent Flynn. I am to retire to my residence for a shower and nap before our grand event here tonight. I look forward to seeing you both tonight. Hope you brought your dancing shoes, because you know how we royals are known for our dancing skills.”
“Dancing with the Stars” Flynn says like a giant flounder fish. And with that she disappeared through a secret door and into the great unknown of tunnels that snake through the palace.
I turn to Flynn slowly.
“Listen to me Stiff. As the President of the United States I am ordering you to stay the fuck away from her tonight. I mean don’t even look at her. Don’t think about her, don’t get a whiff of her, nothing. Understand? She has that freak vibe about her and god knows how you attack the freaks.” I say turning my head down to narrow my eyes into his bloodshot marble orbs.
Flynn crosses his eyes, sticks his tongue out and puts up his hand in the fashion of an Eagle Scout.
“Sir, yes sir.” he screams. He gives a swishing salute and before it can get near my face I grab his hand and dig my thumb into the webbing pressure point of is sweaty hand. I am amazed that he hasn’t caught onto this trick yet. I pulled it on him the first day we met, back in the one room school house on the prairie.
“Ow ow ow ow”
“Listen you shit.” I say pressing harder.
“Ow ow ow ow”
“Do you love your country?” I ask.
He shakes his head painfully in the affirmative.
“Then help me bag the queen tonight so that our great country will stay the greatest on the planet. Ok?”
I let up on his hand.
“Ooow kay” slithers out of his sad meth mouth.
“For American” I say putting my hand out towards him in the Arnold Schwarzenegger style to show off our massive muscles when Stiff finally grasps my hand.
As he does so, a wide smile comes back on his dumb face.
“For America.” The combined power of our two hands clasped together in love and unity will make history that day my friend.
SHOOTER
“Yaaaawlow” I say into the worlds smallest cell phone.
“Flynn and I are on our way back.” Charlie screams through air plane static.
“Bout damn time Chucky. Needed jya here yesterday. You wouldn’t believe the shit North Korea is trying to pull meow. Did you know that..”
“Shooter, shut the fuck up. We have bigger problems than tiny Koreans with dope haircuts. I think we have an issue with the Dancing Bear.” he says nervously.
“What about him?” I ask.
“He’s…well he’s uh rather upset with us…ah me I guess.”
“Tap dancing Christ. What happened last week?” I ask.
“Yeah OK, fuck!” He screams. “Hey we are landing I’ll see you in twenty. Where you at?”
“Oval.”
“Cool see ya there.”
Next thing I know Chucky is crying on the left couch while Flynn takes a booze nap on the right.
“Anne is pregnant.” He sobs into his hands
“Heavens to Betsy” I say shaking my head with a chuckle. He sobs even louder at my laugh.
“Oh sheet come now Chuck, how do you know she’s really pregnant huh? Heck you just shacked up last week, no way in hades you can be for certain.”
I stick my paw on his back and rub it between the shoulder blades like Gran did when he would get all pissy like this.
“It’s their secret. She showed me. These fuckin Royals man, they got this… jewel.” he says looking up from his snot covered hands.
“Like the vape thing?” I ask.
“No fuck face, like a giant Ruby, the size of your balls man. It turns colors. Depending on how near it is to someone it can sense if someone is with child. Dude it’s never wrong.”
“That’s the biggest piece of bullshit fake news I’ve ever heard and I love fake news. What’s next? You gunna tell me she showed you King Arthurs STD Clensor 5000 as well?” I ask grabbing his shoulder tight now, trying to shake the sissy outta him.
“You’re not far off. She said Arthur’s Grand Wizard created it. It was to be used to tell if the woman was impregnated with a male heir. Instead it just predicted pregnancy instead. Half ass wizard.” He says seriously.
“Never trust the KKK that’s fer dang sure.” I say and stand up to go take a look at Flynn to make sure he’s still breathing. He must have sleep apnea or something because I swore he was dead before giving a loud gasp followed by a chain saw sequence of snores. I give him kick with my $700 loafer.
“No snoring in the Oval Office Stiff, it’s disrespectful.” I say with a laugh.
I sit my ass on the Resolution Desk and cross my arms in disgust at the two degenerates I call friends and brothers.
“Alright. Talk to me about the Dancing Bear. How the fuck does he know about this?” I ask.
“Viktor only knows that we went up to Ireland together for a weekend. He doesnt know she’s pregnant but way word travels in these circles I wouldn’t be surprised if…”
My tiny cell phone bursts to life with a baragge of text messages. Next thing I know Jojo and her merry men bust in the room.
“Anne is pregnant!?” Jojo yells as she pulls her hair out of bun, brandishing two chop sticks, one in each hand, doing a weird like skiing movement with them. She was on Charlie so damn fast no one knew what to do. So we just let her stab at him.
After a few moments of that Flynn straighten up and grabbed Jojo by the shoulder and shoved her off Charlie.
She caught her breath while hunched over like an Olympic sprinter.
“We are so fucked.” She weazes.
“Tell me why that is Madam Secretary.” I ask fishing out a Red Vine out of my $1200 blazer inner pocket.
“Russia…Viktor! He still have fucking nukes asshole. Just because the Cough killed most of the people doesnt mean it killed their nuclear arsenal. He is a man on edge right now. His chance to bring his country back to prominence was just deflowerd by a redneck from Montana who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants!” She screams.
Charlie looks up with that smile and I know what he’s going to say next. I try to use our on-again off-again twin telekinesis to tell him not to but to be honest I kinda wanted to see what would happen.
“Deflowering? I would say someone beat me to the punch stealing her Crown Jewels if you know what I mean. Some real Oceans’ 11 shhh..” Before he could finish Jojo was back on him with her windmill stabs.
That’s what I thought would happen. I almost could hear him laughing via our uncanny two cans and string.
CHARLIE
So am I like going to be King or just a Duke?
I asked King William this and he scoffed so loud when I said it his false teeth fell out of his mouth while he loudly farted.
I was rudely informed I would never be King and no title would be bestowed upon me as along as he is alive.
Isn’t that how it always works? Like we have to wait till you croak for my wife to be queen. Pretty straight forward if you ask me.
Again he made an involuntary extraction out of his anus. This time it sounded wetter.
Nine months after our first hook up, and six months after our official wedding, Anne and I welcome baby Wallace to the world. He won’t carry my last name for long but for now he’s Henry Charles Wallace, future King of England. Holy shit.
Anne was a doll through the whole thing. She about went into early labor when I finally told her about my situation in the White House. She said she knew it all along, saying she could tell when Shooter was on TV versus when I was. I told her anyone with half a brain could discern that with no volume and one eye. She’s gorgeous but thick upstairs.
Officially she married President Max Wallace, our alias when we are working in the White House. I figured Shooter would be pissed having to be a part time Dad to a kid that wasn’t his and a part time husband to a stuck up Royal, the antithesis of who Shooter is and believes in. To my surprise he loves it. After seeing the Palace and the other seven vast estates on the great isle, he fell in love faster than I did. Plus he said he liked being Uncle Ter’, said it was good for his ego.
All was good in DC and London but something was rotten in Denmark, or Moscow rather.
Viktor was still seething at his missed opportunity to unite the Lion and the Bear, I actually felt bad because our intelligence dug up that he actually liked Anne and wanted very much to marry her, that made me kinda sad. But fuck commies, even former commies. Secretary of State Jojo was convinced Vik would retaliate but instead, like a good millennial, he took us to task on Twitter. Sending digital bombs instead of plutonium ones. Viktor was no idiot, he know this would hurt us more than sending us to hell in a hand basket. He accused us of sabotage, espionage, and corruption when it came to his new Russia. He wasn’t wrong, like yeah we did that shit and have for years, but from super-power to super-power, you don’t rat out your counterparts dick weed. You take it like a man and get us back on the next round. Not this pussy though, he tried blowing up our fucking spot on the daily, even going as far as saying that Anne was murdered and replaced by a look-alike. Also he called my unborn son a mongrel and a space monkey, whatever that means.
As a new father and husband I wanted nothing more than to behead this flower King and feed it to one of those huge Siberian tigers. I would have too if it wasn’t for my new father in-law, King Willy. He sat me down in his old as Ranger Rover and made it loud and clear that Viktor was off limits, that even though I seduced and defiled his daughter, that England and Russian were moving forward with their partnership, marriage or no marriage.
Anne’s first cousin, Virginia, is next in line to marry King Viktor. Virginia isn’t all that attractive. I mean I wouldn’t kick her outta bed for eating crackers. She’s cute but…odd. That is the equivalent of the promise of getting Michael Jordan on your team but instead getting Mugsy Boges. Yeah they play the same game but one is clearly better at absolutely everything than the other. I had MJ, Viktor can have the shrimp.
Still, even with Willy telling me to back off, I was going to drone strike the fuck out of this asshole. Seal Team 6 isn’t even worth the effort to kill this guy.
Then Anne told me about Princess Diana.
I can’t repeat what she told me about Princess Di but all I can say is it scared the living shit out of me and that we were going to be staying away from the Palace for the foreseeable future. If William and Harry would do that to their own mother, then….I’ve said too much.
Anywho, after little Hank was born, Viktor turned up the heat on his Tweets. In classic Saint Trump (yes, twitter gives sainthood to its all time users. Jeffery Epstein’s corps was awarded one, Ben Shapiro’s Death Rattle got the tap and the ghoul of dead Ellen Degenerous was the last to get knighted.) Viktor called us out repeatedly enough to where I actually snuck Shooters nuke key out of his gun safe and tried to activate the missiles myself but for the life of me I couldn’t get my big toe to turn that damn key.
So I did what any good millennial would do to counter punch a Trump like tweet. I ignored it, pouted about it and made my big brother go to Russia to settle it on the playground.
SHOOTER
I don’t know if any of ya’ll have ever been in a dual but I tell ya what it’s fucking exhilarating. Like a shot of life stuck straight into your pumping heart.
After putting up with enough of Viktor shit I decided to go settle this little spat between him and Charlie once and for all.
We met in Kiev Ukraine in the dead of winter. There was a small gym near the capital that we meet at with a boxing ring, wrestling mats and basketball court.
He was there first in his Hunger Games like jumpsuit doing squat thrusts and stretching his hamstrings over and over. The look on his face when he saw me was priceless.
Vik was expecting new father Charlie, who gained a few sympathy pounds when Hank was born and was so sleep deprived he had to take a sabbatical along with Anne and Hank to Montana for a month.
Instead of the pudgy daddy, Vik saw a 6’2 1/2 225lb lean and pissed off twin who was ready to make Vik a Matryoshka Doll by shoving an assortment of my shoes up his ass, each one bigger than the other so that every time he took a shit, a New Balance sneaker would be waiting him in the commode.
We discussed which event we would participate in. I was feeling really confident so I let the Red pick his own demise. The old rules of combat, like boxing, wrestling and a foot race was thrown out by the commie bastard reason being his chronic sciatica pain. Instead he offered a challenge of a different sort. An old fashioned dual, modified for modern day.
Fucking tasers.
Now I don’t know how many people have been stuck by a cattle prod or grabbed an electric fence, but I can tell you from experience it ain’t fun. I’ve done it too many times to count and in doing so I have pissed myself ever single time.
“Ten paces, turn, shoot. First to fall looses. Loser goes home.” He quips from a far.
“Ok Red here is the deal. I accept your acenine dual but here are the stakes. I win, you leave me and my wife and child alone, you stay the fuck out of England and you take that new wife of yours, Mary or whoever the fuck she is and you go disappear in your fancy Moscow mansion you hear?”
“If I win?” The smug smudge asks.
“I divorce Anne and you can have my sloppy seconds. Hope you like being a step-dad because Hank is going to be a fucking handful.” I say putting out my mitt to squeeze his.
He shuffles over and grabs my hand so god damn fast and hard it makes me jump a little.
Oh fuck…
Each dual fighter is allowed a second, a person responsible for you if you should die. Mine was Stiff McGriff of course.
“Dude you’re so fucked! He took your hand so fast I thought I tripped for a sec.” Stiff whispers to me.
“Shut the fuck up Flynn. I got this alright?” I snap back in a hard whisper.
I look over at Viktor and he is practicing a sort of turn and shoot pirouette that looks so fluid and flawless it makes my scrotum suck up into my body.
“Fuck. Maybe I am fucked Flynn.” I whisper back.
“Dude it’s first to fall, not first to get hit right?” Stiff asks.
I nod in the affirmative.
“I can count on six hands the amount of times I’ve been tased and stayed upright. It’s easy man.” Flynn says with a teeth deprived smile.
“Is it not that bad?” I ask.
“Oh it excruciating.” Flynn says flatly.
My shoulder slunk. Flynn moves his gross mouth to my ear and whispers.
“Theres a special trick I have to not make it so bad.” Flynn says with a sly smile.
Oh god dammit.
Flynn whips around and yells over to Viktor corner.
“Ay yo Red, my boy and me need minute outside. Game plan ya know?” Flynn says with a shrug like everyone knows what the fuck he is talking about.
Four minutes later I am smoking weed out of a Coke can that is heavily laced with PCP.
The instant wave a euphoria hits with the first inhale. I feel as if god himself lifted me off the planet with a giant magnet and pulled me up to his kick ass bachelor pad.
Then the second inhale cemented me back on Earth, this time the euphoria was gone, replaced now my rage and menace.
Flynn puts both his hands on my shoulder and put his forehead up to mine.
“Lets fry this fucking Krout!” He screams. I let the obvious blunder slide and give a big ole HELL YEAH right back at him.
-
Back-to-back Viktor is four inches shorter than me and I try to take that into consideration as I take my seventh, then eighth step but the ground is turning into lava and I realize I have no shoes on. Yikes!
Nine steps.
Oh god, the air in Utopia is poison!
On the tenth I step on a tiny turtle with swords who screams at me “You killed Master Splinter!!!” In a high pitched voice and suddenly I have flash backs to my time as the murderous ninja Shredder and how I tried to kill those blasted turtles over and over and …
One of Viktor’s electrified prongs goes into my lower back and the other into my buttocks.
The pain radiates through my body like rats scurrying out of a sinking ship. One knee almost drops to the ground but I find a balance thanks to the super charged PCP in my veins. Electricity is like the Mentos to the Coca-Cola that is PCP in my blood stream, erupting in a blind rage that fizzes out of every orface of my being. My vision is tinted blue now and the only thing a differnt color is my right hand, the one holding my yellow taser. It turns to a glowing gold as I raise it eye level.
I look behind me at Viktor and see a terrified face holding his gun hand out at me. Viktor has two faces now, the comedy and tragedy masks come to life. I aim for the laughing one and to my delight I hit it in the forehead from sixteen feet away. The other lands in his neck.
Both masks turn into sad emojis as the voltage of my firearm tap dances its way over the wire into his frail ballet body. Later I will find out that his state-of-the-art cat suite actually is a super conductor of electricity, making his electrocution an inflate amount more painful than it should have been.
Viktor stayed in a medically induced coma for six weeks and awoke thinking he was Ponce de León. And that was the last time I smoked PCP.
END-