Well, well, well. You haters thought it would never happen, but here I am, top of the heap, ruler of the roost, I’m the King, baby. And now that I’m the one rocking the crown jewels, it’s time we got back to what the monarchy does best: cutting motherfuckers’ heads off.
What the hell happened to us? The royals used to be big, bad psychopaths. If the people aren’t afraid of us freaking out and beheading everyone in the room because our tea is two degrees too hot, then we’re not doing our job. How did it all turn into garden parties and polo games? We’re living in a day and age where kids think they can trash talk a member of the Royal Family on Fortnite, just because he keeps getting killed in the first thirty seconds of every round.
But that’s all gonna change now that Big Chuck’s in the hot seat.
It's barbaric, you say? You bet your ass it is. That’s what makes it so bloody cool! Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want to see some grubby paparazzo’s head rolling down the aisles of Westminster Cathedral. You and your mates can gather round to watch as we decapitate a palace guard who broke tradition and laughed at an American tourist (you better believe heads will roll for that shit). The whole family can count how many chops it takes to hack through the neck of that twelve-year-old Twitch streamer who kept calling me a “n00b,” and wouldn’t tell me where the damn rocket launcher spawns, even though everybody else was getting them like, right away.
Think it’s cruel and unusual punishment? Why don’t you tell me more while I sharpen my axe.
Is this about power? Oh yeah. I’ve got a hankering for vindictive, unpredictable capital punishment, and there are a thousand years of blood-soaked ancestors to back me up. Sure, I’ll use it on political enemies, but I can take it so much further. Let’s just say Sting’s not turning down an invite to my birthday party this year. And the next Fortnite team that tries to boot me just because I blew the whole team up three different times, even after they told me to “just stop using grenades,” well, they’re all gonna end up a bit shorter, get me?
I don’t have to be a tyrant about it either. Send me your requests! Tweet whose head you want to see on a pike outside Buckingham Palace! Still feeling betrayed that David Beckham left us to play football for the yanks? To the Tower he goes! You feel like Paul Hollywood was too harsh with a little old lady baker from Cornwall? Chop, chop, chop! You think Harry Styles is guilty of spitting on my sweet, sweet Chris Pine? Off. With. His. Head.
This rabble is going to respect the crown. From the talking heads to the tabloids, and all the way down to that little Year 8 shit in Swindon who hacked into my Xbox account and changed my Fortnite avatar into fucking Daniel Tiger. Twenty-plus hours on Reddit forums and I still can’t figure out how to change it back. I begged Georgie to fix it for me but the little jackwagon wouldn’t help me unless I move him up in the line of succession (THAT kid’s making the chop list for sure). Now I’m the laughingstock of every game, bumbling around as this idiotic cartoon character who, for some reason, giggles every time he gets shot in the face. Who do you think’s going to be the one laughing when the executioners drag you out of maths class kicking and screaming?
When am I going to be implementing this? Tomorrow! Stroke of midnight, bitches! Who do I have to wait for? I’m the motherfucking King of England, not some whinging pensioner trying to get a pothole fixed. The monarchy is back, baby. And there sure as hell better be no more shade thrown at gamertag RoyalChuckles1948.
WankWeasel2009, you’ve been warned. Rule Britannia.
HRH, King Charles III
Dictated, not read.