In The Presence Of Royalty!
I Probably Ought To Learn How To Bow & Scrape...
Wow. It's not often that you're treated to a glimpse of royalty. I'm kicking myself for not having a camera at hand to record the momentous occasion...
There I was, minding my own business, just putting gas into the Redneck Chariot, when the Royal Automobile approached the humble purveyor of gasoline & oil-related products.
I could tell he was of The Quality by the manner in which he approached, about 65 mph down the access road, slowing only at the last second by leaving about ten bucks worth of Goodyear Eagles smeared on the concrete.
The shark-nosed Corvette gleamed in the morning sun, the piss-yellow paint buffed to perfection. No doubt wanting to announce his presence to all and sundry, the Royal Personage blessed us all with numerous revs of the engine as he idled towards the pumps, the force of the exhaust blast enough to blow clean the parking lot. We were all most impressed.
His Majesty stopped at the lone full-service pump, and signaled his royal prerogative to be waited on instantly by laying his Royal Hand upon the horn and leaving it there for several seconds. When the humble attendant ventured out of the small office, I noticed he failed to genuflect or tug his forelock. I fear he will be flogged for his impertinence...
As the attendant lavished care upon the Corvette, the August Personage exited his conveyance and continued a loud conversation on his Bluetooth-equipped cellphone. As he spoke, he withdrew a second device and began texting furiously, pausing to peer at his reflection in the station window and primp himself accordingly.
He was a sight to behold... From his pointy-toed Italian shoes worn most dashingly with white crew socks, to the way the broadcloth cotton shirt almost entirely concealed his gotch-gutted figure. The black jacket was cunningly creased along the back, where the fabric strained to cover a body two sizes larger than the garment was meant to fit... This left about three inches of shirt cuff on display, where we could all see the cufflinks straining to maintain a grip on the sleeve constricting a well-fed wrist.
The hair of the Royal Personage was a wonder to behold. Some might call it a Jewfro lacquered down with hair gel, but I deduced it was likely a perm past its prime and allowed to poof out to cover a thinning scalp, then anchored by half a can of Aquanet.
The tank of the Corvette filled, His Majesty handed the attendant a wad of cash, still talking on his cellphone. He waved a 'hurry up' gesture to speed the return of his change as he fired up the Royal Automobile's engine and continued to blow clean the parking lot. The attendant returned, carrying bills and a handful of change, and was most graciously allowed to keep the coinage. That's true class, right there!
Away he rocketed, leaving another smear of expensive rubber on the pavement, leaving us to pursue the adventures of royalty, wherever they may be found.
I'll always treasure my encounter with The King Of The Douchebags!
Wow. It's not often that you're treated to a glimpse of royalty. I'm kicking myself for not having a camera at hand to record the momentous occasion...
There I was, minding my own business, just putting gas into the Redneck Chariot, when the Royal Automobile approached the humble purveyor of gasoline & oil-related products.
I could tell he was of The Quality by the manner in which he approached, about 65 mph down the access road, slowing only at the last second by leaving about ten bucks worth of Goodyear Eagles smeared on the concrete.
The shark-nosed Corvette gleamed in the morning sun, the piss-yellow paint buffed to perfection. No doubt wanting to announce his presence to all and sundry, the Royal Personage blessed us all with numerous revs of the engine as he idled towards the pumps, the force of the exhaust blast enough to blow clean the parking lot. We were all most impressed.
His Majesty stopped at the lone full-service pump, and signaled his royal prerogative to be waited on instantly by laying his Royal Hand upon the horn and leaving it there for several seconds. When the humble attendant ventured out of the small office, I noticed he failed to genuflect or tug his forelock. I fear he will be flogged for his impertinence...
As the attendant lavished care upon the Corvette, the August Personage exited his conveyance and continued a loud conversation on his Bluetooth-equipped cellphone. As he spoke, he withdrew a second device and began texting furiously, pausing to peer at his reflection in the station window and primp himself accordingly.
He was a sight to behold... From his pointy-toed Italian shoes worn most dashingly with white crew socks, to the way the broadcloth cotton shirt almost entirely concealed his gotch-gutted figure. The black jacket was cunningly creased along the back, where the fabric strained to cover a body two sizes larger than the garment was meant to fit... This left about three inches of shirt cuff on display, where we could all see the cufflinks straining to maintain a grip on the sleeve constricting a well-fed wrist.
The hair of the Royal Personage was a wonder to behold. Some might call it a Jewfro lacquered down with hair gel, but I deduced it was likely a perm past its prime and allowed to poof out to cover a thinning scalp, then anchored by half a can of Aquanet.
The tank of the Corvette filled, His Majesty handed the attendant a wad of cash, still talking on his cellphone. He waved a 'hurry up' gesture to speed the return of his change as he fired up the Royal Automobile's engine and continued to blow clean the parking lot. The attendant returned, carrying bills and a handful of change, and was most graciously allowed to keep the coinage. That's true class, right there!
Away he rocketed, leaving another smear of expensive rubber on the pavement, leaving us to pursue the adventures of royalty, wherever they may be found.
I'll always treasure my encounter with The King Of The Douchebags!
posted by El Capitan | 11:28 AM
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