The Diamond Jubilee Explained by Yanks
For the past four days the United Kingdom has been celebrating a thing called the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee. Here in the US office, our comrades’ unique holiday has been marked by a noticeable decline in their “workplace output,” a trend that people foolishly in business with Britons the world over have probably noticed. The original plan was to get our London office to provide some sort of explanation as to what exactly the fuck is going on over there, but all of our emails have been drunkenly answered with what appears to be the middle or perhaps the end of a sentence, like “and is [a] jubilee innit mate?” or sometimes just “THE QUEEN.” None of the responses so far have had any discernable point, so we made a list of questions about the Queen and her Jubilee and stayed up all night answering them our goddamn selves. We’re Americans, so some details may be incorrect, but we’re pretty sure we got the gist of it.
Who is the Queen of England?
The Queen of England is a little old lady who lives in England, which is a land across the water where, according to Wikipedia, “Everything is boiled and there are stone bridges that ascend into the fog-filled lands where Giants still dwell.” She wears nice clothes, lives in a castle, does not have bodily fluids, and is very important.
What does she do all day?
7:00-9:00: Lie awake in a massive bed pondering the meaninglessness of presiding over an empire whose glories have long since faded.
9:15: Anti-depressant cocktail.
9:30: Breakfast of half a grapefruit and a baked tomato topped with the hair of a commoner.
10:00: Decides whether to invade France.
10:30: Polishes her bong collection. The Queen has the third-largest bong collection in the world and does not allow the servants to touch her babies, each of which is named after a different Floyd song.
13:30 (not kidding, this is how time works in Jolly Old England): Travels in a motorcade through the streets of London waving to her subjects. The windows are tinted so her subjects can’t actually see her waving, but they appreciate the gesture.
15:00: Hangs out on Yahoo Answers.
17:00: Sups on the meate of Gryphon and the urine of a virgin not less than five-and-twenty years of age.
18:00: Addresses the nation through the BBC. “Tut tut, stiff upper lip,” she says. “Sticky wicket in the wheel gets the grease. Cheese only rolls downhill, innit? Lorry. Tea.” These are words the English find deeply soothing.
18:30: Listens to Top 40 radio to see if there are any pop stars who are ready for Knighthood. This is her most important duty under England’s current political system of Constitutional Parliamentary Monarchical Democracy.
19:30-21:30: Lie awake in a massive bed pondering the meaninglessness of presiding over an empire whose glories have long since faded.
What makes a good Queen?
In Olden Times, English monarchs were judged on stats like Number of Invasions of France and How Many People Are Dying of the Plague and/or Rebelling? Now that England doesn’t have the same problems—the Queen’s subjects spend most of their time rolling on E or signing on for the dole—the Queen is judged on two metrics: Staying Alive and Not Getting High or Drunk in Public. By those standards, the current Queen is the best Queen of all time.
Why does the official site for the Jubilee look like it was designed in Microsoft Paint by me when I was seven?
Actually, that website was designed by the Queen herself. The team credited with the recent $18-million redesign of the Four Seasons website was originally commissioned to design the official Diamond Jubilee site in 2001 with a budget of 34 million pounds. In late 2011, when what was to be the most expensive site ever designed was in beta testing, the Queen caught wind of the hijacking of her website and issued a royal decree: She would be the sole creative force behind the Diamond Jubilee’s internet presence. All in a tizzy, she grabbed the closest cocktail napkin and the royal box of Crayons and drew some diamonds and a crown over the English flag. Then, with a firm jab of her jewel-encrusted scepter into the royal floor, she said, “Put this inside the internet. Post-haste.”
What is the deal with this diamond?
The Jubilee Diamond is located deep within a vault under Buckingham Palace. To get there, you have to somehow sneak into the palace grounds without setting off the motion detectors or getting spotted by the guards in their furry hats. Then you have to get to the library without any of the servants OR any of the cameras seeing you and sounding the alarm, and then of course you have to know which book on which shelf triggers the hidden door. Then you have to rappel down the 100-foot stone shaft—which has a laser grid that would only turn off if you disabled the power grid for all of London, and even then it’ll only stay off for—count ‘em—37 seconds before the backup generators turn on. Then, you have to know the code for the vault door, and THEN you have to have the key. And do you know where that key is, hot shot? Yup. Right between the Queen’s wrinkled old tits, on an adamantium chain. You’re not going to get your hands on that diamond, kid. You might as well give up.
Do the citizens of England realize how ridiculous this is? The whole country has stopped for four days.
The people of the UK have a bafflingly high tolerance for fog and all things merry, whimsical, dandy, cheerio-esque, bully, posh, and Elton John. All of these ingredients came together over the last four days, creating a fevered, nation-wide circle jerk blinding the country’s citizens to any and all outside mockery. For whatever reason, the celebration of a powerless, symbolic monarch still brings the nation to a screeching, self-absorbed halt, and will continue to do so until time itself ceases. Oh my god, what is going to happen when she finally kicks?
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