“Psst. Hanks.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Queen’s hammered.”
“You don’t mean ‘blitzed?'”
“Nice one.”
“Thank you, sir. You sure? She seems okay.”
“Positive. No one, uhhhh, holds their liquor like royalty. Watch this. Your Majesty, how are you?”
“I own India.”
“See? Out of it.”
“Wow.”
“You got no idea how much these people drink.”
“Well, you know, sir: they don’t have jobs.”
“Oh, no. They have a ton of responsibilities. There’s, uhhh, the waving.”
“She accepts a lot of flowers.”
“Right. That’s a tough gig, man. Sometimes, there’s thorns.”
“Boy, howdy. Can’t have the Queen prick her finger.”
“No. That’s how fairy tales start.”
“Every time. Whose job is better, sir, yours or hers?”
“You kidding? Hers. Not even a close call. You know what she does in the morning?”
“Cross-Fit?”
“The woman gets up at nine, takes an hour-long bath, and then looks at her messages until lunch. Meanwhile, I gotta talk to Rahm Emmanuel before the sun comes up. If you’re given the choice between being President and being Queen, choose ‘Queen.'”
“Toddies! Toddies or off with all your heads!”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Steward? Steward?”
“Yes, Mr. President?”
“Bring the table a round of toddies.”
…
“What?”
“Just heat up some booze and put it in a glass mug.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Toddies are coming, Your Majesty.”
“We must crush the Irish.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Psst, Mr. President.”
“Yeah, Tom?”
“If you can slip out for five minutes, I brought you a present.”
“Can you smoke it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m not asking any more questions. Let’s go, Forrest.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Gotcha. Hey, Tom. Let’s, uhhh, not sexually harass anyone on the way out.”
“Oh, no. That would break everyone’s hearts.”
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