The Queen

So just about the entire panoply of TV channels is tuned to the regal funereal festivities. Yes, I said “festivities,” because this is the best show on the globe. Or at least many think so.

Despite the pomp and circumstance, I’m finding it difficult to be as enamored as some (many)are of the monarchial parade of pageantry we’re witnessing.

Didn’t we fight a years-long war to remove ourselves from the dictatorial clutches of England? Didn’t our forefathers shed blood and give their lives to refute the royal rule? Didn’t George Washington, our first president, disdain the notion of being named “king” of our infant Republic?

What is the fascination with these mere mortals, these fellow humans whose digestive tract performs like the rest of us? Is it childhood fairytales come to life? The soap opera of William and Kate, the “Harkles” (Meghan and Harry), Andrew’s pedo-piccadilloes, the drama, death and unresolved questions surrounding the inconvenient Diana’s death, whose husband – now “the King” – was an adulterer who deigned to be a tampon in his mistresses privates.

This is a show. A farce. A plumped-up distraction that glorifies the scandal-ridden Windsor (i.e. German) family whose sins and crimes are only now beginning to be revealed.

Seriously? Are those so enraptured of the “royals” as much about God? Jesus? Do Englanders even attend church?

I’m not into it. Does that make me cynical?

I don’t think so, but maybe avid anglophiles would disagree.

The “queen” is dead. Perhaps her reward has been here on earth.

So much for the meek inheriting the earth.