Brexit The Queen

06/28/2016 11:15 am ET Updated Jun 29, 2017

A play in five minutes. Open in the Queen's chamber -- Buckingham Palace

Enter Elizabeth 2, followed by PM David Cameron

E: Well, sir, you really made a mess of it. What my feisty late sister Margaret would have called a puck up. A true blue cockup. Calling for that referendum to please your right wing dodos without anticipating the consequences. How could you?

DC: Mum, I do apologize --

E: Don't Mum me. Ma'm does it. Majesty works also. Tell me what you plan to do about it, Mr. Cameron. Other than apologize.

DC: Delay, Ma'm, I mean Your Majesty. And resign.

E: Delay? What does that mean -- wait until I am dead and my dimwit son ascends the throne and declares that all of England must now have thatched roofs and learn Morris dancing? What good does your resigning do? No, Sir, I want to see you -- Sir Humpty Dumpty, get the King's horses and his Men to put all the pieces together -- again. Can you do that? Will you do that?

DC: Ma'm. The people voted. They have spoken. It is their will. I can do nothing more than resign my office, regretfully.

E: When the people speak it is wise to listen to that which "you" wish to hear And I won't hear it. I will not have Scotland leave my Empire. Why, my beloved ancestress Queen Victoria loved Scotland above all -- she would be turning in her tartan grave -- or engaged in whatever angry dead queens are given to doing when interred. Have you no plan to stop this awful Boris person from becoming Prime Minister?

DC: Ma'm -- how can I?

E: Go back to M'um.

DC: Ma'm Mum -- if the party selects him I see no way

E: Don't you? No vision, Mr. Cameron. No vision at all.

DC: I can't do anything at this juncture.
E: No. Well I can.

(Calling out) Guards!

Three stalwart Palace Guards enter.

GUARD ONE: M'AM

GUARD TWO: M'UM

GUARD THREE: MAJESTY.

E: See Cameron, that's how its done. Kindly escort this gentleman to the Tower and keep him there until we can reach the headsman. You can find him at the Pig and Whistle on Oxford Street. A short man with stubby fingers and smooth palms from lack of work these many years.

DC: Majesty, as I said about Brexit no need to rush into such things.

E; No. We shall see. Now you pit yourself against England's great Shakespeare? If its to be done, to be done quickly. Or something like that.

(To Guards) And then see if you can locate that Boris fellow. He's undoubtedly on a soap box at Hyde Park selling his rotten snake oil or hairbrushes to the innocent. When you do find him give him a haircut with the headsman's axe. No, we shall not watch my England become just 'my England" without doing what Elizabeth one would have done. The people's willl? (to Cameron) You have turned my people into a pack of soccer hooligans and I will not have it, Sir! No. This Brexit you blundered into is worse than the Gunpowder Plot. It is not for nothing that the blood of Herny the Eighth courses through my veins.

DC: Majesty, you descend from the German Battenbergs -- not much of the Tudor in you.

E: Not much of the Tudor, eh? If you think that historical accuracy -- otherwise known as treason -- will save you, think again Sir.

And Guards, if you can find that abominable Trump man on his Scots links, get MI6 to arrange for an accident on the sand trap -- a little quicksand that takes him away from toupe to toe. Make that "away from toe to toupe." Nothing like a rhyming solution to a pesky problem. If you haven't heard your Queen rap, you have heard nothing. And now I must write my proclamation, telling Merkel and the others that we have not broken up this marriage the way my children break up theirs - we have not fallen out of love with Europe -- just a little lover's spat.

DC; Ma'm Mum Madam mercy.

E: What mercy did you people show to the millions who come here for a refuge and a life? None. What mercy did you show to my pound notes and my marvelous mix of a kingdom. You toilet paper Tory. Take him, guards. And when you are done with him -- then there is the matter of that Murdoch fellow -- the one who just married Mick Jagger -- or something like that. I can't have his disgusting tabloids claiming that I have done what I have done. For him? Banishment to his native Australia. If he refuses to go -- tell him that the Queen invites him to Buckingham Palace to meet her pet crocodile. (checking herself in mirror) Green hat, green gloves, green shoes. I feel like a wilted salad. Oh how I hate green but duty is duty. And now, I must greet the waiting delegation of auto salesmen from Birmingham and their wives for the royal tea. What a day! I don't remember a busier one since my favorite corgi had a litter of six and I helped bring the pups into the world.

(To Guards)

E: A clean cut. I owe him that.

The Queen brexits followed by a frightened Cameron and stalwart Guards as Hail Brittania is heard os sung in German.