NEW PARLIAMENT, NEW DAY

 

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HANOVERIAN PARLIAMENT RESUMES AMID FLUMMERY AND TINSEL

Bergen, Hanover

In just a matter of moments, the Parliament of Great Hanover will be formally opened with all the pomp and circumstance of an artificial Christmas tree which has crashed to the ground after being knocked over by the family dog.

The King’s Speech, also known as the “Gracious Speech”, also known as the “Throne Speech” (there are, like, ten more options believe it or not) typically lays out the government’s legislative agenda for the coming session. Palace sources tell us, however, that this particular Throne Speech will not do anything like that, so, you know, okay, whatever.  Way to throw us a total curve ball, lady…is what I said to our source at the palace before she hung up on me.

What we know for sure is that this King’s Speech isn’t going to win any academy awards. Now that they’ve done away with the House of Commons, all the fun parts of this ceremony are scrapped.

There won’t be the grown man in short britches and black tights banging on the door with a pool cue, nor the ornery old git heckling him from the opposition benches as “britches” commands the dirty commoners to attend upon His Nibbs in the nice part of the building. There will not be the obnoxiously loud policeman shouting at us “strangers” to remove our hats as the speaker passes by in his Halloween costume. No prime minister, either (they didn’t think to appoint one of those) looking pleased with himself as he pretends to enjoy the company of the leader of the opposition (thems will brook no opposition) while they saunter through the halls as if headed to the john.

So what’s left? The boring part: a dry speech delivered by a middle-aged man who, himself, finds the whole idea so uninteresting, apparently, that he can’t even be bothered to get up from his chair to do it.

Now that we’ve learned that the people of Bergen must be burdened today with the bleakness of substance without style (when did we become Finland?), the Hanover World Report has sent correspondents into the streets of the capital to find out what ordinary Hanoverians are hoping to hear from their King today.

Amanda Devane, 64, trade commissioner

“Well, come now; it isn’t as if we’re all waiting on pins and needles expecting him to tell us who killed JonBenet, for heaven’s sake.”

Gerhardt Kruger, 21, student

“I hope he addresses the fact that you can’t get a decent slice anywhere in this town, because, you know? You know? Seriously.”

Mary Francis Borgia Fischer, 30, nun

“I’m hoping he will take a moment to explain, in layman’s terms, the plus and minus signs on my steering wheel since I have no real idea what’s happening when I press those buttons. Reverend Mother tells me I just shouldn’t press them at all in that case, but that seems like the lazy answer.”

Tom Bauer, 44, credit analyst

“I don’t know, man, but I hope the guy with the judge’s wig falls down the steps this time; I keep waiting for that to happen.”

SCONNISH PARLIAMENT OPENS FOLLOWING ELECTION OF NEW PM

Tartannac, Scone

Yeah…the Hanover World Report doesn’t have a foreign correspondent anymore so this article is going to be…you know what? I would just skip to the home and garden section, if I were you.

Since the Kingdom of Scone divorced us in 2014 she has had nine Parliaments. Nine. And how many have we had? Nobody knows. Nobody knows. Because who even cares at this point? What difference does it make? Scone took everything in that divorce. EVERYthing. She got the kids. She got the car. She got the house. She got the website. And she got the damn Parliament, too.

And you know what the thing is? I don’t know if I blame her so much as I blame her mother for the way everything turned out. I really do, that conniving, interfering old cow. Glennain, man. What kind of a name is “Glennain”, anyway? Who names their daughter “Glennain?”

Glennain never liked this family. Typical mother-in-law, you know? Hanover was never good enough for her precious little Scone. We were “culturally chaotic”, she said. “Culturally chaotic.” Her exact words. That hurts. I’m not even sure what that means, but still. You don’t say that to somebody, you know? Who says that?

Scone, on the other hand, was perfect, right? She was the “culturally correct” one. More cultural than thou, if you ask me. Up there, on her high horse, looking down her toffee nose at us as if she was slumming it when she married us, you know? Whatever. We should have known when she re-labelled everything and started rearranging all the furniture that it wasn’t going to end well between us.

Then there was the day one of us knocked over a stein, spilling dark lager all over her new Laura Ashley carpet. Man, I’ll never forget the way she looked at us. An iron curtain went down that day, let me tell you. That was the day she started sleeping in the guest bedroom and began talking about how she “needed her space”.

Next thing you know, Glennain drops a deuce all over everything with an act of Parliament splitting the two of us up. OK, fine, so we divorced. No skin off my back, right? Until two years later when it, like, literally was skin off my back. She got half of everything I owned. Half of everything I worked for, for over 14 years. She gets half, of it, just because we lived under the same roof for a few years. Dammit.

Well, I’m finally starting to get back on my own two feet, you know…got a new throne, found my old crown at a pawn shop, got a group of guys together to form a new band, and I’m ready to open my own Parliament, you know, and what does she do? She’s out there all “I’m opening my NINTH parliament, Hanover. How many are you on?” 

I don’t know, Scone! Nobody knows. Whatever, lady. You do you, OK. You just go right ahead and do you (as always).

I hope you’re happy with your new boyfriend, Erik. Let him put up with your crap; fine by me. Seriously. No, I mean that seriously. It’s totally fine by me. No hard feelings. We just weren’t meant to be. I just hope you can see that I’m not the kingdom I was back then. I’ve moved on. I’ve evolved. I’m making better choices and getting my act together. And I’m going to be fine. I really am.

THE HANOVER WORLD REPORT . 2021