Mr Burgervan, a data processing clerk, earning slightly under the average wage, was forced to sit at his desk today, feeling like utter shit.
He contracted a lingering virus from his snotty little cousins who visited over Christmas.
“I feel so ill,” he croaked. “I have the same symptoms as the Queen, who has been taking time off work for about 2 weeks now, yet my boss was very unsympathetic.“
Lazy Fat Arse
“He told me, if I didn’t get my lazy fat arse into the office it would not look good at my next performance management meeting,” added Mr Burger Van
“He then went on to make some vague threats on how it would look on my reference, or if the company had to make redundancies in the future.“
It contrast to Mr Burgervan’s plight, the Queen, whose ‘work’ involves waving, smiling and attending banquets; has spent Christmas sat on her arse, avoiding her royal duties.
“What about her performance management?” questioned Mr Burgervan. “I hope that the Government take this into account when she next goes grovelling to them, cap in hand, asking for another £369 million for someone to fix some of her bloody light switches.“
The Druid’s Loom approached Maxwell Scrotumy-Smythe, a Palace spokesman and asked them what their policy was on Royal absenteeism.
“Look you bunch of plebs,” oozed Mr Scrotumy-Symthe. “You are just lucky that the death penalty has been abolished, or I would have your fucking head cut off for treason, and stuck on a spike in the Tower.“