|Not a picture of Matt Smith.|
LONDON, England—Buckingham Palace reports that Prince Philip of Britain is “going to pull through” after undergoing exploratory abdominal surgery at the urging of his Master, the Queen.
Elizabeth II, who has been prattling for years that Philip was a gutless git, decided it was long past due for medical science to pop in, poke around, and confirm it once and for all.
“I’m not sure if it was my own inexperience in navigation, but I found him to be a heartless old todger,” said Bertha Whitkins, a first year medical student. “I looked and looked but I didn’t see anything remotely Valentine-like. Poor Lizzie. How can she stand him?”
Her classmate Vishal Boob, agreed. “Weak-spined, lily-livered, and he doesn’t have any testicles to speak of. It’s hard to say if they were lost, never existed, or are stored in Liz’s jewellery box. Still, I suppose it was a nice change from cadavers, though not quite as different as I hoped.”
Meanwhile at the grand re-opening of the newly-renovated BBC broadcasting facilities, Elizabeth was shaking hands with actor Matt Smith, the eleventh and most recent incarnation of Gallifrey’s most famous physician.
“You’re quite good, you know. Nearly as good as that Tom Baker chap,” she told him. “Would you like a Jelly Baby?”
“Thank you, Your Royal Highness but I’m off sweets. They’re bad for my figure,” Matt replied. “Which was your favourite episode?”
“I loved the one where you rescued my great great grandmother Queen Victoria from a werewolf,” she exclaimed. “That was brilliant! Brilliant!”
“That was David Tennant,” Matt corrected.
“What?! I do beg your pardon,” Elizabeth gushed. “But you did get all the best lines, like ‘Allons-y!’ That’s you, right? Molto bene!”
“Actually, that’s David Tennant as well,” Matt sighed.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I’m so sorry…”
“Tennant again. It’s just as well I’m quitting this job,” Matt added in a defeated tone. “Listen, would you like a quick tour of the TARDIS?”
“Oh yes!” the Queen squealed, in a decidedly un-regal manner. “May I touch your sonic screwdriver?”
“Oh of course, that’s a requirement of any companion. Kind of like a door fee. Anyway, just for you, Liz… Allons-y!”
The Queen’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t call me Liz.”
“I’m sorry, Your Royal Highness,” Matt pleaded. “I’m so sorry…”