So I woke up this morning to discover Prince Philip had died. In the span of a few vertiginous moments, my emotions swung widely from indifference to mild interest and back to indifference. I went through the five stages of grieving 99-year-old men I didn’t know pretty quickly. I got to acceptance in no time, and then finally settled on crossword puzzles. It was a real roller coaster ride.
I don’t want to seem callous, but the guy was 99. And part of a family that really exists just for show. They’re a glorified animatronic Chuck E. Cheese band, if we’re being honest.
But for some reason, conservatives love them like they love every outmoded institution filled with out-of-touch white people. And so when one of them dies—again, at the age of 99—there’s got to be some nefarious reason for it.
In contrast to Donald Trump’s shambolic bearing, appearance, and comportment, Aldous J. Pennyfarthing is a natty hail-fellow-well-met and a gentleman.