THE ROYAL FAMILY IS A SHADY OUTFIT OF PODCAST SCAMMERS WHO ACTUALLY KNOW NOTHING ABOUT MR. BELVEDERE
I don’t want to wade into international controversy especially with the NBA draft coming up and after I just released my NBA Head Shape Guide 3.0, but I was disgusted to find myself the target of one of the most twisted and disgusting organizations on the face of the earth after the 1987 Detroit Pistons: the Royal Family. Don’t let the glitz and glamour and the carriages and guard guys who refuse to laugh even though you quoted the movie “Money Train” fool you — these people are vultures who only care about signing enormous contracts to host a show about Mr. Belvedere and then showing up knowing absolutely fuck all about the show and making me look like a giant asshole in front of the whole podcast network!!!!
When I heard that the Royal Family was getting involved with podcasts during our weekly sixteen hour See What Sticks Meeting (you might think it’s onerous but that’s where we got the ideas for our blockbuster shows What If The NBA Was Like Game of Thrones? What if the NBA Was Like Succession? and What If Succession Was Like the NBA Which Was Like Game of Thrones?), I immediately knew we had to get them, and we had to do Belvedere. Think about it: who better to review Mr. Belvedere than the most butled people on the face of the Earth????
I knew I had hit upon a brilliant idea when I ran it by my most trusted friends Rick Dockers and The Grabber, both of whom immediately texted me that it was as incredible of an idea as my three-team trade in 2007 involving Monta Ellis, Shane Battier, and Gerald Green’s expiring contract. I immediately cancelled all other work including my latest podcast about how You Can’t Even Say That Anymore and the entire staff got to work figuring out what to call it before someone came up with “The Royal Belvederes.” I wept for the second time in my life after Tom Brady responded to a text I sent him telling him “congratulations on reaching number one on my all-time quarterback GOAT tier list” with an emoji of a face with a line for a mouth.
As you might imagine, the royal family is a hot commodity on the podcast market, and I had heard they had offers to host podcasts about The Crown, King Ralph, and an unsolved murder that took place in Bauxite, Arkansas in 1987 that questions the nature of memory and whether Ol’ Paunch Henderson was lying about what happened at the Seed ‘n Feed or whether something more sinister was going on with Sheriff Landarkle. But I knew I could not allow them to go to another network, much the same way that Wesley decided to prevent Mr. Belvedere from working for another Pittsburgh-area family by pretending he had a rare disease called the “Pedestrian’s Whimsy” and forced himself to live in an iron lung for a week before learning that Mr. Belvedere was only using the other family as leverage to get an off day on Whit Monday.
I should have known that the entire Royal Family were con artists when I learned what I would need to do just to present them with a podcast offer. Immediately after I hung up with their representatives, a liveried attendant appeared at my office and presented me with a card explaining that the Family considers money vulgar and would like to work with a podcast network they had a relationship with along with some suggestions the types of things that might start a relationship with them. That’s extortion!!!!
But when you have an idea as good as The Royal Belvederes, you can bear almost anything to see your vision through. It took months to hire a ship and a sturdy captain and to sail the treacherous seas collecting the jute, silks, and cargoes of stuffs that they demanded, but we finally got it all. My stubble turned gray at sea; Michael Rapaport lost a hand. When we arrived at the palace, I had to learn an entire set of ritual gestures, expressions, and onerous rules. I was told that I was not, at any point, to make any reference to Melrose Place or Ernest Scared Stupid. I spent the entire meeting on a knife edge.
In the end, though, the Royal Family told me they were intrigued by The Royal Belvederes. They even looked me in my eye and lied to my face that they used to watch Belvedere reruns on television even though I later learned that Belvedere was banned in the entire country because his shrimp fork placement was characterized as “obscene.” I should have tested them with some basic Belvedere trivia, but it is impossible to do that when also having to stand in the Huzzahmanship Pose and while keeping in mind that our consultant told me that mentioning Teen Wolf Too was something that “was simply not done.” In the end, I offered them $78 million and then we posed for pictures in front of the historic Executions and Murther Buildinge.
As soon as I started trying to record them, it became obvious that they had taken us all for a ride. It was nearly impossible to get them to commit to a time, and then when we finally managed to get them on the line it was clear that they were on cell phones while playing the traditional sport of Full Contact Squabbling. It took only seconds to reveal the shocking truth about the Royal Family: these people knew nothing about Mr. Belvedere!!!!!
They had never heard of Kevin. They didn’t know anything about Wesley. They called the Knobnosters the Knobgogglers! It seemed to me that they were simply making up things that had clearly never happened on Mr. Belvedere while using character names they found on Wikipedia. What kind of sick maniac would do something like that???? This was a travesty, worse than the time I was suspended for trying to attack Roger Goodell with a homemade blimp because of Deflategate and then accidentally crashed into a Renaissance Faire and caused what the police described as “temporal pandemonium.”
Well, I learned my lesson. The Royal Family is a Tier 3 Second Banana Grasping Monarchy that could never reach total Alpha Monarch Status like the Habsburgs. I’ve made it my mission to let everyone know that they are the lowest charlatans, and I’m going to make them pay. It’s time for the Boston Tea Party 2.0.
