Oh My Lord, My Son Is Dating A . . . .

. . . Republican!

How is it possible? I was so confident that I had been a better parent, role model, and guiding light, than this. My youngest son, he whom I have always referred to as The Seeker of Wisdom and Truth, sits upon the very sofa where I nursed him on tales of equality, universal healthcare and ecological responsibility, holding hands with . . .a Republican.

This girl, who I have taken into both my heart and my home, nicknaming her The Madonna for her inexhaustible patience and generousity of heart, is actually a viper filled with a penetrating poison that she is quietly injecting into The Seeker at a frighteningly rapid pace. For you see, The Madonna is not your Basic Suburban Teen Republican that merely repeats suppertime rhetoric without thought or intent. Oh, how I wish she were.

Instead, the Madonna is intelligent; she has a witty tongue and can defend her position because she has actually studied the options. An informed theoretical opponent of his own age is something new and fascinating for my son, thus she tempts The Seeker to taste the apple of conservatism by seducing his mind, rather than just his body. Were that the case I could have taken comfort that the same body would soon demand new stimulations, but by titillating his mind and drawing him down new pathways of thought she has assured herself a long enough run to cause potential lifelong harm.

In hearing me rant about the increasingly danger represented by The Madonna, several of my friends are admittedly confused. Apparently, were they me, they would have been more likely to be concerned about Joie de Vivre, the female companion of my older son, Sir Galahad.

They point out that while she is most certainly amusing and breathtakingly beautiful, she is also black. How naive. I would not care if Joie were purple, as she has taught him that it is possible to laugh and smile while questing, and I truly enjoy her company.

Most importantly, while I am sure that Joie's black skin hides a soul, I am all too aware that the skin of a republication generally hides the lack of one.

Oh gods no. My son is also dating a republican. It's just nuts. Here I am, Colonel Sir Bufton Tufton MBE, and my son, young Robbie MacTavish-Warner - well, I say son, more like one of my many by-blows from when I was tomcatting round the Empire in my younger days, dontchano - has taken up with this rather radical young lassie called Kathleen. Quite a looker if I do say so myself. If I were twenty years younger - excuse me, my dear - well, yes, ahem, sorry. But despite all this, she's filling his head with all this nonsense about how we ought to have a President and all that. Oh come now, if we're going to have a President then we might as well be Americans, and we can't have that, oh no, coming into our wars two to three years late and stealing all the credit... *takes a huge belt from a convenient bottle of port*


Oh, sorry, dearest, it's the port, it always makes me a bit gassy. Still, damn fool notions about how Her Majesty (long may she reign!) should pay tax like the rest of us and sell Buck House to be redeveloped into yuppie flats for those dreadful City bankers who flushed the Tufton family fortune down the convenience with their Icelandic banks.

*snifter of brandy*


Still, could be worse. At least she's not French. That really would be the end. Did all those men die on the battlefields of Agincourt for nothing. Speaking of which, my family can trace its roots all the way back to Charles de Beaufort, 1st Earl of Haringey, who was born to one of Henry V's chambermaids. Isn't that right, dear?


Yes, well, I quite agree it's dreadful and unacceptable. We've got to do something about this treasonous harlot. Pity we can't just have her beheaded any more, isn't it.

*Here the Colonel falls into incomprehensible mumbling and then passes out.*

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