The big day is finally here, ya Queen-loving shitlords. The blessed day where England, and the world, comes together as one to witness a red-headed man with no blood ties to the Royal lineage marry a mildly-successful American actress who is seemingly the only normal person in an otherwise batshit insane family.
Match made in heaven, frankly.
Yes, it’s the Royal Wedding, where the world’s fanciest loose unit Prince Harry weds his beloved uncredited cast member of Get Him To The Greek, the lovely Meghan Markle.
The wedding of the century goes down Saturday morning and arvo in British time, but thanks to the marvel of time zones, Australia gets to watch it right in the pocket of piss-sinking time: Saturday night. TV coverage on every major network begins from around 6:00pm, with the ceremony kicking off right in prime time at 9:00pm.
So what better way to celebrate this Blessid Union Of Souls than with an extremely Princely and very official Royal Wedding Drinking Game?
‘Course, y’know, responsible drinking and enjoy in moderation and yadda yadda yadda. We have to stress this.
But that said, on to the arbitrary piss-sucking rules!
TAKE A DRINK WHEN…
Queen Liz rocks up, and you suspect she might’ve had a little morning tipple.
Criticise her thoroughly though we may, there’s no denying the fact that, at her core, Queen Elizabeth II is a stone-cold, piss-swilling fiend who’d sell the empire out ten times over for a bottle of partway decent gin. And on the day her troublesome grandson finally settles down and gets hitched, it’s almost a given the pre-ceremony breakfast will be served in liquid form only. Down one’s hatch, Lizzy.
Any member of the estranged Markle clan tries to make a scene.
They keep saying that they are not going to try and attend the ceremony but I keep saying that at some point this season I’ll stop tipping the Essendon Football Club, and yet here’s me week in week out ticking that box like an idiot. If any single one of those wild maniacs from her extended family tries to show up, drink until it’s not awkward anymore. That could take a while.
Any mention of Harry’s loose unit past is made.
The Patron Saint of being a Top Bloke But A Dog On The Piss™, Prince Harry is finally having an honest man made out of him. We’ve rode with him as he proudly wore his love of pint-smashing on his sleeve (underneath the Nazi armband sometimes, it should be said). Pour one out – down your throat – as the weapon himself finally makes good.
A stodgy elderly Brit with no teeth wearing every piece of Union Jack clothing you could ever imagine is shown on screen.
Nothing sends the lower-class lunatics of common Britain more outright insane than their deep, weird, and unabiding love of the Royal family. So when the media coverage on the ground inevitably encounters a 64-year-old Hackney resident named Gareth decked out in so much flag-related apparel that he could guide ships into port, have a wee sippy and be glad it’s not you.
The cast of ‘Suits’ arrives en masse.
Because it’s literally the only time the cast of a light drama on the USA Network will ever get shown on CNN.
Prince Philip arrives.
He’s 96-years-old, demonstrably racist, and recovering from hip surgery undertaken in mid-April, but wild horses won’t keep the Duke of Edinburgh from any potential open bar. If they wheel the old bag of bones out for the occasion, toss one back for the stubborn old prick.
The Royal Corgis make an appearance.
On a day where the Royals are on full display, swill one for the only truly faultless and good members of the entire monarchy: the Corgis. The blessed royal dogs who are pure and good. Even if they are snippy little shits.
Prince William arrives; one drink for every hair remaining on his head.
This accounts for approximately three to four drinks at the absolute most.
Elton John.
Anything to do with him, really. Arrival, fashion, statements to media, playing his tunes over the TV broadcast, mentions of his relationship with Diana. Anything at all. It’s Elton Fucking John. Show some respect.
Either one of Harry’s exes invited to the wedding actually shows up.
The only thing bolder than Harry extending wedding invites to two women he spent considerable amounts of time dating is if they call his bluff by actually showing up. So if Cressida Bonas and/or Chelsy Davy swan up to Windsor Castle, have a little sip of that scalding hot and very delicious tea. Bonus drinks if they sit together and spend the entire ceremony overtly rubbishing everything about it.
Any of the Spice Girls makes their grand, well-deserved entrance.
Because, I mean, who’s the day really about here?
Any of the Royal Children fails miserably in their very simple assigned tasks.
In all likelihood, this will be the hardest Prince George and Princess Charlotte will have to work in their entire lives. The former is serving as the wedding’s lead page boy, while Princess Charlotte is one of Meghan’s brigade of child bridesmaids (it’s royal protocol, I don’t get it either). If they so much as cough in the wrong place, drink, and chant for their immediate imprisonment. The criminal children must be thrown in jail.
The ceremony runs ball-achingly long.
The ceremony itself is scheduled to run for a full hour. 60 minutes. Who the hell has that kind of time to watch two rich people get hitched? Thank god we’ve got booze to help us all get through this thing, because it’s gonna be a bloody slog.
AND FINALLY, RAISE A GLASS AND FINISH YOUR DRINK WHEN…
The happy couple says “I do” and the wedding is official.
Because love is a wonderful thing and should celebrated. Even if it does feature an illegitimate child raised by a big-earned dork whose Mum is the head of a tax-thieving Ponzi scheme SHOW ME THE DAMNED LIE, CROWN KISSERS.
