Transcribed from: Comedy CentralCast:
Transcribed by:Mark(Voice-Over): [as spoken the words appear on the screen] The Private Correspondence of Buddy Cole and Elizabeth Windsor. The Kafuffle.
- Scott--Buddy Cole
- Scott--Queen Elizabeth II
- Mark--Edward
- Man--Dinosaur
Buddy: [standing beside his bar counter]
I've been corresponding with Elizabeth Windsor now for fifteen years. She is not the Queen of England to me. She's an old friend. That's fifteen years of sharing--sharing secrets, sharing laughter, and jewels.
[Buddy walks over to a table and picks up a "wand".]
She calls this a wand.
[Buddy waves it in the air.]
Doesn't really work.
[Buddy puts it down and sits at the table.]
She's never called me "Buddy". She's always addressed me by my full name, Butterick.
[Cut to floor. A message in a bottle rolls to Buddy.]
Here's her latest missive now.
[Buddy picks up the bottle.]
I wonder what she's got to say.
[Buddy picks up wand and smashed the bottle.]
Oh! It is magic!
[Buddy begins reading the letter.]
(sigh) "Dearest Butterick: It's us again..."
[Cut to the Queen in bed clothed in a housecoat. As she speaks she is writing the letter.]
Queen:We are fine. The weather is fine. Mother is fine; and Charles keeps nagging me to abdicate. But, Butterick, it is my youngest, Edward, who concerns me at this juncture. For I fear that he might be, frankly, of a delicate nature. You know? Not on the team, as they say. What I would like to know is: how can you tell? I thought that you'd be an expert in these matters, and since Beatrix is quite mad, you're the only other queen I know. Please advise at once. I don't want to have to turn ot Elton John. Sincerly, your devoted monarch, Beth. Lovely, done.
[Cut to Buddy, still seated at the table.]
Buddy:"P.S.: What can you tell me about this Andrew Lloyd Webber fellow? I don't trust a man without a chin." Who does? Listen, Lizzy's in a tizzy. I must write back to her imediatement.
[Buddy begins to write the letter.]
Ma Cheri...oh, she'll hate that. She hates when I write in french. I usually correspond in fag, but it's incredible how often they're the same thing, n'est-ce pas? Ma Cheri: I really don't know that much about Edward, just what I read in the tabloids. But, here it goes. I think he throws a ball like a girl. He seems skittish, and frankly, queen-to-Queen, sometime you can really tell. Being British doesn't help either.
[An arrow with a message wrapped around it lands in the wall next to Buddy.]
Oh! That was close! Oh, my God! The Royal Seal. The lady's in a hurry.
[He takes the letter off, ready to read it.]
[Cut to Queen, in houscoat, seated in a chair, writing.]
Queen: Dearest Butterick: Things have gotten much worse here at the castle. I confronted Edward with my suspicions and he fled into the night. No one has seen him for weeks. Butterick, I am an absolute wreck over the whole kafuffle. I am completely out of my mind, over the top, beyond the edge, clinging by a thread, ready to snap! Sincerely, a completely looney, Liz Windsor.
[The Queen laughs hysterically.]
[Cut to Buddy, seated at the table.]
Buddy: Liz, get a grip! Just because you're British doesn't mean you have to overact. Regardless whether or not Edward is special, a fag at Buckingham Palace can hardly be a suprise. Your mother is the biggest fruit fly in all of merry old England.
[A man in a dinosaur/bellhop costume enters.]
Dinosaur: Dinogram for Buddy Cole.
[Buddy takes the dinogram.]
Buddy: Oh thanks.
[Dinosaur exits.]
Buddy: Oh, my God! It's from Edward.
[Cut to backstage at a play. Edward is standing at a podium.]
Edward: Curtain's going up.
[He begins to write.]
Dearest Buddy. Please help me. Mother's gone absolutely potty. Please let me come and stay at your pub for a while. I'll make myself useful. I can handle cash--I did do box office for "Cats", you know. And I do love Toronto. Please help me, Edward.
Curtain's going down. Good Job.
[Cut to Buddy at table.]
Buddy: Well, of course, I'll give the poor boy refuge. I'm the ambassador of free love. "Buddy's" has diplomatic immunity. I just hope they don't surround the place with sweaty British soldiers blaring rock music. I just might have to surrender.
[Fade.]