Isabella of Valios
“My queen, the lord your husband has gone to Ireland.”
“Who cares,” said Isabella. She flicked the ash off her cigarette. Then she ate her cigarette. “Kill all men!” she screamed through a mouthful of cigarette.
Isabella had a sharpie snake drawn on her face when she saw her husband being lead out of the Tower in chains.
“That is one sick snake,” said Richard.
“I know,” said Isabella. “Just wait until I get this baby inked up.”
Richard began to weep. “I’m afraid I will never live to see that baby inked up.”
Isabella regarded him with the steel of her eyes. “You’re not bad, for a man.” Then she kicked a beer can into the air and landed it perfectly on Richard’s head. He bowed in reverence.
Isabella shoved Henry IV against the walls of Westminster. “You killed my husband,” she said.
“You don’t give a shit,” said the king. “Everyone knows you hate men.”
She flicked open her switchblade. “I don’t think you understand. He was MY man. Nobody messes with my property.” She dragged the sharp edge across the king’s chin.
“Please, is there something I can do?” he asked, shaking with fear.
She closed her blade, threw him to the ground and kicked his the stomach. “Dismantle the monetary system.” She said simply and began to walk away. “You have three days.”
Henry was left crying and crumpled, knowing that if he didn’t dismantle the monetary system in three days, he’d be doomed for sure.
Then Isabella looked over her shoulder. “Just don’t ask me to marry your fugly son.”
Joan of Navarre
Prince Hal rolled his eyes. “Jesus fucking Christ, dad,” he said. “Can’t you be cool? Ever? Just look at me, smoking weed and playing drums every day.”
“Woman,” Henry IV said turning to his wife. “Can’t you do something about the boy?”
Joan of Navarre was busy trying to carve the words “END DICK,” into her knuckles. When her husband spoke to her, her concentration broke and she cut the K too long. She shook the excess blood at her husband in anger.
“Fuck off, Henry,” she said. “You’re the least cool person I know.”
“Like, I know you’re not my real mom and everything,” said the young Henry V, “but you wouldn’t actually try to poison me, would you?”
Joan of Navarre shook her head, smiling, and slid the book of witchcraft under her sleeves.
Catherine of Valios
Henry V got down on his knees. “What I’m trying to say is, I love your land. I mean, I love your heart, your white and lovely face, your rolling, full tracts of land.”
“Man,” Catherine thought, “I’m so glad I don’t speak English.”
Alice cleaned under her fingernails with a rusty screw. “So,” she said to Catherine. “Are you really going to marry that fugly Englishman? He seems like a tote rat-bastard.”
“Alice, you’re my main bitch, so let me lay down this track: this rat-bastard has killed so many men. Like all those POWs, whoa, fuck ransomes. As long as he keeps killing men, English, French--I don’t give a goddamn fuck--he’s an ally to SCUM and can live.”
“But miss princess, what if you get pregnant and he rubs his toxic male traits off on your girl child?”
Catherine flicked open her switchblade. “I’m not worried.”
Margaret of Anjou
“So,” Margaret of Anjou said to the Earl of Suffolk, “what’s this Henry VI guy like. Does he bath in the blood of men? Does he chop off dicks for fun?”
“My princess, the king may be young, but his belligerence and hatred of all male life is legendary throughout our land. In due time, he is sure to start a war that will leave thousands dead.”
“Only thousands?” Margaret of Anjou pouted.
“Eleanor, Duchess of Gloucester, you are a spineless worm,” said Margaret of Anjou. “I bet you ‘love your husband.’ What a traitor to the woman race.”
“Actually,” said Eleanor, Duchess of Gloucester, “women aren’t a race, they’re--”
“SHUT UP, YOU RACE TRAITOR.”
‘Whoa mammasita,” said Edward IV. “Your tight little ass belongs in my bedchamber.”
Elizabeth Woodville pulled out her 10-inch titanium dildo. “You got some competition.”
The clouds parted and sun streaming through the window cast the lustrous metal in a glowing halo. Edward IV fell to the ground, weeping.