My Stepbrother, the Nascent Vegan, Drunk at a Party

I mean, he doesn’t even have a last name?

Oh, okay, he does have a last name. But still. I mean, Prince of Whales? Who died and made him king of the goddamned cetaceans?

Oh, okay. My mistake. Prince of the cetaceans, then. Well, no. Like, nobody is prince of the cetaceans. They’re too goddamned noble for that. I mean, they mourn their dead. They’re smarter than we are. Their brains are the size of a Volkswagen Bug. What they should do is, they should take a clue from the USA, India, and most of Ireland. They should rule themselves, man. I mean, who the fuck says Prince Charles–Mummy’s little boy–gets to rule the whales? I mean, like pip-pip, cheerio, and fuck yourself, you know? And like anyway, what the fuck has he done for them lately? What has he done for the whales and the dolphins–because you know he probably’s in charge of dolphins and sea cows, manatees, sorry, and the orcas and…