He'll get another medal if he lives through the Honeymoon

Let’s all wish William the good luck he will need tonight, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

President Barack Obama was photographed using an iPad; yeah, and Arizona Senator John McCain was photographed using a rock and chisel.

I am so excited about my Royal Wedding Party. The hardest part about throwing a really ripping Royal Wedding Party? Admitting to your wife that you’re gay.

With the Royal Wedding coming up, it looks like someone is getting cold feet; today Kate Middleton demanded to see Prince William’s birth certificate.

With graduation around the corner, “The Daily Beast” listed the most useless college degrees. First was Journalism, then music, then advertising and finally, the most useless degree is in Rooftop Sex Education from USC.

Soon they’ll graduate and they will have sex in the unemployment line.

Even Las Vegas is getting into Royal Wedding fever. Did you know you can get 20-1 odds that Kate Middleton, in her first year of marriage to William, will nail a Polo instructor?

It’s springtime with love in the air, so let me give the women some dating advice. Girls, if you’re out to dinner with your new date and he says; “I just can’t wait until my limited edition Royal Wedding Kate Middleton doll arrives,” you might want to reconsider.

President Obama revealed his birth certificate on TV. There was an awkward moment when Donald Trump shouted; “Hey, that isn’t real, I stole his real birth certificate. Oops.”

Had a rough night last night. Here is a little free marital advice guys, when you’re having a fight with your spouse, don’t get mad and demand to see her birth certificate.

Man, did I have a weird dream last night. I dreamed a bunch of psychos demanded our President show his birth certificate and, here’s the weird part, he did.

Barry Bonds will probably be sentenced to community service for lying about steroids. He will go to the community park at night where they will project a movie on his forehead.

The Royal Wedding is coming up. Prince William wishes for a son who could be an heir. Just like his Dad, Prince Charles, wishes Prince Harry was his son.

With all of the legal actions, there is a good chance we won’t have an NFL season next year. Can you imagine? No NFL team at all in your city. It’s like being an Oakland Raiders fan.

The Royal Wedding has launched a fun game where you create your own Royal name. How it works is you take Lord or Lady, a first name of your grandparents, your childhood pet and then OF and your childhood street name. One writer is Lord Thaddeus Charles of Elm. Sadly, another is Lord Whacker Dickie of Morningwood.


Since you asked:
We at a.L.B.b. productions would like to introduce a new skit we proudly call:

The Four Heterophobic Guys

Picture, if you will, four nattily attired - replete with snazzy pork pie hats - fit and witty gay men enjoying smart cocktails on a New York sidewalk cafe on a lovely spring afternoon.

“Oh, dear lord. Look at this guy.”

“Ugh. Total straight-y.”

“What a heteroooooooooooooooooo.”

“Hello. Doesn’t he have a NASCAR race to watch?”

"Bless my Cher doll collection, Arnold Schwarzenegger-cliche much?"

"Bet you he recorded over the Royal Wedding with an NBA game."

"No kidding. This boob-licker wouldn't know a Kate Middleton from a window treatment."

“Seriously, hey Who-Hah-slammer, the eighties called and said you can keep your "Magnum P.I." look.”

"Ahem, Stefan, I actually like that look."

"Me too."

"Ditto."

"OK, sorry. Carried away. Where were we? Hey, heavy-in-his-Oxfords, your dance moves just made Bob Fossi throw up in his mouth. And he's dead."

"Yes, Hootie and the Not-Blowfish, let's see you do the off-beat overbite to Bachman Turner's "Taking Care of Business."

"That 'Gina-rider couldn't get lucky in a men's prison with a Louis Vuitton case full of pardons."

"Bet the slob only seasons his sauce pans once a year."

"That macho-crotcho couldn't suck an Appletini if he had a straw."

"Bet you anything that scorching woman-humper reeks of Axe body spray and grilled hamburger meat."

"Last night, after too many frigid beers, his right hand told him; "No thanks, I'm waiting for someone good-looking. You know, gay."

"That flaming babe-bouncer's idea of jazz hands is a fist pump."

"Hey, Tom Brady-looking mother-effer. Don't you have a super model to knock up?"

"Playboy-Pounder."

"Chick- liker."

"Bathroom-caulker."

"Car-fixer."

"No-directions asker."


And scene. (Bowing)