In the past I’ve had the pleasure of chatting with some illustrious figures from history–you may recall my conversations with Abraham Lincoln and Edgar Allan Poe. It had been quite some time since I had communed with the spirit world so I decided it was time to say hi again.
I began my session by dimming the lights, closing my eyes, and meditating. But just as a spirit began to materialize, the connection was abruptly severed. One of the Weeblettes had wandered in, saw the ectoplasm and went batshit crazy, swatting at it and hissing. I really need to remember to keep the cats out of the room when I’m summoning the dead.
I had just closed the door when I heard swearing. I turned around to see a woman’s glowing head hovering in front of me and scowling: “It’s bad enough I was beheaded once, now I have to be disembodied too??”
History has no shortage of women who had their heads chopped off so I quickly made a mental list of Beheaded Women. Marie-Antoinette…Mary, Queen of Scots…Anne Boleyn…
She rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. “Nice of you to remember me,” she said. I didn’t think the attitude was called for but in fairness I had never been locked in the Tower of London and executed. I’d probably be pretty bitchy too if I were her. [Editor’s note: A lot of people think Madame Weebles is pretty bitchy anyway.]
MW: So…I’d invite you to have a seat but…well, you know.
AB: You don’t expect me to hover here indefinitely, do you? I can still sit, I’m still able-headed.
Her head floated over to the chair opposite me and settled onto the seat. I considered offering her a cup of tea but decided against it.
MW: Let’s get to the questions about the beheading first.
AB: Not much to tell, really. My rat-bastard husband accused me of adultery, incest, and high treason, threw me into the Tower, and had me executed. End of story. He’s since apologized but frankly it’s too little, too late. I’m still not speaking to him.
MW: That sucks. You deserved better.
AB: At least he had the decency to get an executioner who knew what he was doing—he took off my head cleanly with just one blow of his sword. Mary, Queen of Scots wasn’t so lucky, it took them 3 blows of an axe to remove her head completely. Really grisly stuff. If you meet her and she volunteers to stage a reenactment of her execution, decline. Consider yourself warned.
MW: Duly noted. Okay, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I have to ask…
AB: You want to know about the codpiece, don’t you.
MW: How did you know??
AB: Easy. Everyone wants to know about the codpiece.
AB: Let’s put it this way: he had delusions of grandeur, if you know what I’m saying.
MW: I think I do, yes.
AB: You have no idea how many people have asked me about it. Catherine the Great was especially disappointed to learn the truth.
MW: I’m sure she was. Now tell me about your daughter, Queen Elizabeth I.
AB:I laugh my ass off every time someone refers to her as the Virgin Queen. As if. But she was the best queen ever. Victoria hates it when I say that—if she says, “We are not amused” one more time I’m going to bitch slap her into next year.
MW: You know, for someone who died almost 500 years ago, you have a remarkable grasp of modern vernacular and swear words.
AB: I try to keep current with the lingo, it helps when I meet the newbies. Not many of them speak 16th-century English.
MW: Have you befriended many of the recently dead?
AB: Oh, plenty of them. At the moment I’m angling for an introduction to David Bowie because he’s really hot. But Johann (Bach, of course) has been monopolizing his time since he arrived, giggling like a little fanboy. So embarrassing. You have no idea how awful “Suffragette City” sounds when played on the harpsichord.
MW: When you finally do meet David Bowie, please tell him we miss him down here. And please send Prince our fond regards too.
And with that, Queen Anne and I bid each other farewell. Her head floated gracefully into the air and slowly vanished.