Scotland's Royal Roast: A Hilarious Hail to the King! EDINBURGH—In what can best be described as a culinary conspiracy, the great Scottish roast of the century took place yesterday, with the nation uniting over a table—or, rather, a collection of tables—stretching from an underwhelming pub to the hallowed halls of Holyrood Palace. At the center of this gastronomic extravaganza sat none other than King Charles III, who was obliged to endure what organizers dubbed “The Roast of the Royal.” Under a banner that humorously read “Eat, Drink, and Be Merry—For Tomorrow He Might Show Up in Tartan,” the event attracted thousands of participants, including locals and tourists, all eager to test the limits of royal etiquette. Attendees heralded a series of comedic roasts aimed squarely at the King’s proclivity for, shall we say, “anorak chic.” “I thought he was digging a hole to China with that one!” exclaimed eccentric comedian Fiona McGillivray, who promptly wore a faux fur hat in the style of Charles' favorite headwear. “I love the King, but let’s be real; if he wore any more plaid, we’d need to launch a search party to find him!” The event kicked off with a traditional Scottish ceilidh, where hard-nosed bagpipers took it upon themselves to play what the King humorously called “unfathomable sounds” while participants energetically tried to jump the Royal Fences—a new Scottish sport involving props made from discarded royal memorabilia. As the night progressed, the crowd munched on haggis-flavored cupcakes and neeps-and-tatties-flavored jelly beans, while celebrity chef Ramsay Flambé led the charge in dishing out humorous insults alongside hearty portions of the world’s largest (and slightly charred) roast beef. “This beef is so overdone it belongs in a history book!” he proclaimed with his signature scowl. Soon, mic-wielding citizens took turns roasting the King. The highlights included remarks about his evident love for “nature walks” (the King frequently courts wildlife by literally feeding them in the backyard) and his passion for garden gnomes, which, according to one speaker, have “more personality” than most politicians. “Let’s face it—the only company worse than a gnome in the garden is his cousin in Westminster!” shouted a local stand-up act who seemed to be part Scotsman, part political analyst. The roaring laughter confirmed the nation’s deep-seated affection for royal roasts. But the pièce de résistance was undeniably the “Duchess Dilemma,” wherein performers impersonated various royals engaged in a hysterical debate about who should choose which royal dish was the most palatable. The crowd erupted when an actress clad in jewels and gowns exclaimed, “Why must we choose? Everyone knows the only true British food is fish and chips, and I’ll fight anyone who disagrees!” As the sun began to set, King Charles himself addressed the assembly with a mixture of gratitude and laughter—sportily joining in on the jovial mockery. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he quipped, “while I appreciate being atop your dinner table, I assure you I’m not a side dish. Though I wouldn’t object to being your ‘spud’ this evening!” In classic royal fashion, he raised a glass of whiskey in toast to the crowd, resulting in a strange but wonderful mix of elation and rueful laughter. “Here's to honoring the monarchy—one roast at a time! And remember, if you have to complain about how I dress or what I do, at least ensure your roast is as tender as my feelings!” As people drifted away with hastily made “Royal Roast” T-shirts, it became clear that this quirky celebration of humor and hospitality had redefined the modern monarchy—one roast at a time. And so, the legend of Scotland’s royal roast would likely go down in history, not just as an event that drew laughter but also as a culinary phenomenon that made palaces and regular folks feel just a bit closer together—if only for a laugh.