Whilst majoring in journalism long ago, my devoutly-to-be-wish'd goal was to get my degree and move to London so I could cover "The Royals" full time for one of those gaudy British tabloids.

What a gig! Scurrying along with dozens of other vicious sycophants, trying to catch sight of the Earl of This or the Baroness of That as he or she attends a ball, or the Queen makes a knight out of the remaining guy in U2 who isn't already a knight, or snapping pics as Kate Middleton is being shown to a deluxe box at Wimbledon so she can see Andy Murray get his butt handed to him by some Serb with a mullet. I'd be in the thick of it all. That'd be me loudly calling out, "Looks like you've got a new polo mallet, eh, Charles?!" as the prince briskly ducks into a stallion-drawn carriage to be whisked away to an important Tower or Garden or Tryst.

Back in my youth, I figured, why not? Other than the occasional assignment when a Royal headed off on a PR stunt delivering free hotdogs to orphans in fly-strewn Burundi, it'd be a life within constant spitting distance of elegance. The tabloid I worked for, of course, would cover travel expenses and offer a generous per diem when the Royals I was assigned to jetted off to Monte Carlo to buy sunglasses. And possibly, on rare occasions when a princess or court composer or jester or the Queen herself might be feeling generous, they'd toss a trinket into the crowd of journalists and watch us fight like Michael Vick's dogs to grab the treasure!

Well, it never happened for me, and now it's too late. My dream job has turned ugly.

Yes, it's hard times in Royals Land, what with rebellious Prince Harry and his bride Meghan Markle, who are officially the Duke and Duchess of Sussex — at least for now — wanting to essentially quit being Royals! It sounds as though the Queen and that Duke of Edinburgh and that Prince of Wales and that Princess Royal and that Earl of Sussex and a whole host of Viscounts and Ladies and Countesses and most of the cast of "Downton Abbey" don't like Meghan even though she's dutifully delivered a new Royal Kid with the very cool Royal Name of Master Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor!

The good news for Meghan? At least it's not 1530 and she didn't marry a guy named Henry VIII, or her sliced-off head would already have bounced down the guillotine steps into a ravening mob of shrieking plebeians (and 16th-century journalists).

What's the point of all this? Well, when Harry abdicates his Dukery, I want to apply to be his replacement. Among my qualifications:

1. I can say "Forsooth" with the best of 'em.

2. I will NEVER trade my (our) kingdom for just a horse.

3. I will complete every statement made in response to a media question by intoning, "THIS is our finest hour!"

4. Each fish & chips, curry, kidney pie or blood pudding establishment will be replaced by a Whataburger.

5. Never mind! Just found out the Queen replaced Harry with Hugh Grant.