Queen Jane Approximately
When her mother sent back all of her invitations
Queen Jane got pissed. Real pissed. These were invitations to her coronation, and she was being stiffed by her own mother. So she drove to her mother's country house near Sønderborg and, while her mother was strolling in the woods, stuffed all her invitations down her mother's drains. Then she drove a herd of cattle into her kitchen, several sheep into her bathroom, and a randy goose into her wardrobe. Once her mother returned, refreshed and relaxed from her stroll, Queen Jane sprung from her hiding place behind the well, and burned the fucking house down. Bitch.
When the flower ladies wanted back what they had lent her
Queen Jane got mad. Real mad. Those flowers were a gift. Who the fuck gives out flowers on approval? Nobody, that's who. So she gathered up all the dead flowers she could find around the palace, piled them into a carriage, and drove down to the Florists' Guild in Roskilde. She broke all the windows and filled the building with kippers. Then she ripped all the flower heads from the arrangements and stuffed dead stalks in their place. Later that afternoon, Queen Jane went down to the school where all the florists' children were taught the vital art of basket weaving, and she took them all out of class and taught them swearwords. What a bitch.
When all the clowns she had commissioned died
Queen Jane was livid. Vividly livid. That mounted clown regiment had been her flagship foreign policy. Worse still, most of them had died by being dragged through a graveyard after getting their comically large shoes caught in horses' stirrups. So Queen Jane wrote a list of mounted clown regiment widows that she would visit one by one. She went to each house and graciously thanked each widow for her husband's valiant service. Just as she was bending in to kiss the women on the cheek, Queen Jane squirted water in the widows' faces from a false flower on her dress. Then she backhand slapped those fucking widows and insulted their ugly children. Man, what a bitch.
When all her advisers heaved their plastic at her feet
Queen Jane lost her fucking mind. Her asshole advisers had just invented plastic one hundred and fifty years before it was supposed to happen. Didn't those fucks realise the danger this posed to the space-time continuum? Of course they didn't. So Queen Jane made her advisers a delicious brothy soup every day for the rest of her life, and insisted that they eat it with her every day. Soon, her advisers found themselves unable to undertake the sex act with their partners and mistresses. This remained a mystery to them until Queen Jane revealed on her deathbed that she had added feminising plastic chemicals to her soup every single day, disrupting their normal hormonal balance and leading to chronic erectile dysfunction. Man, that's an ironic bitch.
When all the bandits she had turned her other cheek to laid down their bandanas and complained
Queen Jane... well, let's just say that she wasn't very happy. So she killed everyone in the room, laid down on the fattest corpse, invented a telephone and smoked a long cigarette.