Tuesday, 2 August 2011

ROYAL WEDDING NUMBER TWO. WE RATE THE OUTFITS. FROM OUR ROYAL EDITOR, NICK SLAG, IN HMP WORMWOOD SCRUBS.

 Mr & Mrs PotatoHead, cantering down the aisle.


 DO YOU, ZARA, TAKE THIS OIK TO BE YOUR LAWFUL SCRUM-HALF?
DO I?  NOT 'ALF, GIDDY-UP.


Miss Pippa Arse unfortunately  was not present when Zara, daughter of bad-tempered old slapper, Anne and that dopey,  stuttering buffoon, Mark Philips, wed her stable lad. Probably too common for Anne, is Pippa.  The Princess Royal - fuck me, Jesus but  there is an infinity of titles these fuckers award themselves - is famously snooty,  tight-fisted, randy  and up her own arse, rather like her late Aunt, the dipso, Margaret, indeed, Anne's  mother,  Queen Tupperware,  is hardly known for her benevolence, except with my money, to herself and her kin.

The rest of the riff-raff were there, though, for a night-before party on the former Royal Yacht Britannia, a wedding in a sealed-to-the-public Edinburgh kirk and a piss up from a vodka fountain in Holyrood House, one of Brenda's Northern palaces.  The rugby player groom was supported by stars from that sweaty firmament, Lawrence Coke Dealer Dalallio among them and the Firm was out in force, Brenda and Phil the Greek, Mr and Mrs Prince Gormless

SENIOR MEMBERS OF THE BOARD OF FREELOADERS INTERNATIONAL,
RELAXING AT A PREVIOUS KNEES-UP AND TAKING THE AUSTERITY PISS.
The Royal Wedding Group in the Throne Room at Buckingham Palace on 29th April 2011 with the Bride and Groom, TRH The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge in the centre.
Front row (left to right): Miss Grace van Cutsem, Miss Eliza Lopes, HRH The Duke of Edinburgh, HM The Queen, The Hon. Margarita Armstrong-Jones, Lady Louise Windsor, Master William Lowther-Pinkerton.
Back Row (left to right): Master Tom Pettifer, HRH The Duchess of Cornwall, HRH The Prince of Wales, HRH Prince Henry of Wales, Mr Michael Middleton, Mrs Michael Middleton, Mr James Middleton, Miss Philippa Middleton.

and the Young Conservatives were represented by  Prince Harry Hewitt,  the famous drunken Hooray Henry bastard

 I COME FROM A BROKEN HOME AND A DISFUNCTIONAL ROYAL FAMILY.
THE TORTURED YOUNG WARRIOR, ANXIOUS TO BE OUT SHOOTING WOGS.
FROM A SAFE DISTANCE.

who delighted crowds by stumbling up the gangway of Britannia, before the Sun was over the yardarm. Six thousand fans, as the Scotsman described the assembled Edinburghian dimwits, cheered and applauded as they were excluded from the happy couple's happy day.  No doubt there were congratulations from Wisteria House and the head office of MoribundBrothersRUs,

LABOUR'S ROYAL FAMILY SEND THEIR CONGRATULATIONS.

I SIMPLY SAY THAT IF PRINCESS DIANA WAS ALIVE SHE WOULD WANT ME TO BE PRIME MINISTER.
NO, SHE'D WANT ME.
AND IF THERE IS ANY EVIDENCE OF MY COMPLICITY IN TORTURE WE MUST ROOT IT OUT AND COVER IT UP.
 praising the great work these shameless gold-diggers do on behalf of horse riders  everywhere,  and, indeed, the Olympics, which were, let us not forget, secured for Britain by a Labour Govament, led by someone we have all completely forgotten about and in fact never knew or worked for, below.

LABOUR'S TONY BLAIR TAKES OLYMPIC GOLD 
IN THE MASS MURDER, TORTURE AND GANGRAPE TRIATHLON.


His Royal Highness, Andy, Duke of York, friend and employee of child molesters and coke-snorting Arab playboys,

I KNOW OF A GREAT HOUSE, I CAN LET YOU HAVE IT FOR THREE MILLION OVER THE ASKING PRICE. AND YOU CAN FUCK MY EX-WIFE, FOR A FEW QUID.

FIFTEEN GRAND'LL DO IT, CHEAP FOR A FAT DUCHESS.
PRINCESS FERGIE, DRUNKEN EX-ROYAL FOR HIRE, HOURLY RATES
OR ALL NIGHT.

was there but his former wife, the greedy, idle fuckpig,  author, tireless charity worker and all around slag, Ferguson, was absent, maybe she was deemed too rotten, even for a gathering of the rottenest. Fat Andy, probably still piqued at having to sack himself from all those junkets around the world was attended, instead, by his daughter, Beatrice, Princess Freeloader.
Under pressure from, well, nearly everybody apart from his private clients, the disgraced duke has proclaimed grandly that he was thinking of giving up his lucrative pimping career anyway and has decided that now is the right time to move on and undertake fresh challenges, the cheeky cunt .  This disgusting arsehole is said to be Queen Brenda's favourite son, still, what with the petulant fairy, Edward and the greedy, idle, sticky-fingered, ski-ing fornicator, Brian, the tight-fisted, creepy old crow isn't exactly spoiled for choice in the sons department.



And as for Granny, the HM part of HM Govament, she retains her customary self-protective silence as, in the form of Old Etonian layabout, Oliver Letwin, Her Govament is now openly boasting that working people need to  have fear instilled, need to be worried about their employment. It is a kind of a New Victorianism which the Toffs' cabinet promotes, only without the invention, the resources of Empire, the skills of artisanry and the markets of the globe, a Clarksonian Britain, of stupidity, vanity, greed and corruption.  If we are to meet Mr CallHimDave's expectations of us in the Great New Age of Coalition Austerity;  many must lose their jobs, insists his idleness, Letwin,  if productivity and quality of outcomes are to be maintained in the public services - only not among the politicians or the bankers or the very wealthy, like this  ridiculous shower of slime, cardboard cut-out  princesses and princes in comic opera uniforms,  Christ, no, certainly bloody not. The Royals, and the News of the World, they're the concrete which holds the nation together. Off with their fucking heads would be my sentiment, up against the wall, motherfuckers.

But in Ruin's Britain,  providing a spectacle of extravagance,  unmerited privilege and ostentatious contempt, the second in a few months,  the House of Windsor-Saxe-Coburg-Battenberg, via its extended network of benefits claimants, courtier pimps, panderers and shamelessly enthusiastoc arselickers can be deemed productive; showy Ruritaniasm for the Sun-reading imbecile is, after all, a form of public service.  Maybe good Queen Brenda, never one to upset Her Govament, not even in the face of an unprecedented  and unmandated attack on the rights and living standards of millions of her subjects, can add to the happiness of this sporty couple, Zara and Wotsisname,  by giving the young couple, to the nation's tumultuous delight,  a county or two, she cannot have used them all up on Prince Gormless's recent wedding. Or maybe she can, but she can always declare some new ones, always enough money for Royal Dukes and Earls and Princesses, just the poor and the sick should go to the wall,  the best people must retain their tiaras and palaces,  their Chipping Norton mansions.

Along with bent  senior cops and bent senior politicians in the pay of skymadeupnewsandfilth, the regular jamborees, jubilees, tours, birthdays, ski-ing holidays and weddings of this filthy gang of Greco-German slag  upstarts must comfirm our image, abroad, as the most Northerly banana republic in the world. God save the Queen, Brenda, her heirs and successors.


THE HEIR PRESUMPTIOUS, PRINCE NEDDY SEAGOON.

One is conscious that one is all in this thingy together. Only not this one.
Yes, the medals and sashes, grand aren't they, one won them. Off one's mother. 

6 comments:

yardarm said...

It`s groundhog day in a Terry Gilliam cartoon. Trapped in a hall of mirrors in a Lewis Carroll phantasmagoria with Gilbert and Sullivan characters choregraphed by Spike Milligan.

Boots McGonagle said...

What better method of insinuation for a parasite than to appear to be the fulfiller of dreams?

Mothers Ruin said...

There's no business like show biz and don't they know it.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-gJZoO1liVY

Mike said...

Potatohead - yes a passing likeness to HRH Rooney. Like a capon to a chicken.

mrs narcolept said...

I always think of him as Bluebottle.

He has been buying even more of Cornwall. People must be eating lots of overpriced biscuits.

call me ishmael said...

Although poor by Murdoch standards, this gang are of a long, interbred line of Euro financial terrorists and it regularly astounds me that so many can blether that Oh,fuck me, they're great value for money, think of the tourists they bring and she's never put a foot wrong, has our Queen and - best of all, among the Filth-O-Graphers - you wooodenwant Tony Blair as head of state, woodya?

These people are from very bad families - robbers, fraudsters, blackmailers, torturers, sexual abusers, landgrabbers, mass murderers; they are lazy, idle, pampered, parasite bastards and their filthy spawn enjoy the very best in education and health care and still wind-up good for fuck all, playing pretend soldiers, riding horses, hanging about with jetset nonces, fucking about in LuvvieWorld. In Brian's case, were he an ordinary citizen, instead of a vain lazy cunt, skymadeupnewsandfilth would have excoriated him for a pretend marriage to a girl twelve years his junior and for his uninterrupted adultery with the wife of one of his fellow-officers, for crash-landing his aircraft, for grounding his ship, for quietly selling-off gifts given him by stupid wellwishers, the rotten fucking bastard, and trousering the profits without paying tax, for bleating about climate change whilst maintaining a large fleet of supercars and jetting around the world on an endless fucking holiday and for wheedling a compliant MediaMinster into permitting him - and us - to call his dreadful old floozy Queen, as he will.

Queen Brenda's only calculated break with Victorianism was her letting the TeeVee cameras into her icy marriage - and that was just to secure its affection among the public, who pay for all this fucking larceny. Aside from that Her Govaments, any of them, could have reintroduced slavery for all she cares, the wicked old boot. Just as long as she keeps her palaces, horses, dogs, works of art and fortunes, which, of course, she only holds in trust, not for us, mind, but for worthless greedy shitbrains, like Brian and Andy

A well-chosen aristocratic coterie of snuffling fag courtiers and docile fag servants has ensured that those attempting to whistle-blow on the Palace are immediately rubbished by a compliant MediaMinster, by arbiters of truth and justice such as Mr Kelvin McKenzie. What, one of our beloved royals being a predatory gay rapist, the very idea, they need hanging, people who say that, nutters all of them, and on drugs, too, probably, I don't pay my taxes to have people rubbishing the mOnarchy, that's my job.

It is equally astounding that Queen Brenda, famed for her attention to detail, all over the commonwealth and all across her prime ministers and govament departments somehow forgot her correspondence with Paul I am a Rock Burrell until the eleventh hour, at which point he might have spilled the beans about Brian's unholy dalliances and his brutish cruelties to the Princess Airhead. Anybody else'd be up on a charge of perverting the course of justice, wasting police time. Heads of State, though, like politicians and financiers, well, they're a different kettle of slime.