I am travelling at present, en route to the Royal Brompton hospital for a private consultation and talking of royal have just watched Prince Brian's half-brother make an even bigger cunt of himself than he was hitherto perceived to be. I have paid for this oily, pampered bullyboy buffoon to receive the best education that my money can buy, yet here he is, aided, counselled, shepherded, lawyered-up and bowed-down to and the worthless, bloated ponce can't frame a sentence in English; he can weave a garland of barrowboy cliches, an extended clunking solecism of The Reason Whys and fire a twenty one gun salute of Don't you know who I ams? but he is thicker, even, than his half-nephew, the whining, ginger git playboy, Harry Fuckwit Hooligan.
Cloaking his paedophilia in some bizarre, underworld chivalric code, Prince Shithead sighs that if he has a fault - and it is a big if - it is that he is too honourable; he must be the stupidest individual ever granted so much airtime by the nation's spiritual paedophile home, the BBC and if Jerry Corbyn had an ounce of courage he would be calling for a national referendum not on Brexit which we have already held but on Republicanism; funny how he's all for it when sought by Irish mass murderers and torturers and butchers but keeps his powder dry while the wicked, old crow, Brenda and her vast, parasitic House of Ruritania shits in our faces and those of trafficked youth, everywhere. If the degenerate, corrupt, inbred Windsors are maintained in luxury we must hold to account not the Tories,whose colours are known to be nailed to Aristocracy's greedy mast but the simpering, cowardly duplicitous vermin currently cladding itself in Equality's tattered robes.
Fuck free broadband, Jerry, you are bowing the knee to deeply institutionalised child sex abuse; grow some, you weaselly little shit.