Showing posts with label HRH. Show all posts
Showing posts with label HRH. Show all posts

Tuesday, 20 July 2010

WHAT THE PAPERS SAY, THE FILTH-O-GRAPH, OWNER OF CORNWALL AND WALES IN ACT OF REMEMBRANCE.

BRIAN AND FAGASH LIL BEING APPALLED
ABOUT SOMETHING.

What a life this bloke has, eh? Airhead, bimbo former wife being a nuisance and Fuck me gently, as if by magic, a drunken driver solves the problem, Jesus, if only all those plagued by exes were so fortunate.  And the money, the seventeen mill she had hustled off Mummy Brenda, just - via "those outstanding, exemplary, young men" ( J. Major, aged 52 ) - hoovered back into the family fortunes. And no more talk of wog babies or coke-snorting with playboys. How fortunate. And the old boot, he and Horseface finally managed to tie the knot, after all those years of rutting adultery, all the courtiers  politely looking the other way. And the whole thing stage managed to win the happy couple the love of the people. Even though they are a revolting, idle pair of slags,  the Duke and Duchess of Cornwall.

But doesn't he work hard, riding around in the Royal Train and cutting ribbons. Sometimes, he only gets six weeks at his favourite ski-ing resort,  just the kind of man we need in CallHimDave's Big Society.

Anyway, here he is in his medals, doing what he does best, fuck all.  They dug up some WW1 remains, some fucked-up  episode of Brigadier-General Rupert Golightly-Jockstrap-inspired slaughter and were busy giving the lads, mostly ANZACS, mostly teenagers, one of those belated wotsanames, burial with full military honours, nearly a hundred years after they were butchered and so they sent for this useless prick, so's he could be appalled or humbled or inspired or whichever fretful adjective he chooses to distinguish his worthless presence, lets send for Brian, he can do that appalled shit like no-one else, yes, let him bring the old baggage, too, if he wants, so's the relatives can see what their lads died for, King and Country. And Doxy.  Couldn't make it up..


Tomorrow in the Filth-O-Graph.

David Cameron on why we simply must scrap state education, the NHS  and the old-age pension but we must retain a huge, cardboard, cut-out Ruritanian monarchy with princes and dukes in uniforms, on horses  and covered in medals for fuck all.

PLUS: Dave and Brenda, How They Are Related.




Thursday, 8 April 2010

QUEEN PISSED AGAIN

Queen Camilla Parker Ashtray, above, has fallen and broken a leg,  Her owner and trainer, Mr Charles Cock, of Kensington Palace, London, said he was appalled.

Vets have no plans to destroy Queen Camilla  but Mr Cock's previous ride met a sudden end in the Arc de Triumphe Mercedes Benz Handicap, when she had to be put down to stop her embarrassing everybody.  

The RSPCA said today that Camilla  was an old horse and maybe the best thing would be to put her out of her misery. Lets face it, waving  and cutting ribbons,  it's  no way for an old horse like her to wind-up. After a lifetime of idleness, deceit, adultery, blackmail and smoking, she deserves better than this.

Thursday, 25 March 2010

HRH PRINCE OF COCK VISITS AFGHANISTAN. ALL CHANNELS

I'm going to be the King, y'know, if only my mother'd die. Before I do. I bet you're married to a right little raver.

And we are joined here in the studio on this historic, grovelling, brown-nosing  day by Colonel Rupert Golightly Jockstrap,

Former Colonel Richard Kemp,
now of skymadeupnewsandfilth.
Colonel Richard Kemp, while you were in Afghanistan, did the Prince of Wales ever fuck your Mrs?

I am most deeply sorry to say that such a singular honour has never been mine.  Like most senior officers I have made the old thing available to Haitch, as we call him, matter of one's duty to the Crown, really but sadly he has never been so good as to  oblige me, or her;  there are many officers' wives for a Prince to get around and one can't always be lucky, I suppose.

Well, alright, then, did you ever bang the late Princess of Wales, like wotsisname, Harry's dad - Hewitt? - that's it, Hewitt ?

Well, Kirsty, I would of, of course, would of loved to slip the old soldier up her Khyber Pass, what,  the dirty bitch,

Diana, Princess of Wales
and Forces Sweetheart
well Hewitt's, anyway.

but I fear that her dalliance with Captain Hewitt proved her last military engagement and she concentrated thereafter on working her way through the list of NHS surgeons  and of course the Arab shopkeeper's son,  which caused her unfortunate traffic accident and no more dipping soldiers in her eggs, what? Not even wog ones, which she'd learned to admire, filthy slut

But isn't it great for the common people, His Nibs going out there...?

Certainly is, Kirsty, gets me on the show again, for one thing -  and y'know.old soldiers never die they just swarm all over the meeja like the pox in an infantry regiment - and it lets the nation reappraise the Prince, or Haitch, as he is known to his intimates - not my wife unfortunately - and his qualities of heroism and what a frightfully good job his batman does of dressing him, although it's probably batmen;  I mean, if you contrast his immaculate appearance with that of the snot-eating fairy from Downing St  you can see why the one's a Prince and the other's a scruffy old queen.

Field Marshal Gordon Snot
leaving a Cabinet meeting.

And will we win in Afghanistan, Colonel von Kemp, formerly of the Queens Own RedTrouser NancyBoys and now of skymadeupnewsandfilth?

Win, of course we will. And even if we don't we'll say we have.  So there, Job done, Keep The Homefires burning, only not under my mrs, not unless you're the Prince of Wales, what?

The useless, smarmy, pampered, idle, ruinous,  lazy, Highness bastard, good for fuck all and don't start me on the tourist trade,  is seen here with Ishmaelia regular, Rory Stewart, OBE, Keeper Pursuivant and Wielder Rampant  of the Royal Afghani Foreskin Flannel, patronising some nignogs.

I say, you chaps can have four wives, can't you?  Well, I can have as many as I like, doncha know, other people's, mind, best way.