Randomly Channel-Surfing... Nov 17, 2019 12:52:28 GMT 1
Post by mrsonde on Nov 17, 2019 12:52:28 GMT 1
…Thanks to his freakish ability to absorb liquids he landed the fiercely coveted sinecure in the Royal Household as Princess Margaret’s spittoon, the Honourable Drawer of the Bath Boy. Slowly but surely his unfailing ability to refrain from showing any hint of intelligence, humour, or gorm, earned him the admiring attention of the Queen and, following Margaret’s unfortunate scalding to death in a gilded vat of boiling Moet & Chandon, he was appointed Queen’s Especial Favourite Sprog. The previous two incumbents had been serially dismissed for a repetitive and intransigent display of inbred ugliness and idiocy so severe that at one point it was thought that Prince Philip may not have been a real close descendant of Queen Victoria at all (he may not even have been German, it was whispered, and disloyal members of the Household started to insinuate he was really a Greek.)
Andrew’s principal duties in this role were at opportune moments to do something so embarrassing and humiliating to the country that the attention of the restless public was momentarily distracted from what might have otherwise been the glaring shortcomings of members of the Royal Family that, it could be argued, actually have some importance. In an age of scandalously declining servility such moments occurred with frenetic frequency, and Andrew found himself busier than ever the more the Royal Family continued, in the face of medical advice, and if not decency, exactly, certainly common credibility, to inappropriately multiply. The Queen Mother was caught trying to bribe Lester Piggott to feed all the horses in the Grand National except one a dose of super-strength laxatives: Andrew duly stepped forth and attempted to sell his services as a Piccadilly Circus rentboy to, allegedly, a News of the World journalist. Prince Philip was recorded trying to pay a popular combo called The Three Degrees five pounds each to attempt to finally rid Prince Charles of his virginity, but sadly to no avail: Andrew was there on cue, offering to give an Arab Sheik, who coincidentally or not turned out to really be a female C4 news presenter dressed in a burka on her lunchbreak, a handjob in the Savoy if “he” bought some VX nerve gas from the boot of his Bentley. Most incredible of all, Prince Charles’ new offspring, allegedly, turned out to be, due to a freakish genetic accident, a ginga: Andrew managed somehow to persuade someone to actually suck his wife’s toes and, even more unbelievably perhaps, was able, it was alleged, to actually take a photograph of the event. “I have never used a camera in my life,” he later claimed with utmost sincerity to Martin Bashir, between gigs. “I don’t think I even know what one is, or would recognise one, and in any case that was the day it was my turn to happy-slap the children. Oh yes, and I am quite unable to look through a viewfinder, as you may know, having lost the gift of squinting when I fought Muhammad Ali for the Heavyweight Championship of the World that time and unfortunately, due to a regrettable lapse in judgement, which I freely admit, though I learned many valuable lessons from it, and am not sorry at all, got hit in the eye. I suppose I was simply too humble and courageous to mention this at the time, but my staff and legal advisors assure me that it’s written in my diary and correctly spelled and everything.”
...Oh, turn this crap over, you intellectual wannabe bastard, Naked Labour MPs Lucky Dip Dating has started.