Meghan, Duchess of Sussex

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Little Miss Sparkle…

Once upon a time, not so long ago, in a land far away, lived a young girl called Meghan, who dreamed of becoming a princess and being fabulously rich and famous.

‘Boo hoo’ sobbed little Meghan one day, stamping her little foot. ‘I’ve been on teevee, but I’m not REALLY rich or famous. I want the world, or more. I want fame and fortune, with money, and houses, and jewels, and gowns, and servants and stuff. I want to be LITTLE MISS SPARKLE’. So Meghan hatched a plan, which did indeed lead her to Olde England and marriage to handsome, dashing Prince Harry de Halfwhitt in Windsor Castle, watched by an audience of billions. And there was rejoicing throughout the kingdom.

For a while all went well, but it was destined not to last. ‘Boo hoo’ sobbed Her Royal Highness the Little Miss Countess of Sparkle again one day, stamping her other foot. ‘I’ve got fame and fortune. I’ve got money, and houses, and jewels, and gowns, and servants and stuff. But those horrible Brits actually expect me to perform duties in return, such as shaking hands and cutting ribbons. Everybody hates me. It’s cos ah is black. I don’t even have my own horse drawn gold carriage either like every princess should. Things are going to change; what Meghan wants, Meghan gets. I want to be a “progressive” royal. This means I want to do as little as humanly possible commensurate with keeping my HRH title and the money and stuff. Then I can cash in, and be free to earn zillions fronting up for Disney and Givenchy, do book deals, go on “Oprah” and diss the royals and stuff. I can be Princess of Hearts as well, I know it’.

So broiling slowly in her sense of grievance and entitlement, Little Miss Sparkle headed to the magical island of Vancouver, dragging Prince Harry de Halfwhitt, their son Archie, and their dogs with her. There they sat in luxurious idleness and seclusion for six weeks, while a wise old man called Mr Barack gave them counsel as to how they should proceed. ‘I say to you’ said the wise old man, ‘trademark your socks and your mugs and your jewellery, but tell no one. Then go back to Olde England, drop the bombshell that you’re off, and demand a fabulous financial deal from that old bat the Queen in return for not making more trouble. It’s win-win, you’ll be absolutely minted’.

So the Halfwhitts returned to Olde England, leaving their son and their dogs in Vancouver, and proceeded to give the finger to HM the Queen, the royal family, and the bill-paying public. But the Queen pulled a face as though a truly malodorous guff had just been let off right under her nose, and pronounced that ‘One Is Not Amused’. So leaving poor Prince Harry de Halfwhitt to face the music, Little Miss Sparkle promptly flew back to Vancouver generating a massive carbon footprint, never to be seen in Olde England again.

Next episode; the ‘accident’ in the tunnel.

*with apologies to Roger Hargreaves

Nominated by Ron Knee

153 thoughts on “Meghan, Duchess of Sussex”

    • I think theyre a iconic couple,
      like Richard Burton an fat Liz
      Sid an Nancy
      Robin an Marion
      Adolf an Eva
      Fay wray an king Kong (another royal)
      Brad an Janet in the Rocky horror picture show ..
      All these couples faced negative press an sneering comments an overcome them,
      “Ttttt touch me, i wanna be dirty!
      Ttttt touch me, creature of the night!”
      Could of been wrote for Meg that.

    • Always thought Susan Sarandon was pretty sexy in Rocky Horror MNC! Had massive fake tits put in now, looks ‘orrible; and she’s one of your Hollywood woke nutters

      • Yeah dead fit in Rocky Horror!
        Dunno what she looks like now?
        Remember Elvira Cuntan?
        Jesus nearly died of dehydration over her ad a teenager!!!
        That goth vamp does it for me!

      • Oh yes I remember Elvira – Mistress of the Dark – alright! Had many a teenaged “tribute” to her and her black dress, tits all over the shop 👍

  2. Harry my dear fellow let me take you aside for a moment and offer some thoughts, it seems we have placed ourselves in a bit of a predicament, one can only conclude that you have been some what remiss in taking on board the advice contained in ”Debretts Advice for English Gentlemen” where ”good form” and the proper circles in which to socialise thus imparted would have led to a more satisfactory circumstance.
    I feel a period of estrangement would be most advantageous where in time the stressful burden of living with the ”megs” would soon evaporate.
    Then in time one can cast ones eye into the shires of England in which many a fine vixen or filly are to be found. Indeed Sir, the sight of some young filly’s pert buttocks concealed in a pair of high waisted riding breehes undulating in a rhythmic and lubricious manner is a sight that importunes the act of a pleasing sexual dalliance.
    Once the true English provenance of such an English filly has been established, then waste not time in saddling up and let the ride commence and have no doubt such a filly would prefer to be ridden hard.
    Eschew such notions of a pitiful stay in Canada Sir, where only a pair of frozen bollocks awaits, instead to the hunt Sir, a journey awaits your good self along the old bridleways of England in pursuit of our womenfolk from the finest gentrified lady to the most willing of maids, waste not a moment and let the order be given ”fetch my horse”.

    • Well written and a fun read. She’s an embarrassment. He’s a fool.
      They are both disrespectful to the Queen, Prince Phillip and everyone in the family who did nothing but try to adapt to her rudeness.

  3. Seems the Windsor brothers have now publicly fallen out, it’s like the posh Noel and Liam. A lot of their issues surrounded their wives of he time.

    Bill av it you cunt, mad for it.

  4. Mrs B (MkIII) was listening to a conversation about this on the radio, A lady who I will refer to as “The voice of reason” phoned in and said, ” Couldn’t she have come to this opinion before she spent all our money on the wedding and the house?”

    very valid point.

  5. If she and he keep their grabby hands out of my pocket they can fuck of to Mars if they so desire. I will not be that sad.

  6. Fucking excellent counting, ye old poetry is the dogs, I nearly pissed myself laughing Wich I hasen to ad is all these so called royals are good for nowadays, get rid of the fucking leeches or before we know it one if the inbred royal bloodine is going to do something even more stupid…..useless cunts

  7. Maybe the ‘boys upstairs’ will deal with the creature that is Megan Markle Fucking Ono accordingly… Hope she goes to Paris in the near future., and Fat Reg can put another rehashed version of ‘Slagbag In The Wind’ out….

  8. Because Megan Markle Fucking Ono is part Niggin The Nog, the likes of the ‘Beeb’ and hordes of social media mongs will give her carte blanche… Or is it carte black?….

    Just like Saint Stormzy, the Markle creature is a sacred cow.. If Megan Fucking Markle Ono shot someone on live TV, these cunts would let her get away with it…

  9. For Prince Harry of Hewitt, to the tune of ‘Go West’…

    Tough shit!
    You were fucking warned! (repeat forever)

  10. Well, once again the ‘of colour when it fucking suits me’ (no pun intended) trailer trash bangtail has reared her cunting head in yet another top notch nom! I fail to find anything more I can say about this gold digging tramp! I can’t say that I hate her, as thankfully we’ve never met, but I’d go as far as to say I loathe and despise her piss poor attitude to not only HM, but the UK in general! And as for the bastard child of Maj Hewitt, all I can say is, in a village totally given over to idiocy and inhabited only by idiots (on this occasion I’m not referring to Birmingham) he would still be the outright winner in a Village Idiot contest!

  11. Shitty Buttocks has hit the nail on the head, but not squarely. The disgusting little Meg is certainly motivated by wealth, but the one thing she craves is popularity. She has an all consuming need to be revered by the public. Titles and wealth are just not enough for this narcissistic little cunt. Hopefully, like a seedling denied the warmth of the sun, she will wither and die. Failing that, a high speed, bone shattering impact with a tunnel support will do nicely!

  12. The prevailing view of this platinum dipped, rolled gold, D list slag is much the same out here in the Dominions. Harry Hewitt could easily have taken a First Nations bride from Australia, New Zealand, Canada or New Guinea and achieved the same bespoke bewoke New World Order cuckedness at a fraction of the cost and effort. Instead he chose to dip his wick in the soiled spadge of Ms Markle. Neither endearing nor pretty, the Cuntess of Bumsex is taking the greatest pleasure in defiling our Queen and the citizens of her sixteen Realms. We don’t pay for them out here, but we have a 1/16th share and we want her out on her Royal ear’ole. Viscount Quadroon of the Casting Couch can go with her.

  13. I predict an ‘accident’ involving a private jet and an RAF Typhoon in the not too distant future.

  14. A Knee masterpiece. Just a quick update with the details of Brand Halfwhitt:

    https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2020/jan/12/harry-and-meghan-seek-global-trademark-sussex-royal-brand

    It’s not as if they’d be living in poverty if they never ‘worked’ again. Between them they have a pot of £34M, apparently. That would be, er, *counts on fingers*, £340K a year if they invested it at a lousy 1%, wouldn’t it? And given the scam counselling they’re obviously getting, shouldn’t be too hard to sit on their royal arses for the rest of their worthless lives on £1M, while telling the rest of us we’re going to have to cut back on consumables, heating, transport etc.

    Fuck Frogmore House – divide it up for social renting – and fuck paying for their protection detail (and fucking Blair’s as well). What do we want? Accident in tunnel. When do we want it? ASAP, the malingering scrounging surplus cunts. Both of them (and Blair).

  15. She’s a self entitled cunt for sure. I’d still like to spaff all over her slut face.

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