The story so far; Meghan, Duchess of Deceit, continues to plot her step-by-step climb to wealth and power. Now read on.

“Let me see”, said Meagain, glowering maliciously at her computer. “Marry a dim prince… check. Have royal baby… check. Claim victimhood status and flee to LA mansion… check. Next, a blockbuster book dissin’ them Windsor bastards *cackle*. It’ll soon be out!”.

At those last words, her husband, Prince Harry de Halfwit, dropped his “Beano” and leapt up. “What’ll soon be out, lambkins?” he leered gormlessly. “Is it time for Mr Wiggly to pop out again?”.

“Oh for…” hissed the Mistress of Malice. Forcing herself to be calm, she twisted her face into a grimace of a smile cold enough to freeze the River of Hades. “No my love” she gushed. “With so much to occupy you, you’ve forgotten about our book, ‘Finding Freedom’. It’s about our escape from conformity and exploitation in the UK, to a new life of riches and opportunity in the land of the free”.

“What, with your mater living with us? *haw haw* ” he guffawed. “Just my little joke, petal”, he added hastily. “But dash it, old girl, I hope you’ve not put anything in it to offend grandmama. We’re down to our last fifty million, and the pater might cut us off without a bean”. The Prince of Sighs shuffled uneasily and scratched his bald spot. “I say”, he blurted. “Ain’t it written by that johnny Obid Scoobydo or whatnot? He’s a proper odd looking cove if you ask me…”.

“Heavens, keep ya voice down”, snarled the Princess of Perfidy. We’re the Duke and Duchess of Diversity remember! Talk like that could ruin The Plan!”.

“Sorrers an’ all that rot”, bleated the Half-blood Prince guiltily. “Erm… what plan is that, my little pumpkin?”.

The’s Duchess’s eyes focussed on him like lasers. “Why, to be POTUS, of course!”, she said, her tongue flicking greedily across her glossy lips.

“Ah”, said Halfwit blankly. “Erm… *a-hem* what exactly is a POTUS, my pet?”.

“Jesus H Chraast, Harry”, snarled Meghan. “President. Of. The. United. States.”.

“But why can’t I be President?” whined the Duke sulkily. “I’m the chap here, you know, even if you do wear the trysers. I want to fly about in that big jet, and get driven around in limosines, and have even more flunkies, and lecture the common people about the climate and stuff while they pay all the bills…”.

“You’ll do all that at my side”, oozed the Madame of Manipulation. “You’ll be *cough* ‘First Lady’ or something, and redecorate the White House. Don’t worry about it and remember our arrangement. I’ll do the thinking, and you don’t”.

“If you say so, heart’s delight”, bleated the Duke Of Dim doubtfully. Then his guileless features brightened. “Isn’t it aboyt time for Mr Wiggly to play now?”.

“Oh Jesus”, whispered the Duchess, rapidly glancing at her diary. “I can give you fifteen minutes now”, she said grudgingly, but that’ll be all until Christmas. I’ve got a coast-to-coast book-signing and tv schedule to plan”.

“I say, look here”, said Halfwit indignantly. “Christmas, you say? That’s not the kind of thing a chap wants to hear when a chap gets married…”.

To be continued….

Nominated by: Ron Knee

(not sure if this is an actual nomination or a bedtime story? But well done anyway, Ron – admin)

It looks like we’ve finally got our (least) favourite little Communist agitator in checkmate. Feast your eyes on today’s opinion piece from him and pay special attention to the caption below the photo:
https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2020/jul/29/twitter-boycott-racism-social-media-wiley-newspapers
Afterall “they all look the same, don’t they?!” Priceless!!!

Nominated by: Cunt me in 

(Couldn’t have happened to a nicer cunt! – admin)

Rapp pygmie Kanye West is days away from either the nuthouse or doing himself a mischief.

Hes considering running for US president (?)

Has a kid called North West, beleives all kinds of madcap shite and is a all round puddled cunt.

He recently called his mother in law, Kim un jong for conspiring with his worried missus to have him admitted to hospital, the barmpot little ryming blingrat sees no issue with his paranoid megalomania,

And resents the accusation that the future president should be carted off to the funny farm.

The whole family out freak the fuckin Munsters, and Kanye is unravelling fast.

A dead cert for Deadpool.

Nominated by: Miserable Northern Cunt

Oh dear. What a pity. How sad.

Life doesn’t seem to be treating Emmanuel ‘Little Napoleon’ Macron well at the moment. Plagued by Brexit frustrations and dissent and economic woe at home, the French president is now finding it increasingly hard to impose his will in on-going ‘negotiations’ in The Union of Fraternal Love.

Talks drag on regarding the EU’s proposed €750 bill. C-19 rescue package, with Dutch PM Mark Rutte and his allies (Austria, Sweden, Denmark and now Finland) wanting more oversight of spending, and for more of the cash to be in the form of loans as opposed to non-repayable grants.

No doubt Microbe is keen to trouser the lion’s share of the wedge for France on advantageous terms, and sooner rather than later. His increased fractiousness seems finally to have led him to spit his dummy out. With the bully bursting out of the midget’s clothing, he has accused PM Rutte of taking on Britain’s obstructive role in EU summits.

He then threatened to walk out, claiming (get this for brass neck!) that ‘no deal is better than a bad deal’, by which, we may assume, he means ‘a bad deal for France’. With a further heavy application of Gallic charm, he then banged the table when Austria’s Sebastian Kurz had the audacity to leave The Imperial Presence to take an urgent phone call. Chancellor Kurz was reportedly offended after Microbe snapped ‘you see?

He doesn’t care. He won’t listen to others’**.

Oh well, what goes around comes around chaps. The ‘Frugal Four’, now joined by Finland, are no longer able to shelter behind Britannia’s shield. They’ve had to grow some balls, stick their heads over the parapet and take the flak for a change. The next time a British PM comes calling seeking reforms in return for continuing shed loads of cash, it might be in your interests, and those of your fellow member states, to listen. Oh but wait; there won’t BE a next time, will there?

As for the vertically challenged M. Microbe, it would appear that life is, indeed, turning out to be something of a bitch, as his stature continues to diminish by the day.The twat needs to get himself a much better pair of platform shoes if he’s going to continue his posturing. Run along home to mummy and she’ll buy you some, and another dummy.
Oh dear. What a pity. How sad.

** Translation into English; ‘he won’t do what I want’.

Nominated by: Ron Knee