Bitchell – the balding ginger/grey haired Royal arse licker (or arse liker if you prefer) is currently pumping out tsunamis of repressed watery spunk as it does the work it lives for, a good old Right Royal snuff fest.
Head slightly bowed and ferrety eyes flicking to camera and back, the old line between grovelling, grief and gravitas is imperfectly preserved. The little cunt loves every minute knowing that it has closed out most of the other Royal commentators and is going to be hogging the airways for weeks if not months to come.
We present this nom in the expectation that as the money has it, the backroom bitchery at the Poofs Palace will result in a swift knife in the back for its least loved member (already have it in The Pool so tough titties).
What more to come from Witchell’s World? The Lying In, the Funeral, the Service of Commemoration and on and on. Then the breaking of the shock horror stories – the allegations of the Dook’s “other life” – the extra-marital affairs, the sailor boys (the Dook was an enthusiastic “sailor” by all accounts) etc etc. If one has a certain status in life one does hear things – or allegations rather.
To quote the future King (that’s Charlie boy me cuntos) off camera on Bitchell
“Ghastly Man”.
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Nominated by: Sir Limply Stoke



