The Brits are typically taking a dim view of the Duke and Duchess of Sussex’s decision to separate themselves from the Royal Family in order to pursue a more personal agenda of Woke Self-Aggrandizement. The Spectator is especially scathing.
This is clearly a highly influential publication. Only a couple of weeks after I pleaded in these pages for the repatriation to America of Meghan Markle, the Duchess of Sussex, it was accomplished. In a magnificently self-regarding and self-pitying statement to the world, Prince Harry and his recalcitrant wife announced that they would be ‘stepping back’ from royal duties and spending much more time in ‘Canada’, or, as it is more familiarly known, Los Angeles.
In this statement, released without the Queen’s knowledge, Harry and Meghan expressed a vague wish that they might at some point in time become ‘financially independent’ from the British taxpayer, seemingly possessed of the interesting belief that after resigning from a post one shouldn’t necessarily stop receiving remuneration for it, perhaps in perpetuity.
The Queen quickly put a stop to that malarkey and so, within a matter of months, you lucky Yanks may be able to hire the pair to serve drinks at bar mitzvahs, weddings and divorce parties, or maybe just to clean the pool or do some light dusting indoors. They are said to be developing their own brand in order to sell stuff to the world — a brand which right now has connotations only of whining narcissism and petulance. Yes, yes, it might do really well, then.
Don’t let the ‘Canada’ business delude you. You’ve got her, make no mistake. There is not the slightest prospect of Meghan cooling her heels in Ballsack, Saskatchewan — or even Vancouver. ‘Canada’ was mentioned as a sop to Harry, in that it is part of the Commonwealth, a kind of halfway house to freedom, like they use for criminal drug addicts who have just been released.
Nor did the Canucks explode with joy at the news. An opinion poll suggested that three-quarters of the population would rather gnaw off their own legs than pay a single cent in order to keep the pair in the manner to which they are accustomed — with retinues of flunkies, heavies to beat up press photographers, private jets, new house, quinoa smoothies, therapists and a nonbinary vegan nursery for their blameless offspring, Archie.
Fusil Darne
Indulge me, my feelings on English royalty.
No matter the Royal, no matter the country, it pretty much came down to the royal ancestor hitting my ancestor with a club, and saying “I’m king now, and you are beholden to meâ€. The added fuel to the hatred I feel for this particular brand of able bodied welfare cheat, is the Irish ancestry on my Mother’s side.
If and when the English tire of this blight on their otherwise fair countryside, I’ll offer up pro bono execution services, with an emphasis on lengthy and painful end of life services.
Call me.
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