The price of the Queen has risen by 4 pence in the last year to a shameful 66p per person, that’s 40 million quid a year to fund the lifestyle of one of the world’s richest women. Palace lackies claim that this due to Prine Andrew jetting around the world, presumably to get away from the old trout.
We reckon the true cost is much more. All those blokes in daft uniforms hanging around Westminster whose elite military training seems to have gone towards teaching them to stand very still and not smile when surrounded by hordes of gawking tourists. Then there’s the shameful cost of flying half the RAF over London just because it’s her fucking birthday (and she has two, who the fuck has two birthdays) and the waste of valuable ink printing her face on the cover of every fucking postage stamp.
We don’t want to look at a picture of a miserable old cow every time we post a letter or go to the cashpoint. Currency could show real British heros like Wat Tyler, Stanley Matthews and … er .. that bloke off the Halifax advert. And as for her fucking kids, what a shower of over-priviliged chinless arseholes who are not fit to run a kebab shop let alone pretend to run a long gone empire.
Diana wasn’t murdered by the state, she faked her suicide to get away from the fucking kids. The French had the right idea over 200 years ago but it seems we still haven’t caught onto the fact that we’re paying for a bunch of over-privileged wankers who are good for nothing more than shovelling caviar down their parasitic throats.
As for those who claim they make us a fortune in tourism, well we say this:
The public execution of the Royal Family would be the most watched piece of TV ever and the DVD sales would keep the price of maintaining Buck House as a public park and hostel for London’s homeless for donkey’s years.
Meanwhile the QE2 should be used to send the rest of the aristocracy into the middle of the Atlantic, where the Royal Jet would fly headlong into the hull piloted by a drugged (no change there) Boris Johnson.
The Crown jewels could then be melted down to create a giant gold guillotine which could stand on the fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square as a reminder of the costliest farce in British history.
And after that onto that other shameful scourge on the British working class, the Palace of Westminster.
And when we’ve finished with that lot we can all go down the pub and raise a glass to a brave new dawn in British society.
At least until the Americans invade.