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The Queen's Speech: Westminster, 2012
I'm lost for words
Give me a leafy wood and a Nightingale
What the hell is wrong with this ageing hack? I love most life forms on the planet, even some of the two-legged ones.
Why, then, of all man’s useless endeavors, does the Queen’s Speech leave me feeling so twitter and bisted?
Well, what utter mind dulling, hypocritical and phony garbage!
Cameron and the Forty Thieves write some nonsense on a bit of parchment, and the royal crone is loaded onto a coach once again and carried to Westminster to send the country to sleep for an hour.
The poor old figurehead doesn’t compose a word of it herself. It’s carefully constructed to beat around the bush and misinform by our Tory Government. Mrs. Windsor, or Regina, or whatever her name is, begins each pea-shattering edict with “My Government will…” And the whole flock of the who’s who (should that be who’s whom?) of the nation crowds round the thrones, (where the poor old Prince Philip gazes sharply around as if he could really, see, hear, or give a shit if he could).
We’re going to be doing this crap all year for the old crab’s diamond jubilee: parades, 10,000 gun salutes, barges up the Thames, and Harry and Willie charging all round the world hoping to interest other nations in the charade. I hope they get told to bugger off, I really do.
The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists here whine, “Isn’t she marvelous, doing all this at her age?”
While 100 million wrinkled old peasant women all over the world toil in fields wondering where the money to just survive is coming from.
All this pageantry! The millions spent on clothing and the security, etc., just so her majesty can read out a paper I could write in 10 minutes and the PM could read in twenty, which would make just as much sense.
Why do we hang on to this charade while millions are out of work and the country is in double-dip recession (not mentioned by Liz). Many lands are anti royalist and anti inherited wealth and privilege. No here. Brits are dumb as oxen I’m afraid. Once we had to put up with it, and now we can’t get the psychological foot off our necks.