Majesty? Yeah. Right.

The economy is in flames, Gordo is busily spending our great-grandchildren's money propping up the businesses of people who should be in prison, the crusties are preparing to riot in London's streets against the system that provides them with everything they wear, eat, own, live in, drive, drink and travel in and what's on the front pages? The Act of effing Settlement. Yes, while real things are happening in the world, a lot of people are spending time, effort and (our) money debating who should be allowed to become Their Majesty the Chief Parasite. Apparently, it matters which kind of Sky Fairy you believe in. (OK, there's a tiny amount of merit to the argument that it shouldn't matter if your genitals are innies or outies). I don't have words to describe how little I care about any of this, and how little it matters in the real world. After all, the Royal Family is essentially a soap opera, of interest only to the subscribers of "Hello!" magazine and similar arsewipe. If Gordo absolutely must devote any time to this, it should be to abolishing the Royalty and chucking the entire useless parade of parasitical, inbred, moronic, jugeared, horsefaced wasters on the dole.