290411 : First Republic

A ROYAL WEDDING EXTRAVAGANZA FINAL EDITION (#6)

These are my last words on the subject. Then I can rest and get some sleep. I hope.

If you'd rather read something intellectual on the subject of the Royal Wedding, Monarchy, and Republicanism, may I point you in the direction of someone I regard as a genius, the very clever and brilliantly passionate and talented word-smith Mr. Simon Indelicate, who uses erudite sentences such as these:

The monarchy is an affront to the dignity of the free citizen. It is an offence to the law-abiding and the tax-paying that the universality which justifies their submission to tax and to law is critically undermined by the most famous of their countrymen.

If you realize that Republicanism (UK, not evil US Republicanism) is for you, then may I suggest you join REPUBLIC or, at the very least, read what they say on their website.

To summarize how I feel:

• I don't believe that there should be a Monarchy.
• I don't respect any unelected person who claims to rule over me, purely by accident of birth and the fallacy of God's Will.
• Mainly because I don't believe in God.
• And because unelected power can only be opposed by revolution.
• And I'm a pacifist.

With regards to this wedding:

• Who gets married on a Friday?
• Because that's just showing off. Why not get hitched on a Saturday?
• Then we wouldn't be forced into marking the big day with a Bank Holiday.
• Forced into a pro-Monarchy position whether we like it or not.
• And where is my invite?
• Oh yeah, I'm not a dictator with an appalling human rights record. I forgot.
• Can you genuinely think of a more effective and salient time to protest the Monarchy?
• Me neither.

With regards to the bride and groom:

• If it's love, then good luck to them. Like all couples marrying for the right reason (love) I sincerely hope that that love stays with them until the end.
• But I don't really care that they are getting married anymore than I care any other people I've never met are getting married.
• And I resent the fact that they will one day claim ownership of the land in which I live.
• Therefore, I ain't getting no bunting out.

I've peppered these articles with music videos. I recall a fantastic song called Man-Made by a band called Credit To The Nation, for which there is no YouTube video, which suggested:

Take a black woman and a black man too / give them to the Royals so they can screw / Black woman with Edward /Black man with Andrew / Then the Windsors would have some colour.../ Edward would be pleased and Andrew would be happy and gay / And they'd set the rules by which they'd played.

Now these would be weddings / sex-tapes I might be interested in seeing.

You may remember me writing "But I wish that they would do the good, honest thing and dissolve the monarchy and fuck off to Las Vegas, and run their pathetic side-show in the new ‘Buck House’ hotel and casino complex" and I stand by that, 100%.

I don't want a violent revolution. I don't want one drop of blood to spill.

But I do want the Monarchy to go away.

I'm wearing my Sex Pistols T-shirt today and going to work. Bank Holiday my arse.

Two videos. 1 obvious. 1 less so.

Repeat after me: No Monarchy.

------------

Goodnight, and mythical-invisible-white-haired-old-man-in-the-sky bless.

x

290411 : Les Misérables Destin d'Catherine Middleton

ROYAL WEDDING LIMITED EDITION #5

"Lady Di? Lady Di? RENOIR!"

She got a degree in History of Art. She could get a job at any gallery, perhaps even be the new Simon Schama. She was a fashion buyer for Jigsaw.

There are so many things that Catherine Elizabeth Middleton could do. Hell, she could go and work with her parents in their moderately successful party-bits business. And yet she's thrown it all way, she's about to make the worst decision of her life... which begs me to ask, Carrie Bradshaw style:

Seriously, Middleton, what are you thinking, marrying into royalty when you could be a successful independent woman, like Beyonce off of MTV?

After all, we all know how well some of your predecessors got on - Boleyn, Howard, Ferguson and Spencer to name a handful, and they weren't half as common as you.

Ultimately, you're giving away your life - your privacy, your enjoyment, your very being - to a supposedly more noble cause, for an alleged higher purpose, for the profits of what used to be Fleet Street.

You think it's a bit annoying now, not being able to get your security man to sweet talk traffic wardens without getting in the papers, well just you wait until you're properly institutionalised. That'll be fun.

Perfectly harmless toesucking on the beach will be front page news. Your husband will follow in Daddy's shoes and stick it to married posh girls behind your back. Every dress you wear can never be worn again.

Everywhere you go, flash bulbs and paps and respectable photojournalists and film crews and interviewers and flash bulbs and neon lights and TV presenters and news-readers will be in attendance amid the constant flash bulbs and you'll be consumed by madness and you'll never be skinny enough or you'll be too skinny and you'll throw yourself down the stairs in desperation to avoid another trip to another shopping centre to cut another ribbon because you can't do that with a broken ankle, and your kids will be taken from you and given to nanny, and sent off to public school, and your marriage will be in tatters, and you'll find yourself alone in Kensington Palace, in your private quarters. Only a butler for company. A butler and a salad. A butler and a salad and a desperate urge to get out of there, out of the stifled London, maybe head off to a fancy hotel with your lover, maybe in Paris. . . .

No.

There is an easy way out. Don't show up next Friday.

Go shopping. Go to Bijou. Go anywhere, but the church.

If he loves you, he'll understand.

If he doesn't understand, he doesn't love you.

Marriage is an expression of love, not a submission to an antiquated and obsolete nationalistic and tribal institution.

You are being served up, as the main course, for a country desperate for your beauty, sucking you dry of emotion every time you visit a sick kid in hospital, pulling sequins off your dresses at state balls, and long-lens photographing every intimate moment.

Now's your chance. Learn from the mistakes of the past. Walk away.

290411 : Charles Windsor, who's at the door?

ROYAL WEDDING SPECIAL #4

Now then, the tee-shirt for sale at this shop http://www.zazzle.co.uk/less_wedding_more_beheading_tshirt-235052375961363967 is an absolute peach.

Designed by a fella called Tony Scalomi they truly are a work of art.

Why not buy it, and wear it on the big day?

Oh, and check out this lovely tune by the wonderful McCarthy, about some fella called Charles Windsor: it's wonderfully utopian ;)

290411 : Repeat After Me

PART 3 of THE ROYAL WEDDING EXTRAVAGANZA

The Best-Man. Organiser of the last hurrah, looky-afterer of the rings. Who better to choose than the flame-haired, Nazi uniform (replete with optional swastika) wearing, dope-smoking, user of foul racist language that is Henry Charles Albert David of Wales. Or Harry to the lovely ladies at the bar. Hey darling, rah-rah-rah, let me buy you a drink. See this Fifty-pound note - yah, that's my Nan, ah-hah.

The amount this little bugger has done wrong is incredible, given that he is only 26 years of age. Talking of swearing and the number 26 - guess which position in the UK Top 40 this song reached back in November '91.

(Adopts mid-Atlantic phony smug voice) This week, a new entry at number 26, it's the Manic Street Preachers with 'Repeat'. . .