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It's Spring, 1998. The birds
and the bees are hard at it, and World Cup footie looms. Who will be selected, who sent
home, and who will win? It's enough to drive a man to drink, isn't it Gazza?
Yesterday afternoon, Tony Blair, the Prime Minister (as long as we
let him be), made the following announcement to a packed and hushed House. "Her Majesty expresses her shock and deep regret at the
breakdown of the marriage between Their Royal Highnesses the Prince magnificat, and the
Princess Granny. This is on account of Princess Granny's drunkenness, adultery, and
generally unreasonable behaviour." "My son was coming to see me in tears every night," Her Majesty explained. "That is no way for a future King to be treated - even him." At a hastily convened Press conference outside the House, Princess Granny was inconsolable. "That's my fucking income halved!"
she howled, over a restorative glass of strong lager. "I'll get the cunt if it
kills me!" Tacky and Tasteless, I
hear you mutter. And Diana not cold in her grave
yet!
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Copyright magnificat 1997 - 2001 |