THE BROTHERS BATTENBERG.
LONG TO REIGN OVER US.
Above are two of the most adept, experienced and staggeringly impudent benefits cheats in the land, the world.
Were their housing, clothing, transport, food, clothing, staff, sporting, travel, booze and whoring allowances terminated and reclaimed the rest of us might feel fewer of Austerity's unjust barbs.
That we might also reconsider the circumstances of our own births viv a vis those of Baby King George, the new Child Emperor, would be a further benefit.
Worse, however, than their sponging and poncing is the lesser known side of this family's character for it seems that we are funding, idiotically, adoringly and sycophantically, the lifestyles, families and mistresses of two so-called princes both of whom are up to their inbred arses in child sexual abuse.
THE ORDER OF THE BEAST
His Royal Highness Prince Charles Philip Arthur George, Prince of Wales, Royal Knight Companion of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, Extra Knight of the Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Thistle, Grand Master and Principal Knight Grand Cross of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath, Member of the Order of Merit, Knight of the Order of Australia, Companion of the Queen's Service Order, Member of Her Majesty's Most Honourable Privy Council, Aide-de-Camp, Earl of Chester, Duke of Cornwall, Duke of Rothesay, Earl of Carrick, Baron of Renfrew, Lord of the Isles, Prince and Great Steward of Scotland; friend, confidante and admirer of the late Sir James Savile, disc jockey, charity worker, bully, thug, serial child sexual offender and rumoured necrophiliac.
AND A COMPANION OF HONOUR.
Sir James Wilson Vincent "Jimmy" Savile
Order of the British Empire,
Knight Commander of the Pontifical Equestrian Order of Saint Gregory the Great; LLD from Leeds University; Fellow of the Royal College of Radiologists; Cross of Merit of the Order pro merito Meletensi; green beret from HM Royal Marines; PhD from the University of Bedfordshire.
THE ORDER OF THE BEAST.
His Royal Highness The Prince Andrew Albert Christian Edward, Duke of York, Earl of Inverness, Baron Killyleagh, Knight Companion of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, Knight Grand Cross of the Royal Victorian Order, Canadian Forces Decoration, Aide de Camp to Her Majesty. His Royal Highness has innumerable medals, honours, colonelcies and admiralcies, most of them bestowed upon him by his doting mother, Bad Queen Brenda. His Royal Highness is friend, confidante and associate of notorious and hugely wealthy child sexual offender, Mr Jeffrey Epstein, maintaining their close relationship before, during and after Mr Epstein's imprisonment on child sexual abuse charges.
AND A COMPANION OF HONOUR
The Prince and the Paedo.
Epstein is a wealthy, New York financier and child pimp who, as well as Andy Battenberg, has other powerful friends in high places, notably in the lawnforcement and prosecutorial authorities in Florida, where he was able to improperly secure a plea-bargain deal by which he was sentenced to a mere thirteen months for a catalogue of sustained, international child slavery and sexual abuse offences but he has connections, also, among international filthsters,
such as the disgusting Spunky Bill
Ah feel yo' pussy, I mean yo' tits,
no, shucks, I mean yo' pain,
course I do.
Spunky Bill, we know, is a borderline paedophile, sexually mistreating a young woman intern whilst president of the United States and then deploying his administration to bully and harass her, rather as Andy Battenberg and Buckingham Palace, at our expense, are doing with his accuser;
such as Tony'n'Imelda Blair,
also in Epstein's little black book
The Blair Family UglyBug Blowjob Foundation;
We suck rich cock.
Arab, Jew, Tyrant or Beast,
all you need for Tony'n'Imelda to jointly suck your cock,
is the possession of a few billions;
such as Charlie Spencer, Duke of Earl,
a worthless, idle, British aristo-ponce, slobbing around in estates and palaces stolen by his filthy, inbred ancestors; grown richer on the death and burial of his poor, mad sister, Diana, and on a speech written for him by, it is said, his priapic school chum, King BoJo of London;
by such as the disgusting Donald Trump,
owner of Mr Alex Salmond, MSP and large parts of Scotland, my Scotland, the filthy cunt;
by such as the disgustingly dirty old man Sir Mick Jagger
as yet uninvestigated over his dodgy past;
These, the great and the good, whose lives and doings we are compelled to admire, these, amongst many others, are known to have either attended Epstein's child-beasting orgies or to have been his friends and associates.
Andy's slutwife slapper, Fergie, who historically solicits bribes in exchange for meetings with her former husband,
Sarah, SlapperDuchess of York.
was loaned, as they call it, a large sum of money by Epstein, in order to settle some more pressing debts, despite the fact that Andy's family is among the richest in the world; one can only assume that, in exchange, the Duchess became a member of Epstein's sex circle;
too old, much too old for him to be interested in fucking - maybe, like the Maxwell slut, Fergie pays her debt by pimping, or entertaining some potentate in Epstein's circle of beasts but maybe her indebtedness simply welds the trio together in depravity and unnatural practises; Ferguson was certainly not employed by Epstein as a Weight-Watching consultant, why bother with that, when cocaine is so much more fun; maybe Sarah blew cocaine up Epstein's arse while he was buggering a child, a right royal knees-up.
A hundred and twenty days of Sodom,
patron, HM Queen Elizabeth the second.
Andy and Sarah, despite their divorce,
live together in a small house which we gave them,
perhaps, living together, it is easier to deliberate as to where and to whom the Prince may pimp his former wife, the mother of his congenitally useless brats, in exchange for money or young girls or both.
The last Yorkster house, which we bought them as a wedding present, proved unsuitable,
as Andy wouldn't pay to maintain it and it was bought, dilapidated, for five million pounds over the asking price, by some foreign, coke-snorting, head-chopping despot princepig, who also, like Epstein, paid-off some of Sarah's debts, purely out of the goodness of his black heart. I guess that if you are using George Osborne's London to launder billions in filthy money then having a pseudo-royal old slut like Ferguson on the payroll makes sense; she comes cheap.
They do keep the strangest company, the brothers Battenberg.
Andy, his piggy face like thunder, is vainly trying to con us into believing that his and his now common-law wife's lengthy relationship with Jeffrey Epstein
is not only entirely innocent but actually quite noble, princely, chivalrous, the cheeky cunt; his servants rubbish the victims and insist that he is a selfless public servant, without whom overseas British trade would collapse, even though he is an obnoxious, free-loading pervert,
good for fuck all and in serious need of a quick rub-down with a house-brick,
before being hanged from the railings of Buckingham Palace.
Meanwhile, his big brother,
JugEars, the wifebeater, manages to evade any scrutiny whatsoever about his lengthy, personal relationship with the late Sir Jimmy Savile.
THE PRINCE AND THE PAEDO.
Andy, pending further investigation of his impudent association with Epstein, has behaved badly enough to be stripped of all his titles and honours and medals. His brother, however, the excuse for a man who would be king, belongs in the Tower or at the very least at the forefront of Operation Yewtree's investigation into Savile-related crimes. The press should be in full, hot pursuit.
His Royal Highness, Brian, his ponce fag courtiers will pronounce, as though it were true, gives a great deal of his time to charity and meets, therefore, many individuals from all walks of life; he simply cannot be expected to investigate the backgrounds of all of them, shut up, therefore, don't be impertinent, remember your place and go away.
Oh, Sir Jimmy, you are almost as funny as the Goons,
did one tell you that one can do a rather good impersonation of Seagoon, one's self? It's like that Ishmael chappie says, there really is no business like showbusiness. Unless it's the royalty business.
Now-now, yer worship, same thing, in Jimmy's book, same thing.
It wasn't just so-called charity meetings, however, which brought Brian and Jimmy together, Brian absolutely doted on him - enough reason, right there, for him to be barred from the throne -
allowing him unprecedented free access to both Highgrove and Clarence Houses, luxurious homes, palaces, really, which we maintain for the useless fucking crybaby bastard and his horsefaced, smokey old Nazi doxy.
Savile wandered in and out at will, molesting staff, slobbering over them, to the Prince's amusement. Brian had Savile sit-in on interviews conducted to select courtier-ponces and secretary-slags, allowing him the final word on who was to be, whatever it is called, Principal Private Secretary to his Highness, somesuch propaganda post. Savile's opinion was canvassed by Brian on NHS reform, seriously. Savile, lest we need reminding, was a semi-literate buffoon, patently a bully and clearly a man of - at the very least - questionable character. Brian, nevertheless, permitted Savile to edit and amend royal speeches and correspondence; maybe he had a hand in the infamous Spider Letters, in that scandal of royal meddling, the story of which the PBC has so bravely buried, at Brian's insistence; an odious secrecy in which successive Attorneys General have colluded - Brian, quite improperly, has been lobbying ministers to change their policies and now that the Guardian is trying to see the relevant letters it has been told that the half-wit's princely meddling is a matter of national security and to fuck off.
We do not know if Savile brought his erudition or constitutional expertise to these letters but considering his bizarre ubiquity amongst monarchs and prime ministers it wouldn't be surprising if he had. Nonce-protector General, Margaret Thatcher, MP, PC, MA (Oxon) was so utterly bewitched by Savile that she lobbied four years in succession for his eventual knighthood
and welcomed him regularly into her familiy home.
One must wonder which areas of public policy benefited from Sir Jimmy's wise scrutiny, either personally or as amanuensis to the dunderhead Prince of Wales. Savile often shrugged-off questions about his sexuality with threats of friends in high places, as well as low. They don't come much higher than the residents of Downing Street and the palaces. Thatcher, it is true, befriended all sorts of filth, General Pinochet, Conrad Black and Henry Kissinger but her government was uniquely friendly to and protective of child molesters and worse, Tebbit, Morrison, Brittan and Clarke all connected to cover-up, at the very least.
We are asked, required, to believe that the highest, brightest most well-informed and wisely-advised people in the land suspected nothing, heard no alarm bells as they scampered about the corridors of power in the company of, sharing state secrets with, providing wholly inappropriate sinecures for this repulsive creature. A prince or a cabinet minister need only pick up a phone to learn the truth about Savile, even back then there were rumours which should have deterred any intimacy with the Beast of Broadmoor; we are asked to believe that no-one in the palace or in Downing Street thought to run a check on such an extraordinarily presumptuous, eccentric and menacing freak. There are two explanations - and only two - for Jimmy Savile enjoying the royal and ministerial imprimatur: firstly, everyone concerned in Savile's license and promotion is unpardonably stupid, naive, wretchedly incompetent and thus unfit for office - this applies, also, to their courtiers, SPADs and bag-carriers - and secondly, at least one prime minister but probably more and the entire house of Battenberg-Windsor are part of the Paedophile Establishment, the uncovering of which Mrs Tracey May is trying so hard to prevent. There is no other reasonable explanation, for until, after his death a few victims spoke out, the whole of showbiz, royalty and politics bust a gut eulogising Sir James. Now, they expect us to believe that those who take us to war, plan our futures, guard our treasure and manage our daily affairs as well as those who will so lavishly and comfortably rule over us were all fooled, beguiled by this gross mutant, Savile, as though he didn't have ChildMolester written all over him. The nerve of some people, who do they think they are? The reality of course is that there are enough fellow-travellers in high place, in palaces, courts, constabularies, secretariats and newsrooms to make easy Savile's path and, coincidentally, their own.
In the scandal which Tracey May tries to obscure it is said that the affair goes even into Brenda's parlour, at least one of her Lords Lieutenant being involved in the Dolphin Square VIP beasting den.
Boy-lover, William Hague, certainly did Thatcher's bidding whilst he was Welsh Secretary, covering-up and burying that end of the national Tory obsession with children and who knows how many snorting, braying Westminster pigs have their trotters dipped in the blood of child murder?
There might, however, be light at the end of Satan's Noncing Tunnel, Brian might inadvertently blow the whistle on himself, he is a fucking idiot, after all; everything he's touched has turned to shit; he is sraggeringly inept and cack-handed; despite the best servants, tutors and advisers which our money can buy for him he is useless; how he manages to ski a hundred metres without causing injury to himself or others is a matter of wonder but his other, more serious efforts at accomplishment and expertise fail. No matter how many arse-wipers, toothpaste-squeezers and bath-runners we employ for him he is unable to excel at anything.
During his pretend military service he had command of a minesweeper, His Mummy's Ship, Bronington and
All engines, Full ahead-astern
when the real Captain was asleep or off-duty, the prince, in the tradition set by his uncle Louis Battenberg, another fucking useless crash-happy mariner,
Prince of Wales to engine room:
maximum thingies, if you please, Mr Chief Engineer.
Look lively, there.
ran the fucking thing aground.
The records show nothing of this, instead, First Lieutenant JugEars is compared favourably to Admiral Horatio Nelson, but I remember it well.
Prince Jonah is now, of course, Admiral of the Queen's Nay-vee
In 1995, as Prince Biggles, the fucking nincompoop was landing a plane of the Queen's Flight in the Hebrides he royally crashed it. The board of enquiry ruled that the official pilot, a common serviceman, and not Brian - who was actually flying the fucking thing - was to blame.
I own these fucking plane thingies, son, or I will.
Prince PilotError is now a Marshal of the Royal Air Force.
Best of all, if you can call anything about the royals best, Savile was appointed by Brian to, firstly, ensure that in the days around her wedding to his brother-beast, Andy, his bride-to-be, the above Sloane-slapper, Sarah Ferguson, behaved herself so as not to embarrass the throne, as if such a thing was possible, murdering, thieving, grubby, greedy, cowardly child-molesting fucking slags. That's right, it is a matter of record; Savile, protecting the reputation of the House of Windsor. At the request of the heir to the throne.
I was just saying to mr yardarm that when you wander into this Internet nightmare of royal beasting (you won't find a word of it in MediaMinster's output) into this netherworld of Ruritania-cum-Lilliput, it grows difficult to sustain a belief in Decency, in Virtue and Reason and easy to imagine that such virtues are impressed upon us only to keep us in line. How can it be that to huge public acclaim a beasting, bullying prince weds a greedy slapper with a massage-parlouring, pisshead father
Major Ron Handjob Ferguson.
while the heir to throne appoints his kingdom's biggest sex criminal to keep things proper, tickety-boo, and above board.
Mr and Mrs Battenberg-Slag.
Fuck me, Jesus, if Jonathan Swift lived now this'd fucking kill him stone dead.
I really do need some money;
why can't I just take some off the proles,
like my mother-in-law does ?
I am a fucking Duchess, after all.
Sadly, like most of the Prince of Wales's plans, Savile, unsurprisingly, was unable to tame Sarah the Slapper and within months of the wedding no less a moralist that Princess Margaret wrote raspingly to Sarah, damning her for having - get this - lowered the standing of the family firm. As fucking if.
'You have done more to bring shame on the Royal Family than could ever have been imagined. Not once have you hung your head in embarrassment, even for a minute. Clearly you have never considered the damage you are doing us all. How dare you discredit us?'
Discredit us, fuck me gently, way to go, Maggie. But you get the point, even Margaret Rose, thwarted in marriage by her big sister and thereafter a freeloading, pisshead, trampy wreck, even Margaret was incensed at Sarah's haughty sluttishness.
But the absolute best of all possible bests relating to the Prince and the Paedophile is that Brian, having consistently and contemptibly betrayed and bullied his own child bride,
poor, mad Diana Spencer, driven her from her wits,
such few as she possessed,
then selected the bachelor nonce, Savile,
as her personal marriage guidance counsellor
- not their marriage guidance counsellor, hers.
Prince Charles's spectacular, epic, gargantuan, monumental, unparallelled cuntishness would be unbelievable in a normal person. One can and must only assume the very worst in a person so privileged and advantaged as our future monarch. We pay millions of pounds in wages to his staff and advisers. And yet he acts like a member of organised crime. We never heard, did we, about his tax evasion - not avoidance - remember, how he used to send some arselicker down to the second-hand shops with expensive gifts from idiot well-wishers and then just trouser the proceeds?
It was illegal of course but probably, like all his other crimes, the subject of a D-Notice, as was, or the Official Secrets Act, probably falls under whatever they are now calling the Prevention of Terrorism Act. If Buckingham Palace is linked to the alleged child murders in Dolphin Square there will be what they call a raft of legislation to prevent us hearing of it. And if there isn't they will write some, overnight.
Poor girl, married to a much older man, a pampered loser, a pig, a brat and an oaf who not only from the word Go! cheats on her with another man's wife - it is, incidentally, in the armed forces, of which Brian is many commanders, supposedly infra-dig, a duelling matter, to fuck a fellow officer's Mrs - but briefs against her in the shitpress and conspires against her with his loathsome courtier-dingleberries. By now the mother of his children, Diana is victimised by simpering palace cocksuckers and by Brian's own wretchedly inept and grotesque parents. As if all this wasn't enough mistreatment, her husband now seeks to deliver her into the hands of the United Kingdom's most infamous child sex offender.
No wonder the poor woman went nuts.
Now then, now then, His Nibs tells me that a certain princess has been a naughty girl.....
Of course, it doesn't follow, from his decades-long, close friendship with Savile that Prince Charles Arthur George is himself a beast but if he isn't a beast, why did he hang-out with one? Why was Savile allowed such intimacy. The Battenbergs wouldn't speak to you or I, what was it about a world champion nonce which so seduced the Prince of Wales? Surely not his conversation or erudition; surely not his tastes in art; what was it that would lead the heir to the throne to repudiate the advice of his counsellors and consort with a low-life like Savile, not only consort with but clutch to his pampered, worthless bosom?
It is not even as though Savile was a comedian;
he was as funny as cancer.
Brian even visited Savile's hideaway hovel.
and met his staff,
in their uniforms.
Such fun, living like common people.
Such a tragedy, when one lost Sir Jimmy's friendship and counsel.
The Duchess and I are just sort-of appalled at the death of Sir Jimmy,
he had been one's friend, it seems, forever.
What shall one do?
The Palace's links to the Westminster Paedophilia establishment are all over the web, just search for Dolphin Square or Elm Guest House and ignore the usual press subjects - the Guardian and Filth-O-Graph and so on, all of whom worshipped Savile until they could no longer, all of whom worship the Monarchy but be warned, many of the blogs and sites are written, incomprehensibly, on a dark background, in tiny fonts and are very difficult to read; some of it may seem contentious but much of it smacks of Truths spoken to Power.
What is indisputable is that the heir to the British crown had a long and very intimate relationship with probably our most notorious sex offender. Savile was not, like Myra and Ian, a snatcher and killer, at least we don't think so but his life of crime was nevertheless utterly repulsive; Prince Charles lent him succour, bestowed upon him status and - unforgivably - provided him with cover. At the very least.
In a decent society there would be a press-led demand for Charles's demotion and removal.
What is also indisputable is that Charles's brother, Andrew, enjoyed a lengthy and equally intimate relationship with Jeffrey Epstein, which extended beyond Epstein's conviction and imprisonment, Further, although there is no evidence placing Charles at any of Savile's crimes, there is plenty connecting Andrew to Epstein's orgies and his common-law wife, Sarah Ferguson, to Epstein's dark largess.
In a decent society there would be a press-led demand for Andrew's demotion, removal and imprisonment. He blusters that he will fight these allegations and clear his name.
He can't.
These are not errors of judgement, honestly made.
Two princes tightly linked-to, embracing two notorious beasts, why are we so silent, can it be that we are all latent paedophiles?
After they were published in the States we had to learn the details about Andrew, although without Uncle Sam the British shitpress would otherwise have been as quiet as the grave.
The deafening silence around Charles and Savile, however, make it seem that, as usual, like Savile, he has done nothing wrong. And as they did with his mate, Savile, the press believes him.
I fucking don't.
Posted by call me ishmaelat 17:30
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Labels: the grooming of the nation
33 comments:
tdg said...
Savile must have gone through a vetting process. So the third possibility is that the security services knew, and informed their masters, but it was kept quiet as a mere idiosyncrasy of character. That crime was then not what it is now. So the record will leak, at some point, and it will wreck the monarchy, but it may be some time.
2 March 2015 at 19:29
call me ishmaelsaid...
It is difficult, yes, to re-inhabit the mood of the time and you are right, they would have known - and acted as you say.
Andy's conduct, however, is recent, Epstein's vices enjoy no historical indulgence, yet Andrew supported and, it is said, joined in them.
Any way they are judged both cases merit severe condemnation and, I would have thought, punishment.
2 March 2015 at 19:52
yardarmsaid...
Rasputin. Savile was another Rasputin, preying on the credulity and stupidity of a royal house. Only, back in the last years of Imperial Russia many people warned the block head Nicholas II what Rasputin was like: here, everyone cheered Savile to the rafters.
2 March 2015 at 20:52
Bungalow Bill said...
Brenda loves AndyPaedo best of all and made him Admiral of Vulgaria right after the Epstein shitstorm. A sovereign's rightful rebuke to her impertinent subjects.
The predatory Establishment has been always with us, the entitlement of Princes to hunt and fuck being assumed. So too with the political Big Beasts and, as if we needed telling, Thatcher's vile moral imbecility and tacit collusion in child abuse are now plain.
Such are the monsters in which we must not believe on pain of ridicule or, if necessary, much worse. That's their best trick of all, evil so contemptuous and routinely repellent that it cannot be credited.
They hate us and devour us. A bold and necessary post Mr I.
2 March 2015 at 21:10
call me ishmaelsaid...
As far as it goes, the Rasputin analogy is correct mr yardarm but as far as I know the Mad Monk was what we would call a Lone Wolf, working only to the Romanovs; Savile, on the other hand, was seen as an asset by the national broadcaster, the national press, the National Health Service, the armed forces and he was given a free pass by lawnforcement. I am not sure of the chronology of all these connections but I guess that before the forging of many of them Savile was under royal protection, so to speak, in a grim spiderweb of symbiosis; who was spinning the threads, that's a moot point. Was Edwina moved to appoint Savile to Broadmoor because of his connection to the Prince of Wales? Did Charles act as some silent, unspoken guarantor, a friend at Court, thus aiding and abetting the offences?
2 March 2015 at 21:23
A mirage made in heavensaid...
Savile: at least let's raffle his remains off. Preferably though I'd like to see 'em crack open the concrete block with a JCB, then carefully prise of the coffin lid, remove and flense his foul corrupted flesh. Skilfully wire his bones back together, dress him in his usual string vests and shell-suited finery, then send him on a national tour, fairground style. Roll-up, roll up: get a photo of yourself, arm around his shoulders, leering alongside his white and wispy haired skull, complete with a rictus-clenched trademark stogie. At a fiver a photo-op, his rancid bones could pay back at least a little restitution for decades to come. We could 'fix it' for at least one of the cunts.
2 March 2015 at 21:31
A mirage made in heavensaid...
This comment has been removed by the author.
2 March 2015 at 21:31
A mirage made in heavensaid...
Is it Blogger or me that inadvertently double posts?
Masterly Mr. Ishmael; well said!
2 March 2015 at 21:38
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