Thursday, March 1, 2012

The Last of the Windsors

The Last of the Windsors
—for Derek Jarman

“Fucking carrion creeps!!!”

Prince Harry brandishes his riding whip at the photographers.

Prince Harry’s boarding his Apache Attack Helicopter. Flunkies with greasy ill-fitting wigs toss bouquets of wilting flowers in his path, blessing the Royal Throne’s young prick heir-in-waiting.

His words are drowned out by the mournful siren-calls of all his former girlfriends, dumped and being left behind by the cruel triumphant Taskmaster of the Realm.

Threadbare queer dukes and dyke duchesses weep at the Prince’s departure, a sneering jet screams by overhead.

A killer drone flashes like lightening thru the cold black clouds, zapping a bunch of protestors into cinders along the Thames. An ambulance crashes into the mob, crushing a young lady-in-waiting.

“Left, right, left, right,” barks the Air Marshal. The fleet of Apache Attack Helicopters sails over the horizon leaving the geriatric set behind. Hell-bent for a rendezvous with the Enemies of the Empire, leaving rotting London behind.

After the Imperial Apache Fleet is gone, in the deathly silence a young hoodlum hardly tumescent on the tarmac asks, “Where the fuck are they going this time, huh?”

“Who knows? Who cares?” his fuck-buddy in the moiling mob shouts. “I just wish we were fuckin going with ‘em, that’s all!!!”

Editing “The Last of the Windsors” is coming along just fine. You Tube editing is so easy—the film is almost done. The porno sequence from Las Vegas begins the whole showy, shallow, tawdry mess—wait till you see Prince Harry doing his thing at Caesar’s.

The editing is staccato and aggressive—we get high and just fuckin cut away. The royal fuck scene crashes into the film unexpectedly—the pace is relentless.

It should turn the audience on—Prince Harry in drag is a real Dominatrix Bitch with all those Las Vegas nightclub whores.

When the lights come back on—you can see the cockroaches swarming for cover. The cracks in the cancerous sweaty walls—all crammed with the filthy buggers.

After Harry gets off, the showgirls are just left standing there really dumbed-down & stupid—they don’t even register orgasms anymore. The guys are buttoning up their flies—getting ready to split from the joint. The helicopters are warming up.

One of them says, picking his nose—“I wonder what new disease I’ll pick-up this time?”

The news about “The Last of the Windsors”—has already leaked to the Sun, the Times and the Sunday Times in Britain. Murdoch's media empire also got onto it fast—with Fox News, the Wall Street Journal, the New York Post.

Even the Old Grey Lady herself—The New York Times is bitchin like mad. Her Sword of Damocles is taking its usual sideways swipes at everything—with the latest scandalous news.

Paolo Pasolini is back again too!!! Cloned from an old filthy stained pair of shorts—all of Italy is simply shocked. The modern medical miracle of Faggot Reverse Engineering—had pulled another magic bunny outta the magician’s hat again!!!

Scarabs are crawling outta Egypt—old Mafia and Yakuza Godfathers are back clomping around the streets again. Their cement shoes banging up Fifth Avenue—heading for the coke stoves and mildewed villas down there in the Beltway

The Pope was seen riding in an enormous golden pumpkin Cadillac—down thru secret hushed hide-and-seek Rome backalleys covered with camelias and black widows.

Silkworms have been reported worming their way into the Vatican—caterpillars and cocoons strewn thru St. Peters. Bernini’s columns crawling—with Tennessee Williams, Gore Vidal and The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone’s kept gigolo boyz. It’s no longer a great secret—Prince Harry is going to be the new Queen Bee!!! Just wait and see!!!

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