Prince bloody Charles. Every time I see his gormless baffoon like face I get more annoyed. Now I don’t mean to sound shallow here but this is an issue of appearance and representation. It terrifies me to think that consumers of media the world over might judge us as a nation on the images of this rather slow and dreary individual. And that’s before he’s opened his inane gate!
With his hair combed over and his greedy little paws plunged into the front pockets of a double-breasted suit, he’s every inch the parody of a seventies insurance salesman.
This acutely embarrassing situation needs sorting out. Charlie needs to get hold of a big lump of soap bar and retreat to Highgrove (aptly named) for a couple of weeks. He should use this time to smoke himself into a candlelight oblivion and reflect on his appearance whilst listening to some death metal – preferably Slayer or Cradle of Filth.
Then with any luck we’d never see the silly twat ever again.