Queen Brenda Attends Cabinet Meeting

Once again, the latest and the greatest in scandal-mongering hot gossip from Anarchy Central’s 24/7 Truth & Rumour Mill – with dispatches hand forged and crafted into bespoke satire to tempt the palates of all budding nihilists and career revolutionaries who carry the immortal bloodline of the rebel sons of Belial.

Posh Dave Scameron’s ministers were on their best public schoolboy behaviour yesterday when HRH Queen Liz, the 86-year old Mk 2 model, attended a cabinet session – the first monarch to do so since King George the Loony in 1781, during the American War of Independence (Late kick off: Colonial Yanks 1 – English 0 in extra time).

HRH arrived at 10:00 am sharp on her carbon friendly clean n green personal Segway machine - accompanied by motorcycle outriders and drove straight into Downing Street as the Met Plod Squad’s DPG security detail rushed to open the main gates on receiving an insta Pleb-o-Gram radio message advising of her imminent arrival – then ran down an ethnic minority dogsbody with a broom who’d been tasked with sweeping the pigeon and magpie shit off the red carpet laid in front of Number 10 ready for the regal visit.

Inside the hallowed halls of No 10, the Libservative Coalition’s Chief Whip had issued ‘hard word’ cautions about farting and profanity – and imposed a total ban on the customary child porno piccies being displayed as screen-savers on Minister’s laptops - with a strict personal reminder to Ken Clarke, the Minister Without Portfolio, to refrain from grooming the tea boy or groping his willy while HRH QE2 was in their midst.

Larry, the PM’s Chief Mouser moggy, got a swift boot in the arse off Her Majesty for getting under her feet as she stepped inside No 10, and casually informed the sycophantic ministers all lined up on their knees ready to pay obeisance and kiss her bum “Get up the sodding lot of you – and no more kowtowing or cap-doffing or forelock touching every time you want to make yourselves heard – or any of this repetitive ‘Your Majesty’ bullshit. I might well have been saddled with this fancy Mrs Saxe-Coburg-Gotha-Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Glücksburg-MacWindsor title - but just call me Brenda.”

‘Brenda’ then allowed the grovelling ministers to kiss her hand and made a strained yet visible effort to disguise her apathy and put on a show of appreciation when they presented her with a set of no less than 60 of Pound Stretcher’s finest table place mats, to mark her Diamond Jubilee’s 60 years of scrounging off the British public - which might come in very handy if she has Sheikh Fizzy al Kaseltzer, the despotic ruler of Bahrain, round for dinner again with his multiple wives and harem of ex-airline stewardess concubine sluts.

Considering her prerogatives and privileges are now pretty much limited to appointing a prime minister and dissolving Parliament (in a glass of water), Brenda made the best of the cabinet meeting occasion by sitting in Scameron’s usual seat - with Posh Dave having to perch the cheeks of his arse on the tea trolley as the Monarch hogged a plate of Mammon & Snobfords assorted biscuits and smacked the smarmy Health Secretary, Jeremy ‘BSkyB’ Hunt, on the knuckles with a teaspoon when he dared reach over to grab a Garibaldi – with an admonishing “You can wipe that shit-eating grin off your face sonny and wait until the biccies plate does the rounds.”

Taking charge of the Monopoly board, Brenda assumed the role of Banker and allotted tokens to eleven favoured ministers – with herself selecting the little silver ‘personage on horseback’ piece – then dispatched the hapless Defence Secretary Philip ‘Dandruff’ Hammond straight to jail without passing Go for scratching his pestilence-ridden scalp and blitzing the table with a veritable snow shower – only to then round on Chancellor Georgie Osborne to stop picking his nose and hop off to the Treasury double-quick for a sack of £20 quid notes as she didn’t like playing with ‘Mickey Mouse’ money.

Later that afternoon, once she’d seen her winnings loaded safely into the back of a G4S security van and dispatched to Bucks Palace, ‘Brenda’ was escorted by her closet case Foreign Secretary Willy Vague to the FO, where it was announced with an extravagant display of Busby Berkeley fanfare that a previously unnamed 169,000 square miles (twice the size of the UK) of the British Antarctic Territory had been named the ‘Queen Brenda Ice Shelf’ – and a video link screened of the legions of little penguin inhabitants around Base Station Frostbite each equipped with a tiny Union Jack pendant to wave during the actual naming ceremony, conducted by celebrity masochist explorer Ranulph Fiennes during his stop-over on the way to the Pole to thaw out his feet and pick up a spare set of prosthetic toes.

Thought for the day. As far as constitutional purists are concerned, Brenda, in her role as hereditary monarch, attending a cabinet meeting of elected and supposedly accountable government ministers, is a definite no-no – with Republicans crying foul while Monarchists claimed rather than ruling by divine right like her dogma-ridden ancestors, she now simply reigns.
This argument is, in itself, absolute bullshit – as that would equate to the Victorian upbringing of children principle – seen and not heard. And Brenda not only likes to be seen – but also heard – even if it does come down to a timely whisper in the right ear.

Regardless she’s still a scrounging parasite – just like her eldest son and heir Dobby – aka Prince Chazzer the Plant Whisperer – and her scumbag twat of a Greek spouse, His Royal Rudeness, Prince Stavros – aka Virus Man.
What a fork-tongue piece of reptilian nastiness that is – and not only a prime example of Mother Nature’s disastrous, failed experiment with intelligence-equipped bipeds but a perfect candidate for the Liverpool Care Pathway the next time he’s rushed off to hospital with a sick dick and water works problems.

Allergy warning: This article was written in a known propaganda-infested area and may contain traces of slight exaggeration, modest porkies, misaligned references along with lashings of cynicism and bush telegraph innuendo.

Rusty’s Skewed News Views (Purveyors of Bespoke Satire) - enhanced with a modest touch of Yeast Logic and a piquant dash of Political Incorrectness: a news sheet and media source not owned by Rupert Murdoch and the Masonic Zionist kikester lobby, committed to the relay of open source information – and immune from litigation under the statutes of the ‘Fair Comment in the Public Interest’ defence.