In today's 'Let's Ridicule Some Aristocratic Ass' nasty news piece we bring our readers the latest and greatest hot gossip topic: a scandalous exposé of 'Spare Royal Ranga Shags Peasant' from Anarchy Central’s 24/7 Truth & Rumour Mill – publishing, as always, 'ring of the anvil' dispatches hand-forged, crafted and tempered into razor-edged bespoke satire and parody to sate the palates of all budding anti-authoritarian non-conformists, proto-nihilists and those eclectic career radical, pro-justice, anarchist revolutionaries who carry the immortal genetic Rh-Neg recusant bloodline of the rebel sons of Belial - and harbour zero respect or empathy for the privilege-abusing arrogant authoritarian 0:01% predatory paedo' elitist Masonic-Satanist oligarchy – aka the Deep State Sabbatean death cult Corporatocracy - cursed by their exaggerated sense of entitlement and greed – who, imprudently, have deluded themselves into believing they rule this world, and all upon its once-pristine mantle.
Revealed at last – the mystery of the so-called ‘Sussex Slut’ - this ‘older woman’ seductress who had a drunken sex romp with the 16-year old Prince Harry’s in a farmer’s field behind a Wiltshire pub, and took his virginity, back in the summer season halcyon days of July 2001.
Now those ‘preferably forgotten’ sordid and embarrassing memories have been stirred - and broadcast for public consumption – thanks to the egocentric braggart Harry boasting of the intimate and ‘private’ rendezvous in this loose lips 'one trick pony' tell-all Spare memoir – in a pathetic attempt to make the lacklustre tome into a scandal-mongering ‘he said / she said’ family feuding and salacious, money-spinning best-seller.
So, for any fucker and their dog who might be remotely inclined to display the slightest modicum of interest in how this IQ-deficient ginger mingin 16-year old schoolboy, Prince Harry, of House Hewitt, lost his virginity back in July of 2001, here is the sordid and inglorious tale that manifested in the wake of an illegal, underage boozing session at The Vine Tree – a Wiltshire pub in the village and civil parish of Norton - pop’ 118, at last 2011 census – (which doubtless still serves gaggles of spoiled brat underage Hurray Henry drinkers to this day) - where Harry coupled with an ‘older woman’ named Sasha Bargepole – on the occasion of her 19th birthday party - and she became the first (of many) of Harry’s ‘three hole’ casual sex romps.
Sasha, now a mother of two sprogs, (no, none are Harry’s ginger mingers) who today drives earthmoving diggers for a living, had invited Harry - then a 16-year-old schoolboy at Eton, who liked to be known by his nom de guerre of ‘Bazzer’ - to the pub-sited celebration of her 19th birthday.
“We were both kind of shit-faced after downing all manner of vomitus hard liquor shots, and one thing quickly led to another, then Harry suggested we go outside for a ‘fag - and a tequila and sambuca-fuelled ‘wham-bam ’shag-a-thon’?”
“So I thought ‘okay’, cos I’d never shagged a Prince before – even if his so-called Eton schoolmates all called him the ‘Hewitt bastard’, and a ‘royal cuckoo’ behind his back – or that he was just the ginger mingin ‘spare’ - and never going to be a King - even though I really wanted to fuck his brother Wills’ instead – at least I’d be following in the famed footsteps of Nell Gwynn and claim to have shagged a Royal – even if he was just the Spare.”
“We ended up in a farmer’s field behind the pub, and me having to give 'Bazzer' a sloppy blow job to get him hard – then coupling in a knee trembler against the hawthorn hedge. Now I’m thankful that ‘Bazzer’ is a 'Wham-Bam' premature ejaculator and only lasted a couple of minutes, as the cheeks of my arse were like a pin cushion, with the thorns sticking into it as he banged away – and probably thought from my pelvic spasms and thrusts and screams that I was in the throes of orgasmic delight and getting my rocks off – which were even louder when he stuck his four inch wiener up my back passage - then shot his load and asked me 'Did the Earth move for you too?"
“Really, we were so pissed and the entire thing had a touch of farce about it, as Harry’s security detail bodyguards came looking for him, and were peering over the hedge, giggling themselves silly at the sight of Harry bonking me, and his spotty white arse bobbing back n forth like a fiddler’s elbow, playing Rimsky-Korsakov’s Flight of the Bumble Bee.”
“Thank Gawd Harry is no stud and can only last a few minutes before he shoots his load, cos after that knee trembler, with my bare bum rammed up against the hawthorn hedge, that was the worst passion killer fuck I’ve ever had - and I’ve still got the scars - like a dartboard - from picking thorns out of my arse cheeks for days after the event.”
And that 'grope n bonk' orgasm-deficient encounter - for Sasha – marked the end of her friendship with ‘Ginger Bazzer’. From being regular drinking pals, the pair never texted, spoke or saw each other again – and Sasha soon started socialising with guys with bigger cocks who had no problems getting an erection, and could hump her for more than five minutes – and bring her to a series of shuddering orgasms – without the bare cheeks of her arse being jammed up against a prickly hawthorn hedge.
Sasha related one gutter press hack from the Daily Shitraker, “I don’t understand why the ginger pillock went into such detail in his stupid book, as he could have simply said he lost his virginity at 16 years old - in a field behind a pub - and left it at that – and not invaded my privacy, exposing me as some kind of nympho’ seductress slut, ready to drop her knickers for any old randy royal that comes along.”
“But that’s just typical of Bazzer’s ‘Me, me, me’ ego – cos we always knew he was a bit of a thick twat whose mouth ran away with itself – which it has most definitely done in this Spare book. Really, who wants to know whether he’s a Roundhead or a Cavalier – or about his todger getting frost bite?”
Now Sasha has a job as a digger driver - excavating clandestine mass graves for an unnamed NHS Trust – to bury the unreported legions of Covid mRNA vaxx fatalities – a world away from Harry’s Netflix-funded, indolent, dilletante existence at his Montecito-sited ‘Castle Hewitt’ mansion in sunny California – engaging in five minute bonking sessions with the self-obsessed Yoko Moano.
Nice one 'Bazzer' - your ghost-scripted 'Spare' volume has gifted the anti-monarchist gang - and the radical, rabid Republic movement - with an actual arsenal of 'justified calibre' ammunition to see an end to the Saxe-Coburg und Gotha Germanic tribe, possessed by this utterly absurd, exaggerated sense of entitlement - and abuse of privilege - lording it over our once-sacred Isle of Albion.
Allergy warning: for readers suffering from HSS (Hypersensitive Snowflake Syndrome) – there is no known EpiPen medication remedy for adverse reactions to the 'politically incorrect' – aka the Truth.
This article was composed in a known propaganda-infested area - and whilst purposely blending high octane unorthodox irreverence, slanderous allegations and unbridled conjecture with measures of wild rumour and caffeine-boosted public interest factoids with socio-political satire - may also contain traces of slight exaggeration, modest porkies, misaligned references, 5G electrosmog radiation, and a chemtrail residue of genetically-modified nano-particle bush telegraph innuendo.
South.Park.S26E02.WEBRip.x264-ION10
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