Grovelling serf rushes into petrol station for flowers and 'sorry i forgot your platinum jubilee' card
England, 2022 AD: A snivelling little peasant wearing clogs was seen bursting into a 24-hour petrol station today to buy a bouquet of flowers and a 'sorey I doth forgote yor platinum jubilee, yor royel highness' card this afternoon.
The horrid little serf was spotted tying up his oxen outside the Shell garage on Victoria Street, before bolting into the little shop bit, where he asked 18-year-old Phogus Titt where the monarch reign hallmark cards were.
"I tells him they're next to the Official Birthday cards, above the food bank gift vouchers, and the stinky little minion goes hurtling down the chocolate aisle."
In the end, the wretched little underling took a card, jazz mags (unrelated, we hope), a bouquet of red and white roses, and the most regal chocolate on offer (4 Guylian chocolate shells sat behind those tempting little windows like a confectionery red light district).
"I think it's an absolute fucking travesty," said busybody onlooker John Yoad. "Her Maj has put in something like 100 years of grafting for this squalid little kingdom, and all this idle medieval bastard can do is buy her some chocs and a card a day late?
"It's no cakewalk to sort of go round looking at shit and wave a bit, you know," continued the 56-year-old yeoman. "What we're celebrating here is a woman who was born into a family 90-odd years ago, and throughout the decades she's managed to stay in that family, and I just think that's special. She's done all that for us."
The monarchy contributes billions of pounds in tourism revenue every year. They do this by pinching relics, antique knick-nacks, and attractions from other countries and bringing them to Britain, such as the Koh-i-Noor diamond (India), the Rosetta Stone (Egypt), and Legoland (Denmark).
Critics and anti-British traitors have claimed that tourists would still flock to see the royal residences of Buckingham Palace and Sandringham even if the blue-blooded cousin-rodgerers were turfed out, but this publication would like to remind them of the cautionary tale of the Berlin Tourist Board, who recently evicted the much-loved resident goblin who lived atop the Brandenburg Gate: Helmut von Torwillkommenkobold. Helmut, who first made the popular attraction his home in 1822, would shout gently abrasive comments at visitors and holidaymakers, as well as tossing cured Prussian meats and pastries from his Germanic sack.
On what would be Helmut's 'Mithril Jubilee' (200 years), tourism rates to the Brandenburger Tor have sharply declined, with local businesses decrying Helmut's absence as a great loss to Berlin's vibrant Holiday Goblin community.
German tourism Minister, Helena Bonn Hamm Karter, said of the goblin fan-favourite: "I think it's for the best. The council worker who had to forcibly detain Helmut caught rabies from the little bastard and the crushing machine we used to humanely destroy him still fucking reeks of shit and we mashed him four months ago."
Republicans take heed. Mince Prince Andrew in a giant pummelling machine and watch as this country's valuable 'London bus keyring and fake Manchester United shirt' industry falls to its knees.
