The sleepy Principality of Dudley is in incandescent uproar at the anticipation of the Royal wedding of Prince Barry (call me Bazza) and his bride, Sharon Mugumbo. The dream couple met when Barry was carrying out humanitarian duties in a Tipton brothel. Apparently, they fell in love when their eyes locked over a moist, crusty bed sheet. There are naysayers who contend that a Prince of the realm should be marrying someone posh called Cassandra or Jocasta, rather than marrying a colonial, coloured actress, stripper, chanteuse and hair dresser. And a divorcee to boot. Some aver that the trend had been set when the Duke of Windsor nearly married Wallace Simpson 148 years ago.
Controversy was spawned after it was divined that local itinerants, sleeping rough in Dudley High Street, had removed themselves voluntarily to take up permanent residence in the local cemetery. Filthy Eric, of no fixed kneecaps, managed to escape the roaming death squads and opined thusly: “Can you spare 20 quid for a pack of fags and a bottle of ‘Thunder Bollocks’ wine? “. When encouraged with a cattle prod he continued in a dissimilar vein:” Ooooh, what a lovely couple. May beneficence cascade upon their tumescent loins. And their first child, be a masculine child. Although she does look a bit dusky”
Mr Khan, of Mr Khan’s cheap shit and tat, has launched a gaggle of products celebrating this most inauspicious event including a line of commemorative mugs sporting the effigies of the hapless couple. Sharon has been rendered in shimmering topaz sporting a spear, grass skirt and a bone through her nose, while Prinz Barry is in the full regalia of the SS Totenkopf division. The effect is enhanced by the judicious application of crayon highlights and Sharon’s moustache has been rendered in shimmering shellac.
Mrs Enid Mugumbo, of no fixed morals, ranted on interminably: “Oooooo what a lovely bride Barry makes. I remember his mother, Kylie, a great useless, thick, stupid lump with a penchant for banging foreigners".
Sharon’s father is unlikely to attend the wedding as he is washing his underwear that day. His book: ‘The Prince who shagged my daughter’, will be available in all good book stores later this week.
The royal Ferret, Shagger, was not amused.
Prince Phillip is 137
|Filthy Eric, in repose|