Regular readers of this space (you might want to consider getting a real-life) will hardly be surprised to learn I am not a monarchist. To oversimplify just a little bit, I see the concept as another form of slavery. Indeed, my attitude towards the whole concept was best summed up by Dennis, in Monty Python and the Holy Grail:
“Oh, very nice. King, eh! I expect you’ve got a palace and fine clothes and courtiers and plenty of food. And how d’you get that? By exploiting the workers! By hanging on to outdated imperialist dogma which perpetuates the social and economic differences in our society! If there’s EVER going to be any progress …”
Great Britain’s monarchy is rather pathetic. Outside of promoting tourism, it’s useless and intensely silly. Don’t get me wrong: I have great respect for Britain’s massive contributions to our popular culture and some of all that revolves around their monarchy, and of course that gives the proles something to bitch about. Just about the only good thing I can think of regarding this lingering malignancy is that it has contributed to our understanding of the pitfalls of inbreeding. How they keep their microcephalic numbers down to a minimum is quite a medical achievement, although perhaps a search of the Tower of London would be a wise idea.
It is no surprise that the British royalty and the British press completely lost their minds over the interview Oprah Winfrey did this past weekend with the couple now called (perhaps in tribute to a different Monty Python routine) as Mister and Missus Harry and Meghan Mountbatten-Windsor. Oh, sure, it doesn’t amount to anything more than a mixture of racism, class superiority, and a distracting way to kill time as we wait for our Covid vaccine.
Among other things, the formerly royal couple noted the monarchy’s deep concern over the appearance of the then-unborn then-prince-to-be – and now, most assuredly, the forthcoming never-to-be-princess. In case you didn’t know, Mrs. Mountbatten-Windsor is half-Black. Or, actually, all-Black on her mother’s side. This means the children would be, assuming you don’t take a close look at the royal family tree (which is more of a shrub), at least one-quarter Black. So if Archie Mountbatten-Windsor popped out Black, or his sister pops out Black, the monarchy would be embarrassed. Humiliated, according to some.
It was decided Archie would not receive a royal title. I think he’s better off, and, really, should he defy the odds and have become King Archie, it would be difficult to make it through his coronation without giggling fits. But that’s not for me to say. Here in America, our executive management selection procedures are also influenced by anti-Black hysteria, so I’m not casting the first stone. But it’s understandable that his parents were royally pissed.
The Brits do not like having their royals marry Americans. This is understandable only if you ignore the fact that, historically, the Brits have no problem with their royals marrying Europeans… and some of them didn’t even bother to learn English. So the idea of then-Prince Harry marrying a half-Black American woman who had the moxie to get pregnant – well, that just shattered the entire British empirical worldview.
This is bigotry of the highest level. And now the British press is screaming that such accusations are bullshit, that this is not racism in the least. But, you know, keep those damn mullatos away from the crown jewels.
I do not know if Mrs. Mountbatten-Windsor can vote in American elections, or if she will be able to in the future. Just the same, I do not recommend they try to register in Georgia.
It is said, by whomever it is that says these things, that art is that which stands the test of time. That works for me. The lyrics I’ve scattered though today’s column were written by Frank Zappa fifty-five years ago after watching the 
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