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Charlie Farlie and his cohorts are a prime example of why such an antiquated system as royalty should be abolished once and for all. Like almost all of them, he does basically nothing, other than look foolish, but enjoys the income from his lands in Cornwall (and made Camel P-B the Duchess of Cornwall in the meantime) and probably gets a nice back-hander, courtesy of the rest of the tax-payers in the UK, too.
If that weren't enough, his son is now about to get married in a media event that will be blown out of all proportion. The really sad thing, is that those who know of no better will be lining the streets, waving the flags they've paid well over the odds for, and screaming their lungs out as a pathetic gesture of support for the young couple, whose prime duty will be to provide the next generation of leeches.
Then there's Grannybeth shacked up in Buck House. Well, at least she has had more sense than to abdicate in favour of son Charlie Farlie, probably realizing that putting such a plonker on the throne really would be the end of the Windsors (for want of a better name, of course): they got precious close to the end when Banana Spinster's untimely death raised more than a few questions.
Up the republic, I say.