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50 years ago, she rested in her tree house in Africa, as millions of Zulus went by in full regalia (onto one of those typical British films of that era). Later in the early morning, from deeep in the jungle came the jungle drums booming, her acsencion to the British throne. Soon she was on her way, no longer betrothed to Johnny Weismuller, but to a German prince, known for his driving skills of any sort of vehicle, as a crazed Lawrence of Arabia. Her years, successful, as one of the richest women on the planet (possibly other planets as well), how she has ahem enriched our lives. She spat out her children, whose only contibution has been to indulge in the finest of indulgences available to such funding, monarchal welfare exquisite. I am here to expose a secret, that the Beatles and their patent on love, were indeed, her love children, hidden away in Liverpool, so that she might have something of value, within that insane family of hers. But, alas, even the poor attaining wealth the hard way, seem to achieve, her exact legacy of her others. AM I POOR, JEALOUS?, no, I MERELY WAIT MY TURN. j.b. |
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