Prince Andrew is wanted by the Illuminati…but not in the way we might assume.
The man has spent years bunkered up, a paranoid wreck petrified of justice, fearing his time in the ADX Florence supermax hotel creeps ever closer. He refuses to budge from his palatial base of operations in the United Kingdom, and is rarely seen in public for fear of hearing another young Scottish fool shriek that he is just another dirty old man past his prime.
“It’s not cowardice, it’s cunning.” Andrew was overheard shakily intoning to his wet nurse: “I will draw this out: make these baying peasants wait, and only let them jail me when I’m so old and demented I can’t even make sense of the Daily Express anymore.”
“Oh dear, oh dear…that isn’t how we see these things at all.” muttered one highly-placed underground contact of the shadowy Illuminati cabal, shaking his head. “To prove it we had to give fatal cancer to every Royal ahead of him in the line of succession; once they’ve croaked, Andrew will ascend to his rightful place.”
“Originally it was to be poisonings, a stabbing, a mad butler operative wielding a candlestick in Windsor Palace – in short, Cluedo brought to life. That was until we realized such antics would be too creative for Andrew to cotton onto, and might have him succumb to cardiac arrest for fear that he’s next. This just would not do! For Christ’s sake the inbred moron has us as guards 24/7, but assumes we couldn’t have bundled him off whenever we wished! Just how thick is he?!”
Deep state agents determined something slow and insidious as more suited to Andrew’s delicate temperament and predilections: “For Andrew to succeed to the crown we had to use cancer; yea, a harrowing chestnut which commonly drags on for years. This meant higher costs of stage management, but worth it for the payoff at stake: one of our own upon the British throne.”
For decades, the dogged notion that the Illuminati and Deep State consists of select gangs of charismatic pedophiles has circulated. “The child buggery elevates our senses, especially when combined with hallucinogenic drug use. You lowly mortals going about your shitty days couldn’t possibly comprehend.” scoffed Robert Page, publicly a businessman but privately a gruff veteran nonce with hundreds of under-12s, thousands of schemes and kilograms of consumed psilocybin to his name.
Page continued: “Once the line of succession is fully dealt with, the remaining children of the Royal Family will be delivered to Andrew. These younglings are intended as an initial morale booster; a means to buoy him from the fearsome malaise in which he wallowed. We will then direct the world’s leaders to visit him one by one holding certificates of legal immunity; the print will be large, the imagery bold and clear, that we be certain Andrew gets the fucking picture.”
At this point, our reporter butted in to object: “Why are the Illuminati this obsessed with Andrew’s ascent? Aren’t the British royals light on power nowadays; a sorry PR front trying vainly to flag up the last shreds of the British nation’s reputation? A nation that has collectively spent well over a decade stabbing itself in the eyes, pissing and excreting in its drawers, all the while screaming deludedly about glories long-departed?”
“For answers to those pertinent and wise questions, you’ll just have to wait. Safe to say our reasons transcend mere flesh, bone and blood though. Buh-bye!” Page cheerily intoned, before making a rude gesture and slamming his gilded Hamptons doorway firmly shut in our doorstepper’s face.