Royals visit LA’s skid row – hmmm – Seamus, are you there?

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Pip pip old man! And chin up. Step lively and make room for my pony yon wandering minstrel. You there, good sirruh with the paper bag in your hand. May you direct my horsie and I to the more pleasant part of this charming ghetto? Photo by 2Pac Shakhur.

Seamus OBradaigh – Haliburton News Editor Emeritus

I won’t say much.

Except I’m Irish and Catholic.

Guess what I think about the royals.

That’s right!

Who said that?

Yes thank you dear.

The Royals can kiss my arse!

Please. I’d go down to skid row in Los Angeles to present my petard to both of them!

But alas. I fear they didn’t stay… long.

Ballets, balls and winsome bullshit drags them from the ghetto to the mansion of some hoi polloi.

But for the record here’s what the Royals did today on a sunny Sunday in LA. Kiss my arse by the way!

LOS ANGELES (AP) — The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge saw Los Angeles’s less-glamorous side Sunday when they visited an inner-city school in downtown’s notorious Skid Row area.

Prince William and his wife Catherine were welcomed to the Inner City Arts academy by six elementary-aged children holding a welcome banner while a crowd of about 150 people cheered and looked on, some waving British and American flags.

Kate, as she is better known, wore a navy-and-white crochet top and a white pleated skirt, both by U.K. fashion company Whistles.

Cynthia Harnisch, the academy’s president and chief executive officer, spoke to the couple about Skid Row and the challenges of poverty and homelessness faced by many students at the school.

The duke and duchess were then escorted to a visual arts studio where they donned art smocks and sat at easels. Fifth-graders helped them create mandalas, a type of Buddhist painting.

Next, the couple went to the ceramics studio where children were working on separate parts of a giant tortoise. The duchess joined the students who were creating the tortoise’s shell while the duke sat at another table where children were working on the reptile’s body.

After the visit, the clay tortoise will be fired in the studio’s kilns and placed in the school’s cactus garden.

Skid Row, with its intractable poverty and largely homeless population, could hardly stand in starker contrast to the more glitzy parts of Southern California that the couple has seen on their whirlwind visit.

On Saturday, William scored four goals at a charity polo match and earlier Sunday he attended a swanky reception to raise money for Tusk Trust, an African wildlife conservation group.

You have to give them credit this winsome twosome.

They go where they’re told when they’re told.

They go from disaster area to parched earth scenario to a wine bar at the drop of that Tudor Hat.

I say old chappie! It’s like they’ve never heard the word “irony”…  or batshit crazy for that matter.

Here he was – this scalded mother-f%#@er – scoring polo points at a match. Then pip pip, off we go to fucking Watts!

I have covered sports all my life and have never been to a match!

I was invited twice. Once by a good friend of mine from Kentucky. Who was and still is rather successful in the horsie biz. Another time I was asked by Billy Martin, former New Yahk Yanquis manager. Don’t ask!

I told them both to go home and kiss the cow’s arse. In Icelandic of course.

I hate polo because it reeks of pukka colonialism. The twittish royals of course entrenched that ideal into British society.

So if William was to ask, nay beg me to cover one of his matches? I would politely turn him down with the following Irish Catholic blessing.

“Willie, me boyo. Could ye do a wee writer a favor meee old son? Could you please go fuck yourself and that spotted mare you rode in on.”

But hey, he never invited me and I also never got an invite to Watts. Where I’m sure the royals had a splendid time stepping over bodies and expended sharps in the gutter.

What’s that? Oh they didn’t go to that part of Watts? Well thank god. Those are, after all, $600 Ashley Phips van Bottomside shoes Kate’s sporting. They don’t handle the detritus of projectile vomit all that well.

Here’s what else they did. According to AP.

Their final stop before departing for the U.K. will be with the group ServiceNation: Mission Serve, which aims to help veterans find jobs.

Inside the event’s venue, Studio 15 on the Sony Pictures Studio lot in Culver City, giant U.S. and British flags hung behind a stage where the duke and duchess would later speak.

The soundstage hosted a job fair for military veterans, with employers such as Mattel, Walmart and entertainment industry companies such as Warner Bros. and CBS manning booths. The companies must have jobs in order to participate in the fair, said Ross Cohen, Mission Serve’s director.

Cohen, who served in Afghanistan and was an army paratrooper, events such as the job fair were crucial for returning veterans. Unemployment rates for young vets and their spouses are as high as 25 percent, Cohen said.

After arriving at the event and speaking with some veterans, the duke and duchess plan to help prepare care packages for veterans serving overseas and then depart Los Angeles.

Oh lovely!

Now get the hell home and don’t come back you assholes!

By the way.

Here’s my own special take on the royals visit to our north.

CBC, CTV and the many papers that followed them around like obsequious munchkins off a Hollywood set, reported that our native communities accepted the couple with open arms and hearts.

Really. They did say this. They said it not once and not twice and not just three fucking times. They said it ad nauseum. They droned on. They chattered like drunken parrots.

They fumigated these outlandish flickers of hyperbole like they were pukka British commandoes lobbing mortars onto an arena of protesters in downtown Bombay circa 1956 or so.

And why did our northern aboriginals accept these two upward-nosed pieces of aristocracy with such hell-on-wheels enthusiasm

Well, one CBC correspondent – let’s call her Sandra OHHHH! MYY! GOD he looked at me! – said that it’s because of a “special relationship” the aboriginal nations around heah’ have with the King or Queen of Britain.

Sandra Oh said it dates back to when their elders signed the treaties.

Jeezus Louiseis!


I could go on a tiresome rant here about forged historical records. About the pithy truth. About the fucking Hudson’s Bay Company! I could fall back on the old reliable tenet: That history is written by the victors.

Or? I could just sit here and cry. Bemoaning the lack of solid Native history in our learning environments.

But that would just ruin my day.

So I’ll end on a wee coupla words that me ol’ da left me.

He was watching a news program and a tired old man was going on about the Holocaust or something.

The tired old man was citing this and that and how he had “severe doubts” that the Nazis had an agenda.

Here’s what me ol’ da screamed at the television.

“Someone kick this guys arse. And please… for god’s sake please! Can we get these people some fucking books!”

I know, I know.

The six nations are reading books.

But they’re not reading history. They’re reading a carefully constructed historical parody. They are reading comic books. Comic books where King fucking Henry-Georges flies to the New World sporting a red white and blue cape. He lands in Montreal, disperses some smallpox bacteria and flies back.

Hey quit laughing. We’re reading the same tripe and lard. It’s crap. The Brits were are and have always been colonialists.

The only problem is we never threw a batch of tea into the St. Lawrence. So we’re all stuck with that bogus history.

Our six nations and our young people are still reading what those goddam’ royals wrote.

So long ago.

To the victor go the spoils!

Here’s my Irish toast to those fucking royals.

“Up the long ladder and down the short rope… to hell with King William (Billy) and God Bless da’ Pope!

And if that doesn’t do! We’ll tear ’em in two! Amnd send ’em to hell with their red, white and blue.”

That’s that then. This far and no further.

Now you young whips.

Go home.. kiss yer’ mother!

Seamus can be reached at

Write only if you don’t mind abuse.