Shove your GREEN politics up your royal ass, Chuck. Side with the terrorists all you want.
The Trump State Visit to the UK was full of pomp and circumstance. The pomp included an endless parade of shitting horses and childish cosplay.
The circumstance, however, revealed both the King and the Prime Minister to be semi-deodorized skunks on a mission to fool and finesse a US President who can sometimes be finessed but can never be fully fooled. Trump can easily sense their castrated and ceremonial stench. In the end, America’s 45th and 47th most loyal bloodhound will come out ahead.
Picture the scene: Windsor Castle, September 18, 2025, awash in the kind of ostentatious grandeur that makes you wonder if the British monarchy has a secret budget for gold leaf and trumpets.
US President Donald Trump, basking in the glow of his unprecedented second state visit to the UK, struts through the hallowed halls – being adulated like a trans peacock would be at an Audubon Society award ceremony in West Hollywood.
King Charles III, with his practiced smile and an air of last-legs regal constipation, rolled out the red carpet—literally and figuratively.
A Guard of Honor, a wreath-laying at Queen Elizabeth II’s tomb, a Beating Retreat with the Red Arrows streaking across the sky, and a white-tie state banquet so lavish it could make Caligula put two fingers down his throat. Did you see that table? Imagine what would happen if someone had asked, “Could you please pass the jelly.”
Charles toasted the “special relationship” with the US, his voice dripping with the kind of sincerity you’d expect from Barbara Walters or a Hummer salesman.
Trump, pretending to enjoy the flattery, lapped it up, knowing fuil well that Charles was as full of shit as he was of smegma.
PLEASE PASS THE JELLY
But oh, how the tables predictably turned.
Just one day later, on September 19, 2025, the UK drops a diplomatic bombshell: formal recognition of a Palestinian state, coordinated with Canada, Australia, and Portugal, right before the UN General Assembly.
This isn’t just a policy shift; it’s a geopolitical middle finger to Trump, who, during his visit, had made it crystal clear to Prime Minister Keir Starmer that he was staunchly against recognizing Palestine. Their bilateral talks, squeezed between the caviar and the blood sausage (which is Camilla’s nick name for her husband’s dick) , were reportedly cordial but tense, with Trump calling the issue one of their “few disagreements.”
Few, indeed. Charles, the feckless little jerk, thought he had played the ultimate royal con, showering Trump with pomp only to yank the rug out with circumstance that screamed, “Catch this, Yankee.”
Let’s not pretend Charles didn’t know what was coming. The man’s been around the diplomatic block, schmoozing with world leaders while his mother was still signing Christmas cards. He’s not some bumbling figurehead who stumbled into this. No, this was a calculated move, a masterclass in monarchical misdirection.
Charles, with his watery-eyed charm and eco-warrior pretensions, played the doting host, all while the Starmer government was sharpening the knife for a policy shift that would make the UK look like a scum, bag – a backstabber to its staunchest ally.
The King’s toast to shared values? More like a toast to his own imagined cunning. He knew the announcement was coming, and he let Trump waltz out of Windsor thinking he’d been crowned the belle of the ball…or did he?
What makes this betrayal so deliciously petty is the timing. Charles could’ve dialed down the theatrics, maybe skipped the fly-over or served a less extravagant dessert. But no, he went full Elizabethan excess, assuming Trump’s ego was inflated to Hindenburg proportions before the inevitable crash.
However, the man who fancies himself a dealmaker supreme was not outmaneuvered by a 76-year-old monarch who looks like he’s auditioning for a cameo in a Jane Austen novel. Trump saw through the charade. In fact, Trump’s only reason for allowing the King and the UK overall to put on this dog show (Camilla did not win) was to make the Brits look like weasels — and they didn’t let him down.
Charles, with his organic biscuits and climate change sermons, is full of shit. He thought he played Trump like a cheap fiddle, letting him bask in the glow of royal approval only to wake up to headlines about Palestine’s new status. Trump looked up from his 4am breakfast and smiled.
And let’s talk about that banquet. The King, in his tailored tux, raising a glass to the US-UK alliance while knowing full well his government was about to drop a diplomatic grenade. Did he chuckle into his champagne as Trump rambled about golf courses and border walls? Probably.
Charles has a history of meddling where he shouldn’t—remember those “black spider” letters where he pestered ministers about everything from badger culls to herbal medicine? This is a man who loves sticking his Basil Rathbone nose in, constitutional limits be damned. Sure, he’s not signing the recognition papers himself, but don’t believe for a second he wasn’t smirking behind that royal facade as Trump’s plane left Heathrow.
The fallout? Predictably chaotic. Trump’s allies howled, Israel fumed, and the X platform lit up with MAGA loyalists crying betrayal.
Meanwhile, Charles retreated to his organic garden, probably pruning roses and pretending he’s just a ceremonial figurehead. Feckless? Sure. But also fiendishly stupid. He let Trump think he was the star of the show, only to reveal the real plot twist: a diplomatic snub dressed up in ermine and tiaras.
The King didn’t just screw Trump over; he did it with a smile, a bow, and a perfectly timed stab in the back. Long live the King, indeed. Truthfully, The King is living on borrowed time according to his recent medical reports, but nobody screws Trump.
Donald J. Trump succeeded in double-banking the UK and its King. He knew he was going to get the shaft, but he timed it to make the Brits look like the cheating and grifting a-holes they are. Maybe Prince Harry knew what he was doing when he got out of Dodge.
