Yes, here it is, finally: “Diana, Princess of Wales, unlawfully killed–but not by M16 assassins” Times Online puts it this way: “It has taken more than 90 days, 270 witnesses and cost £10 million to slay the obsessive conspiracy theories of one man. And in the end today, a jury discarded the soft option of accidental death and placed much of the blame for the deaths of Diana, Princess of Wales, and Dodi Fayed on the shoulders of one of Mohamed Al Fayed’s own employees. The Princess and Dodi were unlawfully killed by a combination of their drunk driver, Henri Paul, and the paparazzi who were chasing their car, the jury at their inquests decided…”
Ah, Princess Di. Mein Princess. Here was the rags to riches story of a mere lowly commoner who first snared with her lithe body (accentuated, it’s rumored, by a richly jeweled navel) and then married the Grand Prince Charles the Good and Godly Warrior Prince of Wales and overnight became a Holy Roman Princess, whose veins suddenly roiled with the one true power of Royalism: ultra shopping spree power. Her face aglow with Goddess power, she moved through camera flashes with lust, even while holding an AIDS baby or speaking of land mines (one of which she finally stepped on, residing in the guise of a rich Dodi bird). It got to the point where in the silly eyes of the people she became more Royal than the Royal Archduke Charles himself. Yes, now it was the Lady and the Snoz. After several years he had become no more than Prince of the Royal toilet, official wiper of the Golden Princess’s sacred posterior. Alas, by the end of her reign (and marriage) the Princess had transcended all. She was at the height of her Earthly power. She had become the Grand Celebrity Goddess (a forerunner of today’s non Royal Paris Hilton but one who wore panties–and who had twenty times more camera luster). Even now, after the ghastly tunnel accident, she is ascending in our consciousness again. Princess Diana, Queen of Gotham, Goddess-Ruler, we the people salute you.
