What Made Prince Phillip Tick?

I imagine that Prince Phillip’s death was as orchestrated as the cannons fired in his posthumous commemoration. It’s more than likely he had been pumped full of a top secret biochemical , that prolonged life, and was so advanced and aurally astute, even when diluted in his blood, that it recognised the Queen’s voice. All she had to do was come to his bedside, lean into his ear and whisper “now Phillip.” Off he drifted into death, to sit alongside Jimmy Savile, Rasputin and a sea of questionable men, who made their beds in the halls of established power. 

Why she bumped him off, like a vet, euthanizing a feral dog that couldn’t be domesticated, is unknown. It could be because she wanted to divert attention away from the Megan Markle interview, or it could be because like any wild animal, he never quite took to the idea of being someone else’s pet. 

Giles Brandriff described him as a ‘dynamo’ and naturally, my first reaction was ‘why does Brandriff’s wikipedia page say heterosexual?’ But being the tenacious seeker of truth that I am, I typed ‘dynamo’ into google and what I found intrigued me. The OED definition of the word is ‘a machine for converting mechanical energy into electrical energy, typically by means of rotating coils of copper wire in a magnetic field.’ 

There will be those too scared of sounding like Alex Jones or Jeremy from Peep Show to give Brandriff’s wording the forensic analysis it warrants. No he didn’t mean that Phillip was an energetic man and his bombastic vibes were contagious. Brandriff was gesturing to a much darker truth. Phillip had not been kept alive solely through the use of cutting edge medicines, ingenious alchemical mixes, manipulating his being and regulating his chemical balances on a molecular level. No fools! There had been more primitive technology involved. Coils and copper! The man was practically a robot but his ghastly appearance – like a tehisticle dressed as Frankenstein for halloween – made most believe he was undergoing a process of adjustment, as his natural balance and old age, responded to the revolutionary drugs. Thanks to Brandriff though, we now know different. Those freckle-like blotches, and shadowing of skin weren’t some curious side effect. They were rust from his exoskeleton! 

Am I embarrassed that I analogously equated Phillip with Darth Vader without his mask? Yes of course. For years I had imagined him as biological vulnerability incarnate, unimaginably wealthy and privileged, but this only guaranteed him access to new experimental drugs. Experimental drugs with all the uncertainty and risk. Wealthy enough to live. Human enough to become a guinea pig.

Of course, as a society we will have questions. Did the Royal Family travel by private jet to preserve their extravagant, fairy tale image, or was it to save Phillip the trauma of going through the metal detectors? Was Phillip’s fascination with all things to do with aviation, inspired by a longing to better understand the intricate circuitry that kept him alive and mobile? And perhaps most significant: what are the moral implications of trading bone for metal?

Sadly, all I hear from the young and educated; is about how he was a racist and that he liked to go marching with Nazis, and riff with friends about how, ideologically, he wasn’t a million miles away from them. I even heard someone claim the BBC cancelling all programming to mourn the death of a known racist might have something to do with minority groups feeling anxious about taking the vaccine, but this is just dirty lesbian-marxist hearsay. 

We need to get to the bottom of these coils, wires and rotary systems that kept Phillip going. So don’t be surprised if you hear or read well-paid journalists talking about what made Phillip tick. They’re not talking about his hobbies and routines. Why would they?

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