Good heavens, the Duchess of Markle has written a letter to one of her trolls, River. Below is my take on him-she with tiara. Meghan attempts to deploy humour in her elaborate epistle, and she reveals some self-satire to her credit. River may accept to gift from Montecito. Meanwhile, River...
Among the baubles of YouTube podcasters is a young femme-chap called River. And how he flows and flows. A torrent of royally-inflected words pour forth on a regular basis, and he is indeed articulate. University-educated probably, or an inspired autodidact. River is a vision of tiara’d pulchritude, and is yet another specialist in matters Meghan and Harry; a regalista in the mode of drawling Lady Colin ‘aw aw’ Campbell and Dan ‘spite face’ Wootton (litigation pending, poppet?), sniping at anyone who may offend or challenge The Firm. In all instances, Meghan of Montecito is marked for especially vicious scorn. Unlike Lady C, River does not pose as an insider with direct Windsor wormholes spewing goss. At least I don’t think so. I have not watched all of River’s videos. I find my horoscopy to be quite time-consuming. From what I gather he is an assiduous reader of royal tattle with a sharp eye for a revealing detail missed by most others. This prompts engaging monologues that sustain the impression of exclusivity.
I have no idea who he is. He says he lives near Hampstead, London. Even Grok is non-plussed, muddling him with the Michael Jackson American impersonator River Gibbs whose videos can be found on YouTube and Instagram. Indeed, I confused the two until River himself drew my attention to one of his podcasts in which he scotches the multiple personality rumour. I must admit I did find it hard to reconcile the athletic rollerskater River G with his Serene Highness River on his armchair throne, imagining that he boarded the transatlantic red-eye to play two different parts. How silly of moi. (Btw, since following River G on Instagram he has made the account private. So my other alter egos watch him instead.)
River’s YouTube channel is popular. He has 154,000 subscribers, and his 367 videos to date have been viewed 47,000,000 times. I’m well jel. Each video draws a cacophony of commentary, mostly of the pleasuring kind, though one recent message earned River’s ire. He was berated for using ‘Jesus Christ’ as a ‘quss’ word and was told to ‘man up’. River’s response was a thing of wonder as he majesterially tore into his critic, telling his public that he could not give a fuck what they thought of him. In any case, as he wondered in effect, what kind of Christian would be watching a faintly louche Rocky Horror Picture Show-type podcast? And why would River, a master of princessy maquillage, want to be manning-up?
This last point takes us to this week when River went off usual topic and gave an entertaining account of his well-populated love life history. Male members (or ‘tree trunks’) were size-queened by ethnicity, and apparently ‘gingers’ smell of pig’s urine. I’ll take that under advisement. It was all very fruity, my fruits - one of his signature endearments. When not engaged in sexual congress, he is quite psychic, confidently predicting Trump’s victory, and appears to approve the 47th’s dictum that there are only two sexes/genders. Tell that to Caitlin (a Trump pal). I gather that divinatory topics are not his thing.
In our short exchange on his YouTube channel comment section, willowy River warmed my heart by asking whether I was ‘THE Vic Olliver’. I like the THE bit. From this I must deduce that in his formative years, before he grew to just under 6′ 2″, he was an avid reader of my old Madame Arcati blog on Blogger. Goodness knows what he made of my cunt-cockery language. What or whom have I created? In the metaphorical sense River is my blog son (or daughter if you prefer), and he has used my example of what else you can do solo and get away with in public. River is my electronic blood but, no, I shall not leave him anything in my will. I draw attention to his PayPal account where you can reward him for his successful screen labours.
Of late, River has moved residence, which was quite a trial for him it seems. He used to be filmed in what looked like a well-decorated snug. Now he has a courtyard of ivy and a new armchair throne set in a drawing room. The mise-en-scène is witness to the sharp study of glossy magazine palace interiors pics, and it is just possible that he will one day do a Lady C and acquire his own Castle Goring. Whether he has to do any whoring so to do - jungly Lady C-style - remains a matter of speculation.
To join River’s court, here is the link to his channel River Broadcast. If Netflix is reading this, sign him up. And if you know River, do leak into my lughole.
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