There are dark plots being hatched in the corridors of power—but it’s not who you think. Your suspicions about Jade Helm, the Illuminati and the Bilderberg Group are merely blinding you to the real threat. And that is this: Will and Kate will, at some point in the next few years, attempt to seize the unattended throne of France for themselves.
What’s more, proof of this conspiracy has been in front of our very eyes for years. Even if you studiously avoid coverage of the British royal family, you can hardly escape the media’s dubious coverage of Kate’s wardrobe. Kate dressed for a black-tie affair, Kate going casual, Kate wearing another one of those fascinators that make her look like she escaped a midcentury picture book.
But if you look beyond the Queen Elizabeth II-approved hemlines, you’ll see the shocking truth for yourself.
This shocking conspiracy dates back to the Middle Ages. You see, England wasn’t an island unto itself before it started gobbling up the globe and calling itself an empire. Way back in 1066, William the Conquerer was the Duke of Normandy, in what is now northern France, when he decided to press his claim on the English crown. He defeated King Harold at the Battle of Hastings and, of course, Frenched the joint up by doling out a bunch of English territory to various Norman pals. His granddaughter Matilda would marry Geoffrey of Anjou, racking up another territory for the English royal family. So when her son Henry II, the first Plantagenet, took the throne, he held big chunks of France, too—and only increased his sway when he married Eleanor of Aquitaine.
The Plantagenets lost a hunk of continental territory over the course of the 1200s, but held onto a smattering of lands—on the understanding that when it came to the French titles they were vassals of the French kings, not challengers.
Then came 1340s and the opening salvos of the Hundred Years’ War. When the French king died, his nephew, England’s Edward III, decided that he was the rightful heir. The claim was shaky because the French didn’t go in for female succession, but it (and the backing of the Flemish) gave England enough to load up the ships and go mucking about France, racking up victories at Crecy and Poitiers.
But it was Henry V (“we happy few, we band of brothers”) that really made it stick in the 1400s, playing his cards so magnificently that he was legally recognized as heir to the throne of France in the Treaty of Troyes. Unfortunately he bought the farm shortly thereafter, leaving his infant son the king of England and France and a cadre of advisors responsible for protecting his claim. Joan of Arc promptly came along and kickstarted the process of sweeping the English off back to their rainy little island, Charles VII was crowned King of France at Rheims, and that was that.
And yet, England’s monarchs would continue to claim they were technically the kings of France until the Act of Union in 1800. And now a new, revitalized generation of royals stands ready to renew the fight.
And so it was Kate’s Breton tops that gave us our first clue. Those Breton tops. Brittany. How… Anglo-French. Brittany was an additional French territory that Henry II picked up in his lifetime—proving that Kate Middleton’s t-shirts are a blatant, naked sign of coming English aggression.
Look close enough and the clues are all over Kate’s wardrobe. Her favored ballet flats? French Sole, of course. Her wedding diet was allegedly French. She wears French jewelry. And look at her luggage. Cath Kidson AND Longchamp? There is no clearer way to declare “My husband and I are planning to invade France and consolidate the two nations into a single Windsor-ruled superstate.”
Also, in the early days of her engagement, Kate Middleton was supposed to participate in a boat race across the Channel—to FRANCE—but pulled out at the last minute, supposedly due to “publicity” and “security concerns.” Yes, it’s very hard to practice your secret invasion methods with members of the international press tracking your every move! I don’t know about you, but to me those blatantly martial buttons say “designs on Paris,” not “Parisian designs on me.”
The royal daughter’s name is Charlotte—a French-ish name.
What once seemed innocuous, in time, reveals itself to be suspicious. For instance, Kate Middleton’s love of the color green. The newly created Great Britain first recognized the French Republic (sans royal claim to the French throne) in the Treaty of Amiens, in 1802. So indirectly, it was the French revolution that pushed the kings of England to let it go. And green, I’m sorry to say, is a royalist and counterrevolutionary color favored by none other than Marie Antoinette in her most rebellious moments. From Caroline Weber’s Queen of Fashion:
Shortly after the royal family’s return from Varennes, a group of fist-shaking market women hastened to the Tuileries and tore to shreds the green sash that one of the Queen’s female attendants—Madame Campan’s sister—happened to be wearing. By way of an explanation, the women declared that green was the color of Artois, “whom they would never forgive” for his own counterrevolutionary machinations, and that the lady sporting that loathsome hue was obviously “the slave of the Autrichienne.”
In July 1793, Marie Antoinette’s former favorite shade of defiance, green, was added to the list of unpatriotic markers because a young woman named Charlotte Corday, who had stabbed to death the revolutionary journalist Marat in his bathtub, had been apprehended with a green ribbon in her hair. Following Corday’s summary execution, Simon Schama has pointed out, her memorable headgear made green “the color of counter-revolution—prohibited, to the ruin of drapers and haberdashers, from any public dress.”
Kate’s “innocent preppiness” is an act of aggression signifying the coming invasion of France.
And you see these official photographs taken after the couple announced their engagement? Look closely at the portrait behind them. That’s none other than William IV—the first king to reign after the Act of Union.
When Will and Kate came to New York City, they stayed at the Hotel Carlyle. The most famous English historian of the French Revolution? Thomas Carlyle.
There’s one piece of evidence that cinches this thing so thoroughly that the rest of this evidence is nearly rendered moot. Recognize this? It’s the official portrait of Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge. Pay close attention to the blouse.
The blouse in the portrait comes from a store called FRENCH CONNECTION.
I cannot bring myself to believe that Prince Harry will participate in this madness, so I am confident that he will flee to America—and in fact, that is what he really discussed with Michelle Obama in their recent meeting. He was not airing out his balls, but rather using his body language to demonstrate how vulnerable he is here. They’ve got his balls in a vice.
All that remains is to discover why. WHY? Is Kate Middleton feeling guilty for her complicity in this vile plot and attempting to warn us? You know, like how Stanley Kubrick used Danny’s sweater to confess to his involvement in faking the moon landing. Or is she trying to butter up the French and/or subliminally influence the British people into following her and Will’s insane quest to regain the throne of France for England? Is she sending secret messages of support to Burgundian sleeper agents? Or—alternatively—perhaps a rogue member of the Duchess’s household is attempting to blow the lid off this whole thing?
Were Edward and Wallis Simpson in truth deep cover agents stationed in France? Was the shift from Saxe-Coburg-Gotha to “Windsor” part of a plot to make the English crown seem marginally more palatable to the French because hey, at least they’re not a bunch of damn Germans? Has the English royal family in fact been playing the rest of the world like a fiddle in pursuit of this goal since the time of ELIZABETH I?
I urge you most humbly to consider these possibilities seriously. The fate of Europe is at stake.
Tell me this woman isn’t up to something:
It’s definitely something:
Contact the author at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Photo composite by Jim Cooke, painting of Louis XVI by Joseph-Siffred Duplessis, painting of Marie Antoinette by Martin van Meytens. Other photos via Getty. Sources: Wikipedia and Kingdoms of Europe, by Gene Gurney.