WARNING: Contains explicit language, royal filth, and zero smelling salts

Dive into the INTRODUCTION of Tarquin the 3rd: The Royal, the Corgis Refused to Lick

The darkest, filthiest "biography" you'll ever hear (because reading it might require therapy and a stiff brandy).

Meet Tarquin Archibold Barnaby Wilfred the Third: dumped at birth in a black bin-liner because his face made the midwife scream, the Queen retch, and even the corgis back away, whimpering. "Too fucking ugly" for the palace, but perfect for orphanage beatings, council estate hustles, jizz-mopping in nightclub bogs, and a tragic OnlyFans wank in a royal-crested sock.

Narrated in Tarquin's own foul-mouthed goblin voice, this audio snippet is just the royal dump – the full book gets even darker, twistier, and more depraved.

If you laughed, winced, or reached for the bleach... smash that LIKE button, SUBSCRIBE for more ugly bastard storytime, and grab the book if you dare:

Available soon from Indigo Ink Books (or wherever they hide the vulgar stuff)

Visit www.OwenCroft.com and sign up for the latest releases and other filthy stuff.

No corgis were licked in the making of this video. No royals were warned. Viewer discretion advised – especially if you're posh.

#RoyalFamilyParody

#RoyalReject

#UglyBastard

#CorgiNightmare

#BritishRoyals

#RoyalScandal

#WorkingClassComedy

#NorthernComedy

#DarkComedy

#BlackHumour

#BritishDarkComedy

#Satire

#BritishSatire

#RoyalSatire

#AntiRoyal

#DarkHumor

#TwistedComedy

#FilthyComedy

Tarquin the Third

The Royal, the Corgis Refused to Lick. By Owen Croft

Afterword by Lady Arabella Featherstonehaugh-Cholmondeley,

Viscountess of Lower Snodbury, Honorary President of the

Society for the Suppression of Vulgarity and Authoress of The

Proper Deployment of the Asparagus Tongs in Polite Warfare

This book will be released in early 2026. For updates, sign up to Owen Croft's Filthy Dispatches

Tarquin the Third

The Royal, the Corgis Refused to Lick. By Owen Croft

Foreword by Sir Reginald Bentinck-Fitzmaurice, OBE, Royal Literary

Patron and Occasional Equerry to His Majesty

This book will be released in early 2026. For updates, sign up to Owen Croft's Filthy Dispatches

BumbleCock: The Limp Legend of the Layby

A fucking stupid comedy by Owen Croft

buy the eBook $1.50 on Smashwords.com

Darren "Daz" McFloppy has one dream: to be remembered for something other than his Greggs loyalty card and a Vauxhall Corsa held together by hope and cable ties.

Unfortunately, the only one part of him ever gets remembered—and it's the part that refuses to stand up when it matters.

Meet BumbleCock: Britain's most reluctant anti-hero. A flaccid folk legend born in the Dog & Duck car park when Daz's sad little worm flopped its way into viral infamy. What starts as a standard night of dogging, Tesco lube and crushing humiliation quickly spirals into a blue-pill-fuelled odyssey of Olympic-level wanking, industrial-strength erections, and a cock that eventually declares independence from its owner.

From stealing his nan's Viagra stash to accidentally weaponising his knob at the inaugural Dogging Olympics, Daz's quest for respect ends in a Slough airfield, ten pills, one helicopter crash, and the most traumatic amputation the NHS has ever seen.

Think Viz magazine shagged The Inbetweeners in a layby, then finished off on a stolen mobility scooter.

Crude, outrageous, and wrong in all the right ways, BumbleCock is a love letter to broken Britain, broken dreams, and the one bit of broken Britain that just won't stay down.

Warning: contains scenes of extreme penile misbehaviour, projectile semen, and a gear stick that will never be the same again. Not suitable for anyone with taste, dignity, or a functioning gag reflex.

"Like Irvine Welsh writing Carry On Dogging after twelve pints and a fistful of knock-off sildenafil."

– Definitely Nobody

Crisis on a Biscuit

FREE eBook

How Britain Went from Empire to Empire State of Total Bastard Collapse

By Big Bastard Bob (Owen Croft) – a six-foot-four Barnsley bastard who's proper had enough

This isn't a book. It's a full-blown Yorkshire heart attack on paper.

Big Bastard Bob (ex-pit, ex-foundry, ex-give-a-shit) has watched this country go from ruling half the bloody map to not being able to empty the bins without a six-week consultation and a diversity officer. He's paid taxes since Wilson were in nappies, fought for Queen and country, and now gets a pension that buys him 47 tins of beans and a packet of Rich Tea if he shops clever.

In these pages you'll get no graphs, no "on the one hand" bollocks, and definitely no hope. What you will get is the unvarnished, brass-necked, John-Smith's-fuelled truth about:

Politicians who couldn't run a bath never mind a country.

An NHS where the waiting list has its own waiting list.

Potholes so big they've got their own postcodes.

Energy bills that make you nostalgic for the three-day week.

Farmers taxed till the cows come home (and then taxed again for the cows).

Free speech that's only free if you whisper it in the dark.

Benefits that pay more to sit on your arse than Bob ever earned breaking his back down t'pit.

And a government so detached they think "levelling up" means buying a spirit level from Screwfix.

Fourteen months of Starmer, twenty years of Tory clowns, forty years of promises, and we're still skint, sick, and sinking faster than the pound after Truss opened her gob..

This is the rant you'd hear in every working men's club from Barnsley to Berwick if the country still had any working men's clubs left.

It's grim up north. It's bloody grim everywhere. And Big Bastard Bob is here to tell you exactly who's to blame, how they did it, and why nobody's coming to save us.

So grab a brew, crack open the biscuits (the cheap ones – we're not made of money), and prepare to nod, swear, and despair in equal measure.

Because the Empire's gone, the industry's gone, the pride's gone, and all we've got left is a crisis… on a biscuit.

Let's be havin' you. Big Bastard Bob – still standing. Just.

For more books by Owen Croft visit www.OwenCroft.com

Crisis on a Biscuit

Intro

We’ll cover the lot:

• Pensions that vanish faster than a politician’s principles
• An NHS that couldn’t cure a paper cut
• Benefits that reward the idle and punish the grafters
• Roads that look like the surface of the moon
• Bills that make your eyes water harder than a raw onion
• Farmers taxed till they’re sellin’ the family silver (or the family farm)
• Free speech that’s only free if you agree with the right people
• And a government so sleazy they make the last lot look like altar boys

By the time you finish this, you’ll either be laughin’, cryin’, or loadin’ the shotgun. Probably all three.

So crack open a John Smith’s, pull up a chair that’s seen better days, and let Big Bastard Bob take you on a tour of Broken Britain, 2025 edition.

It’s grim up north.

It’s grimmer everywhere else.

And it’s only gettin’ worse.

Let’s be havin’ you.

www.OwenCroft.com

Crisis on a Biscuit

FREE eBook , download today from Smashwords

How Britain Went from Empire to Empire State of Total Bastard Collapse

By Big Bastard Bob (Owen Croft) – a six-foot-four Barnsley bastard who's proper had enough

This isn't a book. It's a full-blown Yorkshire heart attack on paper.

Big Bastard Bob (ex-pit, ex-foundry, ex-give-a-shit) has watched this country go from ruling half the bloody map to not being able to empty the bins without a six-week consultation and a diversity officer. He's paid taxes since Wilson were in nappies, fought for Queen and country, and now gets a pension that buys him 47 tins of beans and a packet of Rich Tea if he shops clever.

In these pages you'll get no graphs, no "on the one hand" bollocks, and definitely no hope. What you will get is the unvarnished, brass-necked, John-Smith's-fuelled truth about:

Politicians who couldn't run a bath never mind a country.

An NHS where the waiting list has its own waiting list.

Potholes so big they've got their own postcodes.

Energy bills that make you nostalgic for the three-day week.

Farmers taxed till the cows come home (and then taxed again for the cows).

Free speech that's only free if you whisper it in the dark.

Benefits that pay more to sit on your arse than Bob ever earned breaking his back down t'pit.

And a government so detached they think "levelling up" means buying a spirit level from Screwfix.

Fourteen months of Starmer, twenty years of Tory clowns, forty years of promises, and we're still skint, sick, and sinking faster than the pound after Truss opened her gob..

This is the rant you'd hear in every working men's club from Barnsley to Berwick if the country still had any working men's clubs left.

It's grim up north. It's bloody grim everywhere. And Big Bastard Bob is here to tell you exactly who's to blame, how they did it, and why nobody's coming to save us.

So grab a brew, crack open the biscuits (the cheap ones – we're not made of money), and prepare to nod, swear, and despair in equal measure.

Because the Empire's gone, the industry's gone, the pride's gone, and all we've got left is a crisis… on a biscuit.

Let's be havin' you. Big Bastard Bob – still standing. Just.