Avant garde, no?

We open on Prince Phillip, off his nod on coke and wandering the streets of London aimlessly. He bumps into Ian Dury and about half of the Blockheads.

"I didn't come here for a lesson, Ian Dury!" he yells.

Then he remembers that Ian Dury is dead. "B-b-but... you're d-d-d-d-dead!" he stammers.

Running away, he turns a dank London corner and runs into celebrity chef Ben O'Donoghue, who could be seen on The Best in Australia on the LifeStyle FOOD Channel before his untimely death at the hands of Melbourne-based blogger Dr. Cam Sexenheimer. O'Donoghue's eyes burn with fire. Actual fire. It is quite disconcerting.

Prince Phillip runs away from Ben O'Donoghue as well, falling into an open manhole. It's all very Freudian.

He wakes up screaming, his hot sweat soaking into a pillow, like oil soaking into a penguin habitat. "Oh, our poor habitat," cry the racist penguins.

"Oh, it was all a dream," he sighs, as he cuddles up to the corpse of celebrity chef Ben O'Donoghue.

"Or was it?" asks celebrity chef Ben O'Donoghue.

OR WAS IT?

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