True story: It was rainy and overcast in London today and just when everyone was about to sing (in their best Alanis Morissette voice), “It’s like raaaaaaaain on your wedding day,” to Meghan Markle, the clouds cleared, the sky turned blue and then sun came out when Oprah appeared!
Oprah was one of the first to show up at St. George’s Chapel for the royal wedding today, which made many brains poot out a “Que?” There’s a rumor that Oprah interviewed Meghan’s mother Doria Ragland, so some think that’s why she was invited to the wedding. But excuse you, while us regular humans may need an invitation to attend something like the royal wedding, Oprah doesn’t. Oprah just shows up and sits wherever she wants. I’d like to see one of those tricks ask Oprah if they can see her invitation. Their skin would end up embedded into the concrete after a lightning bolt from the heavens flattened them.
Oprah pretty much led the non-stop parade of stars that made it through that church today. There were so many celebrities that I thought diabolical red carpet gnome Ryan Seacrest was going to pop up with a mic to asks guests who they’re wearing, I mean, ask them awkwardly worded questions about #MeToo. Warning: Lots of celebrities went to today’s wedding so there’s lot of pictures to scroll through. So stretch your finger, put a workout belt on it, and keep a bottle of water handy for when it gets the heated sweats halfway through and needs to cool off.
Pieces of ovaries are scattered all over the streets of London today, because Prince Hot Ginge played with a bunch of school children at the newly renovated Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park. Chirrun screaming and screeching while playing in a park is a nightmare come to life to me, but throw in a giggling PHG in a suit and suddenly it’s a wonderful dream that made ovaries I didn’t know I had explode. In 80 years when all of those children are on their death beds, they will reflect on their lives and say that the best moment was when they made PHG do an ugly giggle while pushing him on a swing in the park. PHG gave them that, but I hope he also shared his wisdom with them by teaching them how to snort vodka like a pro.
In other PHG news, The Daily Mail says that the Earth may soon have tiny royal gingerlings running around it, because he’s really close to proposing to his piece Cressida Bonas and he can’t wait to get married and have kids. A source close to Cressida’s family (read: her fucking scrunchie) said that the family has been having meetings to talk about the engagement:
“There is a family gathering to discuss an engagement. The announcement will be sooner than many people think. Harry and Cressida will be married. It is all going ahead. It is just a matter of time. Cressie is going to marry Harry. Harry never stops talking about marriage and children, and she’s now got used to the idea. The wedding is likely to take place next year.”
This feels like that Kate Middleton shit all over again. Kate Middleton’s family kept leaking stories to the tabloids about how Prince William was going to put a ring on it at any minute. That mess dragged on forever. I hope PHG doesn’t drag this mess out and either dumps Toyota Cressida for my drunk naranja angel Chelsy Davy or marries her ass.
We’ll be hit with engagement rumor after engagement rumor until PHG puts a ring on Cressida’s finger because he’s sick of THE QUEEN popping her head into his room while they’re boning to make sure the rubber is on tight. THE QUEEN doesn’t want little bastards ruining the pristine royal image of her family. Too late, QUEEN, because I’m sure a lot of us are already pregnant with a litter of royal gingers after looking at these pictures. I did feel a kick, but that could be from the raw hot dogs I ate for lunch.
Well, I guess my wet dream of Prince Hot Ginge realizing that he should stop denying his feelings and marry his only true love, a 1 gallon jug of vodka, is not going to come true. Because The Telegraph says that he wants to make his piece Cressida Bonas Britain’s next princess and she’s come around to the idea of marrying PHG and letting him bareback fuck a scrunchie-wearing ginger baby into her womb. 24-year-old Cressida is some kind of free-spirit who always thought she was too young to get married, but she’s kind of into it now. The source said:
“Cressie is going to marry Harry. Harry never stops talking about marriage and children, and she has now got used to the idea. The wedding is likely to take place next year.”
“Got used to the idea….” Either Toyota Cressida’s battery is dead and she’s void of feelings inside or she’s a hipster to the bone who is pretending to be “eh” about becoming PHG’s wife. Because the only natural reaction to PHG telling you that he wants to bone you non-stop until a baby’s head is pushing his ginger rod out of you IS to turn into a squirting panty pudding fountain of excitement. Something is really wrong with you when your ovaries don’t jump out of your cooch and attack PHG’s crotch after he tells you he wants to make babies with you. THE QUEEN better keep a side-eye or two on Toyota Cressida, because she’s obviously a spy for the Slytherins.
But I could get “used to the idea” of Toyota Cressida being a princess. I mean, the British monarchy needs a royal who dresses like a cross between Shannen Doherty in Heathers and Shannen Doherty in the first season of Beverly Hills 90210, and it definitely needs a royal whose official title is HRH Duchess Boners.
And here’s PHG giving us some Officer and a Gingerman shit at the Australian Navy’s “International Fleet Review” on Sydney Harbour two days ago.
Some fancy, hoity-toity ass British society wedding went down in England today and all the pinkies when up when Prince Hot Ginge came sashaying through with a twinkle in his eye that said, “Your ovaries: they are exploding, I know. Send me your gyno bill.” And by “pinkies” I mean clits. I mean, a clitoris is pretty much a vagina pinky.
On a real-life episode of Downton Abbey today, Lady Melissa Percy married Thomas van Straubenzee and I can’t believe Maggie Smith wasn’t there to roll her eyes at all of it. That should be a law. Anytime there’s a British society wedding, Maggie Smith SHOULD be there. But anyway, PHG was there and so was his current piece Cressida Bonas (aka THAT SKANK) and his ex-piece Chelsy Davy. Of course Cressida and Chelsy didn’t tear each other’s facesoff while trying to get on PHG’s crotch. Chelsy would never. She’s a true lady. She was probably too busy getting drunk on champagne and giving a quick handy to one of the groomsmen in the bathroom. I still don’t know why PHG stopped humping on Chelsy. She was always my favorite. She looks like she smells like vodka, drugstore foundation, old cigarettes and dried mascara clumps. Who wouldn’t want to inhale that all the time? Chelsy Davy looks like a piece of dried bronzer crust with blond hair. PHG is dim in the brains for letting that go.
Duchess Kate’s vagina royale is weeks away from shooting out the heir to the throne, so she wasn’t there, but Prince William and his bald spot were and so was Pippa Middleton, which isn’t surprising considering that cameras were there. If you ever want to see Pippa in the flesh for some reason, just pull out your camera and she’ll be there. But Pippa did wear this mess on her head:
The hell is that on her head?! It looks like two pigeon skeletons cumming out a pile of coagulated jizz balls. It looks like a silver tarantula foaming at the mouth. I bet the wedding had to be stopped halfway through because a flock of birds broke into the church to save their distressed loved on Pippa’s head. I swear, Pippa always has to make it all about her.