Why, GOD, why couldn’t I have been born with the power to shape-shift into an Australia memaw?!
Prince Hot Ginge entered Australia four weeks ago to work with the Australian Defence Force. (I wish he’d enter my land down under, which isn’t like Australia at all. It’s more like Mordor.) His four-week placement came to an end today and the people came out to say goodbye to him. Daphne Dunne (the sly memaw above) had a G-rated Extreme Cougar Wives moment with Prince Hot Ginge when she took his hand and went in for a kiss. You may be thinking that those medals she’s wearing are for being an expert wooer and charmer, but those are her husband’s military medals. I’m going to need Granny Daphne to come out of retirement for a minute to teach me her ways, because she got a hot ginger kiss out of PHG, so she’s obviously doing everything right.
Many were horny for Harry at his goodbye party in Sydney today including a 21-year-old woman, who is kind of giving me “Whitney Port mashed up with Kiki Dunst” vibes. Victoria got Prince Hot Ginge’s attention by holding up a sign that read: MARRY ME (LAST CHANCE!) PRINCE HARRY. When Prince Hot Ginge came over to her, she actually asked him to marry her while an extra ornate Burger King crown was on her head. PHG said he’d think about it before he motioned to his security to have her name added to the restraining order list right under my name.
Part of me thinks that she’s my long-lost Australian spirit sister, because her love for PHG trumps her sense of shame. We are the same like that. But the other part of me thinks that what she did is just creepy and presumptuous. I mean, she doesn’t really know him. You can’t just ask a stranger to marry you. You can’t just go from a to cardboard marriage proposals. There’s an order to things. If I was her, I’d hold up a sign that read “Prince Harry, Can I Suck Your Dick?” and then I’d slowly move up to the marriage proposal sign. Whatever happened to old-fashioned romance and courting?
Pics: AP, Splash
The Telegraph says that the fourth in line to the throne and Baby Prince George’s standby was supposed to be pulled out of Duchess Kate’s royal vagine last Thursday, but none of spent the day staring at the front door of the Lindo Wing (named after Auntie Lindo from Joy Luck Club, of course) for hours on end, so obviously that didn’t happen. The Telegraph’s source says that the newest baby prince or princess is four days late and I’m not surprised. Babies are rude. They’re like my cousins. They’re always late and when they do get around to showing up, they cry for a drank. On second thought, it’s wrong of me to compare babies to my cousins. Yes, babies are rude, but at least they show up with a dish (aka the placenta). My cousins just show up with empty Tupperware containers to take leftovers home.
Some unnamed person whose baby was born in the Lindo Wing at St. Mary’s Hospital tells The Telegraph that Duchess Kate’s doctors have probably already talked to her about inducing, because doctors normally don’t wait longer than a week. But an aide for Kensington Palace (aka The weekday receptionist who answered the phone. So Fergie, basically.) told UsWeekly that everyone needs to shut their mouths about DK’s due date because they don’t know shit about shit:
“We have never commented on or discussed a due date.”
DK said before that her “due date” is somewhere between mid-April and late-April, so those patriotic jewels of England in the picture above may have to camp out for a few more days.
If DK really wants the new royal baby to come out now, there’s a few things she can try. Doctors say that an effective, yet severely cruel, inducing method involves blasting a Nickelback song into the mother’s mouth. The sound will travel down into the womb and that baby will immediately bust out the nearest exit to get away from that musical torture. She can also get somebody to wave a picture of Prince Hot Ginge with a puppy in front of her royal vagine. The royal baby will immediately crawl toward it, because no human can resist a picture of PHG with a puppy. And lastly, if someone whispers the words, “Morrissey is having the best day ever,” next to Duchess Kate’s stomach, that baby will come out real quick, because nothing ruins Morrissey’s month like knowing that there’s another British royal amongst us and those British royals live to ruin Morrissey’s month.
And here’s the new royal baby’s uncle looking hot at the London Marathon yesterday.
While some of us spend our St. Patrick’s Day worshipping the green by smoking it in a bong (I guess that means EVERY day is St. Patrick’s Day for me), the British royals had to do actual work! Take that, hating whores (see: Morrissey) who always throw cold runny shit at the British royals for doing nothing but exfoliate their pristine royal skin with a paste made from the shredded bills they take from taxpayers. Duchess Kate is 8 months knocked up and she still showed up on time to the St. Patrick’s Day Parade at Mons Barracks today where she waved, smiled, waved, shook hands, pet a dog and smiled some more. The smiling part is really impressive, because I didn’t think a woman who is in the final stages of being knocked up was able to smile. Every chick I see who is seconds away from expelling a squatter from her body is usually gritting her teeth while making a level 10 “I am so over this shit” face. But not Duchess Kate. She is a professional!
While wearing shamrock bouquets that look like something a Chia Pet shat up (or like Mother Nature’s pube bush), Duchess Kate and Prince William visited with Irish guards and gave shamrocks to officers and guardsmen of the regiment. I have one very, very important question:
WHERE IN THE HELL IS PRINCE HOT GINGE?!
How can there be an official St. Patrick’s Day event in the UK without an almost naked and nearly unemployed Prince Hot Ginge twerking to Cock O’ The North while wearing a shamrock thong? That should be tradition! Eh, he’s probably busy snorting green vodka with the Alabama Leprechaun.
The London Evening Standard says at the end of this year, Prince Hot Ginge will turn in his I QUIT THIS BITCH papers into the British Army to focus on doing charity work. Sadly, that means that PHG (or “Captain Hot Ginge” as he’s know in the military) won’t be promoted all the way up to the head of the Knights of the Round Table. They still have that in Britain, right?
Before Captain Hot Ginge takes his final bow as an active member of the army, he’s going to serve with units in Australia for a few weeks. (Side note: When I read that part on The London Evening Standard, I read it as “serve units Down Under” and it nearly made me move to Australia STAT.) A spokeswhore for Kensington Palace wouldn’t confirm that Captain Hot Ginge is retiring from the army and only had this to say:
“Prince Harry is currently focused on his work supporting the Ministry of Defence’s recovery capability programme to ensure those who are wounded, injured or sick have appropriate recovery plans and the necessary support they require. It’s a natural progression from the work he did organising the Invictus Games. This involves working alongside case officers in London District’s personal recovery unit and visiting various recovery centres and partner agencies (such as forces charities and the NHS) around the country.”
Some source says that after doing two tours of duty in Afghanistan, PHG feels like it’s time to move on. He wants to travel to Africa more to do conservation stuff and work with his AIDS charity, and also wants to work more with wounded veterans. A Dlisted source who goes by the name Wishful Thinking exclusively tells me that he also wants to focus on his new charity GISODAG (Gingers In Support Of Desperate Ass Gays), which connects British ginger royals named Harry with hard-up, desperate American skinny fat gay bloggers in need.
But seriously, this is unacceptable and his resignation letter needs to be torn up immediately. If Captain Hot Ginge quits the army, we won’t get as many hot pictures of him in his uniform and we’ll no longer get pictures like this:
Why is he being so selfish?! Doesn’t he know that what the world needs now is more picture of him kicking a ball while topless in the desert?
I’m slightly pissed off at Prince Hot Ginge. If these pictures came out a couple of days ago, my title could’ve been: Christmas Has Come Early And So Have I. He’s so selfish sometimes. But seriously…
Because he has such a charitable soul and a giving heart, Britain’s hottest benefits scrounger spent his Christmas Eve Day getting sweaty while handling balls with a bunch of dudes (including Duchess Kate’s brother) in a charity match at THE QUEEN’S Sandringham Estate in Norfolk, England. This Christmas, I asked for some sweaty ball-handling time with PHG, but that isn’t going to happen. Maybe next year. But I did get the gift of these pictures of his belly button and his knees looking like he just finished giving a beej behind the bushes in a park at midnight after it rained. I’ll take it.
Merry Gingemas to us all!
Pics: AP, FameFlynet
Sadly for me, Prince Hot Ginge’s secret isn’t that he’s bi-sexual and his type is skinny fat American bloggers who love pork rinds, weed and long romantic walks from the couch to the refrigerator and back again. Maybe he’ll reveal that secret next year.
On this Monday, warm the tips of your nipples on the soothing stream of freshly warmed velvet coming out of Prince Hot Ginge’s mouth as he tells everyone a secret about himself. Today is World AIDS Day and to get attention for his charity Sentebale, which helps children affected by HIV/AIDS and poverty in the African country of Lesotho, he shot a video where he tells us a secret. PHG also created #FeelNoShame to let people living with HIV and AIDS know that they have nothing to be ashamed about. UsWeekly says that PHG wants others to share secrets about themselves because he wants to “destigmatize the secret that many with HIV and AIDS carry.” Before you read PHG’s secret, you better hold onto your ass lips, because it is shocking.
“Today, World AIDS Day, my secret is, believe it or not, I get incredibly nervous before public speaking, no matter how big the crowd or the audience. Despite the fact that I laugh and joke all the time, I get incredibly nervous, if not anxious actually, before going into rooms full of people when I’m wearing a suit.”
Really. That’s it? Where’s the secret about how he has a mole on his ass lip shaped like Winston Churhill’s side profile or a secret about how he’s a virgin because no mortal can take his piping hot 12″ dick rod? Where are those secrets? So, he’s afraid of talking to a crowd. Big deal. Isn’t everyone afraid of that shit? I would be shocked if he loved talking to large groups of people, because that’s just weird. Whenever somebody says to me in a serious, genuine voice, “I love talking to lots and lots of people,” I stop making eye contact and slowly back away, because they cannot be trusted.
But seriously, there’s a really easy way for PHG to get over his fear of public speaking. Psychologists have said that the easiest way to get rid of anxiousness while speaking to a crowd is to let the audience see you naked (literally) and re-channel the blood rushing to your head to your dick. It’s really the only way. Psychologists have said. (Just go with me on this.)
Mondays are disgusting and gross and nobody should have to live through them, but they’re a little less disgusting and gross when you can rinse out the Monday crust from your eyes with these pictures of Prince Hot Ginge looking like an extra derpy wascally wabbit running from Elmer Fudd while playing touch rugby with a bunch of kids.
While Duchess Kate and Prince William continued to whore out every single detail of the standby king or queen baking in her uterus royale, someone in that family did ACTUAL work. At the Eccles RFC (whatever that means) in Manchester, England this morning, Uncle Hot Ginge took part in a teacher training session which included a game of touch rugby. I’m beginning to think that my mother did me wrong by having me 25 years too early and not moving to England right after she had me, because if she did I could be the one playing touch rugby with PHG. The most star-studded shit that happened to me in school was the time Tina Yothers came to visit us and it was square pizza day, so her visit was the second most exciting thing to happen that day.
These pictures once again tell me that PHG will make a perfect husband. He’s a ginge, he’s got access to those royal jewels, he’ll forever get that benefits money, he has sweet moves, he can teach you how to snort vodka when doctors tell you to cut back on drinking booze and he looks like he genuinely likes kids. So he can entertain the brats in the backyard of Buckingham Palace while you and THE QUEEN get drunk on spiked Earl Grey tea while gossiping about the ugly dress that slut tramp trollop Cumilla wore to the Downton Abbey viewing party.
And yes, this picture has already made a morning appearance in my Photoshop.
If animal control gets a call about a mangled, chewed-up worm wandering the streets of Southern California somewhere, can they please lure it over to them by waving a peen picture at it and then drop it in an envelope and mail it to me? That’s my b-hole. It jumped off of my ass after I read the words “PRINCE HARRY” and “SEX TAPE” in the same headline.
Shifty headline writers toyed with my emotions this morning when they wrote that Prince Hot Ginge and his on-and-off again piece Cressida Bonas enjoyed a sex tape together. The bad news is that PHG didn’t make a sex tape (as far as we know). The good news is that our down low parts are safe, because they’re not going to explode as we watch PHG hump on Cressida Boners while wearing a scrunchie cock ring. PHG and Cressida only went to see the movie Sex Tape together. The Sun (via The Telegraph) says that PHG and Toyota Cressida recently sat together in a darkened theater while watching Cameron Diaz and Jason Segel bone. PHG left in a car driven by his security team and Cressida left in a taxi. A source says that the night before, Cressida was at PHG’s 30th birthday party.
When Baby Prince George was just crawling around and didn’t know how to use his legs to walk yet, he was stealing toys, slapping other children and leaving a pile of smoking destruction wherever he went. There’s a room in the dungeon under Buckingham Palace where all the skeletons of his victims and the toys he stole are stored and every time someone asks THE QUEEN about it, she shrugs and says, “Oh, future kings will be future kings.” So now that Baby Prince George can walk, we’re all doomed and there’s no limit to the destruction he can cause. Everybody ruuuuuuuun! Okay, first you can awww at his pudgy cheeks and little baby outfit and then ruuuuuuuuuuun for your lives!
Baby Prince George’s birthday is on Tuesday, so to celebrate the one year anniversary of the day that Baby Prince George was pulled out of Duchess Kate’s royal vagine, she and Prince William released this picture of him walking around a butterfly exhibit at the Natural History Museum in London a little over two weeks ago. Yes, Duchess Kate and Prince William are just like your neighbors who give you a picture of their baby on their baby’s first birthday. You stick that picture on the side of your refrigerator with a magnet your mom got you during her trip to Las Vegas. You’ll eventually replace that picture when you need space to put a menu from that Thai restaurant you order from all the time.
John Stillwell of the Press Association took the picture and he tells People that after this picture was taken, Baby Prince George viciously attacked him, basically:
“He’s quick on his feet. He was walking towards me – I was kneeling down to take the picture and he was on top of me as soon as he started walking. He was very quick. He looked really steady on his feet.”
But was he quick? I don’t think John told us that.
AFP says that everyone is going to run out and get the outfit that Prince George is wearing, because he’s a fashion icon. To which I say, AHAHAHAHA. Baby Prince George is barely a year old! I doubt anybody is copying his look. A style icon? That’s crazy. That’s insane. (Cut to me later tonight furiously searching Amazon for black leather nun shoes in men’s size 9 and blue striped OshKosh overalls in toddler size XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXL).
And here’s some pictures of Baby Prince George’s daddy and hot ginger uncle throwing side-eyes (see: Prince William), giving everyone the swoons (see: PHG) and working hard for that benefits money at the Queen’s Young Leaders Programme Launch in London on July 10th.
Duchess Kate kept her hand firmly planted on her stomach during Saturday morning’s ribbon-cutting ceremony for the Yorkshire leg of the Tour de France, which either means she’s knocked-up with the second future fetus king or she’s got a major case of gut rot. Kate covered her belly the whole time, which is usually a sign that it’s time to plug in the Corgi’s Choice Royal Ultrasound Kit (available at your local Tesco!) but I wouldn’t put it past that devious Kate-hating Queen to sneak some Ex-Lax into Kate’s morning crumpet so that she’d get the shits and have to stay home. Personally, I want to believe it’s gas; it’s more fun to imagine Buckingham Palace Barbie pretending to cough in an attempt to mask the sound of noisy gut burps.
Not to mention that Baby Prince George is a jealous baby who would rather take a bilby bite to the shin than share the spotlight with another royal rug rat, so he’s probably trained the Queen’s smartest corgi to replace Duchess Kate’s prenatal vitamins with birth control pills. It’s not a fool-proof plan, but at least it will buy him some time to research how to perform a DIY vasectomy on his Leap Pad. “There’s only one Baby Prince and it’s Baby Prince George, dammit!” he says, as he soaks his blankie in chloroform.
Here’s more of Duchess Kate with her hand glued to her stomach at the Yorkshire leg of the Tour de France. She even cut the ribbon with one hand! Who does this trick think she is, Dudley the Dragon? Speaking of puppets, what in the name of Howdy Doody is going on with Prince Hot Ginge’s pants? I assume he’s wearing those shapeless disasters after arriving in a pair of nut-hugging spandex bike shorts and being told to change because the cyclists found his Yorkshire Pudding bulge too distracting.