GOD SAVE THE PRINCE FROM THOSE RUBBER DEVIL MITTS ON HIS FEETS!
Any trick who spits up at the mouth about how the royals never work can eat their peasant words, because they worked two shifts this weekend. Yesterday, Duchess Kate, Prince William and the hardest working baby in the game (sorry, Justin Bieber) Prince George had to smile and wave at THE QUEEN’s annual birthday parade. You’d think that after all that waving they’d have to spend their Sunday resting their wavin’ hands in freshly warmed fine velvet cloths as their servants massage their sore smiling muscles, but nope. They were back at work today at the Festival of Polo at the Beaufort Polo Club in Tetbury, England.
People says that Duchess Kate, Prince George and some other British royal types watched Prince Hot Ginge and Prince William play polo. I guess tiny royal princes care as much about polo as I do, because Prince George spent most of the time playing on some hill. Photographer James Whatling gave this highly riveting and majorly thrilling witness account of Prince George trying to slide down a slope:
“[George] was playing on the bank. He was walking up the steps and then tried sliding down the bank. The older ones like Savannah was doing it so he wanted to do it too. He was sliding down and Kate joined him, trying to support him as he did.”
When a biopic about Prince George’s life is made in the future, I expect that moment to be the most captivating and edge-of-your-seat scene in the movie. But really, who cares about that when we have more important things to talk about like those CROCS!
I know that Duchess Kate and Prince William want their family to be the people’s royal family or whatever, but they have gone too far by making their kid wear CROCS. I’ve said before that it’s only okay to wear CROCS if you’re planting some shit in your garden or if you’re a baby who doesn’t know any better, but I take it back. Because now that Prince George has been photographed in toddler CROCS, I’m sure they’re already sold out and soon my eyes will be terrorized by the sight of kids in CROCS everywhere.
But you know, I bet that Prince George picked out those CROCS himself, because he don’t give a hell and can do whatever he wants. In that picture above, he’s totally thinking to himself, “I will wear CROCS and I will fart on you. I’m the future king!”
I have no idea what Prince Harry is doing with his tongue, but I do know it’s my duty to crop this pic right around his head and send it to Michael K immediately.
Even though Prince George has appeared before his subjects countless times before, today was the first time he’s ever done it on the Buckingham Palace balcony with all the other fancy Royal Family types. I guess getting invited onto the Palace balcony is a pretty big deal, because George was dressed in his fancy baby best. According to TIME, George wore the exact same outfit his daddy wore when he made his first appearance on the Palace balcony in 1984. You know you’re about to do something very important when you see your mom pulling out a Space Bag and blowing 30 years worth of moth ball dust and dried-up spiders off of it.
But Prince George didn’t decide to make an appearance on the balcony just because he felt like it. It was for The Queen’s annual Trooping the Colour ceremony. I really one of The Queen’s corgi’s warned those pilots to keep their eyes on the sky, because I can imagine their flying would get all kinds of sloppy in the event they accidentally looked down at the balcony and got distracted by Prince George being adorable.
Not only was it a big day for Prince George, but it was also a big day for his mom. Today was Duchess Kate’s first day back at work since pushing out Princess Charlotte six weeks ago. Maybe that would explain her hat; nothing says “Aw shit, back to work” like wearing a hat made out of a plastic bedpan.
Here’s more of Prince George being cute as hell while watching a bunch of planes fly overhead during the Trooping the Colour ceremony earlier today.
When you’re just a regular peasant like 99% of us here, you may have gotten a caramel square, a butterscotch hard candy, some quarters to buy a Pink Panther ice cream bar from the paleta man or a look that says, “You’re safe from the chancla this time,” from your abuelita when you didn’t act a mess and kept quiet during her telenovela-watching time. But when you’re a fancy British royal who was lucky enough to swim out of a prince’s dick slit and jam yourself into a princess’ egg, you get an actual medal for being nice to your grandma. Not just a gold star sticker, a damn medal.
The BBC says that THE QUEEN made Prince Hot Ginge a Knight Commander of the Royal Victorian Order during a private ceremony at the palace. PHG got the knighthood for his “service to the sovereign.” In other words, he got that shit for doing something all of us should do. In other words, PHG gets awards for being PHG. That’s the way it should be. Some source (probably one of the more gossipy Corgis) tells The Telegraph that PHG was proud of getting a title for being nice to Nana Liz.
A royal source said Prince Harry, 30, was “proud and pleased” to receive the honour, adding: “It is very significant for him personally.”
Note to self: Make sure to scream out “Sir Prince Hot Ginge” instead of just “Prince Hot Ginge” during my wet dream fantasies. Must remain respectful of the royals and their titles at all times!
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.