The name “Princess Eugenie” might cause your brain to queef up a stream of questions marks, but I know who she is, because she’s the daughter of The Original Fergie (my fourth favorite British royal after Prince Hot Ginge, THE QUEEN and Susan the Corgi) and the sister of Princess Beatrice (my fifth favorite British royal after Prince Hot Ginge, THE QUEEN, Susan the Corgi and The Original Fergie). Princess Eugenie is also the one who brought some “ugly stepsisters” glamour to Duchess Kate and Prince William’s wedding by wearing a blue bedpan on her head. And now she’s getting some attention today for announcing that she’s engaged.
Kensington Palace tweeted out the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge’s annual Christmas card picture earlier today. I always assumed British Christmas was the same kind we’ve got here across the pond. But based on this picture, I’d think Christmas in the UK is the day your family poses like mannequins in matchy-matchy ensembles for a high-end department store called Christopher Thomas. A store in which all the clothes come in tastefully muted pastels, and the numbers on the price tags have been replaced with the words, “Oh dear, if you have to ask how much it is…”
“Yes, bitch, I’m holding on to my future husband and your imaginary man while you’re holding on to nothing but everlasting loneliness and an undercooked bagel covered with cold low-fat cream cheese from Aldi.” – Meghan Markle in that picture, because she obviously knows I exist and knows that I’m trying to eat a bagel that I covered with cold low-fat cream cheese from Aldi before realizing it didn’t cook right. This Monday is already ass fucking me without lube.
Starting at the hour of It’s Too Fucking Early For Anything AM today, I started getting texts from people giving me their condolences. I thought that someone had died! Or worse, that In-N-Out had filed for bankruptcy and was closing down all locations immediately. But the only thing that died was my dream that Prince Hot Ginge would suddenly wake up gay (because yes, that’s how it happens) and decide that his perfect type is an old, bitchy, skinny fat blogger from America (the direct opposite of no fats, fems or Asians, basically). Prince Harry got engaged to Meghan Markle! You know the news is serious when I use PHG’s real name.
Depending on where you live, a lot of kids started school this week. You know who else started school this week? A certain fancy Royal kid named Prince George! That’s right, side-eye baby is in big kid school now. Ah, how time flies.
Kensington Palace tweeted out a picture of His Royal Recess’ness with Prince William before he strolled into Thomas’s Battersea, a place that sounds like an upscale fish n’ chips place but is actually a private school. Look at him in his little sweater and loafers, with his hand casually tucked into his little pocket. I know he’s only four, but he totally looks like the fun boss of a law firm on a casual Friday. I feel like at any minute he’s going to ask me if I’m working hard or hardly working.
Guess he’s not with her! Prince Henrik of Denmark is married to Queen Margrethe II (both pictured above). Sounds like a rosy existence, right? WRONG! Prince Pouty Pants is more like it, because People reports Prince Henrik is pissed off he never got the title of King when his wife ascended the throne… in 1972. Boy can hold a grudge! He’s so miffed over not having equal billing with Margrethe, that he’s now saying he refuses to be buried next to her in a sarcophagus built just for them.
That Dramatic Emergency Meeting At Buckingham Palace Turned Out To Be About Prince Philip’s Retirement From Doing Public Stuff
If you’re like me, then you were probably cursing Twitter every time you got up in the middle of the night to look at your phone to see if Prince Philip died, or if one of THE QUEEN’s Corgis betrayed her by enlisting in Morrissey’s anti-royal brigade, or if Prince Hot Ginge dumped Meghan Markle and declared that he can no longer fight the fact that he’s a ginger gay whose type is skinny fat American dude bloggers with shit for brains.
The Daily Mail was the first to plant the seeds that caused Twitter to instantly grow a field of wild speculation. Before I went to bed last night, they reported that THE QUEEN had summoned her entire household from across the land to a mysterious emergency meeting at Buckingham Palace. Now, I love a good dramatic emergency meeting. It’s very Illuminati-esque. But not one that starts in the morning (London time)! Twitter burped up all kinds of speculation from the French media saying that Prince Philip had died to THE QUEEN announcing that she’s giving up the throne to Prince Hot Ginge announcing his engagement to an ex-blogger/basic cable TV star. Many said that the BBC would make an announcement about the emergency meeting at 8am London time. Apparently, it’s protocol for the BBC to make announcements about royal deaths at 8am. I tried to stay up for the earth-shattering news, but my eyelids wouldn’t let me. Finally at around 2 in the morning (PST), I checked my phone and learned that the big dramatic announcement was 95-year-old Prince Philip deciding that he’s too old to cut ribbons at events. Prince Philip is retiring from doing public events. That was the announcement. Damn that sneaky old coot for fucking with my sleep like that. He’s good.