And I’ve made my official place on a suicide watch list somewhere.
Even though Prince Hot Ginge publicly defended his girlfriend Meghan Markle against racist gross shit, and she was on a 100% Kensington Palace-approved cover of Vanity Fair, and they’ve been photographed everywhere together, some crazy bitches in denial (Why is everyone looking at me?) thought that maybe just maybe, they wouldn’t get engaged and he’d realize that he has a duty to the people. He has a duty to remain single so that the delusional, hard-up whores out there (You’re doing it again, you’re looking at me) think that they have an actual chance with a straight British prince who doesn’t even know or care that they’ve alive. But it looks like the engagement ring necklace (aka a copper-colored cock ring I wear around my neck) that Prince Hot Ginge (aka a PHG cuddle pillow) gave me will soon mean nothing, because these two are totally getting engaged now that they’ve made their official hand-holding official debut at an official event! Let me say official just one more time…
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
I hear your “Green is totally Prince Philip’s color!” jokes.
THIS BITCH. THIS GOAT.
No, that goat isn’t overflowing with smugness because it’s wearing an extra fancy, emerald green royal cape with an even fancier gold broach. It knows that cape is ugly and looks like a table runner bought at a Bombay Company outlet. No, that goat isn’t exuding potent smugness because it’s perfectly curled horns are dipped in sparkly silver paint. It knows gold is more its color. No, that goat isn’t smugging out of all of its pores because its goatee is more luxurious, soft and luscious than Duchess Kate’s Breck Girl mane. It has no reason to be smug since for years it has know its hair game shits on Duchess Kate’s hair game. It is farting and burping up massive amounts of smugness because Prince Hot Ginge is stroking it and giving it some love like it’s the only living thing in the world. Bitch is kicking away the jealous haters with its eyes. I guess there comes a time in every ho’s life when he or she feels jealousy toward a goat with silver-tipped horns.
At the 50th anniversary screening of Zulu in London yesterday, Prince Hot Ginge sashayed down the red carpet and he stopped everything to share a beautiful moment with that home wrecking ass smug goat (Yes that bitch is wrecking a home. It’s wrecking the invisible home I built with PHG in my mind.) After the goat and PHG bonded on the red carpet, they skipped the movie and got drunk on every kind of vodka together. We shouldn’t be surprised if in a few months we see a bunch of ginger goat babies wobbling around Buckingham Palace. Yes, I’ve thought about this way too much.
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.
When it was announced that NBC is pulling Murder, She Wrote (aka the show of choice for oldies in the 80s to fall asleep to) out of the retirement home and young-ing it up by casting 43-year-old Octavia Spencer in the lead, I got the scareds, because I figured it’s only a matter of time before those evil whores in Hollywood remake Golden Girls and young up that flawless masterpiece by casting a bunch of young whores. (Note: I’m wrong for putting that idea into the universe and I will murder a bitch with a cheesecake if that happens.) Just like Golden Girls, the whole point of Murder, She Wrote is that Jessica Fletcher is a seasoned beauty. Angela Lansbury agrees and told AP that she thinks NBC shouldn’t call it “Murder, She Wrote,” because it’s a show that cannot be duplicated.
“I think it’s a mistake to call it ‘Murder, She Wrote,’ because ‘Murder, She Wrote’ will always be about a Cabot Cove and this wonderful little group of people who told those lovely stories and enjoyed a piece of that place, and also enjoyed Jessica Fletcher, who is a rare and very individual kind of person … So I’m sorry that they have to use the title ‘Murder, She Wrote,’ even though they have access to it and it’s their right. I saw [Octavia] in ‘The Help’ and thought she was absolutely wonderful, a lovely actress. So I wish her well, but I wish it wasn’t in ‘Murder, She Wrote.’”
NBC is probably going to call it “Murder, She Wrote On Her Facebook Status,” (since Facebook is for the olds only) so technically they’re granting Angela’s wish.
Deadline says that it’s kind of funny that Angela has sharpened her shank and pointed it at the NBC peacock’s neck, because when NBC decided to remake Murder, She Wrote, they immediately told her people that they want her to be a part of it. Octavia isn’t playing Jessica Fletcher, so they want Angela to bring her character back. NBC also hasn’t decided if they’re going to name it Murder, She Wrote or not.
If Deadline is spitting out the truth, then Octavia isn’t going to play Jessica Fletcher and NBC might not even name this shit Murder, She Wrote? So it’s basically just a show about a lady who solves murders. They just used the Murder, She Wrote name to get attention and to piss Angela Lansbury off. I don’t really blame the NBC execs for that, because you really haven’t lived a full life until you’ve gotten an e-mail from the desk of Angela Lansbury that reads, “I will cut you cunts wide open for this.“
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.