Tweet
OK, nobody else sems to be saying anything about the wedding of William Windsor and Katherine Middleton, Now I don't want to upset anybody, you know, say the wrong thing or anything, but if I was a Knight of the Garter, a Marshall of the Royal Airforce or whatever he is and second in line to the throne behind Bigears I could have done better than that. Her thighs are thinner than Julia Roberts', for chrissakes. I remember when his Uncle Andrew, Bigears' brother, was getting married to that damned shop girl, the Guardian was doing jokes about Donkey Bollocks. If you had the fast cars, the big income, the retinue, would you not hold out, keeping your screaming-for-it bollocks in abeyance until you found a woman with a real nice ass, good thighs, a totally beautiful face, good skin? Don't tell me you would fall in love with some tired old deb with thin lips and thighs like a telegraph pole because I would have to slap you to wake you up. In any case, lets be honest gentlemen, he's been shagging her silly all the time, has he not? And because he is such a doofus with women and has been sexually snared, he's now got to marry her. Of course, I do understand how it is when you've been to a private school, had the whole royal family bullshit reality drummed into you until you really think you believe it, your mind becomes numb, you live in a sort of fugue state where presence of mind has been banished and your ability to select your partner has been honed down to a pre-programmed idea. The trouble is, nobody stays fugued forever. We can expect another long song and dance about is he seeing another woman, Katherin Middleton wants a divorce (oh, oh, he doesn't love me) crap and damnation in the Sun, The Mirror, The Daily Express etc. I give it about a year before the gossip starts. Just about enough time to get the third-in-line to the throne planted. My feeling generally is: poor bloke.
So you go ahead and celebrate, by all means, just count me out, I'm fed-up to the back teeth with false enthusiasm, soap-opera reporting and the fawning pathos of our sycophantic prime minister. We don't keep a television set in the house because we're not usually that stupid, but Mrs Jingogunner has gone to Harry and Grace's to watch it.
So you go ahead and celebrate, by all means, just count me out, I'm fed-up to the back teeth with false enthusiasm, soap-opera reporting and the fawning pathos of our sycophantic prime minister. We don't keep a television set in the house because we're not usually that stupid, but Mrs Jingogunner has gone to Harry and Grace's to watch it.
Comment