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Regular updates of sarcastic and irreverent nonsense.
Hello, finest people of the British Empire, ‘tis Prince William here!
No doubt you’re all aware of the hullaballoo surrounding the expulsion of the Royal Foetus from within one’s wife’s womb. After all, pappa tells me that it’s been all over the BBC channels and it seems that even those ghastly perverts over on that Channel 4 thing are talking about it as well! Spiffo, I say! The Royal Bedding that took place nine months ago was a jolly frantic couple of minutes, and I’m awfully pleased that the entire country is as excited about it as I am – I simply cannot wait for the next one!
In the aftermath of all this frivolity, a frantic debate has arisen about who’s going to have the placenta. Now, although I have no doubt that it would make a splendid souvenir to remember the occasion by, I’ve decided not to place my hat into the ring – after all, I’ll be allowed to hold the baby on birthdays and during outings to Windsor Legoland, so there’s no point in being greedy whilst there’s still plenty to go round.
After a fair amount of consultation with the family, it’s been agreed that Grandmama’s little corgi dogs are the frontrunners in this race for ownership of the afterbirth. And why not? They put in a jolly good performance during their time in the maternity ward; whilst the doctors and nurses were running around like headless chickens, the good little doggies were as calm as a button as they played dead and rolled over on my command. You should have seen the look on Kate’s face when they started lapping up the mess she had left on the bed! Priceless!
I’m going to leave the decision for naming the baby down to Harry. He’s a real wag when it comes to things like that, and I’m keeping my fingers crossed for Gertrude or Biff.
Hi, fans. This week has been a bit of an odd one for me. When I opened my front door this morning, I was rather shocked to see that the world wasn’t on fire. I mean, it’s been at least three days since a journalist last asked my opinion on something, so naturally I assumed that something bad was happening. As it happens, the last time I experienced such a lull of interest was when Princess Diana’s spleen was being smeared halfway across a highway in Paris.
Actually, that reminds me: I’m sick and tired of seeing her sons living the high life at our expense. I’d love nothing more than to be able arrange for some scum-sucking parasites to chase my own mother down a French road in the middle of the night, if it meant I got to live in a big palace for the rest of my life. However, that’s not an option available to us ordinary, hard-working folk who don’t have the luxury of relying on our past glories to make a few quid every now and then.
The other day I stepped out into my back garden, and accidentally trod on a snail. Although he was technically trespassing, I actually felt sorry for the little blighter and I’ve decided to write a song in his memory. This is what I’ve got so far:
I treaded on a snail
He made a noisy squish
We could have been buddies
He went nicely with my tuna salad dish
It’s still early days, but you can feel the emotional trauma coming off it in waves already. I’m yet to commit to a name for it, as it’s all about getting the right balance between artistic integrity and the whole ‘Ooooh, me guts were squished on the floor and now I’m dead’ vibe.
I reckon I might settle with calling it Diana.
Scandal has yet again struck Buckingham Palace with the news that Britain’s most famous OAP has been replaced with a “Ghastly robotic clone that is nonetheless jolly convincing.” Suspicions about Her Maj. were first raised a few weeks ago when she “Suddenly started winning the arm-wrestling competitions,” and developed a “new-found affection for cannonballs and motor oil.”
Prince Philip said he first noticed that something was up “When I first overheard her flirting with the cutlery.” Maintenance engineers were initially surprised when she started asking questions about the Palace showers. “She seemed really fascinated about whether we were in a soft water or a hard water area and what effect that might have on metal exo-skeletons. I thought that Wolverine from the X-Men might be coming to stay but it all makes sense now.”
Robert Willow of The Royals Are Aliens Society has said that “This is further proof that we’re under attack,” and it is yet another example of the monarchy being behind the times after it was discovered that “Some of the flowers at the Golden Jubilee were made of plastic.”
Security has been ramped up at the Palace and the paranoia means that “The occasional false alarm is raised.” One nervous maid passed out with shock when “I saw a tall, skinny zombie with a droopy face making strange noises in one of the bedrooms.” Everyone was evacuated and Scotland Yard performed a full sweep of the area.
“Turns out it was just Prince Charles stepping out of the shower.”
Hi there subjects, Prince William here. I hope you are all receiving my message loud and clear on this here web-interface-blog thingymejot, for I have something important to say. About six months ago, I married a jolly nice middle-class girl called Kate Middleton and do you know what? She ain’t half a pretty one! It’s an extraordinary occurrence given her lack of breeding, but it’s true and I can’t quite believe that I’ve only just noticed it. I haven’t yet decided whether to tell her this as I am frightfully worried of giving her the wrong impression of me. So far we have mostly exchanged friendly pleasantries in the hallways and the occasional friendly smile from across the banquet table, but other than that I don’t really know much about her. Which is a damn shame, really.
Now, I don’t claim to be an expert on girls but what I want to know is where this pretty face of hers came from – it definitely wasn’t there back when we got married. I have heard many tales about the tricks and craftiness of women, but had always poo-pooed them before. Now, however, I’m not so sure. I have to consider the possibility that she is trying to gain full access to my princely crown jewels and it is no joke when I say that they are very delicate things indeed. They have several hundred years of vintage heritage behind them and when I asked the man in the tower about them, he said that they shouldn’t be handled too roughly. Worst case scenario is that they could disintegrate and turn to dust! What a horror of a thought!
One thing that I have noticed about Kate, is that she keeps carrying this little leather bag around with her. Grandmama Queeny told me that it is a ladies handbag and I have to say I am utterly enthralled with the concept of such a thing. What on earth is inside it? Fountain pens for signing the servant’s overtime slips? Choccy treats for the corgies? Frogs legs and beetles for casting mind-control spells…? Perhaps I could ask Prince Harry about it, he seems to get on well with her. I often see them laughing and joking together and I believe they go horse-riding as well. He always knows about these sorts of things.
I have also noticed that her sister, Pippa Middleton, has a cracking little arse on her too.