I’d like to issue a Royal Happiness Decree. This goes to every spoiled little brat who thinks her backend does not stink and that she’s Daddy’s little princess.
It’s all true! You are!
There is a fantastical place called England, where great Dragons snatch up damsels and the people drive on the wrong side of the road! They play footsie and canoodle, all while sipping on tee and greeting each other with a Pip Pip Cheerio, Gov’nor! Oh, what a magical place where one’s poop does not stink and your cheeks shine a rosy pink!
In the great kingdom, did you know you can go to college, be a slutty college girl who has permaO mouth syndrome from having so many fraternal phallus’ inserted within, and still be a princess who is called lovely, classy and lives in a magical palace with antiquted Kings, And Bellboys and Chimney Sweeps. Chim, chim cheeree!
There is is. That’s Princess Pippa, the Sallydallying, tongue tingling you better bet you’re getting lucky tonight Ducheess of Boirguessous or whatever title she will take up. Shirtless. Check. Vajazzled prominence, likely. No visible tan lines on a tanned body so she bathes naked and nude of the sun rays. You betcha!
The is a Momma Bare alright and that guy has the smug look of a snake charmer whose found a warm place to roost for the night. Is this really how the civilized royals act. Am I to believe the drunken whores at the next ‘ice cream social’ I visit are all perfectly capable princesses’?
What a terrible, terrible fairy tale. Though, indeed, that guy is getting some tail.