1. I’ve always been hard pressed to give a rip about the inbred royals and their spawn.

    1. They are, at minimum, better looking, and more interesting, than the political class parasites it is the Royals’ job to run cover for.

      1. The chick I was dating when these two became roadkill (I’m assuming that’s the Arab gigolo leering behind her) was unbearable for a time. You’d have thought Di was family, the way she was carrying on. I had to keep the eye rolls and sarcasm to a minimum so as to keep getting laid.

  2. Caption; “Princess Di in a snit, minutes after somebody has explained the concept “Dynastic Marriage” to her.”

  3. “White Privilege®: wearing designer clothes as you become a stain on the pavement.”


    Man – “nah, we hired another driver…”

  5. Little Miss Muffet sat on her boy friend’s Tuffet and said what a Bad Girl am I, while knowing all the time her ex Prince-Husband was celebrating eating his lover’s hairy Moon Pie.

  6. She: “If that security guy doesn’t stop leering at my arse, I’m going to have him executed.”

    He: “In a heartbeat, Princess; in a heartbeat.”

  7. I was going to write something witty about:
    * trendy yet quickly-out-of-style wide lapels… and their propensity to catch errant gusts, sailing the wearer on unintended headings and at oft illegal speeds.
    * neckties in a width better-proportioned to a fellow triple his bulk.. but please, for the sake of decency, not in a hideous neon baby-hork-hork-heave blue.
    * traction-less low-quarter dress shoes no RealMan© would wear to a canary’s christening.
    I wanted to write something quite catty about:
    * the gentleman’s ill-fitting suit… and his tailor might as well make it short-sleeve since the cuffs are headed pitward anyway.
    But I am better than that.

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