29 September, 2006
27 September, 2006
The following is an actual handwriting analysis we had done on Mary's signature as it appears at the bottom of her pre-nuptial agreement. The text below has only been modified in format, not in word. Swear.
Hard righthand slant
Mary is a very emotional person with a broad range of emotions from the highest highs to the lowest lows. She feels emotional situations very strongly. She'll flash to the very peaks of elation, sweeping everything before her. Then she will burn out emotionally. These mood swings can be very disturbing to her. Sometimes, she feels that she can no longer produce anything. But, after given some time alone to "recharge her emotional batteries", she will spring back into action. Mary reacts impulsively, without much thought before hand. She may plan everything in detail before she even begins, then do it completely different when the time comes to carry it through. Mary has a strong need for affection. She thrives on touching and being touched. Mary desires being told that she is loved, every day. She enjoys being the center of attention. She loves attention, sometimes she even retells stories that got her attention earlier. She likes expressing how she feels, what she is doing, and what she plans to do. She is a people person. She will work most efficiently in a people orientated job as opposed to a job working alone on an assembly line (that would drive her insane.)
The strong verticality with a righthand slant indicates someone that is impulsive, future directed, and needs to be supported by others. Mary possesses an intense personality, but has learned to control this intensity in the public eye. As you get to know Mary, you see this side of her.
Average height letters
People that write their letters in an average height and average size are moderate in their ability to interact socially. Mary is no wallflower, nor does she command the attention of a full room.
Mary is an ambitious, optimistic person with a can-do attitude.
Large and elaborate capitals followed by smaller letters
Mary has a desire to be noticed. She loves showmanship, and has a strong flair that is displayed in her choices of clothing, hairstyle, automobile and home. She does not shy away from having her ego on display.
Sharp, angular M with tail beginning at baseline
Mary can feel overwhelmed by feelings of resentment. Inflexible beginning strokes at the beginning of a word with a stroke starting at the baseline and remaining rigidly straight indicates that Mary is harboring anger, resentment or hate toward something or someone.
Beginning M has progressively smaller mounds
Diplomacy is one of Mary's best attributes. She has mastered the ability with others to say what others want to hear. She can have tact with others. She has the ability to state things in such a way as to not offend someone else. Mary can disagree without being disagreeable.
Inner o's and a's not entirely closed, with or without loops
Mary is talkative. She enjoys talking and socializing. She may talk when there is absolutely nothing important to say. She enjoys speaking.
Ending Y, open loop, not triangular
Something is incomplete in Mary's life. She feels frustration relating to her physical needs and desires. Somewhere in her life there is some disappointment, non-fulfillment, and interruption. This is very likely to relate to Mary's sexual needs.
Hard verticality and slant at inner d's and t's, like a teepee
When Mary expresses an opinion on a issue she will stick to that opinion, and probably will not change her mind. In other words... Mary is stubborn. When she is wrong about something that she has decided upon, she will have trouble admitting she is wrong. Changing Mary's mind can be very difficult. Once Mary makes up her mind, she doesn't want to be confused with the facts!
Softer, more fluid inner m's and n's
Mary is a cumulative and procedural thinker. She likes to have all the facts before making a decision. She thinks or creates much like a brick mason, stacking fact upon fact. Her thought pattern or the conclusion will not be complete until the last fact is in place. Like that brick wall, Mary learns faster through visual demonstration than through quick verbal instructions. Once she has learned new material, and understood it, she won't forget. Mary is a methodical thinker, therefore she is able to build things and come up with new ideas. In an argument, she often loses to rapid thinking people because she is thinking thirty minutes later about what she should have said. These people often are very booksmart, but can be out-gunned in a rapid fire verbal debate. She may learn new ideas at a slower pace than other "less detailed" people, but once she gets it, she can handle repetition. Some people hate jobs with too much repetition, she can handle it better than most.
Full Anthropological analysis : Maximumus Tightblackjeanus Withmulletus.
First identified as a sub-species during the mid-70s, the Melbourne Bogan is thought to be a close relation of the Booner (found in Canberra’s outer suburbs), the Westie (spread throughout Western Sydney), the Bevan (Bribane) and Tasmania's contribution, the Chigger, and not just cuz it makes you itch. They are usually of Anglo Irish breeding stock and are generally found around the lower two rungs of the “Latham Ladder” trying desparately to get to the next one only to be beaten off by better educated WASPs and people of NESP (non-English speaking) backgrounds. They have no real tangible aspirations in life apart from feeling part of the Bogan Clan, having a full pack of Winfields, a box of JB Cans, a Holden Commodore in the driveway, and an attitude you could cut with a gun shearer’s blade. The typical lair of a bogan will have a full on JB Hi Fi/Video system, a well stocked frij (drinks & Jenny Craig food modules only) a show-piece pine wall unit with mirror, flimsy bought on tick tables etc, frilly bed covers, lots of dork mirrors, big fluffy toys, posters of banal pop & movie stars (or even worse, themselves & older Bogans may have a poster of the “King” = Elvis), walls/doors with holes punched/kicked in them and the only book in the lair will be the yellow pages with all the “Car Wrecker” pages heavily dog eared/marked. The place will have a foul odour which is a mix of fat from grilled lamb chops, cheap perfume and clothes with a high bacteria count as they were left stacked up on top of the machine for 4 days when wet & never dried properly. Occasionally there may be an acoustic guitar with 4 of the 6 strings left and some Bogans now have computers so that they can communicate with other Bogans for “Cyber S@x” and “clandestine meetings” outside of their own clan.
It is believed the initial Melbourne population was introduced to purpose-built habitats such as Frankston and Dandenong. However, by the mid-80s, the species had multiplied to plague proportions, spreading through much of Footscray and further Western regions. While authorities considered a culling program, they need not have bothered, as the regional population began a rapid decline from the early ’90s onwards. The situation reached a critical juncture, with Bogans rarely sighted in Melbourne, and those remaining clinging to the region’s outskirts. As of the year 2000, the species has been now declared officially endangered, although Kath & Kim re-runs will never allow the species to die out completely.
Identifying a Bogan is not difficult. Males sport a distinctive hair growth called a “mullet” (short front and sides, long at back). Some scientists believe the growth is genetic, while others argue it is a product of nurture, as even extremely young males seem coerced by parents to adopt the growth. Other distinguishing male characteristics include a tight, black denim covering on the hind limbs and bright flannelette markings on the forepaws and belly. Males adopt a dominant status within the community, with a vague sense of rank defined by the ownership of aging Ford and Holden motor vehicles.
In this day and age when the blue-collar Bogan can make more money as an electrician, roofer or plumber than his white collar equivalent, there is now the emergence of a new sub-species of Bogan called the "cashed-up bogan" or CUB. Cubbies may live in McMansions, but they still serve up baked beans and beer at supper time. Crown Princess Mary of Denmark is the patron saint of female Cubbies which proves you can never be too rich, too tacky, or too badly dressed, as long as you are true to the Bogan Clan.
Female Bogans are entrusted with the raising of multiple offspring, a role they perform from a young age and often without the presence of the male. They may be similarly identified through distinctive denim markings, though the colour is usually “stonewash”. In warmer weather, females have been known to shed the lower layer of denim to just below the genital area, resulting in a "cut-off"/"easy-in-easy-out" effect. Physical appearance includes looking ridden hard and hung up wet, despite layers of make-up applied in an attempt to look healthy.
Both males and females have been known to cover their lower hind-limbs with furry pouches called “ugg-boots.” While the wild population of Bogans is dwindling, it is still possible to view them in their natural environment. The species has been known to congregate around regional “shopping malls”, where family units often come to settle domestic issues using high-pitched wailing sounds. After sunset, younger males and females meet in small dark enclaves known “Taverns” where they consume large amounts of a liquid called “Bourbon.”
There are numerous factors attributed to the decline of the local Bogan population. Scientists have identified the unpopularity of stadium rock as a contributing cause, while the development of adequate social infrastructure (ie. schools, medium-density housing) may have fragmented the species. More controversial theories suggest many bogans may have removed their mullets, purchased “cargo pants” and attempted to integrate themselves in Melbourne’s mainstream population, but these claims are yet to be substantiated. Some older males buy Harley Davidson motor cycles and become involved with other anti social groups who have ancestors linked to the first 18th c. fleets of jetsom from Portsmouth & Mersyside.
At present there seems little hope of restoring the Bogan population to its previous levels. Recent attempts by the Federal Government have included the development of a new artificial habitat in outer Melbourne named “Sunbury”, but it seems this area may be too close to civilised air travel to attract large numbers of the species. More successful has been an enclosed breeding program in Canberra called “Summernats”, which takes place annually at the National Exhibition complex in Watson. The program has proven highly effective, combining motor vehicles and bourbon with rampant displays of female sexuality. Authorities recently introduced a V8 Supercar race with similar results, and have attracted Bogan elders AC/DC for a brief national visit early next year.
Footnotes: Taxonomy record needs to be revised considerably here: there is a thriving bogan population in eastern Sydney, due to adaptation by the species and crossbreeding. Prominent examples are Amber Petty and Shari-Lea Hitchcock. It is quite common for bogans to have been bred in exclusive private schools: witness Amber Petty and Mark Alexander-Erber of Pubboy.
There are many behavioral variants amongst bogans: the Tuggeranong, ACT population is more likely to mate for life, while the Eastern Suburbs bogan is more inclined to “bedhop”. This may be due to access to plumage discards from former bogans such as Princess Mary of Denmark. Rare footage of Amber Petty has been posted showing her rolling on a mattress with skinned knees and in her fuschia bridesmaid gear from the Danish royal wedding in May 2004.
Whether there is such an animal as a ‘former bogan’ has not been researched; I am inclined to the belief that once a bogan always a bogan. Princess Mary’s cousin, the aptly named Johncock, has recently been jailed on rape charges, which indicates ongoing bogan status for the princess. The tragedy that is little Prince Christian is becoming difficult for even the fawning Danish pink press to ignore. There is also the interesting issue of bogan ‘bleed’ intra-familia. It has been observed that the Danish Royal Family are beginning to take on certain bogan traits. In the extreme case of Crown Prince Frederik, he only needed approximately five minutes in the company of his future bride at the Slip Inn before a latent Inner Bogan was brought to the surface; within weeks the product of 1000 years of careful royal breeding was slurping processed cereal from the sofa in his undies, chatting with the city sex officer/roommate whilst the Bogan conquest continued to sleep. Yet Frederik's royal cousins seemed immune to the affects of their own Olympic slumming. Also it is interesting to note that footage of the 2004 bogan-royal wedding as watched under black light shows a strange laser-like beam eminating from the open kilt of the Boganson clan laird toward his new royal in-laws on the other side of the aisle. No wonder non-bogan, non-royal-origined Alexandra felt the need to excuse herself from further proceedings within the DRF. This fascinating bogan-royal trait-swapping is a topic of ongoing research. Relative information of interest should be addressed to contributing researcher Yehudi Geldstein, MD: email@example.com.
This excellent article has also missed the presence in the West Melbourne population of the ORIGINAL bogan footwear, a black sheepskin moccasin worn with a tight denim miniskirt. Amber Petty is one of the most studied bogans in Australia; considerable research notes have been published in an obscure journal, http://www.rbhq.net/, Royal Blue Forums, which is haunted by another "disguised bogan" fraternity consisting of royalists. This fraternity was discovered by the anthropologist Emma Tom during research for her recently published biography of Princess Mary. The case study of Amber Petty and Shari-Lea Hitchcock is ongoing, so research notes are welcome by email to: firstname.lastname@example.org
Fred's Shopping List
Crikey! Look at what I just found near the front doors of the Fredensborg Netto! It would seem to be a note from someone named "F." at Kancellihuset to someone named Per asking them to pick up some things for them. And lookie here at the list, someone must be planning a blow-out of a party. Either that, or he's married to a real battle axe! Ha ha, I'm sure that's not it.
But what's this? A little aside to this Per to not tell Mary? Hm, wonder who this "F." is!? Boy, does this Mary have him on a short lead! I wonder if he knows Fred and Mary over at the castle, given the funny co-inky-dink? Well, whoever he is, there's only one thing to say to him, and that's JEEZ, MAN, GET A GRIP ON YOURSELF! And by the way, it's spelled T-E-Q-U-I-L-A!
23 September, 2006
Praha, not Prada
"At first when you know Per suggested the idea of spending two days in Prada, of course I was all, hell yeah, like anyone would be, as you can imagine. And this was like back in April. So he's all like well you know we have to have time to make the arrangements so we'll like shoot for a September date, and of course at that point I'm all like, ok, CHECKING OUT. Scheduling details are YOUR JOB. Then he was all like you know we just want it to be special and I'm like hell yeah THAT'S what we pay you for baby, keep it up and maybe, that's a MAYBE, Per, you can look forward to, oh I don't know, something special like a Christmas ham this year as a BONUS. A HONEY ham at that you know. But ONLY IF YOU KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK. What the hell is THAT look?
So, anyway, he's all promising like my fantasy, except without the photographers, editors and cheering fans in the background, but for two days in Prada, HELLO, whatever, like, I'll deal with it. Then what the hell happens but losy stupid September rolls in - do you have ANY idea how bad any month except July IS in Denmark!? - and like he's all, so are you ready, and I'm all, hell, man, I was BORN ready for THIS, move it. And he's all where are your bags, and I'm all HELLO DINGDONG, I'll be using their bags to take the booty home. Then he like gets this really stupid look on his face like he has NO idea what I'm talking about - I am SO sick of that face - and then I'm all looking at him back and Caroline's like NO bloody help since she's on the phone with Fred and of course getting nowhere, as is the norm when baby boy has a hangover. So after we land I realize that the pilot got TOTALLY mixed up and took us to PRAGUE of all godforsaken and unfashionable communist shit holes. I REALLY had to give it to Per up one side and down the next. I just hope that guy I met back in '97 doesn't figure out I'm here, even thought I'm probably all over the news today. I mean, he was really hot in that tattoo'd wimpy boy way I go for that says: I'm trying too hard on the outside, but I'm all mush on the inside, but still for reals, I just can NOT be entertaining actually getting back together with him because HELLO, it was like a holiday thing, just a little slap and tickle on my way back home. He wasn't even a rugby player, man. I mean, I NEEDED a release, I'd been like holed up for three months in goddamn bloody depressing Scotland for shit's sake, stuck with my rellos and thanking my lucky stars that I got a better deal on accents and dentistry, even if I saw my sad genetic future pass before my eyes. That reminds me, I should call my sister Jane and see how she's doing.
So, anyway, as long as I have to be stuck in this hell hole, it's nice to be able to call people up and make them have lunch with me, so thanks. 'Course, soon as they buzz me that the mix-up has been straightened out, I'll be on my way. But at least you people speak English. Have you ever had a horrible day like I'm having today? Sucks, doesn't it?"
20 September, 2006
Mary drags Fred to old school and loses 20 fans in the process
In this cutting room floor out-take from the DR-sponsored, so-called Marymentary, watch how Mary bores Fred and twenty Tassie schoolchildren to tears with her "personal magnetism, warmth and charisma".
What on earth does she mean by, "if you were lucky enough to get lunch money"? Boganson poverty or punishment method? But if you look hard enough, you can briefly see a thought bubble appear above Freddles's head, as Meeeery is yammering on about handball, that says, "how in the HELL can I get OUT OF THIS NIGHTMARE!?!?"
You and me, both, babe. You and me, both.
13 September, 2006
Bored? Down? Things not going well? Take a few minutes to lift your mood and have some harmless fun. See what others have done. Expand on it. Go your own route. Get creative. Get IN THE ZONE. Most of all, show the DRF suits just WHO'S STEALING WHO'S THUNDER and help them realise the failings of their wonder-princess.
Who is Mary?
09 September, 2006
Mary advises Amber
06 September 2006
Miss Amber Petty,
WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON WITH YOU?
I wanted to be able to confide in you and tell you MY news and what happens? You get further out there in the public eye and I’m having to counsel YOU instead. I tell you, Amber, I’m starting to almost regret making you my best friend. I can recall Beatrice Tarnawski, you know. I mean, she was indiscreet, but she’s starting to look deaf and dumb compared to you.
Do I have to remind you where to draw the line? NO MENTION OF YEHUDI GELDSTEIN even if you’re as pissed as a newt and leaning up against a pub wall. You are really out on a psychic bender these days – did you catch malaria or yellow fever on Celebrity Survivor island or something? Or is this the mood your new beau puts you in (LOVELY!)? What’s with this crud about him being a Maori king or something. I watched coverage of the funeral of the Maori queen Te Arikinui in New Zealand and he was nowhere to be seen. So next thing the press is going to get hold of you for claiming a close association with yet another royal family. Do you mind thinking about me before you choose your boyfriends?
Whatever it is, GET A FREAKING GRIP ON YOURSELF, because I need you to strike a better balance between being a decoy in the press for me and a foil. You know the drill, must I remind you? You are to look just slightly less beautiful and classy than me. NOT like a crack whore. At least they’ve done me a favour with my LIW. God she’s ugly compared to me. No class.
I know you think you’re trying, but can’t you see that I have a MILLION things going on right now? You don’t understand. When you’re kept in cotton wool like me, you get really, really sensitive to things like the smell of ordinary people. It’s awful. It’s like a DISABILITY. Can you not get a whiff all the way over there of the falafel that has clung to me like desperate ladies on deposed royalty since I had to go over to this freaking TERROR CELL outside of Odense and pretend to like them and their bloody awful food and immigration issues? (Must warn you, Ambs, when you next come to Denmark you will HAVE to pay very close attention to your personal hygiene when you are close to me unless we’re outdoors together. Even then you might be a bit whiffy.)
And that damn Vollsmose visit was all for nothing. I mean, really, they arrest nine terror suspects like a week after I leave, washing away all of the PR, and all the good, kind and decent hardcore humanitarian work I did there in the course of an afternoon. Medecins sans fronts have NOTHING on me, I tell you. I really really worked so hard to care and smile at them and pretend that the headscarf thing is not just the WORST fashion statement one could make – HELLO, it makes your hair FLAT. And people were behaving like I’m new to reffos. We had a family of Afghanis in Tasmania before I left, and their rellos kept being released from detention and heading for Tasmania. Ha! Turns out their credentials were all fake and they got sent packing back to where they came from. Come to think of it, let’s NOT GO THERE. Seen the latest New Idea? “Mary To Be Sent Packing From Denmark”. The Australian Embassy had to quickly counter that with a puff piece. The press wouldn’t do it for us. So the Secretary to the Ambassador invented some crap about Frederik and me arriving with a bottle of wine and behaving like a relaxed middle-class couple.
Anyway, back to my travails with the great unwashed. If I relive the day and tell you about it maybe I’ll be detraumatised and process the trauma a little. Do these people realise how little their boat journey stacks up against my trauma? Really, Amb, you should have seen me, I really was ALL SMILES and made sure everyone got a wave. Per was saying that it is really important to make these people bask in my royal glow. Maybe they’re right. I really think that is exactly what they needed, a role model about dealing graciously with adversity and smiling through it - so whatever I guess Daisy’s peeps were right to send me there. I am just the ray of sunshine they need. It’s just such a gloomy place and totally depressing and they’re really poor – ugh, such LOW ceilings - and think that no one likes them which must SUCK, so I tried to pretend I was back at the king of Sweden’s 60th birthday party when I was all totally not feeling it and had to put up with all those crazy blond bimbos STEALING MY THUNDER. Yes, that horse-toothed Marie-Chantal was there! So there I was trying to be, what’s the word, inpathetic, and remember how I felt in Stockholm and realize that these poor people must have felt a thousand times worse. At least I was ROCKING my aquamarines. By the way, remind me to remind that husband of mine that my BUBBLE GUM MACHINE TIARA that his stupid parents gave me is completely, totally, one million percent INSUFFICIENT! Goddamn happy relaxed Maxima! GRRRR.
And so there I was just bubbly, wonderful and so pretty (I wore that fake Chanel suit that Malene whipped up for me that I wore to the American Ambassador’s wife’s breast cancer lunch – I’ll tell you one day about what Pops is up to with them. Ohmygod!) and I just strode into this house where Caroline and I were supposed to eat lunch and just plopped myself down without being invited to, like I was just so eager to eat what they’d given me, and they all were so happy and just couldn’t get enough of me. I made myself try at least a bite of everything so they wouldn’t get upset and try to shoot down an SAS flight in retaliation, and it wasn’t really all that bad. I was worried when we were about 10 metres away from the front door and it was like smelling the lamb kebabs at the Ali Baba franchises around Surry Hills on the way back to Bondi Junction from the Stone Wall and I was so worried that I’d have to breath through my mouth but it was cool. I didn’t finish everything because HELLO I’ve got a figure to keep up – and they don’t have extra bathrooms to deal with butt leak from a gallbladder op (I’m starting to regret that as a weight loss regime) - but Caroline hoovered the yellow rice stuff like it was going out of style. Sometimes, she just REALLY embarrasses me. And we talked about Christian of course and how great a baby he is and how cute they think he is (FAT) and I just kept wondering to myself why they are so bloody depressed about immigrant status. It’s not like it’s hard or anything, and they all speak the language, so big whoop. Now, if they’re depressed about having to live in this country now, well JOIN THE CLUB. But of course I ran out of there like a bat out of hell when it was over, though I was a master and kept smiling and waving like a pro! My image makeover as the new Diana is totally going to work. I may just have to apologise to the chimney-in-laws’ court for setting this up for me, but I guess they were on to something and could see my inner light and how it could help others and make them feel SOOOO much better about themselves.
So after that nonsense, then I had to jump a flight to Newport ASAP since one of Fred’s crew members I’ve hired as a spy emailed me that there were some pretty hot American girls around and even though THAT is hard to imagine among the sailing crowd, I got Fred’s Lego friend to get his private jet fueled up to take me and the bub over to the regatta. What a nerve baby boy has! So since I was never supposed to come, they’re all stumbling over themselves to put together an ID badge for me and get a room upgrade so that the baby and I can spread out. The food’s not bad here, but it’s mostly a liquid lunch these types enjoy. I’m going to start smelling like the QUEEN MOTHER if I’m around anymore gin, for god’s sake. And by the way, can I have a cracker THAT ISN’T STALE, PLEASE? Wasps! What is it about stupid rich people and not spending money!? I will NEVER understand that. They all look at me sometimes it seems as if I don’t belong and I KNOW that’s not true. Like I revealed in my pre-wedding Ninka MEnterview (haha I just made that up!), I am absolutely convinced that even though I never sailed before I met Fred that if we hadn’t met at the Slip Inn, we would have met in Hobart at a regatta. Even though I was living in Sydney to get away from that crazy backwater. Some things, Amber, you just KNOW. I was BORN to be royal.
So anyway I had to read Freddo the riot act once the kid and I got to the docks. What a look on his face! Did I ever tell you how I had to bite his freaking HEAD off (not that kind, Amb, although it’s a good idea) during the honeymoon in Kenya or Tanzania, wherever the hell we were, after he got furious that we were missing Felipe’s wedding to that skinny LOOKER ME witch who thinks she’s all that and some Rioja, too? We just had it out and I laid down the law with him. You should have heard his pathetic arguments to make me make concessions. I DON’T THINK SO, BABYCAKES! WHO was the one who gave up the most beautiful country in the world for a cold piece of Siberia and slow residents? HUH? WHO was the one who gave up cool, hip friends for his hangers-on? I was like THAT with Siimon Reynolds donchaknow. WHO was the one who had to get fat because of her pregnancy? WHO was the one who had to learn a new, stupid, impossible language? WHO was the one who had to endure his indecision and waffling while waiting in stupid Paris teaching stupid idiot French people English? ME, big boy! Me me me me ME! Not him. Me. He’s had to do NOTHING. So I’m just evening the score. Plus, if he cuts into my clothing budget anymore with his liquor bills someone’s going to have to report to HRH Mary Anonymous and say, “hi, I’m Fred, and I’m a scotch-aholic and afraid of both my mummy and my Mor!” I swear he has totally hijacked that stuffed polar bear toy I gave the baby for Christmas and sleeps with it like it’s a damn body pillow. GROW UP, KIDDO AND MEET YOUR DADDY, er, MAMA!
Listen, do NOT tell this to anyone, but I think I should have gone with an American accent at my public debut. I really like it a lot and think it fits. Which is ok, because Judy Davis does, too, and she is totally smart and respected. I’m serious, I cannot keep this Euristocratic tra-la-la bullshit up much longer. I’m NOT talking about bogan versions like from the stupid southern part, but the Newport accent is KILLER. You should hear people here, it’s like their lower jaw is frozen and it just OOOOOOZES class. It almost sounds as if people are putting me - I mean one - down, which of course can come in handy, but it also makes you look like you might have tetanus. It’s kinda English accent-y but it’s not nearly as hard. You just need to tense your muscles – which I do more and more these days – and strain to get the words out, preferably with your chin held up – which I ALSO ALREADY DO! Did you know Alistair Cook from “Letter from America” was acksherly English? And his real name was ALFRED? He was as much of a come-lately as YOU Amber! Maybe I can just make a smooth transition to Newport-speak in a really methodical and imperceptible way in my future public appearances in front of the Slow Ones. They’d never realize it, anyway. Like, remember the time when that asshole actually asked what I thought of the Tasmanian Devils at the zoo and I had to remind him, HELLO, DINGDONG, could you maybe next time listen to my speech that I just gave, cause I kinda lay it all out in there. GOD!
But I’ve mostly just made an appearance here to scare Fred into staying in line. I’m heading over to New York as soon as the club babysitter arrives. I’ve confirmed with them that she must be ugly and fat even if that’s an extra charge. I have GOT to get out of here and get some clothes and chat with Yehudi – he has NOT been returning my calls or emails. He’s slinking around thinking he can get away with inserting rejigged Kate Fischer genes into my baby. I checked out her rellos and they’re at least as scary as Dad’s teeth. OK, maybe they have similar genes. Her mum Pru Goward has been sleeping with the Prime Minister for decades. Some feminist. I NEED Yehudi unfortunately. He’s the only unethical enough geneticist I can locate outside the Balkans. And I’m not risking unwashed Albanian or Romanian genes in my next baby.
So Amber whose genes should I get the Danish Secret Service to steal for the next bub? I was thinking Maori royalty. What do you think? Give Daisy a fright!! I’d love that.
Keeping it real,