09 February, 2007

Happy Birthday to ME

5 February 2007
Verbier, Switzerland

Happy fucking birthday to ME! It just goes from bad to worse, Amber. You have NO IDEA how really screwed up things are right now. Have you been ratting to Woman's Day for cash? You know I can't afford to pay you much at the moment - the bean counters have been checking through the accounts and category "Pay off A." came under question. I've had to change it to "Extra Whore for Fred", which is a lie of course. But the bean counters don't mind spending money on FRED. Fred gets what Fred wants. Anyone would think he was the one running the show. The fraudulent façade makes me SO ANGRY. I work so hard, do 90 per cent of our three or so gigs a month, and Fred gets 90 per cent of our pay. Just he wait. Rob Roy Woadbod said to just hold off and let it happen - he'll be bringing a big claim on my behalf down the track. That's how business partnerships work. Frigging DRF seem to think they're ABOVE the business world. Hah! Wait till I haul in my big guns! Max Markson will make mincemeat of them all! Except Alex. My nemesis. I call her the Antichrist. Can't get my head around her. What is she about? She's beyond me.

YOU aren't helping matters, Amber babe. So you thought it would be really cute if we were both expecting babies at the same time? Think again! Why would I want a half-DRF bub born just before you give birth to the offspring of a Greek God, albeit a Maori one? Yours will actually be way more royal than mine. Looks-wise, that is. I asked Yehudi to concentrate a little harder on removing the Patty genes etc., but he can only do so much. Speaking of the Boganson genes, Cece and Hester gave me the best advice I've had in ages. Well, via Rob-Roy Woadbod that is. They pointed out that the Boganson power has been transferred from the Boganson teeth exhibited by Pa and then passed on to Christian, to a sort of quasi-possum-cloak that is safely my massive mons veneris, on my person, and the DRF can't exactly rip it off me, can they? The more Brazilians, the harder it grows back. Good advice on their part to stop exhibiting it to the public under a thin layer of silken evening gown. You should have seen me at Daisy's kur this year, it came through like a hologram on my silk dress. The Mother of all Maps of Tassie! But for now, no treats for the public while those nasty magazine articles keep coming! I can feeeeeel the Boganson power right through me right now. I'm just going to leave the keyboard for a second, Amber. Putting on "busy for 10 minutes" - don't go away!

I just know Yehudi is going to deliver for me this time. I've put extra pay for Yehudi under "Whore for Fred" as well. The more smackeroonis flow Yehudi's way from me, via Rob Roy Woadbod, the more Boganson and the fewer Fred genes will surface in the baby. Wha hae!!!! Smart of him to create a sullen, autistic pudding brat in Christian, knowing he would be overlooked for a glam gal. Got Yehudi to incorporate some Anna Nicole Smith genes. The slow Danes will need much wool pulled over their eyes by the time little Queen Mary-to-be comes of age. Christ, I'll be 53 years old. Happy fucking birthday to me.

So trying to ensure a slim, beautiful new Boganson baby (we asked for a girl), I started a new diet: breadsticks and celery. I'm sure that's what Jacqueline Lee Bouvier Kennedy Onassis used to eat. She's my new role model, hence my bobbety bob. Run rabbit, run run run!!! He he wish I could point a gun at that varrrmint Fred. (Sorry Amber, I'm on these weird diet pills and I get a bit of a crack-psychosis thing happening from time to time. It ain't pretty when I get my quasi-amphetamine psychosis and Fred gets his for-real one at the same time!!!! You know EXACTLY what that's like!!!)

It's great, this diet of mini crunchy baguettes, I get so angry that I feel like with every bite I'm taking out my pain on Phred's phallus. CRUNCH!!! You should see me though, I look GREAT! I swear, you can't even tell I'm preggers! Lost 3kg just last week alone. Isn't that incredible? Weird though, having a kind of reverse pregnancy. I'm smaller than two months ago. At that stage I still cared whether the Danish public thought I was looking after the foetus. At that stage I was still bothering to look as though I occasionally carry this pudding Behemoth. I swear to God, this first spud is about to crush me, he's like one of those scary 200 pound toddlers in the supermarket check-out rags. He's like a little sumo wrestler.

Back to ME. It's my birthday after all. For a change, I'm going to be Miss Selfish today, find some time for myself. No worrying about the household accounts today. No looking after those fogey servants. I'm on the internet trying to find a hat-maker who will make me little pillbox hats, so I look even more like Audrey Hepburn... I keep the hair Søren cut in a ponytail band since Rob Roy said it was another Boganson talisman now. At first, I was swatting Fred across the cheeks with it out of anger, but it got him riled up right good sexually, so I stopped since that's not the kind of attention I want from him anymore. (Breathe girl breathe, thank god I have a smoooooth forehead girl, smooooooth forehead.)

So, I'm still in Verbier right now. WITHOUT the doting husband, mind you; he split tonight. What is it with him and blondes? I'm actually pissed off having to incorporate aforementioned Anna Nicole Smith genes in the new princess. He will only hang around and change nappies if the right genes are around. On some primordial level, if the princess is a bit of an Alma Mahler clone he will love it more. God, he can barely contain his disgust with being with me and the kid. He was only here for one night, how's that for supporting your pregnant wife. So long, sailor. Uh, who got me in this condition in the first place!? OK, so it was really Yehudi, but you know what I mean. At least half the sperm content came from Fred. Yuk. Christ, he's a namby-pamby little creep. We told the press that we'd have a cutesy-poo photoshoot in the snow, and I had to make sure the little Michelin Man was always between me and Fred, cause botox may keep the disgust out of my forehead, but there ain't no botox to prevent repulsion shudder! It goes both ways, BABY! Then we tried having lunch together and we could barely LOOK at each other. I suppose silent lunches can be rather Zen or something. Probably a LOT better on my blood pressure and skin. Of course, as soon as my old boss Peter and his chick get there, Fred's all happy and smiling again. Bastard.

So did you hear about Little Miss Perfect and her underage boytoy? They're getting married. Ha! I'll bet she's knocked up. Classy. I can't wait for that to be revealed. You know what I think? That they were doin' it when Martin and his dad came to Oz with me to put together the docuMEntary on me. I think I caught him talking to her on the phone at one point. Course, they were speaking Danish, so I've no idea what he said, but still, I'll bet that little tramp was letting him hide his salami in her larder long before I got my ruby. What the hell is she thinking? Who the hell would want to CHOOSE to stay in Denmark of all frozen places if they didn't have to and having finally escaped the clutches of my dysfunctional in-laws? For real. I told you she was crazy. And now she has to pay taxes and won't be a princess and will have to live away from the cameras. Poor girl. I guess she really does deserve some pity. Can you imagine going back to what you came from!? Shudder.

I'm hearing rumours that this might mean that Jokke the Joke might marry my better twin, that crazy ditz Marie. I CANNOT have this. I mean, look, she's clearly an IDIOT, just talk talk talk to the press, yeah, real smart. But she's also cuter than me - and that's without makeup. Dammit. If she struts in here speaking French, getting Fred and the Chimneys-in-law all excited, then I'm history. That marriage may just clear the way for the big D for me (FREEDOM!). But our solicitor Rob Roy Woadbod and Pa aren't ready for that. We've still got work to do. We've got to at least guarantee a reinstated Australian citizenship for me. What, like I'm going to pull an Alex, marry a Slow One and stay camped out on that frozen piece of hell forever? I may be wearing tundra-coloured heather-mixture woolens in the snow, but that's cuz I'm annoyed. I DO NOT DIG TUNDRA. I'll treat my public to peacock brights from time to time, but I'm not giving 'em what they want all the time. Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen.

So Dais's anaesthesiologist didn't screw up and the old hag came through knee surgery alright. So because of her having to keep her not-falling-apart-fast-enough-for-ME body at rest for the next few weeks, she won't be cramping my style when I go to Norway to one-up the peroxided druggie at her father-in-law's birthday. I don't even know if Fred's going, which would be FINE with me, 'cept his grabby father will try to make another go of it with me again and I'm not sure I can take that in my delicate state. Remind me to figure out how to say "paws off, old man" in French. And to get a more powerful anti-perspirant. I've already got a date at the laser hair removal salon, so no repeating Stockholm. NO ONE will steal my thunder this time! Goddam happy, relaxed Maxima. God, it shits me that I only see the photos after they're published. Last year I looked like an undercooked pastie rolling in weak cocoa. And the goddam household staff - they all hate me - won't spend money on razors and things I had to shave my armpits with some blunt Inuit fish-eying-knife Fred had been gouging some bits of raw fish off. His nautical pretences shit me. Sheesh! The guy's a freak. He has this eyrie up top of the house where he drinks and looks out of a maritime telescope - and chucks the empties over the edge. And pisses over the edge once he's really rolling. Christian hides behind a curtain. Now those harpie forums are saying Christian is autistic. Well who wouldn't be? Reason we decided on a chick this time is that autism is less likely in a girl. Christian better shape up since that legislation went through. Note to self: must look up that autistic Prince John who got institutionalised in England a few years ago. He was something like Fred's second cousin or something. Christ, what have I mixed my genes with!!!!

Looking on the brighter side of my life at the moment, looks like the LOOKER ME bitch in Spain prolly won't be coming to Norway. The sister killed herself. Why can't one of mine do me such a favour! God she's a smart bitch that Leti. Playing up that she comes from a family with real emotion. The little cow organized that just to show me up. She knows I could only shed a tear if I hid my face for a second and squeezed one out of a tube. Plus, the botox means I can't wrinkle my forehead even when it's a good look. Boy, is she playing it all the way for sympathy points, or what? Take it down a notch, babe! You might "harm the baby" as those damn doctors keep repeating to me. I love how she and that bitch in the Netherlands both look like they're going to explode any day now while I'm as trim as the day my gallbladder was removed, thankyouverymuch, even though, the bigger you let yourself get, the smaller the presque-zizi looks. Nice! Who's the royal beauty now, Hola!?

Sorry, didn't hear you, could you repeat that, you did NOT say Alex.

So pissed off that you've been photographed sculling champers while pregnant. I was tempted to post to RB and bust you. But you're my only friend, and I can't afford to lose you. Better be a decent "pressie" in the mail for me! Send it through the diplomatic bag. Just drop it to the consul in Melbourne, he'll look after it..... Happy fucking birthday to ME!