Kate Middleton is knocked up and I’ve taken the liberty to stake out my position in the tent line outside the Royal Palace to be in the running as Godmother.
The following will be my shoo-in attempt at my faux London campout. It’ll be intense. And in tents.
To Whomever Her or His Majesty it May Concern:
Aside from the manager lady with a mustache at the Safeway on Federal and 26th in Denver, people generally like me.
I’m a lively, spry lassie who comes equipped with a filter, adhered when needed. I have 8 3/4 nieces and nephews (fertile Catholics, another plus for you Anglicans) and I reprise the role as bomb-ass aunt on occasion.
Here’s what I can do for your unborn king/queen — quing, if you will — as Godmother:
On late-night tube last night, I watched a bit on swimming infants. (By late night I mean “CBS Morning News.”) These little slimy tadpoles were floating around an abyss of chlorine, like teacup piglets doing the backstroke.
My hook is to teach said baby quing how to infant-swim at four weeks.
Take that, regular parents who age their babies in months:
“My baby girl is 16 months and two-and-a-half weeks old. She’s teething like crazy, but we introduced her to avocado for the first time. Emoticon!”
I can’t add. And congratulations. When does she get to eat lobster?
I will also teach your child the essentials of life — the art of shotgunning beers and basic grammar.
This is knowledge nature just can’t grasp.
Plus, I love cheese.
Yours in Christ(y),
The man’s got heart
Or lack thereof?
Dick Cheney is penning a book about heart treatment. (Him?)
The former VP to Georgie-poo Dubya Bushy-tail has suffered five heart attacks in his life.
Prior to his March heart transplant, he had assistance from the Energizer Bunny who drummed up that hollow muscle’s mechanics. (Does it smell like quail meat in there?)
Cheney said the book will be “non-political” and is scheduled for release next fall.
Now with a strong, new heart of a shiny blue whale (something or other), he can take pleasure in the finer things in life, like Paula Deen’s fried butter sticks and Kirstie Alley’s liver, all while snorting lines of lard.
Chris Brown and Rihanna are together again.
Rihanna encouraged Brown to return to Twitter after he abandoned it a week earlier.
“Baby, your fans need you on Twitter and it’s a good place where you can say whatever the fuck you want. So get back on it and do you.”
Just don’t hit her, baby, one more time.
Too soon? Come on. That scandal is dripping in cobwebs.