Royally Screwed

There ain’t no guilty pleasure party like a guilty pleasure party ensconced in quail eggs and corsets. But is marrying a prince really all it’s cracked up to be? If only I could get Kate Middleton in a room for five minutes.

Kate, is the recently-aired Lifetime movie “William & Kate” remotely accurate, especially the part where you jump out of the row boat and swim up to meet William, who has finally come to beg your forgiveness for being such a whorish d-bag?

Is it true the Windsors take the phrase ‘stiff upper lip’ so seriously that you were not permitted to move your top lip while speaking to ITV News about your engagement, or did you suffer a minor stress stroke that day?

Why did you invite the convenience store owners from your home town of Bucklebury to your wedding? Don’t you already get free Cadburys and crisps just by being the future queen of England? And won’t you get crumbs on the throne?

Could you please settle a debate and confirm for my husband that the monarchy still carries great influence, and though it might not seem like it, you will be the direct link to the passing of the law that allows same-sex marriage?

How many royal jewels and/or hats are you permitted to wear at any given time, and can I have the ones you’re not using?

Is realizing you’re going to live in Buckingham Palace like realizing you’re going to live in a bi-level with a spiral staircase? If so, then I can totally relate.

What was your initial reaction to seeing this coin? Would you be impressed if I told you I have not one, but two draft blogs inspired by it? How many of these things would it take to hire a hitman to kill the guy who designed it?

…Because of the nature of [and likely answers to] these questions, along with many other reasons (e.g., curtseying, caviar, polo and having to find a tactful way to tell the queen piss off), I’ve come to conclude that I feel very sorry for Kate Middleton. She’s gone from Waity Katie to just plain screwed.