Well here we go again.
Fucken world news, again, and again, ad nauseum.
The fucking "Princess".
The loved by all, peoples princess, walks on water, should be sainted, blah fucking blah, "Princess".
Well go and get fucked you cunts.
For starters, I didn't watch the fucking wedding - (and it fucked up my viewing of a favorite movie). Why should I give a shit about some cunts I don't know, and to be frank that seem slightly retarded on the whole, (with the exception of the old boy Phil - he's always good for a funny comment at a public event), getting married.
It's bad enough too, to have the Queens head on one side of a fifty cent piece - let alone her fucking offspring and rellies on the other side as well. Geez I hope that they don't do a tenth anniversary model. (It wouldn't be half as obnoxious if they acted like fucking royalty _"Orf with their fucking heads you slack fucking beefeater cunts, then stick the fucken things on a big fucking pole at the gates. Suck shit, soon to be headless losers!!)
Anyway....
The "Princess". What can I say.
In my book the bitch was a slut. Pure and fucking simple, cheating, lying mol. So fuck off with ya "so sweet, butter wouldn't melt in her mouth" attitude. And by the way, with the amount of cum the slag would've gobbled, the butter would have melted from the combined latent heat of constant cum load and friction.
I mean really, the cunt has pulled more fucking trains than Thomas the Tank Engine. It seems that half the boys at the Army barracks had the mols number: - 1800 slutty princess, good time guaranteed. Her boys can probably still see it on the back of the dunny doors around the bases.
She was probably the town bike for fucken years before that.
As for the car prang, the driver probably lost control in a bit of wild foursome action, while she was giving his knob a bit of a polish, with Dodi fucking her up the arse and the bodyguard licking her out (and probably his bosses nuts as well).
The cunt was probably sussing out the lepers for likely roots. Maybe she was a really kinky type of slut.
All while cleverly masquerading as a Princess.
What a fucken mol.
Labels: cumbucket
posted by rackorf at 1:24 AM
11 Comments:
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for once in my life.... I am totally fucking speachless.
I'll come back later.
I'm just glad you're not writing about me anymore, Rackorf. ;)
Are you sure this isn't all just some Princess porno fantasy of yours?
I'm with you mate.
What a boring cabbage she was; what sort of idiot didn't think being the princess was going to be a shit job. Did she imagine she'd be living in a castle eating cucumber sandwiches all day ??
Her charity work was admirable but it's an easy task given her position and staffing availabilty; that said, good job, Di.
Of the two, Charlie is a far more interesting dude than she ever was...his excruciating taste in older women notwithstanding...
WHEN did she become a slut? That's news to me!
You'll catch flies standing there like that ute :-0
Anymore, little things? I don't know what you mean - I could if you like though;)
Hey it's the newly straight l>t, how ya going? No porno fantasy there, she'd be about a seven or eight on my scale. (That's how many beers it would take before she looked half rootable)
I'd recken that she'd be doing other things with the cucumbers Fingers, and they wouldn't be sliced. (Cucumber sandwich? Umm, no thanks Princess)
Geez bottle, where've ya been? Everyone knows that she's a long time trampoline.
Rackorf could easily get a job writing greeting and sympathy cards with Hallmark (or whatever the equivalent is in Australia). He's like poetry in motion ...
By the way, dude, I addressed your fishing question in my current entry. I may have overstated the case a little bit -- but not entirely.
Maybe I'll have to set up and produce specialty cards that "tell them what you feel". A whole range springs to mind.
Yea, you could call them Cards for Cunts. Has a nice ring to it, eh?
Nice - I like it!! "Cards for Cunts - special messages for that special cunt in your life"
I smell a marketing opportunity...
Seriously...what a fabulous idea.
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