What I've learned from Prince Harry showing his Twig and Berries

My paternal grandmother used to say that one of our distant relatives was an Earl of something in England. I was hoping for Earl of Sandwich, but the family hails from Tuxford in Nottinghamshire, so my distant relative was probably the Earl of cow shit. However, since learning of my potentially very important connections to powerful people in the UK, I like to think me and Queen E are cut from the same live-stock. I’ve suspected this for years. Since Prince Charles got caught telling his then mistress, Camilla that he wished he could be her tampon, it just made sense to me that we were related. I’m always saying beautiful and intimate things to people I love that are misunderstood due to the raw and unique wording.

I FEEL YOU, CHUCK! I REALLY DO!

So you can imagine how upset I was to hear that my “cousin,” Prince Harry, got caught up in a scandal where one of the heathen Americans he was partying with captured his twig and berries on a cell phone camera, and splattered the images all over the internet.

Fucking Americans.

Harry covered his twig and berries in one shot, and the internet rag who published the scandalous photos put a big star over his butt-crack, obscuring Harry’s “hairy cherries.” That was nice of them. Don’t you think?

My poor cuz really screwed up! This could ruin him!

NOT!

Which is a relief since as a distant relative with absolutely no discernable wealth or connections to potential employers, I couldn’t help Cuz at all! Good thing he’s got more money than God, because those pictures reek of irresponsibility and tomfoolery. How would I ever convince anyone to hire him for anything other than a porn fluffer? I suppose could manage to get him work as an underwear model, after all, he has a great bod. And I can say that without being all freaky, because after all we are only distant cousins – allegedly, potentially, maybe.

Every time I see some dumb kid (or adult) getting caught on film with either their pants down, smoking a hooka, paying a hooker or cheating on a partner, I think to myself, WOW SELF – you SURE are lucky the internet wasn’t around when you were in high school and college. I enjoyed a handful or six games of strip something of other in my day and based on the unflattering and ridiculous photos my friends post of me on Facebook here in present day, I have every reason to believe they would have sold my naked ass out for a keg of Schlitz back in high school.

Over dinner last night, I told my son that  our “cousin” is filthy rich, and aside from a bit of embarrassment and a tongue lashing from his nana and poppa, he’s not going to experience the kind of fall out that a commoner had the commoner been caught gallivanting naked with strangers in Vegas. He is most likely, a bit embarrassed, but I’m guessing only because he got caught. We talked about internet safety, general safety and trust. It was a good chat, but I’m well aware that a 12 year old can nod and smile, pretend to understand and promise to be careful, yet easily become a 18 year old being photographed playing strip X-box with a 16 year old jail bait on his lap. I’m sure last night will definitely NOT be the last time we will speak about this topic, but back to our “cousin” and his situation.

We always knew that Harry was a scamp! We love him anyway and want him to know that it’s good to see that he’s working out and such. Heart disease runs in the family so knowing that he’s staying active sure is a relief.

LONG LIVE THE PRINCE!

Recently I participated in a fun-filled “Girls weekend.” I don’t think I’ve been SO relaxed or had such a good time in years. We ate until we were paralyzed from the butter coursing through our arteries, drank until we truly believed we sounded good singing, and talked until the wee hours of the morning about love, marriage, kids and other HIGHLY personal things. I was with friends. People I trust. There IS photographic evidence of me demonstrating my love for Justin Bieber by posing with a stand up, life-sized, cardboard version of him.

What can I say? I have Bieber Fever. I think there is also a sweet shot of me with my pants down. It was Moms gone wild!

My point is that none of us are safe when it comes to the world-wide-web. I’m sure my blog has potentially made it impossible for me to work in some places, based on the unfiltered content and gratuitous use of profanity. Good thing I have a husband with a good job and a few dollars from a book deal to fall back on – FOR NOW.

And so my internet friends, readers, real friends and family members, today I write to you with important advice inspired by my “cousin’s” recent misadventures playing strip billiards.

1) The old saying, “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,” no longer applies

AND

2) Heavens to Merga-troid, people, either keep your pantaloons on or don’t get caught!

P.S. Would that person with the picture of me with my pants down from our Girls weekend be willing to broker a deal for the negatives? If so, please call me at 1-800-HYPOCRITE.

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