Sluts with camera phones in Afghanistan, it’s your lucky month (or four), because Prince Hot Ginge is there on official duty until December. Britain’s Ministry of Defense released several pictures today of PHG posing in camo with his group commander next to an Apache helicopter in Afghanistan this morning. I’d like to think that as punishment for getting caught with his panties down in Las Vegas, The Queen told him he could either go to Afghanistan for four months or clean out Camilla’s stall daily for the next few weeks, but that’s not what happened. The BBC says this was planned long before the naked foolery in Vegas went down and the British media was asked to keep their lips shut until the Ministry of Defense said it was okay to open their mouths.
All of the information about PHG’s return to Afghanistan was released to the media, because the Ministry of Defense doesn’t think he’s in any major danger. But just in case, I’m willing to fly to Afghanistan on Southwest and protect PHG by throwing my body on his. I only have a few rules: I won’t protect him during combat war time and I won’t get in that helicopter, because this one time I played a helicopter arcade game at Dave & Busters and I almost puked. What I’m saying is that I’ll only throw my body on PHG’s
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R. Kelly writes in his memoirs Soulacoaster: The Diary of Me that the reason why his marriage of 12 years slipped down the drain of a urinal wasn’t because he suddenly realized that he’s a dried dingle of dick cheese and his wife is destined for better things like Vh1’s Hollywood Exes. R. Kelly writes (via TMZ) that the movie The Notebook put him through serious changes and made him realize that his own marriage could never go until the end of time like the characters in a fucking movie. This bitch:
“As the film credits started to roll, I couldn’t move. I burst into tears. People walking past me patted me on the back, trying to console me. ‘The Notebook’ was beautiful, and I was crying because its hero and heroine had died together.
But I was also crying because I remembered a Valentine’s Day — when a helicopter dropped a rainfall of roses — that had come and gone … My marriage had died. And there was nothing I could do to bring it back.”
Falling roses on Valentine’s Day? Now that’s a real reason to divorce a bitch. Nothing is romantic about getting slapped in the face with a rose stem after you look up to yell at that loud ass helicopter.
R. Kelly just needs to stop. Seeing the movie didn’t ruin his marriage. What really happened is that
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Today, 25-year-old panty model Florence Brudenell-Bruce (or “Flee” as her friends call her) is framing a bright shiny ginger pube as her punane sheds a single tear, because her ride on Prince Hot Ginge’s piping hot crotch scepter has come to an end after two months. To which I say the same thing I hope PHG says to Pippa Middleton when she tries to get more pap attention by climbing up his fiery tower: BYE, BITCH!
A source type says that even though Royal aides (whoever the hell that is) approved of Flee, Prince Hot Ginge is not done knighting blonde vaginas with his peen so he decided to de-Flee his ass. The source went on to tell the Daily Mail this shit, “Harry has a lot on his mind at the moment. He is concentrating on his Apache helicopter training. After that he’s expecting to return to Afghanistan. Harry enjoyed spending time with friends over the summer, but he doesn’t want to be tied town in a relationship when training, so he called time with Flee.“
PHG also knew it wasn’t going to work out with Flee, because he’s leaving for helicopter training in Arizona and won’t be back until Christmas.
I never bothered making a voodoo doll of Flee out of overcooked spaghetti noodles and a Dollar General plastic doll, because that would be a waste of overcooked
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