Peckerwood Manor

I used to have a negative opinion of Kate Middleton. In my eyes, she appeared to be a passive and uninteresting figure, seemingly overshadowed by her bland husband, Prince William. I couldn't respect her game. I still don't. Personally, I was never the little girl who dreamed of being a princess or a queen; biracial girls were never the princess, and I got the message. Not for you .  Besides, a career smiling and waving and living with ridiculous protocols is not a life I envy. Chasing William was like hunting down a stale box of water crackers no one wanted. The stories boldly circulating about the aristocratic Diana types refusing to entertain the thought of being his queen, even though he had approached many of them, were just too cringeworthy and, frankly, pitiful. They had their own money and social status; why would they settle for a Windsor and those cruel genetics when they had freedom and autonomy.  I thought, Kate, girl, get some pride. The fans said, "But she ge

Welcome, fellow trollops, to the latest edition of "Who's This Week's Thirstiest Ho?" Today's trio are drier than a crumbling wine cork between an overflowing Dumpster and a leased Chevy Trax behind an off-ramp 7-11, so they need all the moisture they can get. First, we have perpetual thirsty gal, Gwyneth Paltrow , who's an expert at gaining attention, what with her vagina-scented candles (did she ever say whose vagina it smelled like? Was it  Oprah's vagina? Justin Timberlake's ?  That Damn Judi Dench's ?). Then there's her instructions on how to yawn properly (yes, she insists, you're doing it wrong; I'm assuming it's all about opening wide-wide-wide, like giving a blowie to The Hammaconda ); how to speak kind words to water before drinking it (to encourage it's "good molecular structure") (huh?); and how to pump oxygen with a catheter up your b-hole, followed by a deep, spiritually-uplifting coffee enema (the latte